Shooting toward a small building (Hoboken Yacht Club) set upon a wharf
floating about twenty-five yards off shore. A long, narrow gangplank
leads from the wharf to the shore, and on either side of the wharf are
large ocean liners which are being unloaded by arc light. In the B.G.
is the glittering New York skyline. A great liner, blazing with light,
is headed down river. A ferry chugs across to Manhattan. There is a
counterpoint of ships' whistles, some shrill, others hauntingly muted.
CLOSER SHOT—SMALL BUILDING—ON WHARF—NIGHT
It is the office of the longshoremen's local for this section of
waterfront. Coming along the gangplank toward the shore is an isolated
figure. He is TERRY MALLOY, a wiry, jaunty, waterfront hanger-on in his
late twenties. He wears a turtleneck sweater, a windbreaker and a cap.
He whistles a familiar Irish song.
A SERIES OF WALKING SHOTS—TERRY MALLOY—WATERFRONT—NIGHT
Reaching the shore and turning away from the union office. Passing the
Turning up a waterfront tenement street lit by a dim street lamp that
throws an eerie beam. He is holding something inside his jacket but we
cannot see what it is.
MAIN TITLES TO BE SUPERIMPOSED OVER THIS SERIES OF SHOTS
Terry walks along until he reaches an ancient tenement where he stops,
hesitates, looks up toward the top of the building, and putting his
fingers to his mouth lets out a shrill, effective whistle that echoes
up the quiet street. Then he cups his hands to his mouth and shouts:
Hey Joey! Joey Doyle!
MEDIUM SHOT—TENEMENT WINDOW—NIGHT
The window of a third-story room, from Terry's POV. JOEY DOYLE, a
youthful, rather sensitive and clean-cut Irish boy, pokes his head out
(then a little suspiciously)
What do you want?
REVERSE ANGLE—WATERFRONT STREET—NIGHT
He reaches into his windbreaker in a gesture associated with drawing a
gun from a shoulder holster. But instead he draws out a live racing
pigeon. As he does so the bird makes an effort to escape and flaps its
wings, but Terry subdues it expertly and holds it up for Joey to see.
—one of yours. I recognized the band.
CLOSE—ON JOEY AT WINDOW—NIGHT
There is a fire escape in front of it.
Yeah? Must be Danny-boy. I lost him in the
He followed my birds into their coop.
Here, you want him?
Well I got to watch myself these days.
Know what I mean?
I'll bring him up to your loft.
(some what reassured)
I'll see you on the roof.
Joey closes the window and turns away.
EXT—MEDIUM CLOSE—TENEMENT—ON TERRY —NIGHT
Tensely, as if going through something he wishes he could avoid, Terry
looks in the direction of the tenement stoop and nods. Now for the
first time we see two men standing there under the doorway so that Joey
was unable to see them from his window. When Terry nods they enter the
tenement hallway; he takes a few steps forward so as to be out of sight
from Joey's widow. Then Terry raises the pigeon into the air and,
inexplicably, releases it. As it wings out of sight he turns and starts
up the street in the direction from which he came, walking crabwise as
if trying to see the effect of what he has just done. A soddenly drunk,
one-armed longshoreman, MUTT MURPHY, staggers toward him, singing in a
hoarse voice... .
(as if it were a dirge)
(He stumbles into Terry.)
Gotta dime for a crippled-up docker?