TERRY:  (nods)  Yep. 

PHIL:  So, what are you taking up?

TERRY:  Time and space.

PHIL:  (grins)  I’m doin’ that right here, why go to State?

TERRY:  Less parental supervision.  More parties.  More chicks.

PHIL:  But don’t they make you take tests occasionally?

TERRY:  Occasionally, but school’s easy if you know how to do it.

PHIL:  So what are really studying?
                                               
TERRY:  Computers.

PHIL:  Computers, huh?  You really are into weird stuff.

TERRY:  Computers aren’t so weird.  Someday there’ll be hundreds of them,
                everywhere.

PHIL:  (shrugs)  Sure, if you say so.

                                    (Lorraine sits back down between Phil and
                                    Terry)

LORRAINE:  You boys getting acquainted?
                                               
                                    (Both grunt in the affirmative)

 

                                    (The bearded M.C. steps up onto the small
                                    stage and speaks into the microphone)

M.C.:  I’d like to welcome everybody to the Purple Onion’s weekly Hootenanny night. 
           This is the night when we get a preview of the upcoming folk stars of the future. 
           I’d also like to announce a very important meeting to be held here tomorrow night
           to help arrange a defense fund for the Springfield Five.
                                    (Lorraine looks around and smiles)
           If you really care about the cause of freedom you’ll make sure to be here.  OK. 
           Now let’s have some fun.  Our first act of the evening is the husband and wife
           duo, Alvin & Debbie.              Let’s give them a warm Purple Onion welcome.
                                   
                                    (The audience applauds as Alvin & Debbie
                                    step up on stage)

ALVIN:  Thank you very much.  But don’t get Debbie too excited, she might have the
               baby right here.

                                    (Debbie elbows him the ribs and the audience
                                    chuckles.  They launch into a highly energetic
                                    rendition of “Rock Island Line”)

ALVIN & DEBBIE:  (singing)  Well the Rock Island Line
                                                   Is a mighty good road
                                                   Oh the Rock Island Line
                                                   It is the road to ride
                                                   The Rock Island Line
                                                   Is a mighty good road
                                                   But if ya want to ride
                                                   Ya gotta ride it like ya find it
                                                   Get your ticket at the station
                                                   For the Rock Island Line

                                                   Well I may be right
                                                   And I may be wrong
                                                   I know you’re gonna miss me
                                                   When I’m gone

 

                                                   Well the Rock Island Line
                                                   Is a mighty good road
                                                   Oh the Rock Island Line
                                                   It is the road to ride
                                                   The Rock Island Line
                                                   Is a mighty good road
                                                   But if ya want to ride
                                                   Ya gotta ride it like ya find it
                                                   Get your ticket at the station
                                                   For the Rock Island Line
                                   
                                                   Little Emmalina
                                                   Sittin’ in the shade
                                                   Countin’ all the money
                                                   That we ain’t made

                                                   Big Bobby Brown
                                                   Workin’ in the mine
                                                   Shoveling coal ‘til half past nine

                                                   Well the Rock Island Line
                                                   Is a mighty good road
                                                   Oh, the Rock Island Line
                                                   It is the road to ride
                                                   The Rock Island Line
                                                   Is a mighty good road
                                                   But if ya want to ride
                                                   Ya gotta ride it like ya find it
                                                   Get your ticket at the station
                                                   For the Rock Island Line

                                    (The audience has enjoyed this very much, clapping
                                    loudly and stomping their feet.  Grinning, Alvin &
                                    Debbie return to their seats.  Lorraine puts her arms
                                    around both of them)

LORRAINE:  You see, those endless hours of practicing pay off.

ALVIN:  (grinning)  They sure do.

                                    (Phil looks like he’s in pain.  Debbie grabs
                                    the pitcher of beer)

DEBBIE:  I need a drink.  Who needs refills?

                                    (Everyone holds up their mug.  Terry turns
                                    to Phil looking somewhat impressed)

TERRY:  That was pretty good.

PHIL:  Yeah.

TERRY:  So, uh, you a big folk music fan?

PHIL:  (shakes his head)  No, not really.  Folk music’s OK.

TERRY:  What kind of music do you like?

                                    (Phil looks around to see if anyone is
                                    listening)

PHIL:  (lowers his voice)  I like rock & roll.

TERRY:  Me, too.  Like what?

PHIL:  I like Elvis.

TERRY:  (nods)  Yeah.  He’s boss.  And Chuck Berry.

