Riot

by Walter Dean Myers

  She starts through an open door. The CHILDREN, obviously distressed, begin to file out. One older girl stops to straighten the corner of a bed and then her hand is taken by the WHITE WOMAN.

  PRISCILLA

  Why would they want to hurt the children?

  WHITE MAN

  We can’t reason with them, that’s for sure. Let’s just get out of here.

  PRISCILLA

  (her face determined)

  Go!

  PRISCILLA stands at the doorway while the last of the CHILDREN are taken out. She looks around the still, neat room. Her face tightens, and for a moment, it looks as if she will burst into tears. But then she becomes strong again and exits.

  We hear distinct sounds of glass breaking and a pounding on the door as the last child leaves. There is more pounding, and then a young white WOMAN, one of the rioters, enters. She puts her hands on her hips as she surveys the scene.

  Suddenly, a black BOY pops into the room and runs to a small desk at the front of the room. He pushes aside a pile of paper and takes a Bible from the desk, unaware of the WOMAN’s presence. He starts to head for the door and then freezes as he sees the WOMAN. She crosses to him and takes the Bible out of his hand. For a moment they are frozen in time. The noise from the other room increases as the other rioters draw near.

  The WOMAN gives the Bible back to the BOY and gives him a little push toward the door. As he reaches the door, PRISCILLA appears in the doorway, looking for the BOY. The two women look at each other, and then PRISCILLA and the BOY exit.

  A group of RIOTERS enters. The men look in closets and throw the bedding and clothes they find onto the floor. The women begin picking it up.

  FIRST WOMAN

  (holding up a child’s garment)

  It’s perfect for my Mary.

  SECOND WOMAN

  Too good for the little picaninnies. That’s for sure.

  Other WOMEN enter and begin taking linen and clothing, stuffing it into their own bosoms or waists.

  MAN

  Let’s burn it down!

  FIRST WOMAN

  Wait! Let’s go through the closets first. There might be more clothing in there.

  WHITE MAN

  You don’t want hand-me-downs from no blacks. You won’t be able to get the stink out of them.

  The WOMEN ignore him and continue stuffing clothing into pillowcases.

  A THIRD WOMAN

  Look under the beds. There might be shoes. Oh, how I would love a pair of decent shoes for Katie. (Wistfully) Nine years old and she’s never had a proper pair of girl’s shoes.

  ANOTHER WOMAN

  (holding a coat)

  This is hemmed. I can let it out nice as you please.

  CUT TO:

  LONG SHOT: The front of the Colored Orphan Asylum. There are RIOTERS milling about the grounds. Some are throwing rocks through the windows. Through the broken glass we see the first flickering of flames.

  CUT TO:

  LONG SHOT of some wagons, plus a few coaches. The camera zooms in, and we see the CHILDREN from the Colored Orphan Asylum. They are singing and holding hands. The wagons are driven by blacks and whites.

  INT. 7th DISTRICT POLICE STATION—SAME DAY

  A number of BLACK PEOPLE are huddled together on benches, obviously frightened. A man comforts a woman who, in turn, has her arm around an older woman, who rocks softly and hums. There are a number of POLICEMEN trying to work around the people seeking shelter.

  SERGEANT

  What’s the situation in the park?

  OFFICER MCCLUSKER

  They’re gathering their strength and drinking as much courage as they can find. We should close the bars.

  OFFICER BARNES

  The Dead Rabbits and the Bowery Boys are out with them, egging them on.

  OFFICER MCCLUSKER

  There’s an old Colored granny over there I think I’ll take around to my place. My missus will look after her. She’s got no family.

  OFFICER BARNES

  We’ve got a few dollars in the precinct fund. Take what you need from there—anything to help these poor people. This is getting to be more and more of a cesspool. They killed Colonel O’Brien of the 11th Volunteers—did him in horrible, too—and all the soldiers coming into the city are growing uglier by the minute. There’ll be more widows than heroes before this thing is over.

  OFFICER MCCLUSKER

  And these poor devils don’t know which way to turn.

  CUT TO:

  A group of BLACKS huddled together in the station.

  OFFICER MCCLUSKER

  (cont’d)

  They’re chasing and beating every one of them they find in the streets. Between them torturing Negroes and stealing what they can, they’ll be up all the night.

  OFFICER BARNES

  We find the leaders and beat a tattoo on their heads, and they’ll soon come to their senses. Give them enough headaches and some time behind bars to let the whiskey wear off enough, and the starch will leave their backbones pretty quick. They’ll see they haven’t gained anything for all their strutting and boasting.

  SERGEANT

  It’s not what a man has to gain that drives him to the wildness; it’s that he has nothing to lose. This is going to be worse before it smells of better. Believe me. A messenger just came in from the First Ward who said there’s a crowd milling around there, and there’s more trouble a-brewing at the armory. I don’t much care if they tackle the Tribune. They’ve got machine guns in the offices to ward them off.

