49:30 minutes (23.76 MB)
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One day in the 1940s, the New York Times carried an article about man nobody had ever heard of, a man who had been living in a boarding house right here on Asylum Hill in Hartford.
The man had been unfit for military service and had spent the years of World War II working at United Aircraft and writing plays. And then, in a single day, two of the biggest producers on Broadway optioned two of this solitary unknown man's plays.
The man was named Robert E. McEnroe and he was my father. One of those two plays actually made it to Broadway and then, years later, a second. Playwrights are all very different, but if there is a single thread running through most of them, I would guess it's a sense that things have, generally, not turned out right and that there is something to be gained from having others say the words again, if not to mend the crack then at least to behold it from a safer vantage point.