PHIL:  Yeah. 

                                    (Lorraine returns to her seat between
                                    Phil and Terry)

LORRAINE:  What are you boys talking about?

TERRY:  Rock & roll music.

 

LORRAINE:  (disdainfully waves it away)  That’s for children.
                                    (points at the stage)
                       Now that was music!  Bebop-a-lula?  Tutti fruitti, oh Rudy?  Come
                       on, boys, grow up.

                                    (Phil and Terry both feel chastised.  Lorraine
                                    sees someone she knows)

LORRAINE:  Excuse me a sec, I’ve got work to do.

                                    (Lorraine picks up a pile of her flyers and walks
                                    away.  Lorraine cruises around the club handing
                                    out flyers.  Yellow flyers are set down on the table
                                    and quickly used as coasters, folded and put into
                                    pockets, folded and put under uneven table legs,
                                    phone numbers are written on them, corners torn
                                    off, one gets folded up and thrown as a paper
                                    plane)

                                    (Lorraine steps up to a table of four middle-aged
                                    people, three men in suits and ties and a woman
                                    in a dressy dress.  They all look at the flyers while
                                    guzzling a pitcher of beer.  They are: PETE, LEE,
                                    FRED and the woman is RONNIE. Collectively
                                    they are the FOUR FEATHERS.  They all drink
                                    heartily and wave around the flyers)

RONNIE:  It looks good.  How’s it going?

LORRAINE:  Good.  We ought to have a lot of people.  But I still need you guys to be
                       there.

RONNIE:  Need?  Oh, come on, Lorraine, you can handle this.  I’m sure you’ve got
                  everything completely under control.

LORRAINE:  Well, yeah, I do, but still . . .

RONNIE:  Well, don’t depend on me being there.  You’ve got to finally handle things
                  on your own.

LORRAINE:  I know.

RONNIE:  I remember the first meeting I organized.  It was a garment-workers strike
                  just after the war.  Somewhere in Upstate New York.

PETE:  Gloversville.

LEE:  That’s right, Gloversville.  Lordy, they almost tore the house down.

RONNIE:  Wasn’t that a time.

                                    (The Four Feathers all toast and drink)

LORRAINE:  Good luck, tonight, you guys.

RONNIE:  Thanks, you, too.  And I just know your meeting will be great.  And
                  Make a difference, too.

LEE:  Sure.

PETE:  Absolutely.

                                    (Lorraine walks away)

LORRAINE:  (to herselfShit!  She’s not gonna be there.  I was depending on her.

The M.C. steps up beside Lorraine and takes her arm.

M.C.:  Lorraine, you’ve got to help me.

LORRAINE:  Sure, Marty, how?
                                    (he tries to speak, but all that comes out are
                                    inaudible noises)
                       What is it?

M.C.:  You just have to sleep with me, Lorraine.  You have to.

LORRAINE:  I do, huh?

M.C.:  I love you Lorraine.

LORRAINE:  Oh, for God’s sake.  That’s ridiculous. 

M.C.:  (stung)  Oh, it is, huh?  You want to use the club tomorrow,             right?

LORRAINE:  (indignant)  You already said I could use the club tomorrow.

M.C.:  Right.  I did.  And I mean it, too.  And I don’t expect anything in return,
           either.

LORRAINE:  Don’t you?

M.C.:  (smiles)  Well . . .

LORRAINE:  I thought you honestly cared about the Springfield Five.

M.C.:  (distracted)  Who?  Oh, them.  Yeah, I do.  But Lorraine, please think of
           the good you could do, for me.  Please.
                                   
                                    (Lorraine turns and walks away, her expression
                                    saying, “When hell freezes over.”  Lorraine
                                    returns to her table and sits back down)
                                   
                                    (At which point MOUSTAPHA HAKIM arrives. 
                                    He is a black man in his 30s wearing a dark suit
                                    and tie, a round, leather, African hat, sunglasses
                                    and carrying a particularly beat-up 12-string
                                    guitar)

MOUSTAPHA:  Greetings, folk fans.

                                    (Terry looks relieved)

TERRY:  You made it.

MOUSTAPHA:  You didn’t think I would?

TERRY:  No, no, I did.

MOUSTAPHA:  And who are all of these nice-looking white people?

TERRY:  You know Lorraine.

                                    (Moustapha shakes Lorraine’s hand)

MOUSTAPHA:  (smiles)  Lorraine.  Always a pleasure.

