Tommy tears the pamphlet out of Joshua’s hands.
Blackout.
SCENE SEVEN
The Jackson house. The PREACHER enters.
PREACHER: Greetings, Brother Jackson. You wanted to see me?
TOMMY: Yes sir—I gotta problem here. My boy’s of age, wantin’ to go into the mines, but . . . uh . . . I can’t seem to lay my hands on his birth certificate.
PREACHER: Uh-huh. What d’you figure happen to the old one? (Beat.) Git burnt up in a fire or somethin’?
TOMMY: Somethin’ like that
PREACHER: Damn fires. How old is he?
TOMMY: Fourteen.
PREACHER: Surprisin’ how many kids around here turn fourteen all of a sudden. Okay, I can make you a new one, but there’s a lotta paperwork involved, you know, lotta expenses. . . .
Mary Anne, Joshua, and Abe enter.
TOMMY: How much?
PREACHER: Three dollars.
TOMMY: I’ll be honest with ya—I only got a dollar in cash on me. I was hopin’ I could pay off the rest.
MARY ANNE: Tommy, what’s goin’ on in here?
PEACHER: Well, I don’t know—I probly gotta make a special trip down to Morgan. . . .
MARY ANNE: Tommy?
PREACHER: You gotta file birth certificates at the county courthouse.
TOMMY: Maybe I could scrape together a dollar fifty.
MARY ANNE: What’re you doin’, Tommy?
PREACHER: Cash, not scrip, right?
MARY ANNE: Tommy?!
TOMMY: What?! What do you want!
MARY ANNE: He’s too young.
TOMMY: How soon can you get it?
PREACHER: Tomorrow.
MARY ANNE: He got him a birth certificate, he don’t need him no new one! Here! I’ll show ya!
She goes into the back and rummages desperately through papers.
PREACHER: Dollar fifty’s fine.
TOMMY: I want it tomorrow.
He hands the Preacher the money as Mary Anne returns.
PREACHER: Bless you, Mr. Jackson.
He exits.
MARY ANNE: Here, see! He got him one. Here . . . !
Tommy grabs it out of her hand and tears it up.
TOMMY: Well, he ain’t got him no goddamn certificate now!
Beat.
Don’t you ever shame me like that again.
MARY ANNE: You can’t do this to him.
TOMMY: You said it yourself, Mare—we just too far behind.
MARY ANNE: We can make it—I can make it work! We got what Abe brings in. . . .
TOMMY: We don’t need him. This family don’t need no charity from that sort!
MARY ANNE: What’re you up to, Tommy? What’re you tryin’ to do?
TOMMY: I’m doin’ what I shoulda done a long time ago.
MARY ANNE: This ain’t about Joshua.
TOMMY: You right about that, missy.
MARY ANNE: I see what you’re doin’, Tommy, God help ya. . . . Joshua, you go in the other room!
TOMMY: Joshua, you stay where you are! We’ll settle this right here. Joshua, you wanta be a miner, don’tcha, like your daddy? Tell your mama. Tell her!
JOSHUA: Sure, I guess.
TOMMY: That settles it, then.
MARY ANNE: He can do better!
TOMMY: Better’n what? Go on, say it—better’n what?!
MARY ANNE: Better’n minin’.
TOMMY: What you mean is better’n me!
MARY ANNE: That’s right—better’n you!
Tommy knocks her to the ground. Joshua lunges at Tommy, who pushes him away.
JOSHUA: Leave her alone!
Abe pulls Joshua off and stands between him and Tommy.
TOMMY: I want you outta this house. You here when I come back, I’ll kill ya.
Beat.
ABE: Okay. I’ll go. But you and me both know I ain’t really the problem here.
Abe goes into the back. Tommy exits. Joshua goes over to Mary Anne. She pushes him away and sits.
MARY ANNE: I’m okay.
Abe returns with his suitcase. Beat. Mother Jones appears in a dim light.
ABE: Don’t suppose you know anybody needs a boarder?
MARY ANNE: I’ll ask around. I’m sorry, Abe.
ABE: Hey, you ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for—not to nobody.
MARY ANNE: What’m I gonna do now?
ABE: This ain’t the end of nothin’, Mary Anne.
MARY ANNE: No?
ABE: Like Mother Jones usta say:
MOTHER JONES: War ain’t over till we say it is.
