Comrades might be interested in a play titled "Catskill Sonata
<http://www.panix.com/~lnp3/Elias_Catskill_Sonata.pdf>" by my friend
Michael Elias who wrote comedies for both TV and film. He was a red
diaper baby in a town close to my own. It was set in a hotel called
Chester's Zunbarg (that's Yiddish for Sun Hill) owned by a Communist
named Ann Chester who booked blacklisted entertainers like Zero Mostel.
I referred to the play in a review of Michael's latest novel for
CounterPunch:
Michael has fond memories of a hotel called Chester’s Zumbarg that I
only knew by reputation. It was a haven for lefties and for 1950s
hipsters looking for company. In his great play “A Catskill Sonata,” he
summons up its past. You can see the perfect marriage between his comic
gifts and his social conscience in this excerpt:
DAVE: Actually, [Arthur] Godfrey and I…actually CBS and I…how to say
this…
RAE: You quit?
DAVE: Actually, it was more of a mutual thing. The producers fired
me and I went along with their decision.
RAE: What about Godfrey? What did he say?
DAVE: He feels terrible. His assistant gave me the message personally.
ERNIE: When did this happen?
DAVE: A couple of weeks ago. Costello called me into his office,
said my wife gave money to the Communist Party. So that’s where it
went, I said. I told him Madeline and I have a deal. She doesn’t try
to convert me to Marxism and I don’t make her watch your putrid
show. Which, naturally, didn’t go over too well. But, as you know,
my policy is to be brave as long as the situation is hopeless.
ERNIE: Can you get another show?
DAVE: They made it clear that I am not employable in television.
Wait. Maybe I could repair them. If only I knew how they worked.
RAE: I’m sorry, Dave.
DAVE: It’s not all bad. Now that I’m blacklisted I don’t have to
subscribe to The Daily Worker.
RAE: Can’t you write for Godfrey under another name?
DAVE: I don’t write that much. I mainly whisper clever things in
Arthur’s ear between songs. No, I’m dead. Wait. There is one thing:
I could turn in my friends. Give their names to the FBI. That would
get my job back. I could become head writer. It won’t work. I don’t
have any friends. Okay, I know a couple of comics who don’t care
about my politics. I’ll survive. I’ll have to keep this from my dope
dealer. He’s a rabid anti-Communist.
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