by Von Kambro
Based on the award winning screenplay:
Finding Amelia:
Charity Work
At First Glance
Tell Me Your Story
Nursing, Banjos and Planes
Frank and Neta
The Canary
G.P.
Ireland, Hawaii and Miami
Lost….and found.
Written by Von Kambro
Golden Shores Publishing
©2015
About “Finding Amelia”
The mystery and allure that surround Amelia Earhart still inspires many people to seek answers to her fate. While theories remain, and a few seem quite plausible due to pieces of wreckage being found that resemble her plane, the most important link to solving Amelia’s disappearance is…
“Finding Amelia.”
This story is written based on the award winning screenplay, and is set in the time frame of her disappearance while on the last leg of her circumnavigation of the globe. It’s uncertain to know if Amelia decided to perish with intention, or maybe not, or it could’ve been fate interceding with the image of Amelia as an aviator and celebrity.
“Finding Amelia” is an interpretation of several thoughts about what may have happened to her, but ultimately it comes down to each individual to make their own decision regarding this captivating person that disappeared from our sight, but not our hearts and minds.
Charity Work
On a deep blue horizon off the North East coast of Australia, a small, yellow, single engine plane drifts upward into a clear sky. Inside is Roger Danvill, an Australian bush pilot. His dirty blonde hair rambles out from under his hat and lay on his shoulders. His steel blue eyes are fixed on the on the horizon and only shutter away to quickly scan the rolling seas below as they dance across the surface of the earth.
In the distance, a small group of islands appear.
It’s only in habitants are the non English speaking natives that live out their lives surrounded by warm breezes, turquoise waters and a naturalistic way of living that doesn’t have a lot of influence from modern society.
Roger has made this trip before, but this time is different. He’s alone.
Any other time he’d be with his business partner and missionary, Jamey Carsen.
Jamey is capable of speaking with the natives and can tell them what items are being brought as part of a charity through a church he attends.
The flight itself isn’t terribly long, but because the island is small and lacks modern amenities, including a paved runway, it’s often overlooked for anything other than just a speck of trees surrounded by water to aviators and passing ships.
To most, the island appears to be an uninhabited island and gives a first impression that if you were stranded there you’d never be found, or heard from again.
Although its exterior seems stark, its beauty is hidden, and awaits discovery.
As Roger takes his pane nearer to the island he is surrounded by more than water. Fine red dust continues to swirl around his cabin, the remnants of his departure after leaving the dry, cracked, barren earth.
Roger: “Friggin redders!”
Roger waves his hat at the pesky bits of terra firma that seem only to regroup and swing back around and terminate within his line of vision which causes his eyes to react with watery remorse.
Roger: “This charity work ain’t easy!”
Roger takes a few more feverish swings at the little red devils and rubs his eyes. He blinks and floods the pesky red dirt with tears that flush the particles away from his sight and can see a clearing on an island as he approaches. He rubs his eyes once more and looks down at a small clearing that has about fifty feet of dirt exposed.
Roger: “Ah! The runway!”
Roger circles the island and swoops down and brings his plane onto the rough and very short runway.
A group of native men and women watch as the plane heads toward the end of the runway and swing around, it spits out chunks of green flora as it overshoots a turn and then chugs out thick black clouds smoke from the exhaust pipes as it nears the natives.
The plane’s engine stops and the raucous entrance comes to an end. The natives are silent as they watch Roger exit his plane.
His appearance is accompanied by the sound of crashing waves onto a rocky outcropping nearby. He runs around to the front of his plane and lifts the hood and looks at the smoldering engine.
Roger: “I need some charity.”
Roger lets the hood fall down which unintentionally trumpets his official arrival. He quickly looks back at the natives. Nobody in the group flinches from the loud bang as the heavy engine cover slaps itself shut. They all focus on Roger as he takes his hat off and bows. He mumbles quietly to himself as he does.
Roger: “Jamey, you owe me for this.”
Roger stands up right and flings his hat up in the air and takes a step forward as his hat land directly on top of his head. He opens his arms wide and smiles.
Roger: “Roger Danville at your service!”
A native elder steps forward and points back toward a banana leafed hut that site beneath two large palm trees. The towering palm trees are bent over the hut and cover it like two protective parents.
The elder begins to walk toward the hut and motions for Roger to follow.
Roger follows at a few steps behind while keeping a wary eye on the gathering group of natives that begin to gather around him.
Roger watches as the elder waves for him to come closer as he stands at the entrance of the hut.
A glimpse inside reveals a body od someone laying down on a makeshift bed. Their arms are folded over their stomach, and slowly move up and down as the person inhales and exhales in deep breaths.