ABE: When the Comp’nies come in here and took this land away from you, it took’em years. They was real patient and they never let up, and that’s how you gotta be. Take care of your mama, boy—she’s somethin’ special.
He exits. Mother Jones stands behind Mary Anne and holds her. Joshua blows on the wooden whistle, which melts into the steam whistle.
SCENE EIGHT
Entrance to the coal tipple. Tommy and the Miners enter. Joshua and Mary Anne walk down to meet them.
FIRST MINER: That your boy, Jackson?
SECOND MINER: Kinda small, ain’t he? Mebbe you better throw’m back till he’s keeper size!
THIRD MINER: New slate picker?
TOMMY: No sir, he’s a miner!
FIRST MINER: A miner!
SECOND MINER: Fresh blood!
TOMMY: Boy ain’t got no blood in him atall. Got coal dust in his veins, same as allus!
CROWD:
That’s right!
Good to see ya, boy!
God bless ya!
Andrew steps forward and the Crowd quiets.
ANDREW: How old’s that boy, Jackson?
TOMMY: Fourteen.
ANDREW: Right. Got your affidavit?
TOMMY: Right here.
ANDREW: Well, hell—if you can’t take the word of a man of God, who can you trust? Let’s go to work!
The Crowd roars its approval and moves into the drift mouth)
JOSHUA: Hey, Abe!
ABE: Hey yourself, Joshua. Looks like I’m on your crew.
TOMMY: Lucky me.
The men take their places in empty coal cars for the trip to the main heading. Joshua calls out to Mary Anne.
JOSHUA: See you when we see you!
The lights telescope down on Mary Anne as she watches the car carry Joshua into the darkness.
Blackout.
SCENE NINE
The coal mine. Midday. Tommy and Joshua sit eating lunch.
TOMMY: You cold?
Joshua ignores him.
Next time you do what I tell ya—take your coat off when you work, put it on when you sit. (He tears his sandwich in half.) Here. Go on, I’m full already.
JOSHUA: I ain’t hungry.
TOMMY: Jist gonna go to waste.
Joshua takes it and eats.
You make your daddy proud today, boy. ’Nother year or two, ain’t gonna be nobody able to keep up with you.
JOSHUA: Yeah?
TOMMY: You bet. (Beat.) I know your mama and me, we don’t always see eye to eye on everythin’, but . . . we still family, you know? Ain’t nothin’ more important than your blood.
Joshua sneezes. Tommy grins.
Bug dust. Gonna kill us all, one day. (He coughs.) Funny thing is, I like it. I like minin’—bug dust ’n’ all. Your mama ain’t never understood that.
JOSHUA: She’s scared.
TOMMY: Yeah, she don’t like these mines much, that’s a fact. Her family—
JOSHUA: The Rowens?
TOMMY: —they usta own a lotta this land ’round here.
JOSHUA: You mean it’s true, all them storie
s she tells?
TOMMY: Well, you gotta take mosta them stories of your mama’s with a grain of salt, but yeah, her people was somethin’ once. Course they always usta look down on us Jacksons—figured we was just dumb white trash. Then her smart daddy sold the land to the Company, and pretty soon we wuz all in the same boat. Guess he wasn’t so smart that day! Your mama was really somethin’ in them days, Joshua—purtiest thing I ever seen. Losin’ that land just about broke her heart. Didn’t mean nothin’ to me. Hell, I’d give all these damn mountains and all the coal in ’em for her. She’s all I ever wanted.
Abe enters.
ABE: Car’s here—let’s round it over.
There is a loud rumble and the men freeze.
What the hell . . . ?
TOMMY: Get down! GET DOWN!
Blackout, and then a tremendous explosion roars through the mine, followed by several frantic blasts of the steam whistle. Cross-fade to Andrew.
ANDREW: Gotta coal bump in number five. I want it all shut down, the whole thing! Every goddamn gallery and tunnel!
Around the stage men call out:
MINERS: Cooooaaaalllll bump! Coal bump! Coal bump! Coaaalll bump!
Cross-fade to mine.
TOMMY: Joshuaaaaaaaa!
JOSHUA: Daddy! Daddy!
ABE: Over here, Tommy! Joshua! Over here!
