Death of a Salesman

  [WILLY stares in silence.]

  BERNARD: Willy?

  WILLY [with a strong edge of resentment in his voice]: Yeah, he came to Boston. What about it?

  BERNARD: Well, just that when he came back—I’ll never forget this, it always mystifies me. Because I’d thought so well of Biff, even though he’d always taken advantage of me. I loved him, Willy, y’know? And he came back after that month and took his sneakers—remember those sneakers with “University of Virginia” printed on them? He was so proud of those, wore them every day. And he took them down in the cellar, and burned them up in the furnace. We had a fist fight. It lasted at least half an hour. Just the two of us, punching each other down the cellar, and crying right through it. I’ve often thought of how strange it was that I knew he’d given up his life. What happened in Boston, Willy?

  [WILLY looks at him as at an intruder.]

  BERNARD: I just bring it up because you asked me.

  WILLY [angrily]: Nothing. What do you mean, “What happened?” What’s that got to do with anything?

  BERNARD: Well, don’t get sore.

  WILLY: What are you trying to do, blame it on me? If a boy lays down is that my fault?

  BERNARD: Now, Willy, don’t get—

  WILLY: Well, don’t—don’t talk to me that way! What does that mean, “What happened?”

  [CHARLEY enters. He is in his vest, and he carries a bottle of bourbon.]

  CHARLEY: Hey, you’re going to miss that train. [He waves the bottle.]

  BERNARD: Yeah, I’m going. [He takes the bottle.] Thanks, Pop. [He picks up his rackets and bag.] Good-bye, Willy, and don’t worry about it. You know, “If at first you don’t succeed . . .”

  WILLY: Yes, I believe in that.

  BERNARD: But sometimes, Willy, it’s better for a man just to walk away.

  WILLY: Walk away?

  BERNARD: That’s right.

  WILLY: But if you can’t walk away?

  BERNARD [after a slight pause]: I guess that’s when it’s tough.

  [Extending his hand] Good-bye, Willy.

  WILLY [shaking BERNARD’S hand]: Good-bye, boy.

  CHARLEY [an arm on BERNARD’S shoulder]: How do you like this kid? Gonna argue a case in front of the Supreme Court.

  BERNARD [protesting]: Pop!

  WILLY [ genuinely shocked, pained, and happy]: No! The Supreme Court!

  BERNARD: I gotta run. ’Bye, Dad!

  CHARLEY: Knock ’em dead, Bernard!

  [BERNARD goes off.]

  WILLY [as CHARLEY takes out his wallet]: The Supreme Court! And he didn’t even mention it!

  CHARLEY [counting out money on the desk]: He don’t have to—he’s gonna do it.

  WILLY: And you never told him what to do, did you? You never took any interest in him.

  CHARLEY: My salvation is that I never took any interest in anything. There’s some money—fifty dollars. I got an accountant inside.

  WILLY: Charley, look . . . [With difficulty] I got my insurance to pay. If you can manage it—I need a hundred and ten dollars.

  [CHARLEY doesn’t reply for a moment; merely stops moving.]

  WILLY: I’d draw it from my bank but Linda would know, and I . . .

  CHARLEY: Sit down, Willy.

  WILLY [moving toward the chair]: I’m keeping an account of everything, remember. I’ll pay every penny back. [He sits.]

  CHARLEY: Now listen to me, Willy.

  WILLY: I want you to know I appreciate . . .

  CHARLEY [sitting down on the table]: Willy, what’re you doin’? What the hell is goin’ on in your head?

  WILLY: Why? I’m simply . . .

  CHARLEY: I offered you a job. You can make fifty dollars a week. And I won’t send you on the road.

  WILLY: I’ve got a job.

  CHARLEY: Without pay? What kind of a job is a job without pay? [He rises.] Now, look, kid, enough is enough. I’m no genius but I know when I’m being insulted.

  WILLY: Insulted!

  CHARLEY: Why don’t you want to work for me?

  WILLY: What’s the matter with you? I’ve got a job.

  CHARLEY: Then what’re you walkin’ in here every week for?

  WILLY [ getting up]: Well, if you don’t want me to walk in here—

  CHARLEY: I am offering you a job.

  WILLY: I don’t want your goddam job!

  CHARLEY: When the hell are you going to grow up?

  WILLY [ furiously]: You big ignoramus, if you say that to me again I’ll rap you one! I don’t care how big you are! [He’s ready to fight.]

  [Pause.]

  CHARLEY [kindly, going to him]: How much do you need, Willy?