At First Glance
Roger and the elder stand outside the thickly leafed hut. They are unable to communicate with words, but an attempt is made by a young native man that steps forward and points at a brown tattered jacket that hangs from a twisted, knotty branch.
Young Native: “Not. Good.”
Roger walks over to the jacket and removes it from the branch. He examines it’s torn and wrinkled shell then looks at the faded labeling inside and tries to read it.
Roger: “let’s see. Am. Leah.”
Roger holds the jacket close to his eyes and tries to decipher the letters, but they’re too faded and torn to comprehend. He places the jacket back on the branch and turns around. The native elder is directly in front of him.
The elder now points at the hut and speaks in broken English.
Native Elder: “Not good. Person.”
Roger steps back and flicks the rim of his hat. He rubs his chin while glancing at the elder and the hut that keeps being pointed at.
Roger: “Not good? Bad.”
The native elder nods his head up and down once.
Roger sighs and reaches into his front pocket and takes out a pocket knife that’s adorned with red and blue stripes. He presses an unseen button on the side, and it snaps open to reveal a shiny, jagged blade.
Roger: “Bad. Must be an intruder.”
As Roger begins to walk toward the hut, the native elder walks in front of him and looks at the knife then nods his head.
Native Elder: “Hurt. Person. Inside.”
Roger takes his knife and raises it up to his face and it suddenly snaps shut. As he places it back into his pocket, he notices two native women walk inside the hut. He can see their silhouettes move around inside as faded light dances in through gaps of the wind kissed banana leafed hut.
He stands and watches two
dark figures as they try to help someone stand up.
Roger walks cautiously to the entrance of the hut, and peeks inside and sees the two native women holding someone between them.
Roger: “Still can’t see.”
Inside the hut the two native women let the person they tried to coax out sit back down on the bed. Roger takes a step inside and looks in the direction of the person that’s sitting on the bed. The two native women notice him and shuffle their feet on the dirt floor as they walk toward him. Before he can get a good look at the person, he rubs his eyes and shakes his head s the women now escort him outside.
A group of natives stare at him as he walks out.
Roger: “That dust. It gets me every time.”
The two native women shake their heads then walk over and stand behind the Elder and whisper something to him. Roger slowly reaches into his pocket and keeps his hand on his knife as he watches the native elder’s reaction to the women.
The elder looks to a man standing next to him and speaks to him. The man then looks at Roger and begins to walk very slowly toward him but stops about half way. He begins to step backwards with a glassy eyed stare.
Roger feels like he’s the center of attention, and not in a good way
The natives begin to chatter amongst themselves as they look in Roger’s direction. Feeling helpless and paranoid is never a good combination, but Roger is in such a place and whips out his knife and flicks the blade open while giving fair warning.
Roger: “Don’t mess with the Aussie!”
He then places the knife in his mouth and clamps down on it and readies his fists by clenching them and holding them up near his face.
Someone politely taps Roger on his shoulder.
He turns around so fast that his knife flies out of his mouth and sails through the air and lands in a thicket of lush island plants.
The knife makes a hasty escape, but Roger can’t do anything about it.
Roger: “Dammit!”
As soon as Roger turns his head, someone falls onto him. There’s no time to react in defense, and hugs them as they both fall to the ground.
Roger: “Blimey!”
The image of the person becomes suddenly clear, and Roger has to capture his own breath as it escapes involuntarily.
He stands next to the person laying in front of him and shakes his head in disbelief.
Tell Me Your Story
Roger’s sudden introduction to the person inside the hut is complimented with an unexpected fall to the ground, and as he opens his eyes he’s surprised to see a woman laying on top of him, but the moment is short lived because no sooner than she had fallen on him, she was picked back up and escorted back into the hut by two helpful women.
Roger quickly props himself up on his elbows and watches as the woman is led away. They stop at the entrance and guide the female between them in a slow, deliberate, circling manner so she faces Roger.
Roger: “A girl. At first I thought she was a boy.”
Roger can see the woman even-though the sun’s light is forced into submission from the protective canopy of palm trees that hang over the hut. He notices her short, curly, un-kept hair and the high cheek bones.
She’s thin and has some scratches on her face and could easily be a castaway considering the way her clothing is torn.
Roger: “You got some nicks on ya.”
Roger stands up and brushes himself off. He looks over at the brown jacket that dangles from a branch near the hut, then back at the woman who fell on him.
Roger: “You a pilot?”
The woman looks at the jacket and hangs her head. She replies in a barely audible voice and seems to be talking to herself.
Woman: “No. I’m not.”
