Volume XIX

No. I

"I

TELL you we'll win! We must! There's always hope, isn't there? Your predictions -all the verdicts of all the doctors-what do they matter to me? This is-beyond you! And we'll win in spite of you!"

In these words, Eugene O'Neill, the author of "The Straw," which has become one of the most discussed dramatic productions New York has seen in several seasons, expresses the very essence of the human spirit. Through them he tells us that knowledge, experience, intelligence, all these may unite in declaring that hope is futile, yet the unquenchable fire of the life force within us rises above material facts and clings defiantly and exultantly to the last feeble straw-a straw that has been known to inspire men with strength for victory where failure seemed inevitable.

The action of the play, with the exception of one scene, is laid in a sanatorium, although the drama itself is one that has occurred in every quarter of the globe, under every variation of circumstance, since time immemorial. Because its leading characters are fighting tuberculosis, however, "The Straw" should be of particular interest to those who are trying to overcome the power of the tubercle bacillus.

Eileen Carmody is a gentle, sweet young girl whose sensitive spirit craves love as a plant craves life-sustaining sunshine. But on every hand she discovers that the devotion she gives so freely and eagerly is returned only with selfishness and indifference. She is the oldest of the five motherless children of Bill Carmody, an ignorant, whining, drunken bully. Eileen, thanks to her mother, has an education, but since the latter's death she washes, mends, cooks, and cleans for the entire family. It is the old, old story of overwork and worry which undermine the constitution. One year

of this drudgery results in her succumbing to tuberculosis.

Fred Nicholls, a suitor of Eileen's since high-school days, has an attitude of condescending superiority toward the Carmodys. and when Eileen, yearning for affection and sympathy, turns to Nicholas for comfort, she learns that his concern over the infectiousness of tuberculosis is far stronger than his love for her.

Wounded in spirit and worried over her condition, like thousands of patients who have taken this step before her, Eileen enters the Hill Farms Sanatorium. There she meets Stephen Murray, who has been a reporter on a small town daily for all of ten years, and who hails his stay at the sanatorium, even as a patient, as a deliverance from a humdrum existence which he has grown to despise. Murray has a dormant ambition to write fiction and he enthusiastically accepts Eileen's suggestion that he begin while "taking the cure." Eileen, eager to help, types the manuscripts, and helps to keep up his vaccilating interest with unfailing encouragement and faith. Her case is favorable and her life at the sanatorium interesting and absorbing.

Four months later Murray is to be discharged from the "san" as an arrested case. But Eileen, who at first improved under the treatment, has been losing weight. On the night before Murray's departure, Eileen meets him by appointment at a crossroads near the sanatorium, and here, overcome by desperate longing, and fearful of the loneliness his leaving will mean to her, she tremulously tells him of her great love for him, a love which she knows is not returned. At the close of her heart-breaking confession which leaves Murray grief-stricken and shaken, she stammers:

"Remember me-and perhaps you'll find out after a time-I'll pray God to make it so! Oh, what am I saying? Only-I'll hope-I'll hope till I die!"

So Eileen, too, continues to grasp at the straw which upholds all humanity. But with nothing on which to base her hope, the frail hold weakens and the invader Disease makes more rapid progress. Then, one day Murray comes to see her. The nurse, devoted to Eileen, tells him that the girl's case is hopeless and begs him to do what he can to make her end happier-if possible to tell her that he has learned to love her. Heartbroken and blaming himself utterly for the hopelessness of Eileen's condition, Murray agrees to the lie, and, kneeling by the side of her recliner, he asks her to become his wife. Radiantly happy, Eileen consents. As her frail hand gently strokes his face and her adoring voice plans for their future, he suddenly awakens to the realization that he loves Eileen-that for him life without her is unthinkable. "Oh,

I do love you, Eileen! I do! I love you, love you!" he sobs brokenly. And then he remembers the verdict. But strong in his new-found love and determined to wrest happiness from fate, he defies the opinion of science and the power of mere matter. "Love isn't in the materia medica. How dare you use the word hopeless, as if it were the last? What do you know? Can you say you know anything?" "I?" humbly replies the nurse to his furious demand. "I know nothing-absolutely nothing!" But Murray strides back to the porch and kneels by Eileen's side-and happily, confident of victory, they plan their future together.

"The Straw" has been criticized as a depressing play, but it is in reality one of faith and inspiration. Probably there is no better way of explaining this viewpoint than in the nurse's reply to Murray's passionate outburst. "There must be something back of it-some promise of fulfillment-somehow-somewhere -in the spirit of hope itself."

B

EFORE the years had made me wise, I filled the air with plaintive cries. I saw things going to the dogs. The Sanatoriums were slipping cogs. Germs reigned with a triumphant whoop. Sanitation ever in the soup. Where'er I looked I saw some dust, and swore that Sans should not be thus.

