Song Lyric of the Day (Mel Brooks, With Rediscovered Lines for ‘Springtime for Hitler’)

“Maybe other men have vigor and dash
But other men don't have that mustache.” —Oscar- and Tony-winning American comic actor-writer-director Mel Brooks, quoted by Jason Zinoman, “Mel Brooks Donates His Archives to Museum,” The New York Times, May 14, 2026

At some point before the film The Producers was released, Mel Brooks decided to discard the above lyrics for the tune that is its uproarious climax.

I’m not sure why he did so. The only reason I can come up with is that “Springtime for Hitler” already had so many hilarious lines that the audience would never remember this couplet for the ages.

These lines, by the way, were part of the first draft of his Oscar-winning screenplay, along with other treasures from his multi-decade career now given to the National Comedy Center in Jamestown, NY—a wonderful museum that also contains contributions from George Carlin, Lily Tomlin, Lenny Bruce, Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, and Brooks’ longtime friend, Carl Reiner.

This Day in Baseball History (Willie Mays Clubs 1st HR)

May 28, 1951—Decisively ending an 0-12 hitless streak that seemed to confirm his initial fears about joining the major leagues, 20-year-old New York Giants rookie Willie Mays hit the first of his 660 career home runs.

In his first at-bat at the team’s home, the Polo Grounds, their newly installed center fielder smacked an offering from star Boston Braves southpaw Warren Spahn over the left-field fence, for what was also his first career hit.

My blog post from 10 years ago briefly reviewed the amazing career of the man that many have proclaimed the best all-around ballplayer of all time. But I think it’s worth spending a little time here on his introduction to the big leagues, as well as how it compared and contrasted with that of rookie and legendary Hall of Famer, Mickey Mantle.

These two were not the only future Hall of Famers to experience difficulties when first exposed to the big leagues. Others, such as Willie Stargell, Brooks Robinson, Pie Traynor, and Roberto Clemente, had relatively subpar campaigns even over their first five seasons, as demonstrated in this 2012 Jim McLennan post on the “AZ Snake Pit” blog.

But the spotlight shone more intensely in New York, the media and sports capital of America—and Mays wasn’t yet over his yips at the plate. He then proceeded to go on another hitless streak: 0-13. At this turning point in his career, as he sat sobbing in front of his locker, he found reassurance from a manager not otherwise known for being soft-hearted: Leo Durocher.

Though he had clashed with Jackie Robinson while managing the Brooklyn Dodgers, Durocher took a gentler approach with this less mature but still immensely talented player now under his wing.

When Mays repeated what he had told him previously while in the Giants’ top minor-league club, the Minneapolis Millers—i.e., that he doubted his ability to hit major-league pitching—Durocher answered, “As long as I’m the manager of the Giants, you are my center fielder. … You are the best center fielder I’ve ever looked at.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, and justifying his manager’s confidence, Mays went on a 14-for-33 tear. He sparked the team’s thrilling pennant run that season, winning Rookie of the Year honors with 20 home runs, 68 RBIs, and a .274 batting average in 121 games—not to mention playing dazzling defense.

There couldn’t have been a more dramatic contrast to another much-heralded outfielder that year, Mantle. Though some veteran New York Yankees like Hank Bauer sought to make him comfortable, the “Commerce [Oklahoma] Comet” was well aware that he was regarded as an interloper and ultimate threat to job security by the Bombers’ proud but fading superstar fixture in center field, Joe DiMaggio.

In contrast to Durocher, Yankee manager Casey Stengel—after successfully overriding the advice of general manager George Weiss that their hot young prospect was not ready for the majors—felt the need to send Mantle back to the minors when his strikeouts began to mount.

It’s now part of Bomber legend how a tough-love visit from Mantle’s father Mutt led his son to surmount his funk and for Stengel to call him back up—as the team’s current rightfielder and centerfielder-in-waiting—in late August. Mantle ended the season hitting .267 with 13 home runs, 65 RBIs, and a .792 OPS.

While Stengel managed Mantle for the first 10 years of his career, Durocher only benefited from having Mays in his lineup for three. (The “Say Hey Kid” served in the Army from May 1952 through March 1954, causing him to miss most of one season and all of another, and his manager was fired after a third-place finish in 1954.)

Nevertheless, that short period of time was enough to make the crusty Durocher speak glowingly about him for the rest of his life, as seen in this passage from his autobiography, Nice Guys Finish Last:

“If somebody came up and hit .450, stole 100 bases, and performed a miracle in the field every day, I’d still look you right in the eye and tell you that Willie was better. He could do the five things you have to do to be a superstar: hit, hit with power, run, throw and field. And he had the other magic ingredient that turns a superstar into a super Superstar. Charisma. He lit up a room when he came in. He was a joy to be around.”