  WILLY: Charley, I’m strapped, I’m strapped. I don’t know what to do. I was just fired.

  CHARLEY: Howard fired you?

  WILLY: That snotnose. Imagine that? I named him. I named him Howard.

  CHARLEY: Willy, when’re you gonna realize that them things don’t mean anything? You named him Howard, but you can’t sell that. The only thing you got in this world is what you can sell. And the funny thing is that you’re a salesman, and you don’t know that.

  WILLY: I’ve always tried to think otherwise, I guess. I always felt that if a man was impressive, and well liked, that nothing—

  CHARLEY: Why must everybody like you? Who liked J. P. Morgan? Was he impressive? In a Turkish bath he’d look like a butcher. But with his pockets on he was very well liked. Now listen, Willy, I know you don’t like me, and nobody can say I’m in love with you, but I’ll give you a job because—just for the hell of it, put it that way. Now what do you say?

  WILLY: I—I just can’t work for you, Charley.

  CHARLEY: What’re you, jealous of me?

  WILLY: I can’t work for you, that’s all, don’t ask me why.

  CHARLEY [angered, takes out more bills]: You been jealous of me all your life, you damned fool! Here, pay your insurance. [He puts the money in WILLY’S hand.]

  WILLY: I’m keeping strict accounts.

  CHARLEY: I’ve got some work to do. Take care of yourself. And pay your insurance.

  WILLY [moving to the right]: Funny, y’know? After all the highways, and the trains, and the appointments, and the years, you end up worth more dead than alive.

  CHARLEY: Willy, nobody’s worth nothin’ dead. [After a slight pause] Did you hear what I said?

  [WILLY stands still, dreaming.]

  CHARLEY: Willy!

  WILLY: Apologize to Bernard for me when you see him. I didn’t mean to argue with him. He’s a fine boy. They’re all fine boys, and they’ll end up big—all of them. Someday they’ll all play tennis together. Wish me luck, Charley. He saw Bill Oliver today.

  CHARLEY: Good luck.

  WILLY [on the verge of tears]: Charley, you’re the only friend I got. Isn’t that a remarkable thing? [He goes out.]

  CHARLEY: Jesus!

  [CHARLEY stares after him a moment and follows. All light blacks out. Suddenly raucous music is heard, and a red glow rises behind the screen at right. STANLEY, a young waiter, appears, carrying a table, followed by HAPPY, who is carrying two chairs.]

  STANLEY [putting the table down]: That’s all right, Mr. Loman, I can handle it myself. [He turns and takes the chairs from HAPPY and places them at the table.]

  HAPPY [glancing around]: Oh, this is better.

  STANLEY: Sure, in the front there you’re in the middle of all kinds a noise. Whenever you got a party, Mr. Loman, you just tell me and I’ll put you back here. Y’know, there’s a lotta people they don’t like it private, because when they go out they like to see a lotta action around them because they’re sick and tired to stay in the house by theirself. But I know you, you ain’t from Hackensack. You know what I mean?

  HAPPY [sitting down]: So how’s it coming, Stanley?

  STANLEY: Ah, it’s a dog’s life. I only wish during the war they’d a took me in the Army. I coulda been dead by now.

  HAPPY: My brother’s back, Stanley.

  STANLEY: Oh, h
e come back, heh? From the Far West.

  HAPPY: Yeah, big cattle man, my brother, so treat him right. And my father’s coming too.

  STANLEY: Oh, your father too!

  HAPPY: You got a couple of nice lobsters?

  STANLEY: Hundred percent, big.

  HAPPY: I want them with the claws.

  STANLEY: Don’t worry, I don’t give you no mice. [HAPPY laughs.] How about some wine? It’ll put a head on the meal.

  HAPPY: No. You remember, Stanley, that recipe I brought you from overseas? With the champagne in it?

  STANLEY: Oh, yeah, sure. I still got it tacked up yet in the kitchen. But that’ll have to cost a buck apiece anyways.

  HAPPY: That’s all right.

  STANLEY: What’d you, hit a number or somethin’?

  HAPPY: No, it’s a little celebration. My brother is—I think he pulled off a big deal today. I think we’re going into business together.

  STANLEY: Great! That’s the best for you. Because a family business, you know what I mean?—that’s the best.

  HAPPY: That’s what I think.

  STANLEY: ’Cause what’s the difference? Somebody steals? It’s in the family. Know what I mean? [Sotto voce] Like this bartender here. The boss is goin’ crazy what kinda leak he’s got in the cash register. You put it in but it don’t come out.