Cross-fade to the porch of the Jackson house. Mary Anne huddles nervously with LUCY.
MARY ANNE: What’d they say? How many?
LUCY: Nobody knows. They won’t let nobody down there.
MARY ANNE: Oh, sweet Jesus. Lord have mercy.
Cross-fade back to mine.
ANDREW: Get me a doctor down here! And stretchers! All the timber you can carry! I want all those men outta there now! Move it!
ABE: This way!
Cross-fade to porch as the men stagger out of the mine, coughing and choking.
LUCY: Here they come!
All the women now stand on their porches, crying, praying, and calling to one another. The men begin to march, carrying their dead and wounded on homemade stretchers. The men stop and put one body down. The black woman on the porch, SURETA, comes and sobs fiercely over it. Lights close down around her, isolating her in a tight spot. As the men exit, Tommy, Joshua, and Abe peel away to meet Mary Anne.
JOSHUA: Mama!
MARY ANNE: Joshua! Joshua! Oh, baby, you all right?
TOMMY: He’s okay, he’s okay. We’re all okay.
MARY ANNE: No, Tommy, we ain’t.
A second spot comes up, isolating Andrew.
ANDREW: I gotta partial list here of the men who’re still missin’.
MARY ANNE: He ain’t goin’ back down there. You neither.
ANDREW: E. O. Boone.
ABE: Your men don’t work, Mary Anne, how you gonna eat?
ANDREW: Bob Jenkins.
TOMMY: He’s goin’ back, we’re all goin’ back. We always go back!
ANDREW: Doug Slocum.
ABE: What’s the cost, Tommy?
ANDREW: Ward Mayo.
ABE: How many friends you lose down there today?
ANDREW: Gus Hurley.
ABE: You think it gonna be any different tomorrow?
ANDREW: Jack Nolan.
ABE: What happened down there?
ANDREW: Frank Dawkins.
MARY ANNE: What happened, Tommy?
TOMMY: Coal bump.
ANDREW: Everett Hayes.
JOSHUA: What’s a coal bump?
ANDREW: Chad Mosely.
MARY ANNE: Tell’im, Tommy.
ANDREW: Bob Fox.
TOMMY: Company cut the pillars too fine . . . just picked away so much coal that there weren’t nothin’ left to hold up the mountain.
ANDREW: Tom Lynch.
ABE: Why’s a Company do that?
TOMMY: ’Cause it’s cheaper.
ANDREW: C. C. Edwards.
MARY ANNE: It’s gotta stop, Tommy.
ANDREW: Sam Berry.
ABE: Any way we could stop this, Tommy?
TOMMY: What d’you think?!
ANDREW: Carl Top.
ABE: I think Blue Star thinks a ton of coal is worth more’n Tommy Jackson and his boy put together. What d’you think?
ANDREW: Willie Baker.
MARY ANNE: What d’you think we ought to do, Tommy?
ANDREW: Earl Weiss.
ABE: What do you think we ought to do about that?
TOMMY: You son of a bitch! What do you know? You ain’t from around here! You don’t know nothin’ about here!
ANDREW: Sam Waylon.
ABE: I been inna hundred coal camps, and this one ain’t any different.
ANDREW: Tom Allen.
ABE: You ain’t alone in this.
ANDREW: Frank Wayland.
ABE: Don’t fight me, Tommy.
TOMMY: Leave me alone!
ANDREW: Carl Knotts.
ABE: You fight me, you fight her, you fight ever’body but them. Why don’t you fight them?!
TOMMY: I DON’T KNOW HOW!
Beat. Spots out on Andrew and Sureta
ABE: I know how.
Beat.
TOMMY: Whatta we gotta do?
ABE: Organize the men and then pull’em out. Nobody goes back.
MARY ANNE: Then what?
ABE: They’ll bring in scabs, try to replace you. Them we can’t organize we chase off.
TOMMY: And them we can’t chase off?
ABE: We kill’em. We gonna need guns.
TOMMY: Ain’t that what the Union does?
ABE: The operators got this county locked up tighter’n a flea’s ass—I can’t ship no guns in. But I got money. You got somebody local who ain’t too particular ’bout who he sells to and we’ll just buy’em.
TOMMY: They’s a miner does some bootleggin’, s’posed to run guns on the side—army surplus.
