Notes on a Cowardly Lion

by John Lahr

  That must be vun of de girls. Do you belong to de classroom here?

  Reginald: I should say I do.

  Teacher: Why are you so late this morning?

  Reginald: I had to stay at home this morning to do some knitting for my mother.

  Teacher: Vot vas you knitting?—notting. Vhere are de rest of de children dat belong her vit you?

  Reginald: Down in the yard playing pinochle.

  Teacher: Veil, I’m going down to catch dem! You stay here and practice your singing lesson.(Teacher exits; Reginald sings “Sunbonnet.” Teacher enters. Sharkey leaves seat and begins to shadowbox.)

  Isador: Teacher! Look out for him! He’s a Young Kipper. He’s a fast boy.

  Teacher: I’ll slow him up! I suppose you boys don’t know what I am?

  Chorus: WE DON’T KNOW AND WE DON’T CARE.(Reginald pulls out a pea-shooter and shoots a pea in Teacher’s face. Teacher slaps his hand over his eye.)

  Teacher: Cut dat out! I’m no shooting gallery! Now, I will call out the roll.

  Isador: (Reaches in pocket, pulls out a roll, and hands it to Teacher.)

  Teacher: Vat’s dat?

  Isador: You asked for a roll, and here’s de roll. It’s a bagel. Tomorrow I’ll bring you a pineapple.

  Teacher: QUIET. I’m calling de rolls! Your name is in de book! And dose dat I hear, say “here,” and dose vot are not here, say “absent.” Now! Reginald Redstocking?

  Reginald: I’m not here.

  Teacher: Can’t you see yourself sitting down? John L. Fitz-Corbett Sharkey?

  Sharkey: I’ll be back in a minute.

  Teacher: I don’t care if you never come back. Isador Fitzpatrick?

  Isador: I couldn’t come today.

  Teacher: By golly, no vunder my brudder is sick. The foist lesson vill be in geography.

  Reginald: Teacher! I know him.

  Teacher: You know who?

  Reginald: George Graphy. He used to come and keep company with my sister.

  Teacher: I’m speaking about geography. The name’s in the book. Isador! Name me two of de largest oceans in de world.

  Isador: The Atlantic and Pacific.

  Teacher: No sir! Dat’s a tea company. I said de two largest oceans in de world. O-X-Y-G-E-N. Oceans.

  Isador: Oh, you mean an notion.

  Teacher: Yes.

  Isador: (Pointing to his forehead) In mine head, I got it an notion.

  Teacher: (Hitting Isador over the head with a rattan stick) Vot did you say you got?

  Isador: Now I got it—a headache.

  Teacher: Dat’s better! Speaking about oceans—Reginald! Name me two of de largest islands in the Pacific Ocean.

  Reginald: Hawaii, Teacher.

  Teacher: I’m pretty well t’ank you.

  Isador: How’s your brother?

  Teacher: He’s feeling pretty well, t’ank you.

  Isador: Give him my regards.

  Teacher: T’ank you. Sharkey—you tell us two of de principal oceans in de world.

  Sharkey: How are you, Teacher?

  Teacher: None of your business! Isador, you tell me.

  Isador: How do you do?

  Teacher: Stick out your hand.(Isador sticks out his hand and Teacher hits him over the head.)

  How do you feel?

  Isador: Ah! Fudge!

  Teacher: Pooh!

  Isador: Pooh! Pooh! On you.

  Teacher: QUIET! The lesson is spellink!

  Chorus: I-N-K. Ink!

  Teacher: Who said anything about ink?

  Sharkey: You spell “ink.”

  Teacher: I said spellink is de lesson. Not you should spell “ink.” Reginald, spell de void “delight.”

  Reginald: D-e-1

  Sharkey: D-e-1

  Isador: Deal—

  Teacher: Ve are not playing cards here. Reginald! Spell de void “delight.”

  Reginald: D-e-1-i-g-h-t. Delight! There!

  Teacher: Correct! ‘Sharkey! Do you know vot de void delight means?

  Sharkey: To get tickled to deat’.

  Teacher: Somebody should do dat to you. Isador! Stand up! Now make me a statement wit de void “delight.”

