by David Mamet
Goldberg Street
WORKS BY DAVID MAMET PUBLISHED BY GROVE PRESS
American Buffalo
The Cherry Orchard (adapted from Anton Chekhov)
Five Television Plays
Glengarry Glen Ross
Goldberg Street: Short Plays and Monologues
Homicide
House of Games: A Screenplay
A Life in the Theatre
Reunion and Dark Pony
Sexual Perversity in Chicago and The Duck Variations
The Shawl and Prairie du Chien
Speed-the-Plow
Things Change: A Screenplay (with Shel Silverstein)
Three Children's Plays
Warm and cold (with Donald Sultan)
We're No Angels
The Woods, Lakeboat, Edmond
Goldberg Street
Short Plays and Monologues
by
David Mamet
Copyright © 1985 by David Mamet
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CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that all the short plays and monologues in Goldberg Street are subject to a royalty. It is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States, Canada, United Kingdom, and all British Commonwealth countries, and all countries covered by the International Copyright Union, the Pan-American Copyright Convention, and the Universal Copyright Convention. All rights, including professional, amateur, motion picture, recitation, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound taping, all other forms of mechanical or electronic reproduction, such as information storage and retrieval systems and photocopying, and rights of translation into foreign languages, are strictly reserved.
First-class professional, stock, and amateur applications for permission to perform it, and those other rights stated above, must be made in advance, before rehearsals begin, to the author's agent: Ronald Gwiazda, Abrams Artists Agency, 275 Seventh Avenue, 26th floor, New York, NY 10001.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mamet, David.
Goldberg street.
I. Title.
PS3563.A4345A6 1985 812’.54 84-73210
eISBN: 978-0-8021-9144-1
Goldberg Street © 1985 by David Mamet; Cross Patch © 1984 by David Mamet; Two Conversations © 1982 by David Mamet; Two Scenes © 1982 by David Mamet; Yes But So What © 1982 by David Mamet; Conversations with the Spirit World Steve © 1982 by David Mamet; Pint’s a Pound the World Around © 1983 by David Mamet; Dowsing © 1983 by David Mamet; Deer Dogs © 1982 by David Mamet; In the Mall © 1983 by David Mamet; Maple Sugaring © 1981 by David Mamet; Morris and Joe © 1981 by David Mamet; The Dog © 1979 by David Mamet; Film Crew © 1979 by David Mamet; Four A.M. © 1983 by David Mamet; The Power Outage © 1977 by David Mamet; Food © 1982 by David Mamet; Columbus Avenue © 1980 by David Mamet; Steve McQueen © 1983 by David Mamet; Yes © 1983 by David Mamet; The Blue Hour: City Sketches © 1981 by David Mamet; A Sermon © 1981 by David Mamet; Shoeshine © 1979; Litko: A Dramatic Monologue © 1981 by David Mamet; In Old Vermont © 1981 by David Mamet; All Men Are Whores: An Inquiry © 1981 by David Mamet
Cover design by John Gall
Cover photograph by Brigitte Lacombe
Grove Press an imprint of Grove Atlantic, 154 West 14th Street, 12th floor, New York, NY 10011
Distributed by Publishers Group West
www.groveatlantic.com
Contents
Introduction: Suitable for Framing
Goldberg Street
Cross Patch
The Spanish Prisoner
Two Conversations
Two Scenes
Yes But So What
VERMONT SKETCHES:
Conversations with the Spirit World
Pint's a Pound the World Around
Dowsing
Deer Dogs
In the Mall
Maple Sugaring
Morris and Joe
The Dog
Film Crew
Four A.M.
The Power Outage
Food
Columbus Avenue
Steve McQueen
Yes
THE BLUE HOUR: CITY SKETCHES:
Prologue: American Twilight
Doctor
The Hat
Businessmen
Cold
Epilogue
A Sermon
Shoeshine
Litko: A Dramatic Monologue
In Old Vermont
All Men Are Whores: An Inquiry
INTRODUCTION: Suitable for Framing
Tradition has it that Shakespeare finished King Lear and handed it to Richard Burbage saying: “You son-of-a-gun, I've finally written one you can't perform.”
