Less Than Zero:
An Analysis of the Low Man in Elmer Rice's The
Adding Machine and Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman
They shove it down our throats in grammar school.
Mother and father make sure we understand the underlying importance of
Independence Day while we shoot fireworks into the sky. We supposedly
take great pride when we recite the Pledge of Allegiance. It is an
inescapable fact of American life: The Declaration of Independence is the
holiest expression of all that we value as Americans in our fair nation.
Freedom, democracy, independence from Britain, all of it purports the sense
of immense duty and obligation to the birth of the United States and our
expected honor for that selfsame declaration.
But Mommy and Daddy failed to clue us in on
the reality of our roles as Americans. While we watched the Stars
n' Stripes flutter in the breeze, Father trudged off to work in his white
shirt, black tie and spit-polished shoes. He joined more of his black-tied
brethren at the factory or the accounting office or the defense plant.
He checked his individuality at the door and willfully gave himself over
to the big business that dominated his and millions more Americans' lives.
Little did we realize that with the signing
of the Declaration of Independence, we not only freed ourselves from repression
on the political side, but we also enslaved ourselves once again.
This time though, our servitude was indentured to big business, the great
industrial capitalism which grasped the heart of every American and has
held it firmly ever since. As with all cultures, literature reflects
sentiments and psychology of a society. Drama especially raises awareness
of current social issues. The actions and dialogue of a set of characters
on stage provide us with a likening reflection of who we are and where
we have been. Performance gives rise to the greater subtext of the
script itself, and clues us in on the message its author tries to evince.
In the case of America's enslavement to big business, no better examples
exist than Elmer Rice's The Adding Machine and Arthur Miller's Death
of a Salesman.
Both Miller and Rice utilize a central character
to evince the feeling of this slavish nature they recognize in modern America.
This "depersonalized [archetype] who performs the routine tasks of commercial
civilization" gives rise to the social criticism of big business in the
twentieth century (Krutch 230). Both dramatists utilize the "lowliness"
of their protagonists to show exactly how beaten down the common man has
become under the shadow of American industry. It is a singular testament
to the central theme of these plays that their leading characters' names
are Willy Loman and Mister Zero.
Elmer Rice's The Adding Machine debuted
in 1923, at the very height of postwar American frivolity and just prior
to the Great Depression. During this period, American industry saw
a huge increase in production and regulation due to the new concept of
the welfare state introduced in World War I (Murphy 164-6). This
new trend toward multinational corporations, towering factories and long
assembly lines grew at the expense of the common man, the worker.
Rice recognizes this social trend through Mr. Zero's embodiment of the
working class. As William E. Taylor puts it, "Mr. Zero is clearly
a victim of a mechanized, industrial society that has robbed him of his
humanity and made a cipher of him" (Taylor 9). The individual is
thus sublimated by the will of big business and the men behind those businesses.
Rice's depiction of the common man completely subjugated by his job becomes
symbolic for all workers in blue-collar jobs. In any newspaper from
the twentieth century, one could read about or see pictures of enormous
factories with long lines of men in same-colored jumpsuits toiling away
at the assembly line. The Boss in The Adding Machine exemplifies
the aspect of the controlling businessman to a tee: "I'm sorry--no other
alternative--greatly regret--old employee--efficiency--economy--business--business--BUSINESS"
(Rice 14). The man in charge does not care about the well-being of
his workers; all he is concerned with is the efficient running of his business.
Thus the advent of the adding machine instantly creates a solution to having
too many men on the payroll. The Boss thinks he simply trades a worker
for a faster worker; but in reality, he stomps out the individuality of
Zero by not acknowledging him as a person. A modern day equivalent
that carries equal importance could be the likening of the adding machine
to the personal computer. Year after year, our valiant technologists
find new ways of making computers assume more and more of the responsibilities
which humans had heretofore been relegated. Watch the news any day
and one might see the results of that replacement; results which sound
hauntingly familiar in the context of The Adding Machine: Workers
laid off in favor of more efficient machines on an assembly line, skilled
labor incorporated into artificially intelligent technology, even the obsolescence
of older computers in favor of newer models with more capability.
Performances of Mr. Zero allude to the expressionistic
influence of Rice's attempt to create both "a type and an individual" on
the stage (Valgemae 63). Zero and his friends-- One, Two, Three,
Four, Five, and Six-- all wear similar clothing and possess the same plodding
demeanor. This aspect of the play further emphasizes the feeling
that the American worker has been lost in a sea of conformity and uniformity.