  Isador: De wind blew in de window had blew out de light.(Teacher grabs the rattan stick and runs after Isador, who scurries around the classroom. Isador grabs a book from Teacher’s desk as he runs by it, and Sharkey gets up to protect him, standing in front of Teacher, who yells at Isador, “Put down de school.” Isador slams book on Teacher’s head.)

  Teacher: And dat’s enough of dat lesson!

  Reginald: Oh, glory!

  Teacher: (Imitating Reginald) Oh, Halleluljah! De next lesson is hysterics. Sharkey—vhere was Abraham Lincoln born?

  Sharkey: Abraham Lincoln was born in a log cabin he helped build himself.

  Teacher: Isador. Vhere was de Declaration of Independence signed?

  Isador: On de bottom!

  Teacher: Reginald! Who was de fadder of our country?

  Reginald: George Washington.

  Teacher: And de mudder?

  Reginald: Mary Christmas.

  Teacher: Vot vas Daniel Webster, Reginald?

  Reginald: Daniel Webster was a well-read man.

  Teacher: Fine. Isador! Vot is a well-read man?

  Isador: A healthy Indian.

  Teacher: The next lesson is recitations. Reginald! Recite!

  Reginald: Anything in particular?(Isador and Sharkey take spitballs out of their desks as Teacher glances at the audience, holding them ready to let fly as Reginald recites.)

  Reginald: (Reciting) Oh, the snow …(As Reginald recites the poem, both Sharkey and Isador hit Teacher with spitballs.)

  Teacher: (Jumping angrily up and down) Please, don’t aggravation me! Reginald! Continue.

  Reginald: (Continuing) Oh, the snow! The beautiful snow, Once I was as pure as the beautiful snow …

  Isador: But he fell in the mud.

  Teacher: Sharkey, now you recite.

  Sharkey: Johnny O’Farrell sat down on a barrelThe barrel was loaded

  And so was O’Farrell

  The barrel exploded

  Farewell, O’Farrell.

  Teacher: You should die de same way, Shakespeare. Isador! You recite now.

  Isador: Poor little Fido, Poor little pup

  Drinks his milk

  From a Chinese cup.

  Poor little pup

  He’ll stand on his hind legs

  If you’ll hold the front ones up.

  Teacher: De last lesson is arithmetic. I want you boy to multiply at de same time from one to a hundred. Commence! (He uses the rattan stick like a baton.)

  Chorus: One and one is two; two and two is four; four and four is eight; eight and eight is sixteen; sixteen and sixteen is thirty-two; thirty-two and thirty-two is sixty-four; sixty-four and sixty-four is … La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.(They all start to sing and dance, with the teacher joining in the mayhem.)

  (Curtain)

  Appendix 2

  “Flugel Street”

  by Billy K. Wells (c. 1918)

  Billy K. Wells, who launched Bert Lahr in burlesque, was one of the few who wrote specifically for that medium. His “Flugel Street” is a classic bit. Like so much burlesque humor, it contrasts the violence, ignorance, and inequities of city life with the comic character who is made the butt of the situation by his stubborn opposition to everything around him. The sketch was written as the labor movement was beginning to widen in America; ironically it foreshadows Lahr’s later hostility toward theatrical unions.

  Lahr: (Enters, stares at audience, then talks to the orchestra.) If I ask you a answer, will you question me? Can you play the Irish reel?

  (The orchestra plays in unison. One player is off key.)

  No, no, that ain’t it.

  (The music is struck up again. The same discord prevails.)

  C’mmon. Stop. I said Irish.

  (Finally, the music is played correctly.)

  That’s it. That’s it
.

  (After four bars, the cornet wails loudly out of tune.

  Looking into the pit, Lahr barks at the players.)

  Vhat’s the matter, you sick? No, you ain’t sick. You’re dead, but you’re too lazy to close your eyes. Don’t you know you ain’t got no business to … (He gives a Bronx cheer.)… in there? Now, don’t do that no more.

  Cornet player: Don’t tell it to me. Tell it to the boss.

  Lahr: Vell, I’ll tell it to you ‘cause I’m the boss.

  Bandleader: Say, stop picking on that man.

  Lahr: Vell, did you see vat he did? He went like that. (He blows another Bronx cheer.)

  Bandleader: Well, leave him alone. If you pick at him, you pick at me and the rest of the boys, and we don’t stand for that.