I would like to say these pieces were done as experiments in form, rhythm, and sound; but in truth they were written as emotional meal tickets which would allow me to get through a day not consecrated to some major (longer) project and still think of myself as a writer.
The bad news is that I feel that some of these three-and ten-minute plays are the best writing I have ever done, and what in the world are they good for?
So I thank you for your interest in this collection.
I hope the pieces are fun to read and to perform—they were all fun to write.
David Mamet
Goldberg Street
Goldberg Street and Cross Patch were first presented live on WNUR Radio in Chicago on March 4, 1985, with the following cast directed by David Mamet:
Goldberg Street
Cross Patch
Mike Nussbaum
W. H. Macy
Susan Nussbaum
Mike Nussbaum
Peter Riegert
Colin Stinton
A man and his daughter talking.
Man: Goldberg Street. Because they didn't have it.
They had Smith Street—they had Rybka Street.
There was no Goldberg Street.
You can keep your distance and it's fine.
If a man is secluded then he feels superior. Or rage. But where's the good in that?
Daughter: There is no good in it.
Man: I'm not sure. And I'm not so sure. But sometimes . . . (Pause.)
And sometimes, also—you must stand up for yourself. Because it is uncertain . . . what we're doing here.
And masses of people do now this and now that; and at the moment you might say “this seems wrong,” or “this seems attractive.”
Popular delusions warp . . . you cannot say they are the product of one man.
Some men like hunting. I enjoy it myself.
Some men like to kill.
Many have killed. Many would say this is not a bad thing.
But they know it is.
Which is not to say they have not enjoyed it.
. . . . .
Man: A man would wish . . . (Pause.)
A man would wish someone to inform him . . .
I, if I man say, this is a good example—I am not mechanical but if something is broken a
nd I must fix it there comes a point at which pride in myself—for the alternative is to say that I am not a man, or that I am an impotent or stupid . . . or, in some way unable to do those things many have done . . .
At one point I would say: “It now is mine to fix it.”
When it's up to me—if there is no one there. . . then I will fix it—for it isn't hidden.
So with problems . . . those things where one cannot refer to someone.
At some point. One must say: I am the . . .
Daughter: . . . the authority.
Man: . . . the, loneliness that that entails, of course . . . and who would be so droll as to form a religion on ethical principles? (Pause.)
And one is alone.
And so one is . . .
And so what.
From that one may say “well, then I can proceed . . . ”
Lost in the wood you must say “I am lost.”
Daughter: You killed the deer.
Man: The man in Bregny . . . (Pause.)
Men hunted them with automatic weapons.
Which is not a sporting way and it is not an effective way.
Because you can't aim them, truly . . .
Daughter: . . . because they jump.
Man: They do jump. And . . . you can aim the first shot, of course . . . .
But we were taught to fire them from the hip. Held on the sling to give it tension.
And they hunted them, and, as you couldn't aim your shot, the animal, hit badly . . .
Ran.
Died.
Left a blood trail, but they couldn't follow it.
Or wouldn't.
Although they were country boys.
And, I'm sure . . . revered life.
Loved hunting . . .
. . . anyway
(Pause.)
They couldn't read a compass.
In Arkansas one time we were lost. The leader asked if anyone could read a compass. We'd all heard the lecture. I said, well, I'd never held one, but I heard it, I supposed I . . . took it. Read it. Followed the map.
Led us back to camp. It was easy enough. None of it was difficult.
And they put me in for the Unit. When they asked for volunteers.
Which may have been a joke. It was a joke. For anti-Semitism in the army. Then. Even now . . . (Pause.)
Even for, and especially then which I see as . . .
If you look at the world you have to laugh. They scorned me, as I assume they did, for those skills they desired to possess. And it was funny I had them.
