I stand second to no one in my fascination for the legends about King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. But on this one occasion I would like to celebrate a different Round Table . . . the one at the Algonquin Hotel on West 44th Street in New York. I love wit, and in the roaring 1920’s there were no greater wits than the writers and critics who gathered over lunch at the Algonquin. What a colorful (and brilliant) cast of characters!
Here’s how it all began. In 1919, soldiers were returning from World War I, “the war to end all wars.” Among these were some of the most talented writers of their generation. And this included the already well-known Sergeant Alexander Woollcott, drama critic of the New York Times. Several publicists planned a roast for Woollcott, a welcome home luncheon at the Algonquin Hotel. The banners on the wall intentionally misspelled his name in a variety of ways, and everyone had a “smashing time.” As the event was ending, a voice was heard to say, “Why don’t we do this every day?” The motion was seconded, and for the next ten years luncheons were held five days a week, sometimes six. The attendees varied somewhat from day to day, but usually included:
Among the Regulars:
Franklin P. Adams Columnist and poet often called F.P.A.
Robert Benchley Humorist and Actor
Heywood Broun Columnist
Marc Connelly Playwright
George S. Kaufman Playwright
Dorothy Parker Poet and Short Story Writer
Harold Ross Founder of The New Yorker
Robert E. Sherwood Author and Playwright
Alexander Woollcott Critic and Journalist
Among the Irregulars:
Regulars:
Edna Ferber Novelist (Showboat,” “Giant”)
Margaret Leech Short Story Writer and Historian*
Herman Mankiewicz Screenwriter
Deems Taylor Composer
John V.A. Weaver Poet and Screenwriter
You’ll note that Margaret Leech is listed with an asterisk. That’s because I want to highlight a point of personal privilege. Margaret won two Pulitzer Prizes for History, writing from her apartment at 36 West 12th Street in Greenwich Village. She ultimately actually married a Pulitzer. Now flash forward five decades. Knowing nothing of past occupants, I rented the same apartment and lived there for a number of years. A kind of nice connection with the Algonquin crowd, but the Pulitzer people never came back.
* * *
Of the Round Table members it is said, “They loved the English language, and they (mostly) liked each other.” Let’s look at some of the most famous.
* * *
Franklin P. Adams was a senior member of the Round Table and New York’s most popular newspaper columnist. He regularly promoted contributions from his friends and associates, especially the poems of Dorothy Parker. (She said, “He raised me from a couplet.”) His own poems were lively and personal.
My desk is cleared of the litter of ages;
Before me glitter the fair white pages;
My fountain pen is clean and filled,
And the noise of the office has long been stilled.
Roget’s Thesaurus is at my hand,
And I’m ready to do some work that’s grand,
Dignified, eminent, great, momentous,
Memorable, worthy of note, portentous,
Beautiful, paramount, vital, prime,
Stirring, eventful, august, sublime.
For this is the way, I have read and heard,
That authors look for the fitting word.
All of the proud ingredients mine
To build, like Marlowe, the mighty line.
But never a line from my new-filled pen
That couldn’t be done by a child of ten.
Oh, how did Shelley and how did Keats
Weave magic words on the fair white sheets
Under conditions that, were they mine,
I couldn’t bear? And I’d just resign.
Yet Milton wrote passable literature
Under conditions I couldn’t endure.
Coleridge and Chatterton did their stuff
Over a road that I’d christen rough.
Wordsworth and—soft!—could it be that they
Waited until they had something to say?
* * *
Aleck Woollcott didn’t write poetry, but he was master of the muse at the Round Table. Rotund and acerbic, he made the English language his personal servant and was never late with a quip. Harpo Marx one day turned up in a battered Model T Ford and declared it was his town car. “What town is that?” asked Aleck. “Pompeii?”
Woollcott complained when he was writing Opening Night theatre reviews he sometimes had no more than twenty minutes to compose the piece. He said, “It’s like engaging Balto to rush a relief supply of macaroons to Nome.”
And speaking of dogs, he said of his poodle: “Considered as a one-man dog, she’s a flop. In her fidelity to me she’s like that girl in France who was true to the 26th Infantry.”
* * *
Unique among the Round Table poets was John V.A. Weaver, largely forgotten today except to film buffs who credit him with writing one of the greatest silent films, “The Crowd,” directed by King Vidor. He worked in a poetic style called “Slang Poetry” or “Americanese.” Here’s a piece that I suspect might not bring joy to Perth Amboy.
I wonder where it could of went to . . .
I know I seen it just as plain:
A beautiful, big fairy city
Shinin’ through the rain.