  Lahr: I don’t care whether you stand for it or not he ain’t got no business to … (produces another Bronx cheer) in here and that’s all.

  Bandleader: Well, we’ll make you care. We belong to the same union, and we don’t stand for it.

  Lahr: Vell, I don’t care for you and your union somehow, any place, or anywhere. I’ll take care of us. You mind your business.

  (The straightman enters from the left. He comes up to Lahr and taps him on the shoulder.)

  Lahr: Come in.

  Straightman: Just a moment. I want to speak to this gentleman here. (He points to the bandleader in the pit.)

  Lahr: Vell, I want to speak to this gentleman here. (He points to the cornet player.)

  Straightman: Well, I want to speak to this gentleman here. (He speaks louder and points again to the bandleader.)

  Lahr: Veil, I’m going to speak to this gentleman first!

  Straightman: I’d like to see you. (He glares fiercely at Lahr.)

  Lahr: Hell. (He walks away.)

  Straightman: Now, don’t you do that again. (Turns quickly.)

  Lahr: That was camouflaged. I’m teaching him how to play that thing.

  Straightman: You’re trying to teach him (pointing to the player) how to play that instrument. (He laughs.) Why, my boy, you can’t teach him how to play that. Why, he has played that instrument for the last twenty years. Come on. (He pushes Lahr.) Come on, get off this street. Get off this street before someone comes along and picks you up and puts you in an ashcan. (He stalks away.)

  Lahr: Then the street will be clean. (To player) See, he likes you. He likes you more than he likes me, but through me he is coaxing a bump on your eye and through him you’re going to get a bush on your eye, and I’m going to bust you. (He moves toward player.)

  Straightman: (Rushing at Lahr and pushing him away) Oh no you won’t. No you won’t. You won’t bust anyone around here. Now you keep quiet for just a minute. Just one minute.

  Lahr: Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. (He lunges at the player.)

  Straightman: (Moving toward Lahr again and pushing him away) Now see here, you. If you don’t keep quiet, I’m going to put a sign on your eye “closed for the season.”

  Lahr: Can I open next season? (To player) See, you’re the cause of this. You look good and intelligent and all that, but you don’t seem to realize that you’re sitting in a good position for me to kick your front teeth out. (Turns to straightman) Boy, I’m gettin’ tough. Gettin’ tououououough!!

  Straightman: You only think you’re getting tough.

  Lahr: Well, I’ll take him outside and fight him ten rounds and spot him six. (To audience) You saw me come out and ask for the Irish reel. Everybody gave it to me and was going along nice and sweetly and he had to (make noise)… in there. I didn’t mind the way he jazzed, but the way he jazzed.

  Straightman: (To bandleader) What’s the matter?

  Bandleader: Why, the big stiff said unions are no good.

  Straightman: Well, what are you going to do about it?

  Bandleader: We’re going to quit.

  Straightman: Quit? That’s the spirit exactly. That’s the idea. (Orchestra leaves the pit.) Now listen, fellers, when you get outside wait for him and if you kill him, it will be all right.

  Lahr: Do you think I’ll be there?

  Straightman: Yes, you’ll be there, and there’ll be a pair of black horses driving right ahead of you.

  Lahr: Oh! I’m going to be a jockey!

  Straightman: It’ll be your last ride!

  Lahr: I’ll win that.

  Straightman: Ah, bah! Ladies and gentlemen, did you ever see the way these men stick together! That’s what I call unionism. One for all and all for one. (Turns to Lahr) Do you know what they are going to do? They’re going to quit.

  Lahr: No, they ain’t.

  Straightman: Well, what are they going to do?

  Lahr: Go downstairs and play pinochle.

  Straightman: What right have you got to come out here and argue with those men?

  Lahr: I didn’t argue with them. He went (makes a Bronx cheer) like that.

