A Face in the Crowd

OLD MAN (to Sheriff:

Somebody's looking for you.

SHERIFF:

Miss Jeffries!

MARCIA:

Morning, Sheriff.

SHERIFF:

We've got what you want; we always

get a good haul on the 4th of July.

MARCIA:

Good. Come on, let’s go.

MAN:

Here she comes, Bill.

SHERIFF:

Come in, and see what we've got.

MARCIA:

Wait, I forgot my tape recorder.

SHERIFF:

Boys, this is Miss Marcia Jeffries.

MARCIA:

How do you do?

SHERIFF:

1

þÿ

Her uncle owns the radio station

in town, KGRK.

She's been doing a program,

maybe you've heard it...

"A Face in the Crowd". A mighty nice

program it is, too.

I know this is a little unusual...

but this morning she's going

to do her program from here.

Miss Jeffries, the jail of Tawny

Hawk County is at your disposal.

MARCIA:

It’s very simple; you just talk into

this microphone in a natural voice.

We'll just chat back and forth.

This is completely informal...

so if anybody wants to sing a song

or tell an anecdote...

a funny story...

SHERIFF:

Let me see. Beanie,

last time you were here...

I heard you sing something.

2

BEANIE:

I ain't got my teeth with me

this time.

MARCIA:
(into the microphone)

This is Radio KGRK, the voice

of North East Arkansas...

bringing you its morning feature,

"A Face in the Crowd".

Whose face?

It could be yours.

Or yours. People are fascinating

wherever you find them.

This is Marcia Jeffries,

looking for more faces...

this time from the county jail.

Say something. (She holds the microphone up to Beanie)

BEANIE:

Don't worry, Ma,

everything's fine.

Nicest jail I've been in

in this part of the country.

SHERIFF:

Hey, you, you can do something.

MAN IN CELL:

I got black skin,

but I ain't no minstrel.

3

SHERIFF:

I'm sorry, Miss Jeffries,

they're just an ordinary bunch.

Where's the drunk from last night

with the guitar? What’s his name?

DEPUTY:

Rhodes. That’s him lying there...

SHERIFF:

Go and wake him up.

BEANIE:

Watch him, he's mean.

DEPUTY:

Miss Jeffries, we'll wake him up.

Hey, wake up!

MARCIA:

Morning, Mr. Rhodes,

I'm from Radio...

LONESOME:

Get away! Get away!

DEPUTY:

The sheriff's here.

LONESOME:

I don't care if the president

is here.

If a man can't get a little

decent sleep in jail...

4

Who are you?

MARCIA:

I'd like to introduce you

to our radio audience.

LONESOME:

Radio?

MARCIA:

Join me in a little chat...

LONESOME:

Wait a minute!

Quit racing your motor.

What do I get out of it?

I mean, Me, myself, and I.

MARCIA:

Sheriff?

SHERIFF:

What’s he in here for?

DEPUTY:

A week, drunk and disorderly.

SHERIFF:

If you'll co-operate, I might

let you out in the morning.

BEANIE:

Me too, I'm his manager.

LONESOME:

The boys say you don't keep

your word any too good.

SHERIFF:

You keep your end of the bargain,

I'll keep mine.

LONESOME:

Well, okay.

5

It’s a deal, tomorrow morning. I'll sing you a song.

MARCIA:

I went to Sarah Lawrence College,

I majored in music.

I learned that real American

music comes from the bottom up.

When Gershwin played at the New York

it was black tie music...

but the real beginning of it

was in folks that never owned a tie.

I just bumped into a fella you

never heard of, Rhodes.

What’s your first name?

LONESOME:

Jack, or Mack,

what’s the difference?

MARCIA:

Calls himself "Lonesome Rhodes".

LONESOME:

Lonesome?

Don't be rushing me,

cut that thing off a minute.

Give me a chance to lubricate

my Adam's apple. (He takes a swig from the bottle in his guitar case)

Nothing like a little medicine

to put you in the mood.

Ain't mamma a beauty?

A guitar beats a woman

any time! I never have seen a woman

I could trust like this old guitar.

I love my mamma guitar.

She's always waiting for me

to pick her up and hold her.

Never asks me for money or goes

cheating around when I ain't looking.

If she gets a little sour, I just

give her a little twist like so...

and we're right back

in tune together.

PRISONERS:

Hey, Lonesome,

sing "Rye Whiskey".

6

Lonesome.

"Hallelujah, I'm a Bum."

LONESOME:

She can see that plain enough.

Whenever a bunch of fellas

like us...

outcasts, hobos, nobodies,

gentlemen loafers...

one time or all time losers,

call us what you want to...

Whenever we get together,

we tell funny stories...

me and Beanie

and the rest of these...

hand-to-mouth tumbleweed boys

like you see in here.

If whisky don't get us,

then women must...

and it looks like...

I'm never gonna cease...

my wandering.

But, deep down,

when we get ready...

to tuck our heads under our wings

and go to sleep...

we ain't kidding ourselves.

We're so low-down lonely...

the fella we couldn't stand

the sight of this morning...

tonight, when the guards

douse the lights...

and plunge us into darkness...

why that same fella seems like

our nearest, dearest buddy.

(He sings the next three lines.)

Ten thousand miles

away from home.

And I don't even know my name.

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