  OFFICER MCCLUSKER

  In the building? They keep weapons in the newspaper offices?

  OFFICER BARNES

  Nae, laddie, not on a normal day. But the paper has hired some toughs and some weapons. A bad business all around if you ask me. This is all getting too ugly for words.

  EXT. DOWNTOWN NEW YORK—SAME DAY

  A CROWD has gathered on a street corner across from the Tribune newspaper offices. We see JOHN ANDREWS (41), a lawyer from Virginia and a Southern sympathizer, stirring up the crowd. ANDREWS is a smallish man with a neat beard. He is standing slightly behind LIAM, but close enough to whisper into LIAM’s ear from time to time. ANDREWS rocks back and forth, sometimes even rising on his toes as he gets more excited.

  LIAM

  Lincoln is calling up the Irish to die for the darkies. It’s not that I mind the dying if the cause is good. I’ll take my chances along with the next man. I’ll fight shoulder to shoulder to save my family and the scraps I’ve sweated for. At the Union…

  ANDREWS

  (whispers)

  Cooper Union.

  LIAM

  At Cooper Union, Lincoln said that he was fighting to preserve the Union, but we all know the real reason—to free the darkies so they can come and take what little chance we have to feed our own.

  CROWD

  You tell ’em! You tell ’em!

  (there is general cheering)

  IRISH WOMAN

  (to OLDER IRISH MAN on sidewalk)

  Well, they shouldn’t be breaking things up and hurting people no better off than we are.

  OLDER IRISH MAN

  What?

  IRISH WOMAN

  I’m saying that the Colored don’t have nothing either.

  OLDER IRISH MAN

  What?

  IRISH WOMAN

  Oh, shut up!

  LIAM

  (looking around, building momentum)

  If the swells are so keen to be going to war, let them stop their pretty speeches and put down their silver snuff boxes and march on down to the waterfront themselves. Sure it’s me and Mickey Mud and Paddy Stink will follow right behind with our drums beating and a screeching of the fifes.

  ANDREWS

  (whispers)

  Ten more years…

  LIAM

  This war will go on for ten more years. Lincoln knows that. You know that. And it’s all of us they’ll be burying in shallow graves.

  CROWD

  No! No!<
br />
  CUT TO:

  MEDIUM SHOT of LIAM and MAEVE, who has moved by his side. He is becoming somewhat apprehensive, while she stands with her hands on her hips. This is clearly their moment.

  CUT TO:

  CLOSE-UP of ANDREWS. He is highly animated, and we see his effect on the crowd as the camera moves slowly around him.

  ANDREWS

  There’s more that think like us than think like them because there are more of us than there are of the dandies at the Tribune! What I’m saying is when they set the type for the lists of dead soldiers, you can be sure they don’t find their own kin there. You can believe that. We have to organize, boys. Organize!

  They’re sitting behind those tall windows, and they’re asking themselves the same questions we should be asking. They’re asking if the workers of New York City are real men, or should we all be uptown on the sheep meadow ready to be marched off to whatever hell they’ve found for us? They are asking the question and we have to give them an answer!

  CROWD

  Men! We’re men!

  And women ready to fight by their side!

  The CROWD grows more and more unruly as the camera pulls back. The chanting becomes rhythmic, almost heroic. The camera blurs slowly out of focus.

  INT. THE PEACOCK INN—JULY 14, 1863—EARLY MORNING

  ELLEN is sitting in the semi-darkness of early morning. JOHN enters the room, putting on his jacket. He stops and looks at his wife.

  JOHN

  I’m off to see Dr. Smith. He has a cellar door that needs fixing.

  ELLEN

  How much would you laugh if I told you to be careful?

  JOHN

  I’m being careful. When fools don’t care who they kill, you have to watch yourself. Some of the black men from the mill travel together when they have to get somewhere.

  ELLEN

  Did you talk to Claire?

  JOHN

  She’s keeping to herself.

  ELLEN

  Then we need to be where she is, John. This hasn’t been an easy time for her.

  JOHN

  (troubled)

  Yeah, I know. I know.

  ELLEN

  She’s not liking what she’s been seeing, that’s for sure. And can we blame her?

  JOHN

  Who’s liking what they see these days? This is the second day and there’s no telling where it’s going to end. They tore up the Colored Orphan Asylum last night.

  ELLEN

  God! Where are the children? Priscilla?

  JOHN

  Safe for now. Some of them are in private homes. Some are up in the Armory. Some in police stations. They’ll have to be moved after a while, but they’re safe for now. There are still decent people in this city. New York is still New York.

  CLAIRE enters. She looks from her father to her mother. ELLEN forces a smile.

  ELLEN

  Morning, love.

  CLAIRE

  Morning.

  There is a pounding on the door.

  JOHN

  (calling out)

  We’re closed!

  LIAM

  (from outside)

  It’s me! Liam!

  JOHN goes to open the door, and LIAM, MAEVE, and ROSIE LYONS (14) enter. LIAM goes to a table and sits heavily. MAEVE turns a chair and straddles it while ROSIE sits across from them.