She lifts up her head and looks at Roger and barely moves her head up and down in contradiction which makes Roger confirm his own suspicion.
Roger: “Well, that’s an aviator’s jacket.”
The woman looks back at the jacket and whispers a name.
Woman: “Fred.”
Roger: “Fred? Who’s Fred?”
The solitary woman continues to stare at the jacket and doesn’t realize that roger is now only a few inches away from her. He studies her as she looks at the jacket and pieces together more than he could ever realize.
Roger: “You’re that pilot. Amelia Earhart.”
As Roger says her name, she turns and looks at him. She manages to smile despite the obvious weakness and pain in her body.
Roger: “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re alive.”
Amelia’s voice is raspy when she speaks, but replies with the only answer that’s appropriate.
Amelia: “Barely.”
The two women guide Amelia back inside the hut and Roger follows. The light is dark and the air hazy from the dusty floor as they walks over to the bed where she lays down. Roger kneels down beside her and looks at her while he rubs his eyes.
Roger: “You’ve got to tell me your story.”
The two native women stand close by and watch Roger as he talks to Amelia. She closes her eyes and talks softly.
Amelia: “I can’t now. Too tired. Ask Fred.”
Roger looks at the two women standing close by.
Roger: “Fred? Who’s Fred?”
Their blank expressions give way to movement as they walk over to Roger and help him stand up and tug at him to lead him away from Amelia. Roger complies and walks out with the two women.
Once outside, Roger heads toward his plane and opens up a side door. He reaches inside and pulls out a box. He opens it and takes out a news paper. On the front page is Amelia’s picture. She’s wearing an aviator’s jacket and a pair of neatly pressed slacks while waving as she stands in front of a plane. Her short, curly hair highlights an engaging smile that radiates with charisma.
Roger: “That’s her alright.”
Roger reads through the article while periodically glancing back at Amelia’s hut.
Roger: “Amelia Earhart. First woman to circumnavigate the globe. Accompanied with Fred” Roger stops for a moment and sighs.
Roger: “Fred. Fred Noonan. Accomplished navigator will be with Amelia as she defeats the world record for circumnavigation”
Roger folds the paper and places it back into the box. And closes the door on his plane and presses a hand on it then stands for a moment. He takes off his hat and scratches his head then thoughtfully looks at his hat before placing it back on.
Roger: “Defeats the world record? Journalists and their words.”
Roger walks back to the hut and sits next to the entry while he looks out at the turquoise water which hovers above coral reef. He watches as children playfully kick at waves that tumble into shore while their mothers sit in a group and prepare foods in hand made bowls while keeping a watchful eye on their children.
The men have dispersed and some can be seen getting into canoes and paddling through the surf as they make their way out to a shallow reef where they dive into the sparkling blue water and resurface with the evening’s meal.
Roger: “It’s not so bad here.”
Roger pulls his hat over his eyes and drifts off to sleep while the children’s laughter and softly crashing waves intertwine. As the sun edges closer to the horizon, its orange tip casts a soft glow over the ocean and paints it with broad strokes. Roger has awakened from his nap and sits next to Amelia by the shoreline.
Her arms are folded over her knees as she sits with her feet buried in the sand. As Roger looks at her tattered clothes that have patches of brown from dried blood, Amelia looks at him and slowly shakes her head back and forth.
Roger: “Tell me your story. What happened?”
Amelia looks back out at the orange and blue skies on the horizon. She takes in a deep breath and then exhales. She remains quiet for awhile before answering and continues looking out at the waves as seagulls bob up and down on the currents. H
er voice is weak, but not too raspy like it had been.
Amelia: “I don’t know. Maybe if I had worn an apron instead of that jacket. I wouldn’t be here.”
Roger: “The apron?”
Amelia: “I remember certain things. Like paintings on a cave wall, they’re faded, but still there.”
Amelia’s comments seem disjointed to Roger, but as the evening continues and Amelia’s thoughts are shared with him, he pieces it all together.
A puzzled life, all the pieces that seem lost are only scattered and found. The picture seems abstract, but must be looked at with careful retrospect in order to make sense of it all.
Nursing, Banjos and Planes
Amelia explains her story to Roger the best that she can. The moments in her life that haven’t left her memory are the cornerstones that created her identity and fame. She sits on the soft sandy beach with Roger and shares the moments of her life that she can recall with clarity.
Amelia: “It was in North Hampton. At Pidge’s house.”
Roger: “What’s a Pidge?”
Amelia coughs and laughs, but manages to answer Roger.
Amelia: “Pidge was my sister, Grace. I always called her that, even with her disapproval, but it was her who suggested I go to an air show.”
