FATHERS AND SONS

SCENE: A tenement kitchen. A door stage right to the outside, a door stage left to the rest of the apartment. Center, a cheap broken-down kitchen table with a few badly mismatched and decrepit chairs around it. In back, a table from which MAE will take food, and, painted on backdrop, a stove and old-fashion icebox. The whole must look tawdry.
At rise, MAE is setting the table with some chipped dishes and, after a beat, HARRY a beaten-down little man, enters from right.

MAE: Hello, Harry.
HARRY: Hello, Mae.
MAE: What’s the matter, Harry? You look tired. How did it go today?
HARRY: (Throws himself in chair) Oh, what’s the sense of talking? The little man ain’t got a chance. Today, in order to get someplace, you gotta be a big operator.
MAE: What happened, Harry?
HARRY: (With quiet desperation) I made eight dollars... a big eight dollars. Is that what a man should bring home to his wife? Mae, I’m fifty-three years old and I made eight dollars... and I was lucky to make that. Thank heaven for the parade today! I might have ended up with a lousy two bucks.
MAE: Then you made six bucks at the parade, huh? Tell me about it.
HARRY: Well, there were a lot of cops around... and I was nervous. Mae, something’s happening to me. I’m getting so I can’t pick pockets when cops are around. I was never like that, was I, Mae?
MAE: No, you were never like that, Harry.
HARRY: Tell me, I was never like that.
MAE: You were never like that.
HARRY: I was never like that.
MAE: You were never like that.
HARRY: (Turning then quietly) I was never like that. By the way, where’s the kid?
MAE: (Hesitating, afraid to tell him) Oh... he’s around.
HARRY: Around where?
MAE: He’s... he’s... he’s in the playground playing baseball with the other children.
HARRY: (For the first time we see anger in this ostensibly gentle man) Baseball! This is how a boy amounts to something? This is where my teaching and training go?
Wasted! All wasted on a boy who takes a bat in his hand and smashes his father’s hopes and dreams!
MAE: Eat your spaghetti, Harry, it’ll get cold.
HARRY: Mae, I tell you this country is going insane. All a boy thinks about is becoming Mickey Mantle. I talk to him, but he doesn’t listen. I’ve failed, Mae. I’ve failed as a father. (Tears find their way into the gentle eyes of this poor crushed father)
MAE: No, Harry, and he won’t fail you. I know he won’t... he has your blood in him.
HARRY: I’m not a well man. I’m not a well man.
STANLEY enters right. He is about fourteen and when you see his honest, almost angelic expression, you can see why he’s such a disappointment.)
STANLEY: (Putting away baseball paraphernalia) Hello, Mom. Hi, Dad. (STANLEY slaps his father on the back.)
HARRY: You’re not ashamed to say “hello” to your father?
STANLEY: (Repeating slap on the back) No, I’m not ashamed. Am I, Mom?
HARRY: (Outraged) You’re not ashamed to waste your time in playgrounds, when you should be learning your craft? When I was your age I was breaking into candy store already!
STANLEY: Why does he gotta holler?
HARRY: You’re no good! You’re well-liked! (STANLEY turns quickly, stands tense, with his back to his father. He is embarrassed and ashamed. HARRY walks to him and puts his gentle arm around the boy.) Stanley, I’m your father and believe me, I know what’s best for you. I’ll help you. I’ll teach you. Stanley, you’re all I’ve got. Don’t you ever want to be a criminal?
STANLEY: (Obviously touched) Sure, Dad, but...
HARRY: Then in the name of Dillinger... why don’t you listen to me?
STANLEY: ‘Cause you holler.
HARRY: Stanley, I know how hard it is to start. I don’t ask you to do impossible things. Begin at the bottom. Start small. Put slugs into pay telephones. Steal a fountain pen from school. Punch your sister in the mouth.
MAE: (Firmly) Stanley... listen to your father.
STANLEY: Yeah, Dad, yeah!
HARRY: Say, that reminds me, This is the end of the term, isn’t it?
STANLEY: Uh huh.
HARRY: Okay, where’s your report card?
MAE: Oh, oh.
STANLEY: (Suddenly spins and walks downstage- stands tensely with back to father. Over his shoulder) I... er... I... uh... I lost it.
HARRY: What’s this nonsense? Show me your report card!
MAE: Stanley, show your report card to your father.
STANLEY: (Reluctantly handing HARRY report card) Here. Gee, Dad, I wish you wouldn’t...
