Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Bird’s Eye View of Previous Scene: We see in our reporter the still respectful and courteous man, but one who is more aggressive in ferreting out the truth in Fanny’s painful past.
Act III
Scene 1
CHARACTERS:
Fanny Barnwarmer: Eighty-five-year-old woman with plenty of spark and sizzle still in her. Has been performing at the Tavern for forty-four years.
Reporter: Mid-thirties. Works for the New York Times, on assignment in Brady, Texas to write a human-interest story on the famous Fanny Barnwarmer.
SETTING: Front porch of Fanny Barnwarmer’s home. Rocking chair, DOWNSTAGE RIGHT, facing kitchen chair, CENTER, and front steps behind, which descend to street level with a flowerbed to the side. OFFSTAGE LEFT are street sounds of traffic: of vintage 1928 cars, some horse whinnying, etc., that continue as a kind stew of white-noise background throughout the scene.
PLACE/TIME: Brady Texas, nine AM, Sunday, August 11, 1929
AT RISE: Fanny is alone on the porch, in her rocking chair, the newspaper opened in her lap. Her face is animated as her eyes go back and forth across the page. Suddenly, she erupts in laughter and gives the paper a shake.
REPORTER:
(Unseen, offstage left)
What are you reading, Miss Fanny, the funnies?
FANNY:
(Watching the REPORTER mounting the stairs)
No … Well, yes, ’spect ’tis the funnies. I’s readin’ the Sentinal’s finance page. They’s a whole world o’ funny out there if’n ya knows where to look—an how to read it.
REPORTER:
(Seating himself opposite her, pencil and tablet on his lap)
Anyone who can find humor in the finance section is reading in a language I don’t understand.
FANNY:
’Spect’n most don’t. An’ the powers what be, they likes it thet way. The Rockeyfellas an’ the Carnegies an’ the Fords … they’s plumb tickled they knows the ABC's o’ wealth whilst we’s muddlin’ along. But it’s all here, young man … lookey!
(Pokes at the newspaper)
This young scamp, Charles E. Mitchell … he’s at it agin! He’s lettin’ the nation know his National City Bank be still open fer business. Now, if’n y’all’d been listnin’ back on March tweny—
(aims a scrunched-up eye to the ceiling)
Yep, March tweny-fifth, the Fed’ral Reserve puff up theys chest thet day, an’ warn us we’s makin’ way too much money. How ’bout thet? Too much money!
REPORTER:
What?!
FANNY:
Riiight! Too much buyin’ … too much sellin’ … too much spek-you-latin’! We’s all havin’ too much fun! Well, young Mister Mitchell, he likes his fun, see? An’ what’s fun if’n ya cain’t share it? So, on March tweny-seben, he goes an’ opens a fifty … million … dollar … line o’ credit fer the entire nation! A gen’rous man. A lovin’ man. I ’spect Pope Pius Ex-One, hissef, be considerin’ sainthood fer young Charles Mitchell. *
REPORTER:
Well … I’ve seen it myself—there’s lots of new wealth in the big city. A lot of speculating. Talk that there’s no ceiling on how much can be made. I suspect, though, that John Q Public couldn’t walk into Charles Mitchell’s bank and get a loan.
FANNY:
Nope. ’Spect the bank favors them what gots co-lat’rul. Ain’t no democracy in wealth—but ol’ John Q, he sure feeds on them dreams, anyways, don’ he?… an’ fer dreams to be … there cain’t be no ceilin’ on ’Merica’s wealth.
(tapping on her temple)
Not up heah. Not in his thinkin’. But you know what my Daddy alles say?
[The REPORTER, who had been doodling on his tablet while she’d been speaking, stopped with the mention of her “Daddy”, and his eyes shoot up to hers]
FANNY (Continues):
My Daddy, he say thet durin’ those long, hot, summer days, with th’ last rich harvest ahind ya an’ a new crop a-pokin' outen the groun' … thet don’t be the time to be lazin’ 'round an’ pattin’ y’all’s sef on the back … it be the time to be up on y’alls roof, time ta be shorin’ up y’alls roof ’cause they may be a mighty rain a-comin'—a mighty storm fit t' come o’er the horizon.
REPORTER:
You mean like the blizzard that took off your roof and destroyed your barn and killed your livestock?
FANNY:
(Smiling, knowingly)
’Spect we ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the U. S. of A no more …
REPORTER:
Nope. At least ... not their economy.
FANNY:
Thet blizzard, though … T’warn’t no ’mount o’ preparin’ fer thet storm.
REPORTER:
I’ll bet … But on the other hand, it began the chain of events that aligned your daddy’s destiny, in a way, with Thomas Albright’s. I mean, Mr. Albright’s wealth helped your daddy get on his feet. And while your family didn’t—probably couldn’t—socialize with the Albrights, that debt was the link that kept you connected. And when Thomas Albright was straddling the back of your own gray mare, the noose around his neck, it was, after all, your daddy that came racing around the side of the house to try and rescue him.
(Beat)
Miss Fanny … I wonder … was your daddy conscious enough after his beating to witness the lynching?
FANNY:
Don’ know what y’all’s anglin’ fer, Robert … but no—thet all came out at the trial. An’ thet night … all's me an’ Mama knowed is ‘afore bedtime we heared my Daisy Lou a-whinnyin’ an’ stompin’ outsiden our door. We find Daddy a-draped o’er Daisy Lou’s back, an’ near dead.
REPORTER:
It does make one wonder why they didn’t just finish off your daddy right there. Or leave him to die.
FANNY:
’Cause he ’as white, I ’spect.
REPORTER:
So was Thomas Albright.
