READ this photograph with me. Here is a gathering of old friends who’ve been through a lot together and earned a rest. We’d just arrived at the Pinebrook Country Club, reassembled for another summer of work. Look closer: It’s probably hindsight, but I’d say that the passion that had once made us so open to Harold’s exhortations about what our theatre might be if we willed it and worked for it, that fever had cooled. We weren’t “hungry” anymore. For the most part, we seem calmer, maybe nicer, certainly more relaxed, ready to talk and laugh together, listen to music, play tennis, and party, even work reasonably well without quarreling. But is that what’s required to hold a group like this together? Isn’t an edge of fanaticism needed? Does that level of desperation and desire accrue to none but the young? It would seem so. Only men of genius, once past a certain age, look as if they’d kill for their work. As for the rest of mankind, what more to ask of life than to gather on a sunny June day and enjoy the company of good friends?