TERRY:  That’s Alvin and Debbie.

MOUSTAPHA:  Alvin, Debbie.

                                    (They both shake his hand and both look
                                    uncomfortable doing it)

TERRY:  And this is Phil.

                                    (Moustapha shakes Phil’s hand, then grabs
                                    a chair and seats himself beside him)

MOUSTAPHA:  Be prepared, the blues’re coming.

                                    (Terry leans over to Moustapha and nods
                                    toward the back)

TERRY:    Can we . . .

MOUSTAPHA:  Cool down, my friend.   Everything in good time.

                                    (Moustapha turns to Phil)

MOUSTAPHA:  (nods)  You like the blues?

PHIL:  Sure.

MOUSTAPHA:  Like what?

PHIL:  Well . . . Like Chuck Berry.

MOUSTAPHA:  Chuck Berry.  That’s your idea of blues?

PHIL:  Well, rhythm and blues.  How about Muddy Rivers?

MOUSTAPHA:  That’s Muddy Waters.

PHIL:  Right, but I hear he’s formed a group with Johnny Rivers.
                                               
                                    (Moustapha turns to Terry)

MOUSTAPHA:  Come on, let’s go.

                                    (Terry grins devilishly as he and Moustapha
                                    head off together.  Lorraine turns back to
                                    Phil)

LORRAINE:  Having a good time?

PHIL:  Oh yeah. 

LORRAINE:  What do you think of Terry?

PHIL:  He’s interesting.
                                   
                                    (The M.C. steps up to the small blackboard
                                    and erases Alvin & Debbie’s names at the
                                    top of the list. The next name is “Bobby
                                    Lee”)

M.C.:  Ladies and gentlemen, the Purple Onion welcomes back the angry, intense,
           and always energetic, Bobby Lee Baker!

                                    (The audience applauds excitedly as BOBBY
                                    LEE BAKER, a brooding man in his 30s, dressed
                                    in black with a beret and sporting a soul patch. 
                                    He steps up on the stage with a cigarette smoldering
                                    between his lips irritating his eyes.  He slowly tunes
                                    a shiny silver dobro metal guitar, entirely ignoring
                                    the audience)

 

BOBBY LEE:  We’re living in a world of oppression.  White people hold down the black
                         people.  Rich people hold down the poor people.  Sometimes it makes me
                         so mad I can barely talk.  Bile builds up in my throat and I can’t even spit. 
                         Those are the times when you’d kinda like to see the whole shebang go up
                         in one big ball of fire, know what I mean?

                                    (The audience looks back at him wide-eyed and
                                    silent.  Bobby coughs, then suddenly launches
                                    into an intense rendition of  “In My Time of
                                    Dyin’” with some terrific guitar picking, as
                                    well as the use of a bottleneck)

BOBBY LEE:  (singing)  In my time of dyin’
                                         Don’t want nobody to mourn
                                         All I want for you to do
                                         Is to take my body home

                                         Well, well, well
                                         So I can die easy
                                         Well, well, well
                                         So I can die easy
                                         Jesus gonna make up
                                         My dyin’ bed

                                         Well meet me, Jesus, meet me
                                         Meet me in the middle of the air
                                         If these wings should fail me, Lord
                                         Won’t you meet me with another pair

                                         Well, well, well
                                         So I can die easy
                                         Well, well, well
                                         So I can die easy
                                         Jesus gonna make up
                                         My dyin’ bed

                                         Lord in my time of dyin’
                                         Don’t want nobody to cry
                                         All I want you to do
                                         Is to take me when I die

                                         Well, well, well
                                         So I can die easy
                                         Well, well, well
                                         So I can die easy
                                         Jesus gonna make up
                                         My dyin’ bed

                                    (There is a big round of applause.  To everyone’s
                                    astonishment, Bobby Lee Baker stands up and
                                    without a look back walks right out of the club
                                    without looking back)

BOBBY LEE:  (to himselfAw, shit!

                                    (Terry and Moustapha returned at some point
                                    during the song.  Terry turns to Phil)

TERRY:  (impressed)  Man, that was good.
                                               
                                    (Phil looks like he has a headache)

PHIL:  Yeah.
                                    (changing subjects)
            So, Lorraine said she met you at some kind of meeting, right?

TERRY:  Yeah.  SDS.

PHIL:  What’s that?

TERRY:  Students for a Democratic Society.

PHIL:  And you like try to get laws changed and stuff?