Again, the modern portent of Rice's depiction of seeming American worker-clones
is totally obscured. In Warner Brothers' 1992 production of the film
Falling Down, director Joel Schumacher cast Michael Douglas as William
Foster, a man lost in (and fed up with) "the system" of American society.
This society was exemplified by Douglas' wardrobe: A simple black tie,
white shirt, trousers, and glasses; almost a relic of the nineteen-fifties
(Schumacher). Later in the film, Douglas meets another of his socially-burdened
brethren: The man is dressed exactly as Douglas is and protests unfair
bank loan policies. As the unnamed man is led off by the police,
Douglas shares a private look of concern with him to which the man replies,
"Don't forget me" (Schumacher). One can see Rice's Mister Zero evinced
in both of the black-tied men, and the social commentary is unavoidable:
The American workplace has subjugated identity completely.
During The Adding Machine's original
production in 1923, The New York Times described Dudley Digges as
Mr. Zero: "Living the dumb, groping, plodding nature of the fellow" ("‘Adding
Machine...'"). Zero's physical frame bows over under the pressure
from twenty-five years of adding figures for his company. The further
degradation of the physical at the expense of the psychological continues
when Zero dies and goes to heaven. His "sole responsibility [in heaven]
in operating a ‘super-hyper-adding machine' consists of releasing a lever
with the great toe of his right foot... Rice castigates modern industrial
procedures that atrophy man's soul by demanding from him only the mechanical
use of his limbs" (Valgemae 67). As evident in many critical writings
of The Adding Machine, the word "mechanical" comes up frequently,
implying the apparent lack of personality in Zero. Ultimately, Zero's
disposition as a mechanical being is finalized upon the assignment of his
new job in heaven. Again, the repetition of "mechanical" indicates
an allusion to the industry of America itself. What more business
is there beyond the all-consuming industrialized factories across the nation?
Rice's utilization of the mechanical decay
of Zero best typifies the theme of the play whenever Zero counts his figures.
After being so enslaved to the process of bookkeeping for twenty-five years,
Zero cannot stop figuring numbers. Equations constantly fly through
his dialogue:
I want you [the jury] to get that right-- all of you. One, two,
three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.
Twelve of you. Six and six. That makes twelve. I figgered
it up often enough. Six and six makes twelve. And five is seventeen.
And eight is twenty-five. And three is twenty-eight. Eight
and carry two. Aw, cut it out! Them damn figgers! I can't
forget ‘em. Twenty-five years, see? (Rice 21)
Plagued by his figures, Zero can never escape the slavery of his job.
So long has it been ingrained into his psyche, the repetition of numerous
numeral calculations becomes a sort of death chant for Zero. Unable
to escape his the oppression of his job, he lashes out in the only way
possible: By killing his boss. Yet the numbers and figures do not
quit, which becomes Rice's depiction of the ruthless business savvy that
typifies American industry: Unrelenting, unjustified and damning.
For Mister Zero, he never had a chance. His "dedication" to his job
has also enslaved him to the grind of the business. Of many facets
of The Adding Machine, Rice exudes a more forceful tone when depicting
the theme of enslavement. Rice criticizes the "prevailing economic
order" by satirizing the American work ethic: Zero does not grow; he repeats
his failures in a social metaphor for the neverending beating down of the
working class (Hoffmann 123). The all-important number is historically
the greatest representative of American business. Any record found
in a business' file cabinet will have dates, employee numbers, profit and
loss statements (expressed in dollars, of course), tax forms, et cetera.
And no man can escape the literal irony of the great American identity:
What's your Social Security Number?
Rice's recognization of business' enslavement
of the American worker carries through into later eras in American drama.
Possibly the most notorious example of the common man's struggle against
"the machine" is Willy Loman's internal/external conflict in Arthur Miller's
Death of a Salesman. However, unlike Rice's dwelling on the
mechanic repetition of life in American industry/business, Miller utilizes
a depiction of "a society that by competition compels its individuals to
forsake the native talents in favor of achieving material success, at the
price of human dignity" (Gould 252). It is Willy's devotion to the
concept of salesmanship that ruins him, much like Zero's devotion to figures
ruins him. Willy Loman lives in a life wrought with distortions of
the American work ethic: He believes that one must be popular to succeed
in business, that one is nothing without his reputation, and that everyone
sees things as he does (Bonin 44). These distortions are what lead
to Willy's eventual conflict with every important figure his life: His
son, his wife, his boss, et cetera. Willy, in becoming subjugated
by his perception of the American work environment, gets beaten down by
business. The materialist industry leaders in Willy's society persecute
Willy for the loss of his knack with people. He can sell no more,
therefore he becomes useless to the business. Likening this aspect
of Death of a Salesman to The Adding Machine, an apropos
metaphor rises forth: When a gear or a part in the machine wears down and
becomes useless, one replaces it and throws it in the trash. Like
Mister Zero, Willy too has been thrown into the trash.