  HAPPY [raising his head]: Sh!

  STANLEY: What?

  HAPPY: You notice I wasn’t lookin’ right or left, was I?

  STANLEY: No.

  HAPPY: And my eyes are closed.

  STANLEY: So what’s the—?

  HAPPY: Strudel’s comin’.

  STANLEY [catching on, looks around]: Ah, no, there’s no—[He breaks off as a furred, lavishly dressed girl enters and sits at the next table. Both follow her with their eyes.]

  STANLEY: Geez, how’d ya know?

  HAPPY: I got radar or something. [Staring directly at her profile] Oooooooo . . . Stanley.

  STANLEY: I think that’s for you, Mr. Loman.

  HAPPY: Look at that mouth. Oh, God. And the binoculars.

  STANLEY: Geez, you got a life, Mr. Loman.

  HAPPY: Wait on her.

  STANLEY [going to the girl’s table]: Would you like a menu, ma’am?

  GIRL: I’m expecting someone, but I’d like a—

  HAPPY: Why don’t you bring her—excuse me, miss, do you mind? I sell champagne, and I’d like you to try my brand. Bring her a champagne, Stanley.

  GIRL: That’s awfully nice of you.

  HAPPY: Don’t mention it. It’s all company money. [He laughs.]

  GIRL: That’s a charming product to be selling, isn’t it?

  HAPPY: Oh, gets to be like everything else. Selling is selling, y’know.

  GIRL: I suppose.

  HAPPY: You don’t happen to sell, do you?

  GIRL: No, I don’t sell.

  HAPPY: Would you object to a compliment from a stranger? You ought to be on a magazine cover.

  GIRL [looking at him a little archly]: I have been.

  [STANLEY comes in with a glass of champagne.]

  HAPPY: What’d I say before, Stanley? You see? She’s a cover girl.

  STANLEY: Oh, I could see, I could see.

  HAPPY [to the GIRL]: What magazine?

  GIRL: Oh, a lot of them. [She takes the drink.] Thank you.

  HAPPY: You know what they say in France, don’t you? “Champagne is the drink of the complexion”—Hya, Biff!

  [BIFF has entered and sits with HAPPY.]

  BIFF: Hello, kid. Sorry I’m late.

  HAPPY: I just got here. Uh, Miss—?

  GIRL: Forsythe.

  HAPPY: Miss Forsythe, this is my brother.

  BIFF: Is Dad here?

  HAPPY: His name is Biff. You might’ve heard of him. Great football player.

  GIRL: Really? What team?

  HAPPY: Are you familiar with football?

  GIRL: No, I’m afraid I’m not.

  HAPPY: Biff is quarterback with the New York Giants.

  GIRL: Well, that is nice, isn’t it? [She drinks.]

  HAPPY: Good health.

  GIRL: I’m happy to meet you.

  HAPPY: That’s my name. Hap. It’s really Harold, but at West Point they called me Happy.

  GIRL [now really impressed]: Oh, I see. How do you do? [She turns her profile.]

  BIFF: Isn’t Dad coming?

  HAPPY: You want her?

  BIFF: Oh, I could never make that.

  HAPPY: I remember the time that idea would never come into your head. Where’s the old confidence, Biff?

  BIFF: I just saw Oliver—

  HAPPY: Wait a minute. I’ve got to see that old confidence again. Do you want her? She’s on call.

  BIFF: Oh, no. [He turns to look at the GIRL.]

  HAPPY: I’m telling you. Watch this. [Turning to the GIRL] Honey? [She turns to him.] Are you busy?

  GIRL: Well, I am . . . but I could make a phone call.

  HAPPY: Do that, will you, honey? And see if you can get a friend. We’ll be here for a while. Biff is one of the greatest football players in the country.

  GIRL [standing up]: Well, I’m certainly happy to meet you.

  HAPPY: Come back soon.

  GIRL: I’ll try.

  HAPPY: Don’t try, honey, try hard.

  [The GIRL exits. STANLEY follows, shaking his head in bewildered admiration.]

  HAPPY: Isn’t that a shame now? A beautiful girl like that? That’s why I can’t get married. There’s not a good woman in a thousand. New York is loaded with them, kid!

  BIFF: Hap, look—

  HAPPY: I told you she was on call!

  BIFF [strangely unnerved]: Cut it out, will ya? I want to say something to you.

  HAPPY: Did you see Oliver?

  BIFF: I saw him all right. Now look, I want to tell Dad a couple of things and I want you to help me.

