And the actors? We couldn’t sleep that night. We straggled north through the silent streets—Harold Clurman among us—found a Child’s that was open all night, and lingered over our suppers, not talking too much, stunned by what had occurred. None of us was ever to be the same again, and I suppose we all knew it. But we had no idea how far and how fast this change would go. Cliff was to become a god. The next morning, I’d arrived. The review that would appear in the New Masses called me the “Proletariat Thunderbolt.” (Who was ever less working class, more middle class, than I? But it never occurred to me to privately challenge this description. I was proud of it.) The company as a whole became a model for what a left theatre should and must be.