Postwar America in the nineteen-fifties grew
from more than just industry. The Cold War suddenly provided an opportunity
for the greatest form of competition imaginable: That of global salesmanship.
American businesses leapt at chances to secure valuable defense contracts
from the government. Employment skyrocketed at major American defense
plants, especially those of a nuclear nature. The military entertained
offers from many businesses on the issue of who would build their great
new spyplanes and battleships. Cold War America became a hotbed of
salesmanship. Everyone had something to sell, and the competition
was so great that next-door neighbors would frequently stab each other
in the back to get a lucrative contract. Miller's Willy Loman evinces
such a reflection of these times in American history. Willy, the
deflated salesman, has been taken advantage of in his old age. He
is no longer needed by his company, and he is forced to live on the charity
of others; this facet of the play can even be interpreted as a criticism
of the American welfare state. The country had grown so much capitalistically
that it can take care of its own disabled, retired and elderly-- or such
is the philosophy. Miller expresses the reality of that philosophy
in Willy Loman, the salesman who has literally been cut loose by his country.
Miller's clever titling of his lead character
"Loman" brings forth a host of judgments made by the author. Miller
portrays Willy Loman as the low man on the totem pole, the man whom even
after years of dedicated sales to his firm, is still given the shaft in
the end. What leads to all of the conflicts and events in the play
though is Willy's inability to live in the present; his enslavement to
salesmanship has fragmented and splintered his mind.
Willy Loman is falling apart physically, mentally, and emotionally
because of the disparity between the powerful dream of what might have
been, perhaps accessible only to his disturbed imagination, and the reality
of what life has become. In his determination not to be the little
man, Willy was driven by two ideals, the first to be number one, the second
to do something for his sons. (Adler 69)
In his drive to be the best of the best, Willy locks himself into a neverending
race to accumulate as much reward and prestige as he can. However,
the race becomes an eternal one as Willy's life progresses and he is unable
to deal with the social pressures thrust upon him by family and work.
Therefore, he throws himself even more heavily into the trap of business,
and the entire cycle becomes a vicious circle that leads to Willy's estrangement
from his family and co-workers.
The endurance of a play such as Death of
a Salesman gives credence to the unalterable staying power of the American
business world. Even today, representations of Willy Loman grace
stages in order to bring Miller's depiction of the beaten man to the audience.
Willy Loman is based in part on Miller's own father, a "hard-working businessman-manufacturer"
strongly tied into the "bustling industrial burrough of middle-class Manhattan"
(Gould 247). The experiences given by Willy are therefore universal
in appeal, borrowing Rice's concept of the uniformity of industrial life
and merging it with the competitive market of the salesman's world.
A recent production of Death of a Salesman starred Andre De Shields,
an African-American actor with the Oasis Theater Company at Buffalo State
College. This production attempted to "give the correct sense of
nobility and dignity and integrity to Willy Loman that [the Oasis players]
think Arthur Miller intended... [Willy Loman] is a tragic hero because
he is a common person, he is everyman, recovering from spiritual paralysis"
(Chase. "Andre..."). Adaptations like the Oasis Theater's of Salesman
exemplify Miller's original concept of the everyday man who has been taken
advantage of and squeezed dry by his business firm. Furthermore,
as Chase describes, De Shields' portrayal of Willy provides a multiracial
aspect to the play that serves to include others in Willy's tragedy, not
just the traditional White Male American (Chase. "‘Death...'"). Everyone
in a working class position in today's society understands the pressures
of salesmanship and the demands of the business world in general.
Historically, too, African-American salesmen have experienced a degree
of tragedy on an equal, if not greater, scale than Willy himself.
Imagine a black vacuum cleaner salesman trying to make money to support
his wife and son in the deep south, circa 1952. A frightening thought
indeed, but a true one nevertheless.
With such a universal appeal, Willy Loman
becomes the definition of the working American. Miller evinces a
feeling of the reader's familiarity with Willy through use of commonplace--
almost backstreet-- dialogue. Willy is no more eloquent than Sylvester
Stallone, but the appeal lies in the message that Miller subtly interjects
into Willy's dialogue:
...It's not what you do, Ben. It's who you know! It's the
smile on your face! It's contacts, Ben, contacts! The whole
wealth of Alaska passes over the lunch table at the Commodore Hotel, and
that's the wonder, the wonder of this country, that a man can end with
diamonds on the basis of being liked! (Miller 86)
Willy remains passionate about his desire to do well for himself and his
family, and his language delineates such a working class attitude.