TERRY:  (shrugs)  They do.  I go ‘cause there’s usually cute chicks there. 
                                    (that seems like a good reason to Phil)
                And cute folkie chicks that are always screaming about freedom
                and equality sometimes put out, know what I mean?

 

PHIL:  (he knows)  So, then you don’t really care about freedom and equality
            and civil rights?

TERRY:  Yeah, sure I do, but not as much as getting laid.

                                    (Terry wags his eyebrows.  Phil grins)

                                    (Lorraine walks around the club  handing out 
                                    yellow flyers to patrons at different tables.  At
                                    one table sit three very hip-looking, glassy-eyed,
                                    beat-types, seemingly engrossed in smoking
                                    cigarettes and philosophizing.  They are: DEAN,
                                    MARYLOU and BILL)

MARYLOU:  The price of a free society is constant vigilance.  If we don’t stay on
                        it all the time, this will become a fascist dictatorship.

BILL:  Oh, you mean it’s not?

DEAN:  Not yet, but you watch.  They’ll just keep passing laws to force us to wear
           our seatbelts, they’ll ban smoking in public places, put ratings on movies
           and TV shows—

BILL:  —Oh, that ridiculous!  They’d never ban smoking, everybody smokes.  And
           if you don’t like something on TV, turn it off.

DEAN:  It doesn’t matter.  It’s the loudest minority that always wins.  It’s the middle-
              class protecting the children.

MARYLOU:  And before you know it they’re legislating middle-class morality.

BILL:  Aw, you guys are just paranoid.

                                    (Lorraine steps up to the table holding yellow
                                    flyers)

LORRAINE:  (smiles)  Look, it’s the three dead beats.

                                    (Dean, Bill and MaryLou all look around—
                                    where?)

BILL:  Whoa . . . it’s Lorraine.

MARYLOU:  Hey, Lorraine.

DEAN:  (grunts)  Urgh.

LORRAINE:  Hey, guys, what’s up?

MARYLOU:  Just solvin’ the world’s problems.

LORRAINE:  Me, too.  Wanna come to a meeting here tomorrow?

MARYLOU:  Tomorrow?

DEAN:  I don’t know.

BILL:  Yeah, y’know . . .

LORRAINE:  Wow, you folks sure look awfully mellow.

MARYLOU:  Yeah, we are. 
                                   
BILL:  Mellowville.

DEAN:  Hooo!

                                    (Lorraine furrows her brow and leans forward
                                    to MaryLou)

LORRAINE:  What’s wrong with you guys?

MARYLOU:  Wrong?  Nothin’s wrong.

BILL:  It’s all right.  Everything’s right.

LORRAINE:  But you guys are acting weird.  Are you high on marijuana?

 

                                    (MaryLou looks around, then pantomimes
                                    sticking a needle in her arm and winks at
                                    Lorraine.  Lorraine looks horrified)

LORRAINE:  (whispering)  You took heroin?

MARYLOU, BILL & DEAN:  (together, grinning) Yeah.

LORRAINE:  Really?

MARYLOU, BILL & DEAN:  (together)  Yeah.

LORRAINE:  But doesn’t it hurt?  Y’know, the needle?

MARYLOU:  (nods)              A little.  But then you throw up and it’s OK.

LORRAINE:  (wide-eyed)  Oh my God, that’s disgusting.

MARYLOU:  (reassuring)  No, it’s not.  It’s fine.  Really.

BILL:  Yeah, it’s fine.

LORRAINE:  (nods)              Right, throwing up is just fine.

MARYLOU:  Good luck with your meeting, Lorraine.
                                   
BILL:  Yeah, knock ‘em dead, Lorraine.  Save everybody.

MARYLOU:  Stay vigilant.

LORRAINE:  (sighs)  Yeah, I will.  See ya around.

                                    (Lorraine turns and leaves, shaking her head
                                    in disbelief.  She puts her hand in her sweater
                                    pocket and still doesn’t have any cigarettes. 
                                    Just then Phil steps up)

LORRAINE:  Gotta smoke.

PHIL:  As a matter of fact I do.

                                    (Phil shakes two out of the pack, puts both of
                                    them in his mouth and lights them at the same
                                    time—ala Paul Henreid—then hands one to
                                    Lorraine)

LORRAINE:  (smiles)  Very classy.

PHIL:  That’s me.  I’m the classiest guy you ever knew.

LORRAINE:  (waves her smoke)  So?  What’dya think?

