There is a scene in Arthur Miller’s short story, “Bulldog” where the protagonist, the boy, he is called, is on his way to buy a puppy. He rides a wooden train across Brooklyn, and watches what Arthur Miller describes as “old Italian women, their heads covered with red bandannas, bent over and loading their aprons with dandelions.”
It is a Brooklyn gone by. It is, indeed, a time gone by, but as is the case with all great writing, it remains, timeless. Arthur Miller, the Pultizer Prize winner, the public intellectual, is a man now in his eight-eighth year. He’s of course best known for his mastery of the play. Deservedly so. But after hearing the “Bulldog” you may also consider him as a master of the short story, as well. “Bulldog,” and a conversation with Arthur Miller.
Arthur Miller, author of “Bulldog”