A Purple Cow Named Desire

I emailed this text to a coworker who played offensive tackle at Williams. It's David Halberstam's description of Elia Kazan's years as a Williams undergrad:

“Williams College was not a particularly hospitable place for the son of immigrants in those days. In the late twenties, it was a citadel of the American upper class. To Kazan, everyone seemed tall, blond, and socially graceful. He was short, dark, and socially inept. Never before had he felt his foreignness so intensely nor had he ever felt so vulnerable because of it. He loved to watch the football players at games and at practice, and he even at a particular local short-order restaurant where they hung out so he could sit in the corner and admire them: ‘How confident they were, how glamorous, how awesome. They looked as if their glory would never die.’ (Years later he returned to Williams as the famous movie director and found that the former football players now sought him out. One even confided how empty his life had been, and Kazan found that vengeance was his.)”

My coworker's initial response: "Noooooooo...vengeance is not mine!"
His response the next day, when the text was shared with other coworkers, who did not play offensive tackle at Williams: "Fuck Streetcar Named Desire."
His response after he found out I had this ridiculous blog: "Say 'He was too content with his post-graduate life to even bother responding.'"