FANNY:
What married a nigra. The Army o’ Uriel, reckon they had theys codes, too.
REPORTER:
But Miss Fanny, you told me—I’m sorry, but you very strongly denied your daddy was a member of the Army ….
[FANNY cants her head at the reporter and nods]
REPORTER: (Continues):
But—but all that you’ve told me suggests he had joined the Army of Uriel, had sworn to their own brand of honor … had initiated the planned lynching by knocking on Thomas Albright’s door, luring him into opening it.
(Watches FANNY intently, and when she doesn’t speak, he continues)
This could even have been the test the Army put him to, before finding him worthy of donning the gunnysack uniform. You see where I’m coming from, Miss Fanny?
FANNY:
I see. An’ where y’all’s goin’ with it.
REPORTER
Then, I can only imagine Mr. Albright opening the door with a grin on his face—only to see your daddy turn on his heel and walk away as the band of thugs swarmed the door and dragged Mr. Albright out onto the front porch.
FANNY:
Tha’s purty much as what Missus Albright’s ‘torney ’scribed it in th’ persedin’s.
REPORTER:
Did he also describe the change of heart your daddy must have had as he hid alongside the house and watched the noose slip down on Mr. Albright’s neck?
FANNY:
Change o' heart? No! Y’all’s at it again! ’Twarn’t no change o’ no heart, Robert. Missus Albright’s ’tourney ’scribed it as a change o’ plan. ’Cordin’ to what thet Army tol’ my Daddy, t’warn’t no plan t’all t’ lynch Mister Albright—jes’ to scare the bejesus outten him.
REPORTER:
But see—that just doesn’t make sense, Miss Fanny. If the original plan was little more than a prank—
(Covering with his hand, the smile starting to spread)
Forgive me, I’m not trying to smile, but it all seems so bizarre. If it was only a prank—and your Daddy, the way you’ve described him, didn’t appear to be one to … to enjoy a little prank—then why would he have agreed to be party to it?
FANNY:
Your words be twistin’ it. Twarn’t never no little prank. They’s dead serious, th’Army o’ Uriel was. An’ I’d been fixin’ to tell y’all ’bout it yesterday … only the telegram boy comed.
(She carefully folds the newspaper, then sets it on the porch)
I reckon they’s no way pilin’ one word atop another’s gonna put y’all back, plop, in those days. The nigras, they growed up feelin’ the fear down here …
(Tapping her chest)
… since the day they’s born. They be taught it till they seed it theysef. The li’l picaninny boy—the li’l picaninny girl—they sees the hate in not jes’ theys owners eyes, but in t’other white man’s eyes ... an’ they know they cain’t show theys own hate. They all keeps hunkerin’ down in theys own selves, keepin’ it all in … an’ stewin’. Hatin’ theys own selves fer theys fear. …
(Beat)
Till come the day …
REPORTER:
(Interrupting, but distantly)
Till Lincoln said, “Let my people go.”
FANNY:
T’ain’t ’nuff said from the mouths o’ the people what stayed in Pharaoh's land. Reckon they’s some God’s people what stayed with the Pharaoh—what didn’t follow Moses.
(Beat)
Yep, these be the people the ’proc-lama-shun freed what still be working fer theys owners. They’s kept-down hate startin’ to seep up ’n through.
REPORTER:
And you’re saying that’s what your daddy and other farmers and ranchers were observing. That’s what they were seeing in the eyes of the legally freed negroes?
FANNY:
Yep. Up-seepin’ hate. From gen-rashuns o’ kept-in fear.
REPORTER:
Okay … Okay … That was why your daddy was having meetings with the landowners over their shared experience about what they perceived in the eyes of their now-freed employees.
FANNY:
’Twarn’t jest in the eyes o’ the nigras, young man. ’Twas rumblin’s o’ uprisins ’mongst the nigras. Some murderin’. Some burnin’.
REPORTER:
And that would’ve put a strain on your daddy’s attempts at bringing Christian understanding to the meetings? That makes sense. Then, one disgruntled landowner went to the Army of Uriel? Is that what happened? You were … um … kind of sketchy about that.
FANNY:
That be ’acause Daddy kept that from us. Mama’n me heered ’bout it ourseves at the trial. ’Twas Daddy what pointed his finger at t’ reg-ment leader o’ the Army what got to him.
REPORTER:
… the leader being Thurston Flourney?
FANNY:
(Nodding)
He aimed, through Daddy, t’ get an inner-duckshun t’ Thomas Albright.
REPORTER:
An introduction! Ha! But your daddy was no fool!
FANNY:
’Course not. He knowed. But he also knowed—’cause Thurston Flourney an' his mob
(with bitterness)
convinced him thet t' Army needed money t’operate. An’ Mister Albright, he had money galore. He swon he’s only gonna put t’ fear o’ God in ’im—jes fer the money ya know.
REPORTER:
Mister Flourney must have used some powerful convincing, though, to get past what your daddy had to easily see through.
FANNY:
’Twarn’t no mule what closed one o’ Daddy’s eyes an’ opened his lip like he tried t’ ’splain to us t’was. An’ if’n he hadn’t gone along—t’woun’t be no Mama, no Daddy … ’Twoun’t be no Fanny here t’ tell y’all ’bout it today.
REPORTER:
Survival, then ... Miss Fanny …
(Removes pocket watch and frowns down at it)
I have only a few hours before I must leave to catch the train. Please … I don't know what it is about the trial that keeps you pecking around the edges of it. But Please you must tell me about the trial.
END OF SCENE 1
|
Author Notes
*For those history buffs, the Great Depression began two months later, in October 1929, and many depression historians thought it was brought about largely by Mitchell's reckless banking practices.
|
|