  LIAM

  I’ve been in the streets all night, Miss Ellen. It’s getting rough out there. People being knocked around and worse. It’s got my head addled, it has. I need something to eat.

  ELLEN

  We’re closed until further notice, Liam. You’ll have to be getting your breakfast elsewhere.

  MAEVE

  But he’s hungry here, not elsewhere. And we’ve got the money, haven’t we?

  JOHN

  (sternly)

  She said we’re closed, and she meant it.

  ROSIE

  Is she the one you said was a blackie?

  MAEVE

  (indicating CLAIRE)

  She is. The one in green.

  ROSIE

  Oh, she’s a cutie.

  JOHN

  I think it’s time for you to leave, Liam. And take your friends with you.

  LIAM

  Mr. Johnson, if this all doesn’t come down on the right side, do you think I could be working steady at the Peacock?

  JOHN

  What’s the right side, Liam?

  LIAM

  It’s hard knowing with all the shouting and running through the streets, now isn’t it?

  CLAIRE

  (Crosses to LIAM and takes his hand)

  You’re always welcome here, Liam. You know that, don’t you?

  MAEVE

  What is your name again?

  CLAIRE

  Liam must have told you that it’s Claire.

  MAEVE

  Well, Miss Claire, don’t be eyeing my Liam. There’s a lot more to me than you’d be knowing, dearie.

  CLAIRE

  Eyeing Liam? I’m doing nothing of the sort!

  ROSIE

  I think she’s in love, Maeve. She’s blushing.

  LIAM

  Come on, I have to get home and get some rest. Get me head together. Bye, Mrs. Johnson. Claire.

  MAEVE

  (to CLAIRE)

  You want to come with us? We’d love to show you off to our friends.

  JOHN

  I said it’s time for you to leave.

  LIAM

  We’ll be seeing you later, then.

  CLAIRE

  Liam, be careful.

  LIAM

  That’s for sure, Claire. Careful is me middle name.

  ROSIE

  (as they leave)

  If you ask me, she looks more German than Irish.

  LIAM, MAEVE, and ROSIE exit.

  JOHN

  Never mind that crowd. They don’t even know what they’re doing. I’m headed uptown. Lock the doors after me and stay off the streets.

  JOHN exits.

  ELLEN

  Are you all right, Claire?

  CLAIRE

  I hate people who don’t even know what they’re doing.

  ELLEN

  Hate’s a strong word for people you don’t know, Claire.

  CLAIRE

  That girl hates me because I’m black; I can hate her because she’s white.

  ELLEN

  Maybe she hates you because Liam has a sparkle in his voice when he talks about you. Now that would be a good reason not to like you. Wouldn’t it?

  She crosses to CLAIRE and puts both arms around her.

  CLAIRE starts to answer but instead begins to cry softly.

  CLAIRE

  Liam was just my friend a few days ago. We could laugh together, and I would kid him when he came to make deliveries. Now everything is upside down.

  ELLEN

  When things get back to normal around here we’ll—

  CLAIRE

  They’ll never be normal again.

  Sobbing, she puts her head down as her whole body shakes.

  ELLEN

  When things come around—

  The door to the Peacock opens.

  ELLEN

  (cont’d)

  We’re closed! We’re closed!

  A thin white man, the poet WALT WHITMAN (44), enters, accompanied by FARLEY (11), a black boy, small for his age, whom he has hired to help him on his visit to New York. WHITMAN has been working as a nurse during the Civil War, but is far better known as a journalist and the poet who published Leaves of Grass. He looks much older than his age. He has a slight hesitant manner; he walks unevenly and leans on furniture as he passes.

  ELLEN

  (to WHITMAN)

  I told you we were closed!

  WHITMAN

  (seeing CLAIRE)

  Can I help? I have some experience as a nurse.

  ELLEN

  No. And we’re closed.

  WHITMAN

  There’
s a covey of angry young men flapping and strutting their way down the street. I need to keep Farley here safe until they pass, and then we’ll be on our way.

  ELLEN looks at them cautiously and then goes and locks the door to the Peacock.

  ELLEN

  As soon as they pass…

  WHITMAN

  What happened?

  ELLEN

  A young man who worked for us has joined the rioters. He brought some friends by and they’ve upset my daughter.

  CLAIRE

  They don’t like me because I’m black.

  WHITMAN and FARLEY both turn and look at CLAIRE, who lifts her chin proudly for a second but then turns away.

  WHITMAN

  Well, I’ve seen them—swaggering through the streets with crowd courage and searching for themselves in the storm they create with their shouts.

  He settles at a table.

  ELLEN

  They’re rioting in the streets. And stealing what they can in the bargain.

  CLAIRE

  Last night they burned down the Colored Orphanage.

  WHITMAN

  Yes, well, yes. I guess America has finally shaken off the stupor of its promise and its beauty and is asking itself questions it should have answered seventy-five years ago.