"It's all been arranged for us.
"His views will be ours,
"We shall pervade the earth like an attar . . .
"Smelling of Fish . . .
"Of hail-fellow straw-hat pomposity, passing out hot dogs and free seeds with a glad hand . . .
"For us . . . the hair shirt, the crown of poison ivy, the shame . . ."
So wrote Playwright Maxwell Anderson last May, in a bitter poetic outburst for which the New Yorker paid him $180. What had moved Maxwell Anderson to sad song was a...