If Durocher served as a kind of proud surrogate father to his young superstar, Stengel often acted as a demanding, frequently disappointed one to his. Early to see Mantle’s immense gifts, he also frequently grew frustrated with him for not paying attention to constructive construction and for not measuring up to a standard for what he could be.

The dissing of his best player may have reached a nadir in 1959, when Stengel listed Hank Bauer, Yogi Berra and Phil Rizzuto as his best players, according to Jane Leavy’s The Last Boy: Mickey Mantle and the End of America's Childhood. Pressed by Bauer about this noticeable exclusion, Stengel answered, “You gave 110 percent every time you were in the lineup.”

I couldn’t finish this post without looking at one particular aspect of this landmark game in the career of Mays.

The at-bat against Spahn was not only an indicator of his future greater greatness, but also a sign of his comfort at the plate against the Hall of Fame hurler. In 253 plate appearances against him, Mays hit 18 homers (the most he accumulated against any pitcher), while batting .305. with a .955 OPS.

Since the run he gave up to Mays was his only one in his 4-1 victory, Spahn took the first round-tripper by Mays in stride, joking later, “For the first 60 feet, that was a hell of a pitch."

I suspect that it was harder for him to accept another he yielded in July 1963, when, on the mound for the Milwaukee Braves, he lost his chance at outdueling the (now San Francisco) Giants’ Juan Marichal in the 16^th inning when, after 16 innings and 201 pitches, he watched his chance at a complete-game shutout disappear through  Mays’ solo HR.

Quote of the Day (Virginia Woolf, After Encountering a Very Important Person in Her Life)

“Not much to my severer taste—florid, moustached, parakeet coloured, with all the supple ease of aristocracy, but not the wit of the artist. She writes fifteen pages a day…knows everyone. But could I ever know her…She is a grenadier; hard; handsome; manly; inclined to double chin.”—English novelist and critic Virginia Woolf (1882-1941), on first meeting novelist and future love Vita Sackville-West [pictured], in a Dec. 21, 1922 entry in The Diary of Virginia Woolf, Volume Two: 1920-1924, edited by Anne Olivier Bell, assisted by Andrew McNeillie (1978)

I think it was one phrase—"florid, moustached, parakeet coloured”—that grabbed my attention in this passage about the stunning androgyne Vita Sackville-West. After this, it was that bit about a new acquaintance who “writes fifteen pages a day.” (I wish I could equal that output!)

I can’t imagine describing anyone this way. But then again, that was part of the acute perception and sensibility of Virginia Woolf.

Quote of the Day (Simon Kuper, on ‘The Little West’)

“[T]he the last meaningful multinational alliance [is] a ‘Little West’ consisting of Europe, including Brexit Britain but minus Hungary, plus Canada. The Little West is a herbivorous but surprisingly solid bloc, terrified into co-operation by outside threats….The Little West has an ideology of sorts, probably shared by a slight majority of its citizens: democracy, individual freedoms and nostalgia for the old order. The other powers have no belief system beyond an all-purpose aggressive nationalism. China's Communist party isn't communist, and Russian and American action bounces around according to the personal whims of Vladimir Putin and [Donald] Trump.”— Columnist Simon Kuper, “A New World Disorder,” The Financial Times, Jan. 31-Feb. 1, 2026

Quote of the Day (Mary McCarthy, on Making 'A Realistic Decision')

“If someone tells you he is going to make 'a realistic decision,' you immediately understand that he has resolved to do something bad.”—American novelist and essayist Mary McCarthy (1912-1989), “American Realist Playwrights,” in On the Contrary: Articles of Belief, 1946-1961 (1961)

Review: The NT Live Production of Arthur Miller’s ‘All My Sons,’ at the Barrymore Film Center, Fort Lee NJ

Under the NT Live banner, Britain’s National Theatre has made available live productions to cinemas around the world. Last year, a movie house not far from me, the Barrymore Film Center in Fort Lee NJ, showed a startling production of Shakespeare’s Macbeth starring Ralph Fiennes and Indira Varma. As I am unlikely to visit the UK any time soon, I hoped for another such production soon.

It came a few days ago, as NT Live presented the play that started Arthur Miller in 1946 on his career as the bard of modern age tragedy: All My Sons.

Originally, the Barrymore had promoted a 2019 NT Live production starring Bill Pullman and Sally Field. I’m not sure why, but the theater ended up showing one from the 2025-26 season at Wyndham’s Theatre in London’s West End, with Bryan Cranston and Marianne Jean-Baptist in the same roles.

With all due respect to Pullman and Field, it’s hard to imagine how they could equal, let alone surpass, the two more recent leads for shattering impact.