PHIL:  I’ll join up if I get you in the deal.

LORRAINE:  If only things were that simple.

                                    (A female voice calls out . . .)

FEMALE VOICE:  Lorraine!  Over here!

                                    (the lights go up on a table with two couples
                                    in fancy, black and white evening clothes. 
                                    Even from this distance we can tell they are
                                    smashed.  Lorraine winces in pain)

LORRAINE:  Oh, dear God, what’re they doing here?
                                    (to Phil)
                        I went to high school with these people.
                                    (Lorraine and Phil step up to the table.  The
                                    voice belongs to MINDY, an attractive 19-
                                    year- old girl in a black strapless evening
                                    gown and white gloves.  The boys are wearing
                                    tuxedoes.  Mindy and Lorraine hug and kiss)
                        Mindy, what on earth are you doing here?

MINDY:  You told us about this hootenanny thing on Saturday nights and we
                 decided to come and see for ourselves.  Are you singing tonight,
                 Lorraine?

 

LORRAINE:  Yes, I am.
                                    (points at Phil)
                       So’s he.  This is my friend, Phil.

                                    (Mindy shakes Phil’s hand.  She looks him up
                                    and down and obviously approves)

MINDY:  Phil.  This is Brian, Cheryl and Tim.  I’m Mindy, Lorraine’s former
                best-friend.

                                    (Phil waves and shakes hands.  BRIAN says
                                    to Phil . . .)

BRIAN:  Are you a musician, man?

                                    (Phil glances at Lorraine)

PHIL:  Uh, no.  I mean, no.  This is a hootenanny, anybody can get up and sing, man.

BRIAN:  Right.  Of course.  Boy am I a square.

                                    (Lorraine hands out flyers)

LORRAINE:  So now that you’ve started going new places, you should come to this
                       meeting here tomorrow night, for the Springfield Five.

MINDY:  I read about them.  Terrible.  Tomorrow night?  Sorry, can’t make it.

LORRAINE:  It’s really important, y’know.  Couldn’t you try?

MINDY:  Sorry, it’s out of the question.  So, when do we get to hear some music?

LORRAINE:  Soon.

                                    (TIM raises his hand)

TIM:  No mixed drinks?

LORRAINE:  Uh-uh.  Just beer.

                                    (Tim and Brian turn to one another, both
                                    imitating Jim Backus’ drunk rich guy from
                                    the movie, “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad
                                    World.”)

TIM:  I need an Old-Fashioned the old-fashioned way.

BRIAN:  The way dear old dad used to make ‘em.

                                    (Brian and Tim laugh.  Lorraine turns to
                                    Tim)

LORRAINE:  How about you, Tim?  What are you doing tomorrow night?

TIM:  (thinks)  Sunday night?  “Lassie,” then “Ed Sullivan,” then “Bonanza,” why?

BRIAN:  Ring-a-ding-ding!

LORRAINE:  Never mind.  See ya.

MINDY:  ‘Bye, Lorraine.  Nice meeting you, Phil.

PHIL:  Yeah, you, too.

                                    (Lorraine and Phil walk away.  Lorraine
                                    looks back, then at Phil and shakes her
                                    head sadly)

PHIL:  What?

LORRAINE:  (disdainfully)  The TV generation.

PHIL:  Are you from another generation?

LORRAINE:  Apparently.
                                    (waves her hand)
                       This one.  Where some things still matter.  Ring-a-ding-ding?  “Lassie”
           and “Bonanza.”  Good God!  You people and your mindless amusements.
                                   
PHIL:  Hey, I didn’t invent this stuff.  Blame Edison.

                                    (Lorraine stops and turns to face Phil)

LORRAINE:  But it’s not reality, Phil.  We live in reality, where there’s suffering and
                       injustice and war.

PHIL:  You forgot locust and cattle disease.

                                    (Lorraine gets mad, stops and points in
                                    Phil’s face)

LORRAINE:  (angryIt’s not funny!

PHIL:  (shakes his head)  Damn, you are one serious girl.  What do you want to be
            when you grow up?  Abraham Lincoln?

LORRAINE:  (smiles)  Or a modern female version of him.

                                    (Phil takes Lorraine’s ink-stained hand)

PHIL:  I have a great idea that will help all of society.

LORRAINE:  What’s that?

PHIL:  Let’s drink some more beer.  Did I mention that beer is like liquid bread?

LORRAINE:  Yes, you did.

                                    (They sit down at the table)

 

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