Any reader could find him- or herself nodding their head and understanding
the bare bones of Willy's description of the American Dream. To Willy,
the ends to his means are never far away, always just out of reach.
That is where his optimism comes from: The base capitalistic desire to
do well for oneself in America. However, it is also this idea that
leads to Willy's psychosis and his beating down by the business world.
Like Mister Zero, Willy Loman is locked into an inexorable cycle of the
American Urban Nightmare.
The similarities between Zero and Willy are
numerous and frequent enough to allow one to make a few judgments based
on the contextual evidence of Miller and Rice's pieces. The most
glaring aspect that both Death of a Salesman and The Adding Machine
exude comes in the form of the common man's subjugation by big business.
Willy Loman, the competitive appearance-oriented salesman, gets beaten
down by the system of selling himself for a company. When the act
of that selling which drives Willy peters out, the company distances itself
from its now-useless constituent, abandoning Willy to the horrors of urban
life without salary and prestige. Mister Zero, having worked all
his life as a bookkeeper, gets fired with the advent of adding machines;
and in his death, Zero is still unable to escape the slavish nature his
company has enforced upon his psyche. In both instances, the working
class man is reduced to the importance of a cog or other spare part: When
it falters or becomes obsolete, Those In Charge simply replace it without
a care as to what the effects on the discarded might be. This aspect
of the plays discussed shows the common thread of how enslaved to industrial
business America has become since the Declaration of Independence, but
especially in the twentieth century postwar periods. Also notable
is the depiction of these beaten men: Ordinarily dressed, small and unimposing;
plodding in a Neanderthal sort of way and easily forgettable. In
this facet of the plays, the authors show us how replaceable and utterly
lost the common man is in the sea of the big business world. Willy
Loman and Mister Zero have no chance to advance beyond the states they
inhabit because the society that reared them will not allow it. The
lives they have been locked into prevent any kind of escape to a better
life. In both works, Miller and Rice strive to show the effects of
two men's pursuit of the American Dream and how it eventually trapped them
in the neverending cycle of the American Urban Nightmare. Such is
the fate of Americans in the working class, Miller and Rice seem to say.
The real worry at that point becomes a matter of discerning the controllers
from the controlled, and that is what the subtlety of Willy Loman and Mister
Zero's existences does for Americans everywhere.
Works Cited
Primary Sources
Miller, Arthur. Death of a Salesman. New York: Penguin
Books, 1976.
Rice, Elmer. The Adding Machine. In The Plays of
Elmer Rice; no ed. London: Gollancz, 1933.
Secondary Sources
Adler, Thomas. American Drama 1940-1960: A Critical History.
New York: Twayne
Publishers, 1994.
Bonin, Jane. Major Themes in Prize-Winning American Drama.
Metuchen: Scarecrow Press,
1975.
Chase, Anthony. "Andre De Shields." ArtVoice.
v.7, I.14 (3 Aug 1997): n. pag. Online.
Internet. 2 Nov 1997.
Chase, Anthony. Rev. of Death of a Salesman. Oasis Theater, New
York. ArtVoice. v.7, I.15
(3 Aug 1997): n. pag. Online.
Internet. 2 Nov 1997.
Gould, Jean. Modern American Playwrights. New York:
Dodd, Mead & Co., 1966.
Hoffmann, Frederick J. "Mr. Zero and Other Ciphers: Experiments
on Stage." In Essays in the
Modern Drama, ed. Morris Freedman.
Boston: D.C. Heath, 1964. Reprinted from The
Twenties by F.J. Hoffman (New York: Viking,
1955).
Krutch, Joseph Wood. The American Drama Since 1918: And Informal
History. New York:
Random House, 1939.
Murphy, Brenda. American Realism and American Drama, 1880-1940.
New York: Cambridge
Press, 1987.
No by-line. "‘Adding Machine' Replaces Poor Zero." The
New York Times. 1923 Mr 20,
24:1.
Schumacher, Joel, dir. Falling Down. Perf. Michael
Douglas. 1992. Videocassette. Warner
Brothers, 1993.
Taylor, William E. Introduction. Modern American Drama:
Essays in Criticism. Ed. W. E.
Taylor. DeLand: Everett/Edwards, 1968.
Valgemae, Mardi. Accelerated Grimace: Expressionism in the
American Drama of the
1920s. Carbondale: Southern Illinois
University, 1972.
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