Growing up in Philadelphia, I had from childhood heard the story about the pre-Broadway opening of “Death of a Salesman” in 1949. A hushed silence filled the Locust Street Theatre as the curtain fell. The playwright, the 33-year old Arthur Miller, at first didn’t know what to think. Then he heard the sounds of weeping. Men weeping. Then the audience went wild. He knew that he had tapped into the zeitgeist.