THE JAZZ SINGER BY SAMSON RAPHAELSON (Based on his story, “The Day of Atonement,” in _Everybody’s Magazine_, January, 1922.) NEW YORK BRENTANO’S PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1925, by SAMSON RAPHAELSON All rights, including stage, motion picture, and amateur production, are reserved. No performance or public reading may be given without the written consent of the author, or his recognized agents. Application should be made to the author, in care of his publishers. _Printed in the United States of America_ To Albert Lewis _A gentleman from the East Side and a scholar from Broadway_ _FOREWORD_ I wish to express my gratitude to Albert Lewis, who directed and produced “The Jazz Singer” and who, in the long hours of many days and nights, gave values to the play and stage wisdom to me which I hope never to forget; to Stuart Sherman, who encouraged me when my faith lagged; and to the members of the cast, especially George Jessel and Sam Jaffe, for the many happy touches they have contributed. Samson Raphaelson. _PREFACE_ American life, in this year 1925, consists essentially of surfaces. You may point out New England communities and say here is depth, and I will answer, true, but New England is dead so far as the America of now is concerned. You may show me an integrity in the West where a century ago pioneers came, and I will answer, that integrity resides with the elders and not with the mightier young ones. He who wishes to picture today’s America must do it kaleidoscopically; he must show you a vivid contrast of surfaces, raucous, sentimental, egoistical, vulgar, ineffably busy—surfaces whirling in a dance which sometimes is a dance to Aphrodite and more frequently a dance to Jehovah. In seeking a symbol of the vital chaos of America’s soul, I find no more adequate one than jazz. Here you have the rhythm of frenzy staggering against a symphonic background—a background composed of lewdness, heart’s delight, soul-racked madness, monumental boldness, exquisite humility, but principally prayer. I hear jazz, and I am given a vision of cathedrals and temples collapsing and, silhouetted against the setting sun, a solitary figure, a lost soul, dancing grotesquely on the ruins.... Thus do I see the jazz singer.