I blew long spiels on this one need, "Rid the Sans of Dust" was my creed. I viewed forever with alarm and vowed I'd lose a leg or arm-if that would stem the sinful dust; but now I dream and let it crust.

The Sanatoriums go on the same however patients play the game. The "arrests" seem to be on deck-though I foresaw they'd be a wreck. Now other fellows walk the floor and cuss the Sanatoriums and roar, they stand around the "hombre's" shack and swear they never saw the like and they bombard the pure, fresh air with words, cuss words, that get nowhere-predicting doom in forty styles, because they say the dust is vile. But I have

wisdom deep and wide, I lie in bed and let things slide.

Not all the rumpus I could raise would change the Sanatoriums' ways. The dust is there and there to stay, and cussing doesn't take it away. The more they roar and walk the floor, the more the dust and Germs will soar. Now as for me I ne'er deride but lie in bed and let things slide.

And now I let the days wag by without a protest or a sigh. A million Germs are out of place, a million Germs float round in space. But everything will come out all right. Loose Germs will perish in a night. The Dust that looks so much to-day will very soon be swept away. The sun is shining overhead and all loose Germs will soon be dead.

I let the tail go with the hide. I lie in bed and let things slide. CORK.

S. C. T. H.
State Park, S. C.

The

FOREWORD

The Pageant was presented at the WaldorfAstoria Hotel, New York, at the Seventeenth Annual Meeting of the National Tuberculosis Association, on June 16, 1921.

It was written by Miss Helena V. Williams and Miss Elizabeth Cole. Miss Williams also designed the costumes and was responsible for the settings.

The Pageant was directed by Mr. Eugene Roder, the benefit of whose experience in the world of drama, both the spoken and the silent, was contributed with generous enthusiasm.

The players of the Pageant gave freely their interest and time.

The costumes, lighting, stage hangings and properties were furnished at the lowest possible cost.

The Pageant was, withal, a tribute of sympathy paid, by those eager for its success, to the cause of spreading broadcast the ways of Health.

THE PROLOGUE

(Spoken before the curtain by the spirit of the Double-barred Cross.)

The Spirit of the Double-barred Cross would bid you welcome.

Summoned by the cries of those who suffered from the treacherous plague Tuberculosis, men with kindly hearts and scientific minds set forth upon a brave Crusade. To spur them on and give them courage in their quest they have the crimson sign, the cross with double bars. 'Twas thus that I was born. To-night this spirit fain would lead you, you with sympathetic hearts, along the paths and through the mazy ways their quest has taken them. I fain would show you people, real and working, phantoms of disease and ill-health, knights and leaders bold who conquer sickness. I, forsooth, will spread before your eyes the deeds of noble men and women who, as leaders, true, ingenious, have marched on this great Crusade.

THE PRELUDE

SCENE 1-THE DISEASES OVERCOME HUMANITY

(The curtain rises and light reveals, behind a thin gauze curtain, Humanity which struggles with Disease. Humanity is of no age, of no class, and yet is of all ages and all classes. The Diseases are veiled, writhing figures. They are Typhus, Black Plague, Yellow and Scarlet

Fevers, Diphtheria, Measles, Malaria, Pneumonia, and Tuberculosis which towers over all and is the worst, and in the struggle Humanity is always overcome.)

CURTAIN

THE SPIRIT: Bear with me a little while. Long years ago in times which history may have painted merrie, men knew not the ways of healthful life. In crowded, dirty dwellings where pure air and water clear were seldom known mayhap lived those with laughing hearts and busy lives. But oft there entered in a cruel foe that made a loved one cough, grow weak, become now pale, now burning red, and slowly waste away. Consumption was the foe. And where one died another soon would follow. Disease of every kind lurked, veiled, unseen, and snatched old men and youths and maidens. The smallest babes, most innocent, were never safe. Humanity, beset on every side by grasping sickness, struggled, fought, but never came victorious from the battlefield of life.

The Knights of old who bravely fought against life-seizing enemies were dead. There were Crusades no more. The great King Arthur, whose strong sword, Excalibur, lay buried in the Lake, no longer lived to aid the weak ones of the land. And all men cried for help, but no help came. The Table Round was dead.

SCENE II-THE DEATH OF KING ARTHUR

(A black velvet cyclorama forms the background for the entire performance. About three feet in front of this is hung a gauze curtain. A purple couch with a scarlet pillow is the only setting for this scene which represents King Arthur's tent. Outside is heard the clash of arms, the cries of warriors, the groans of the wounded. Occasionally, the sound of a trumpet rises above the tumult. Above the noise, are heard the voices of King Arthur and Modred, who are engaged in hand-to-hand combat.) MODRED: At last, thou simple, virtuous fool! (He strikes at Arthur.) Thus craft shall overthrow incompetence!

(The two men clash swords again. Modred strikes Arthur's helmet and severely wounds him. Arthur gathers all