Not all of director Ivo van Hove’s attempts to bring freshness to taken-for-granted classics are well advised, as I noted over the weekend about how he had (mis)handled Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler. 

As I began watching this performance, I wondered how the elements of this stage design—a large tree, fallen overnight; an unadorned house front; a lit overhead circular portal—would aid or detract from this viewing experience.

But his stripped-down production of Miller’s first Broadway success enables contemporary audiences to focus on his talented performers, in a way that theatergoers more than three-quarters of a century ago, fresh from reading about war profiteers and experiencing losses in the struggle against totalitarianism, were unlikely to have done.

For me, the revelation here was Marianne Jean-Baptiste, whom I had only seen previously in her Oscar-nominated turn in Secrets and Lies. As Kate Keller, she seems to find untapped reserves of fury and sorrow as a wife and mother unable to deal with the realizations that the crime of her munitions-manufacturer husband and the wartime disappearance of her beloved older son Larry might be linked in some way.

Though Bryan Cranston is familiar to TV viewers stateside from the long-running series Breaking Bad and Malcolm in the Middle, he shows further evidence here that the versatility he displayed onstage in Tony-winning roles in Network and All the Way was no fluke.

He masterfully strips away the thin membrane of respectability surrounding his protagonist, Joe Keller: Seemingly cleared of charges of having okayed a shipment of defective parts leading to the deaths of 21 pilots, he suddenly finds himself facing the unwelcome appearance on his doorstep of the two children of the business partner on whom he laid responsibility for the transgression.

The English actress-playwright Hayley Squires brings the requisite amount of sweetness and steel as Larry’s fiancee, Ann Deever, who, as the first step in turning the page with an engagement to the Kellers’ younger son Chris, must find a way to get Kate to stop denying that Larry is dead. 

And Tom Glynn-Carney is sullen and fierce as Ann’s brother George, who confronts the Kellers with the truth they can no longer avoid.

In some ways, Paapa Essiedu has the trickiest role as Chris, the surviving son at sea: drawn to but bashful about courting Ann, chafing at inheriting from his father a business that leaves him uninspired (“If I have to grub for money all day long at least at evening I want it beautiful”), and loving his father while struggling with the vague sense that something is wrong with the parent. He brings fire to his late moment of revelation and resolution.

The first in a quartet of Miller tragedies (followed by Death of a Salesman, The Crucible, and A View From the Bridge) that traced American socio-political dysfunction to a father’s failure to live up to a moral code, All My Sons has been served well by this production that highlights why we are still dealing with the playwright’s theme of corporate irresponsibility and the remorseless pressures of capitalism.

The Barrymore has also done well by bringing it to a select but appreciative audience. I look forward to its NT Live production next month: John Millington Synge’s tragicomedy of Irish country life, The Playboy of the Western World.

Quote of the Day (Louisa May Alcott, on Volunteering as a Civil War Nurse)

“The sight of several stretchers, each with its legless, armless, or desperately wounded occupant, entering my ward, admonished me that I was there to work, not to wonder or weep; so I corked up my feelings, and returned to the path of duty, which was rather ‘a hard road to travel’ just then. The house had been a hotel before hospitals were needed, and many of the doors still bore their old names; some not so inappropriate as might be imagined, for my ward was in truth a ball-room, if gun-shot wounds could christen it. Forty beds were prepared, many already tenanted by tired men who fell down anywhere, and drowsed till the smell of food roused them. Round the great stove was gathered the dreariest group I ever saw–ragged, gaunt and pale, mud to the knees, with bloody bandages untouched since put on days before; many bundled up in blankets, coats being lost or useless; and all wearing that disheartened look which proclaimed defeat,  more plainly than any telegram of the [General Ambrose] Burnside blunder. I pitied them so much, I dared not speak to them, though, remembering all they had been through since the route at Fredericksburg, I yearned to serve the dreariest of them all.”— American fiction writer—and Civil War volunteer nurse— Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888), “Hospital Sketches,” first published in 1863, reprinted in A Strange Life: Selected Essays, edited by Liz Rosenberg (2023)

The image accompanying this post shows where Little Women author Alcott served as a nurse: United States Hospital (formerly the Union Hotel) in Georgetown. Though her service only amounted to several weeks starting in December 1862, she became in her way as much of a casualty of the conflict as the men she tended.

Bad ventilation, unhealthy food, and 12-hour shifts undermined her health, as did the medication she was given: calomel, which we now know was a poisonous mercury. According to Rachel Williams’ February 2016 blog post for the National Museum of Civil War Medicine, the writer “was never fully well thereafter.”

Memorial Day originated following the Civil War as a communal remembrance for those who fell during that conflict. Today is an appropriate time to recall not only the sacrifice of those who suffered and perished in these and other American wars, but the nurses like Alcott who endured their own traumas in tending to them.