Not a single soul was near us
Standin’ out there on the bow;
When we passed another ferry
He says, sudden, “Now!”
Then I looked where he was pointin’ . . .
I seen a magic city rise . . .
Gleamin’ windows, like when fields is
Full o’ fireflies.
Towers and palaces in the clouds, like . . .
Real as real, but nice and blurred.
“Oh’. . . I starts in—but he whispers,
“Hush! Don’t say a word!
“Don’t look long, and don’t ask questions;
Lest you make the fairies sore . . .
They won’t let you even see it
Never any more.
“Don’t you ever try to go there . . .
It’s to dream of, not to find.
Lovely things like that is always
Mostly in your mind.”
Somethin’ made me say, “It’s Jersey!”
Somethin’ mean. He hollers, “Hell!
Now you done it, sure as shootin’ . . .
Now you bust the spell!”
Sure enough, the towers and castles
Went like lightin’ outa sight . . .
Nothin’ there but plain ol’ Jersey
On a drizzly night.
* * *
* * *
The one person the Round Tablers all looked up to was Robert E. Sherwood. He stood six foot seven. But they could look up to his achievements as well. A combat veteran in World War I, he became part of a legendary writing trio along with Robert Benchley and Dorothy Parker at Vanity Fair. He won three Pulitzer Prizes for plays and another for biography; he later won an Oscar for screenwriting “The Best Years of Our Lives;” and he was a prime speechwriter for Franklin Roosevelt. I encountered his poetry when, many years ago, I worked as a musical accompanist for silent films. A lighthearted verse called “The Organist” still delights me.
His right hand trills the “Miserere”
The while his left plays “Tipperary.”
And as he drones each mellow chord,
He looks unutterably bored.
He see the villain throttle Hannah,
And steps upon the Vox Humana,
Or if the Gal falls for Another,
He sobs, “Don’t Break the News to Mother;”
And when it all ends happily,
He pounds out “Hands Across the Sea.”
I think I’d rather play the organ
Than be Babe Ruth or J.P. Morgan.
* * *
Sherwood and Weaver weren’t the only ones who got caught up in films. Marc Connelly and Dorothy Parker wrote titles for silent films. Robert Benchley starred in “The Treasurer’s Report,” the first all-talking film to be shown in theaters. It was shot in Astoria, Queens which has remained a production center to this day. George S. Kaufman wrote “Animal Crackers” for the Marx Brothers. Herman Mankiewicz made his mark co-writing with Orson Welles the extraordinary “Citizen Kane.” Dorothy Parker moved to Hollywood for a time and wrote a poem she called “The Passionate Screen Writer to His Love.”
Oh come, my love, and join with me
The oldest infant industry.
Come seek the bourne of palm and pearl,
The lovely land of Boy-Meets-Girl,
Come grace this lotus-laden shore,
This Isle of Do-What’s Been-Done-Before.
Come, curb the new, and watch the old win,
Out where the streets are paved with Goldwyn.
* * *
* * *
What kind of exchanges might you expect at a Round Table gathering? These are typical:
Heywood Broun Drinking is a slow death.
Robert Benchley: So who’s in a hurry?
* * *
Alexander Woollcott: Ah, what is so rare as a Woollcott First Edition?
Franklin P. Adams: A Woollcott Second Edition.
* * *
Margaret Leech Your dog isn’t well?
Dorothy Parker She caught a social disease from using a public
lamp-post
* * *
And word games were an important part of any Round Table assemblage. Especially taking a word and dropping it into a sentence where it doesn’t seem to belong. Take the word “meretricious.” One Christmas Franklin P. Adams was wishing everybody “a meretricious and a Happy New Year.” And Dorothy Parker was challenged to create a sentence that includes the word “horticulture. Her response? “You may lead a horticulture, but you can’t make her think.”
* * *
John F. Kennedy once said: “When I was growing up I had three wishes — I wanted to be a Lindbergh-type hero, learn Chinese, and become a member of the Algonquin Round Table.” He had to settle for the Presidency.
VIDEO. We have saved our presentation of Dorothy Parker poems for this video, where Jack Lemmon, Jill Tanner and Cynthia Herman offer an array of Parker poems of various shapes and sizes.
Before, however, there is a curious story about Dorothy that occurred after her death in 1967. There was some confusion about where her ashes should be sent. So much so that they went missing for nearly twenty years. After continued searching they finally turned up in a jar at the back of a shelf in her lawyer’s office. Seems to me she might have written:
I’ve been shelved
On my final journey.
Time to consider
A new attorney.
CLICK ON THIS LINK FOR VIDEO: ALGONQUIN ROUND TABLE
