6
Words Without Music
FEATURE STORY
the story goes, Kaufman accompanied Ryskind to the second
night and, in the back of the house, turned to his colleague and
said, “Next time, let’s do one for ourselves.” They set their am-
bitions higher, moving from the shadows of presidential power
straight into the thick of it. Their new
show, provisionally titled Tweedledee, was to
be about a running battle between two in-
distinguishable political parties over a new
national anthem. They approached the
Gershwins, who were suitably intrigued
but were contracted to go to Hollywood
in late 1930 to write the songs for the lm
Delicious. Kaufman and Ryskind agreed to
write a scenario that the brothers could
take with them to the West Coast.
The librettists soon realized that their
plot had only a limited amount of gas in its
tank. Sooner or later—as Ryskind pointed
out to the unsentimental Kaufman’s cha-
grin, no doubt—some boy-and-girl stu
had to make an appearance in their po-
litical satire. In fact, it was to be central
to their farce. The anthem idea was jet-
tisoned completely and a new story and
new title emerged: Of Thee I Sing, about a
presidential candidate and his rocky and
romantic road to the White House. John P.
Wintergreen (played by the popular lead-
ing man William Gaxton), a political gure
so vacuous he can only run on the “love”
platform, jilts the curvaceous winner of a
beauty contest concocted to gain media at-
tention and marries the much more sen-
sible Mary Turner (the musical comedy
debut of Hollywood actress Lois Moran).
Wintergreen is barely inaugurated before
the clouds of impeachment swirl around
his administration, whipped up by the jilted contest winner
and a voracious media.
Kaufman and Ryskind were abetted in their new venture—
although they might have wished otherwise—by the Depres-
sion. By late 1930, the nation’s spirits were such that they could
be buoyed by sheer escapism or roused to bitter laughter by
incisive sarcasm, and the new show provided both. Franklin D.
Roosevelt was still eleven months away from being elected and
the playing eld was littered with incompetent politicians. The
book writers took for their models Warren G. Harding, who
was elected, it was said, only because “he
looked presidential,” and Mayor Jimmy
Walker, whose song-and-dance bonhomie
was co-opted for Wintergreen. (Could it be
coincidental they shared the same initials?)
The book writers also added a charac-
ter that would epitomize the irrelevance of
career politicians: the thoroughly befuddled
Alexander P. Throttlebottom (crafted for
the endearing comedian Victor Moore),
who becomes vice president on the ticket by
stumbling into a smoke-lled hotel room.
Throttlebottom anticipates, by almost a
year, the indelible comment by John Nance
Garner, FDR’s veep, that the vice presidency
wasn’t “worth a bucket of warm piss.” In the
musical, Throttlebottom requires a basic
tutorial from Wintergreen on the mantle of
the presidency. Wintergreen advises him
that you only make a speech when you want
the stock market to go down. “What do you
do when you want the stock market to go
up?” asks Throttlebottom.” “Boy, wouldn’t
I like to know!” responds Wintergreen.
Of Thee I Sing was also a show nearly
completely conceived in the service of nar-
rative, more than a decade before Oklahoma!
One of its most remarkable qualities is how
the landscape of national grass roots poli-
tics is supplanted by Lower East Side elec-
tioneering in Ira Gershwin’s lyrics. In his
panegyric to Wintergreen, he writes: “He’s
the man the people choose / Loves the
Irish and the Jews!” References to blintzes, alter kackers, and the
Cohns abound in the score. The Gershwins fully Americanized
the achievements of Gilbert and Sullivan, creating a Delancey
Street equivalent of G & S’s Titipu where the immigrant
experience of New York City was exponentially transposed
to a national level.