  HAPPY: What? Is he going to back you?

  BIFF: Are you crazy? You’re out of your goddam head, you know that?

  HAPPY: Why? What happened?

  BIFF [breathlessly]: I did a terrible thing today, Hap. It’s been the strangest day I ever went through. I’m all numb, I swear.

  HAPPY: You mean he wouldn’t see you?

  BIFF: Well, I waited six hours for him, see? All day. Kept sending my name in. Even tried to date his secretary so she’d get me to him, but no soap.

  HAPPY: Because you’re not showin’ the old confidence, Biff. He remembered you, didn’t he?

  BIFF [stopping HAPPY with a gesture]: Finally, about five o’clock, he comes out. Didn’t remember who I was or anything. I felt like such an idiot, Hap.

  HAPPY: Did you tell him my Florida idea?

  BIFF: He walked away. I saw him for one minute. I got so mad I could’ve torn the walls down! How the hell did I ever get the idea I was a salesman there? I even believed myself that I’d been a salesman for him! And then he gave me one look and—I realized what a ridiculous lie my whole life has been. We’ve been talking in a dream for fifteen years. I was a shipping clerk.

  HAPPY: What’d you do?

  BIFF [with great tension and wonder]: Well, he left, see. And the secretary went out. I was all alone in the waiting-room. I don’t know what came over me, Hap. The next thing I know I’m in his office—paneled walls, everything. I can’t explain it. I—Hap, I took his fountain pen.

  HAPPY: Geez, did he catch you?

  BIFF: I ran out. I ran down all eleven flights. I ran and ran and ran.

  HAPPY: That was an awful dumb—what’d you do that for?

  BIFF [agonized]: I don’t know, I just—wanted to take something, I don’t know. You gotta help me, Hap, I’m gonna tell Pop.

  HAPPY: You crazy? What for?

  BIFF: Hap, he’s got to understand that I’m not the man somebody lends that kind of money to. He thinks I’ve been spiting him all these years and it’s eating him up.

  HAPPY: That’s just it. You tell him something nice.

  BIFF: I can’t.


  HAPPY: Say you got a lunch date with Oliver tomorrow.

  BIFF: So what do I do tomorrow?

  HAPPY: You leave the house tomorrow and come back at night and say Oliver is thinking it over. And he thinks it over for a couple of weeks, and gradually it fades away and nobody’s the worse.

  BIFF: But it’ll go on for ever!

  HAPPY: Dad is never so happy as when he’s looking forward to something!

  [WILLY enters.]

  HAPPY: Hello, scout!

  WILLY: Gee, I haven’t been here in years!

  [STANLEY has followed WILLY in and sets a chair for him. STANLEY starts off but HAPPY stops him.]

  HAPPY: Stanley!

  [STANLEY stands by, waiting for an order.]

  BIFF [going to WILLY with guilt, as to an invalid]: Sit down, Pop. You want a drink?

  WILLY: Sure, I don’t mind.

  BIFF: Let’s get a load on.

  WILLY: You look worried.

  BIFF: N-no. [To STANLEY] Scotch all around. Make it doubles.

  STANLEY: Doubles, right. [He goes.]

  WILLY: You had a couple already, didn’t you?

  BIFF: Just a couple, yeah.

  WILLY: Well, what happened, boy? [Nodding affirmatively, with a smile] Everything go all right?

  BIFF [takes a breath, then reaches out and grasps WILLY’S hand]: Pal . . . [He is smiling bravely, and WILLY is smiling too.] I had an experience today.

  HAPPY: Terrific, Pop.

  WILLY: That so? What happened?

  BIFF [high, slightly alcoholic, above the earth]: I’m going to tell you everything from first to last. It’s been a strange day. [Silence. He looks around, composes himself as best he can, but his breath keeps breaking the rhythm of his voice.] I had to wait quite a while for him, and—

  WILLY: Oliver?

  BIFF: Yeah, Oliver. All day, as a matter of cold fact. And a lot of—instances—facts, Pop, facts about my life came back to me. Who was it, Pop? Who ever said I was a salesman with Oliver?

  WILLY: Well, you were.

  BIFF: No, Dad, I was a shipping clerk.

  WILLY: But you were practically—

  BIFF [with determination]: Dad, I don’t know who said it first, but I was never a salesman for Bill Oliver.

  WILLY: What’re you talking about?

  BIFF: Let’s hold on to the facts tonight, Pop. We’re not going to get anywhere bullin’ around. I was a shipping clerk.