  Straightman: (Moving center stage) Ladies and gentlemen: If we had more men like these in this world this would be a different country. Just look back twenty-five years ago. What did the laboring man of this country have to work for? Why, he had to work for the small, measly sum of eight, ten, twelve cents an hour. Now, why did he have to do that? Because there were no unions in those days. But look at that same man today. Why, he’s getting seventy cents, eighty, ninety cents, one dollar an hour. And that is what unionism has done. Most people are under the impression that a union is filled with socialistic ideas. But that is not so. All that a union man asks are his rights, and he being one of the principal leaders of this great nation today. Why, he’s entitled to such. Why, only yesterday I was reading in one of our leading newspapers where the packing house employees of Omaha, Nebraska, had won their strike. Now, they could never have won their strike had it not been for the unions. Look all over the U.S. today. Look in your own homes, town factories. You don’t find any more small children there. No. Why? Because the unions won’t stand for it. That’s why I say all of us, everyone of us, should thank that wonderful organization, the American Federation of Labor! (He turns to Lahr.) And you (slaps him on the chest) have the nerve to come out here and argue with these men!

  Lahr: I didn’t argue with them. They went like that … (He produces a Bronx cheer.)

  Straightman: Do you wear any union clothes?

  Lahr: I got a union suit on.

  Straightman: Have you got a union label in that hat (taking Lahr’s hat off his head)?

  Lahr: Yes.

  Straightman: Where?

  Lahr: There—six and a half.

  (The straightman punches his hand through the hat and throws it down and stomps on it. Then he walks away, as Lahr is left on stage looking forlornly at his hat. He moves to pick it up, and then drops it cowering in fear at the straightman’s words.)

  Straightman: Put that down. Leave that alone.

  (He walks two steps toward center stage as Lahr tries to pick the hat up. Then he turns around.)

  Don’t touch that. A union man! Why you’re nothing but a scab. A fine union man you are. You don’t even know where Western Union is. (He walks off stage right.)

  Lahr: (Looking at his hat) You’re a scab, do you hear me? A scab!

  Straightman: (Entering loudly) Begone.

  (Lahr drops hat and runs to the left of the stage, putting his coat above his head to protect himself. He shivers in fear.) Begone, you Alabama crapshooting meat hound you. Back to the wilds of Africa from whence you came. Back with your ancestors, where you can hang by your tail and throw coconuts at the rest of the monkeys. Begone I say. Begone. (He exits right.)

  Lahr: (Slowly lowering the coat from above his head) Did he went? Hat, I think he ruined you. (He picks up the hat and stares through it.) But I can see through it all now. But don’t get mad at me, I didn’t do it, and it wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t … (makes Bronx cheer noise)… in there.

  (Lahr puts on the hat. A man enters from the left wearing a straw hat. He sees Lahr gesticulating with his hat and
mimics him.)

  Lahr: (Turning to the man) What do you know about a union? (The man begins to speak, but is cut short.) You don’t know nothing, that’s why—because! Now you see that. (Lahr points to the man, who stands center stage.) If there was more like that there wouldn’t be so many. Just look back twenty-five years ago: Look what a working man had to do. He had to work for a living. Does he do it now? No. He has the woman working for him. Look in all your beautiful homes nowadays. You don’t see any more little children. No. Why? Because the unions won’t stand for it. Why, only yesterday I was reading in today’s paper. What did I see? You don’t know, and if you did, you couldn’t tell me. That’s why I say all of us, every one of us, we should all thank that wonderful organization, the American Express Company. They can take your trunk and you never get it and when you get it, you don’t need it. Ah! (Lahr takes the man’s hat.) Got a union label in yours? (He crushes the hat over his knee.) Begone. Begone, you Alabama crap-shooting meat hound. Back to Africa. Back where you can get a tail. You’re a fine union man. Vhy, you don’t even know where the Union Station is!

  Man: Can you beat that!

  Lahr: Hey, I bet you don’t even have a union suit. (Lahr reaches toward the man and yanks at his pants, which fall to the floor. The man stands in his long underwear. Lahr does a doubletake, turning to the audience in bewilderment, yelling, “Gnong, gnong, gnong!”)

  (Blackout)

  Appendix 3

  “Beach Babies” (c. 1924)

  The afterpiece was a bright, concise comic sketch that sent the patrons away satisfied. It usually brought the biggest attractions of the evening back for a final vaudeville turn. Although this piece was embellished by Lahr, it was written by Little Jeanie and her agent, and is typical of the makeshift quality of vaudeville and burlesque creation.

  The stage set is a bathing tent on left, and on right, a bench with a newspaper. Girl comes out of tent in her bathing suit and walks across stage and off. Child (Jeanie) comes on and sees tent—steals clothes and goes off. Comedian (Lahr) comes on and Straightman enters also.