Class of 29 | Page 3

preoccupied, KEN makes a finishing touch with
color brush, then turns his board down to a more vertical position and
backs off, surveying his work.
KEN. Take a squint at that, Tippy.
[TIPPY carefully turns iron on end and steps over to look at drawing.]
TIPPY. H'm. Very charming. Very charming. If Comrade Stalin could
see that he would order one for each member of his harem.
KEN. That's a bum joke. Not even Hearst has accused Stalin of
irregularity in his private life.
TIPPY. Sorry. That comes of my not reading Hearst.
KEN. What's more, this drawing's not intended for the Soviets. It's
distinctly American.
TIPPY. But Ken, they like it Americanskee. They approve of the way
we do our living, if not of the way we get it.
KEN. They like our gadgets. The plans I sent to Moscow were all
American inside. But the exteriors were different.
TIPPY. [Slaps him on shoulder and returns to pants pressing.] Well,
keep at it, old man. All things come to those who work while they wait.

KEN. Work. I just do this to keep from going nuts.
TIPPY. O. K. Keep occupied. American recovery may yet prove
speedier than Soviet red tape.
KEN. I've given up hope of hearing from Moscow. It's been five
months ...
TIPPY. Make allowances for bureaucracy, Ken.
They're in such a hurry over there they haven't time to do anything.
KEN. [Starts to remove drawing.] I don't want Martin to see this. He'd
never forgive me if he knew I'd quit working on stuff for Russia.
TIPPY. Hi, Ted! Give a look on your fellow artist's work.
[KEN stands aside, TED rises politely, keeping finger in place in book
and looking at drawing briefly.]
TED. [Indifferently.] It's very nice.
[He goes back to couch and his book, KEN removes drawing and rolls
it up. TIPPY finishes pants and cuts off iron, MARTIN'S voice heard in
hall, singing.]
MARTIN. Belaya armeya chornee barone Snova gotovyat nam tsarskee
trone [MARTIN enters, marching and singing.] No ot tigee doe
bretanskeye Morye [Stamps and accents each syllable.] Anneya
krasnaya vsekh seelnaye.
TIPPY. Jesus, Martin, why don't you get Billy Rose to write a new
song for the Red Army?
MARTIN. As soon as Ken learns Krasnaya Armeya I'll teach him the
International.
TIPPY. I can bellyache the Armeya better now than he can.

MARTIN. Damned pity you won't study Russian with us. You have a
natural gift for languages.
TIPPY. The reason Russian is easy for me is because I never learned
the alphabet.
KEN. Boy, what an alphabet!
MARTIN. [Snapping his fingers.] Da, da, da--ah, be, ve, ge.
TIPPY. [Picking up book.] Ya, ya, ya,--vas ist das? Das ist ein buch.
KEN. Da, da, da,--chto etto takoye? Etto kneega.
MARTIN. Fine. Let's go. [Holds up pencil.] Chto etto takoe?
KEN. Etta karandash.
MARTIN. [Stands book on table.] Chto?
KEN. Kneega stoeet na stolom.
MARTIN. [Throws book under table.] Gdye kneega?
KEN. Kneega pod stalom.
MARTIN. Great! Now make a sentence of your own.
KEN. [Lamely.] Tovarisch Stalin ... [Stalls.]
TIPPY. [Cutting in smartly.] Krasnaya armeya pod stalom. [TIPPY
hangs pants on chair back, and puts away ironing paraphernalia.]
[MARTIN goes to book shelf and gets Russian reader and dictionary.]
MARTIN. I've only a few minutes. But we can do half a page. We'll
never get it unless we keep at it eternally.
KEN. For eternity you mean.

MARTIN. You're doing fine with the reading. It'll help you no end
when you get to Russia.
KEN. God, what faith you have!
MARTIN. Sure you're going to Russia. They have millions of buildings
to build, and they can't train architects fast enough. [Finds place in
book.]
[KEN hesitates.]
KEN. I'm not kidding myself.--I've been doing this more to help you.
MARTIN. Listen, Ken. Even if you don't go, you should know Russian
so you can read Soviet architectural journals. The years we wasted on
dead languages!--Russia's alive. They're doing things, new things, big
things! Russian is the language of the next great sweep in world
progress.
TIPPY. Sez you.
MARTIN. You read the New York Times. Where does the real news
come from?
TIPPY. That depends on who is shooting which.
MARTIN. Shooting isn't news. War isn't news. War is old--atavistic, a
confession of failure, evidence of retrogression. News deals with new
things: progress, science, art, invention, the conquest of nature. That's
real news. And where is it coming from today?
TIPPY. All right, all right. When you have learned six thousand more
verbs, each with a hundred irregular forms, then you can read it in
Pravda.
[TIPPY carries board out to kitchen, MARTIN sits at table, KEN with
him. MARTIN finds place in book and points to a word.]
KEN. [Slowly, pronouncing all syllables in monotone, as TIPPY

enters.] Al-yek-tree-feet-see-row-von-nuim ...
MARTIN. [In