The Eve of Maxwell Anderson

In a row of remodeled chicken houses on the country estate of Cinemagnate Adolph Zukor, the North Clarkstown (N.Y.) artists and writers colony has operated the most deluxe civilian-defense "depot" in rural America. There, one recent night, lofty Playwright Maxwell Anderson dutifully watched for enemy planes, patiently waited for alarms, idly surveyed stocks of tools, food and medicine.

Playwright Anderson had just returned from watching the progress of U.S. soldiers in North Africa. At night's end he wrote in the logbook: "There is no longer the slightest danger of bombing or invasion. . . . Let us get rid of this wasteful and retarding defense setup of ours."

Fellow defense wardens expressed shock. Playwright Anderson then unburdened himself in verse:

. . . You ask what other task

Would better suit the hour

Than lying low in the old depot

Where lethargy is in flower?

. . .

Picking beans, scrubbing floors,

Oiling machines, running mowers . . .

Cooking meals, canning corn,

Grinding steels, getting born,

Washing dishes, trimming vines,

Catching fishes, painting signs . . .

Fighting, writing, digging, rigging,

Hiving, wiving, nursing, versing. . . .

Yes, almost any legal occupation

Will better serve the time and nation.

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