ABE: Set it up. (Beat.) What’s the problem?
TOMMY: He’s a nigger.
ABE: Coal don’t care, why should you?
Mary Anne hands Abe the Rowen family watch.
MARY ANNE: Here. Anybody shoots at my family, they oughta be able to shoot back. You buy us some damn guns!
Beat.
ABE: Tommy?
TOMMY: I’ll set it up for tonight.
Blackout.
SCENE TEN
The woods. Night. Standing beside an old wagon is Cassius Biggs. He is a powerfully built black man in his thirties. He carries a revolver stuck in the waistband of his pants. His wife, Sureta, sits on the wagon. Tommy walks up, Abe behind him.
CASSIUS: Evenin’.
TOMMY: Got somebody wants to meet ya.
ABE: Mr. Biggs. Evenin’, ma’am.
SURETA: Evenin’.
ABE: My name’s Steinman. Abe Steinman, and I was hopin’ we could do some business.
CASSIUS: White mule or pickhandle?
ABE: Pickhandle?
CASSIUS: Dago home brew outta raisins—kinda sweet but gotta wicked kick. White mule’s your more traditional sugar-top corn brew—draws an honest bead and guaranteed to knock you into the middle of next week. White mule or pickhandle?
ABE: I was thinkin’ Springfields. Jorgensons would be all right too, but I got a sentimental attachment to Springfields over in France.
CASSIUS: Somebody havin’ some fun with you, mister. I don’t sell no rifles—I sell liquor.
TOMMY: Oh, come on, Cassius. . . .
ABE: No, I think we got the right man.
Beat.
CASSIUS: You really fight over there in France?
ABE: Still got the mud between my toes to prove it.
CASSIUS: I signed on to do my part and fight for freedom and
democracy. That was the story, anyways. Only they wouldn’t let me fight with you white boys. They figured we colored was only good for diggin’ latrines. Paris was nice, though. I could walk anywhere, have a drink anyplace. Felt a lot like that freedom I was supposed to be fightin’ for—felt like a man, felt good. But get back to here and everythin’ still nigger this and nigger that.
ABE: The Union’s color-blind.
CASSIUS: So’s justice, ain’t she?
ABE (smiling): No, she’s just plain blind. Deaf and dumb sometimes too.
CASSIUS: Justice in Howsen County’s a buncha gun thugs in a automobile, white sheets over their heads.
ABE: Somebody oughta do somethin’ about that.
CASSIUS: “Woulda,” “shoulda,” and “oughta”—three of the saddest words they is. You know, six of them twenty-three miners was kilt was colored. Sureta’s brother was one of ’em.
ABE: Sorry for your loss, ma’am. We had us a strong Union, this sorta thing wouldn’t happen.
SURETA: They gonna bury my brother separate from the white miners.
ABE: Ain’t that like the Compn’y—keep us apart in death as well as life? It don’t have to be that way.
CASSIUS: That’s the way you see it, Tommy? (Beat.) Don’t nothin’ change.
ABE: Only for them people too scared to take a chance. Look, Cassius, I ain’t gonna pretend that we don’t need them rifles of yours, ’cause we do. But whatever else you may think you’ve known in this life, the Union is different.
CASSIUS: Different? What you gonna sell me next? The Lord gonna rise up?
ABE: Jesus was a workin’ man, you know.
CASSIUS: And look what they done to Him.
ABE: He dint have no rifles. With or without the rifles, Cassius, we’d be proud to have ya. You know where to find us.
Abe and Tommy walk away. Beat.
CASSIUS: What?
SURETA: Seem like a decent man.
CASSIUS: ’Cause he called me “mister” and tipped his hat to you? They always nice when they need us. He’s a Jew lookin’ to buy somethin’.
SURETA: Seem different to me. Maybe.
CASSIUS: Maybe the sun gonna rise in the west tomorrow, but I wouldn’t be layin’ no money on it, Sureta. It ain’t none of our business.
SURETA: Uh-huh.
CASSIUS: White people wanta kill each other, I say more power to ’em—it’s just one less for us to worry about! I ain’t sayin’ that’s right, I’m just sayin’ that’s how things is. I wish they was different.
SURETA: “Woulda,” “shoulda,” and “oughta”—three of the saddest words they is.
The Kentucky Cycle Page 16