HARRY: (Looks at card. Does a double take. Looks at card again. Very carefully, almost not believing what he sees) A? B-plus? A... B-plus... A... A... A... a... a... a. (HARRY goes shrieking offstage left, still shouting STANLEY reacts to the first couple of A’s. He is ashamed and says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, etc.”)
MAE: (After a slight pause) You’re killing that man. He’s a sick man. Pay Attention. Oh Stanley, follow in his footsteps or you’ll put your father in his grave. (STANLEY sits on chair facing away from her, head bin hands. MAE walks to him, pulls his head up and says directly in his face.) Stanley, you’re an only son and you mean so much to us. Please, Stanley, for his sake and mine, steal something! Anything! I know you can. I know deep down inside, down where it really counts, you’re rotten. (MAE puts her hand on his shoulder. STANLEY looks around and then puts his hand over hers and looks into her eyes; a tableau.)
STANLEY: Thanks, Mom. I love him... and I love you, too. You know that. But something went wrong with me. I’ve got crazy blood in me. I’m a misfit. You know, like Uncle Fred, the cop.
MAE: Putting her hand over her mouth) Ohhhhhhh! You must never mention that man’s name in this house!
STANLEY: I’m sorry, Mom... (MAE is seated. STANLEY leans over her, speaking slowly and with great effort and conviction. He pounds with one fist on the table to punctuate his conviction.) I’ve got to tell you something. I know this is gonna sound strange, but you’ve gotta listen to me. Mom... I got a job... an honest job!
MAE: (Giving him a big hit in the face, knocking him to the floor) I told you never to use that kind of language in this house!
STANLEY: But, Mom... I bought something with the money. Something I love. Something I want to spend my whole life doing. (STANLEY exits right and returns with a violin case. He begins walking towards his mother with it when HARRY comes running in from left and sees it.)
HARRY: Stanley, oh son! You’ve come through! A Tommy gun! My boy’s got ... a Tommy! (He snatches case from boy’s hands, excitedly, and begins to open it. Looking in the case, he speaks in wonder.) What... on... earth... is... this?
STANLEY: Firmly) It’s a violin. I want to play the violin. I want to be a great musician.
HARRY: You want to be a... (HARRY wavers, clutches his heart. MAE catches him, holds him up. In a moment he recovers. Goes over to table and smashes violin in case.) There’ll be no musicians in this house! I’ll not have it! Do you hear me? I’ll not have it! I’ll not have it!!
STANLEY: Horrified) No! (He recoils, then runs three steps toward the door right, looks back and makes an unbelieving, horrified noise, as he reels off.
MAE: Stanley, come back...
HARRY: Let him go. He’s not my son! We’ll go on together. Alone. Get my stuff. I’m going to work tonight. Only when I am lost in my work can I forget the pain of life...
MAE: (Gets a black leather bag and begins stuffing tools into it. Glass cutters, wrenches, nitro, sandpaper and a couple of sandwiches, Still shaking, she speaks in a nagging tone.) Now remember what we went over, Harry. It’s a Thompson safe with a four-point, four-tumbler combination. Don’t use too much nitro and don’t forget to eat the sandwiches, and remember the watchmen are changed at10:15 now. And, Harry, don’t look suspicious...
HARRY: (Interrupting) Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag... (Just then the door right bursts open. STANLEY stands there, gloating, between two POLICEMEN.
STANLEY: There’s the man! Harry, the Eel! My father! Okay, where’s the award? (One POLICEMAN grabs HARRY while the other pays STANLEY.
COP: There you are, son. Five hundred dollars. (The POLICEMAN then walks over and grabs HARRY’S other arm.)
HARRY: (Finally finding his voice) Mae! Mae! The boy turned in his own father, his own flesh and blood, for a filthy award! (HARRY reaches out and takes her hand.) Mae, our boy’s a stool pigeon, He’s gonna be all right! He’s gonna be all right!! (The POLICEMEN lead him out. HARRY is triumphant, laughing hysterically. MAE has a happy mother’s smile on her face, and STANLEY is gleefully counting his reward as the curtain comes down.)

BLACKOUT

-Written by Mel Brooks for The New Faces of 1952.

Happy New Years to all my watchers.