To them. Lost in the woods. It seems simple enough. If you just take away the thought someone's coming to help you. (Pause.)
Daughter: You never see them?
Man: No, although we were close. In a way. Over there. Where would we . . .
I have no desire to go down south. (Pause.) To go visiting at all.
Daughter: You went to France.
Man: I did. It was the Anniversary. I wanted to see.
Daughter: What did you see? (Pause.)
Man: People. (Pause.) I saw the town.
Daughter: Had it changed?
Man: No. It hadn't changed. Just as the world has changed. (Pause.)
Daughter: I heard they saw you.
Man: Yes. They saw me. There's always someone there.
Laying flowers—it's right by the cliff. I mean the cliff is right beside the road. They . . . (Pause.)
Daughter: They knew you.
Man: I was . . . no, they didn't know me, They saw someone standing . . . (Pause.)
A man spoke English. He went in the pub. He must have said, he said something like “one of them's come back.” And, in the cemetery . . . they came over there.
Daughter: You were reading the stones?
Man: They're crosses, really . . . (Pause.) Yes. I was looking for the names.
Daughter: Did you find them?
Man: I thought that I would not remember them. I . . . but I . . . (Pause.)
People from the pub came out. (Pause.) They said, “You were here.”
Yes. We wept.
Patton slapped that Jewish boy.
They said . . . (Pause.)
Daughter: They remembered you. (Pause.) They remembered what you'd done.
Man: They sent me for a joke. Because I read the compass. I was glad to go. I knew they thought me ludicrous. Our shame is that we feel they're right. (Pause.) I . . . have no desire to go to Israel. (Pause.) But I went to France.
Cross Patch
Cross Patch
Draw the latch
Sit by the fire and spin.
Mother Goose
Scene: A meeting hall.
Characters: Speakers on the dais, members of the audience.
Master of Ceremonies: . . . and of the European Section?
Assistant: . . . ten.
M.C.: . . . and of the Home Section?
Assistant: Two.
M.C.: Two of the Home?
Assistant: Yes.
M.C.: Two. Yes. Aaaaaaand . . . Thank you. (He addresses the hall.)
Our Friends. Of the Green Division. Thank you. I would like to introduce Doctor William J. Pierce, who is known to you.
A . . . who needs no introduction, but I will avail myself of the honor of giving him one. First in the hearts of all those who deeply love freedom—first in the fearful estimation of those who oppose it. You have seen him on this stage, and you have seen him in the Nation's Press. And in its consciousness. As he . . . throughout the Years since the Second . . . a veteran of three wars; holding the reserve, as you know, he . . . prefers to be addressed by his medical title . . . the reserve rank of Brigadier General in the Armed Forces of the United States. May we meditate on that for a brief instant, as he has said, from his, as I am sure you have read, Cross Patch—The View of a Free Man, by William J. Pierce; which is, as he has said, why he prefers to present his public face as a citizen, rather than a soldier. A great soldier, who wrote: “Armed: what better word to signify . . . a sense of pride, a sense of Honor, of our Sacred Charge—if we look to the Knights of Old, what did it signify? That one was pledged to stand—that, in assuming arms—we pledge ourselves accountable for our acts, for our beliefs, and to all those in our charge . . . to stand . . . ’til death . . . at our posts . . . .”
“And what source of pride,” he writes, “ . . . it gave to me . . . in our posts through the years . . . numbering thirty years . . . to say, to paraphrase, to reverse that lovely phrase written to the Corinthians, to say: ‘what I am with you frightens me, what I am for you comforts me.’” My friends: William J. Pierce.
The audience applauds. William J. Pierce moves to the podium.
Pierce: Mr. Chairman. My friends. What must a man feel who has won the lottery?
In papers every day.
You see a man . . . a working man. Who's been awarded. Some gigantic sum. Millions of . . . This man's life is changed. To his wife, to his friends he says: “I'm as I was before—the things which gave me pleasure still will do. Those things I cherish will not be affected by this great fortune . . . .”
To himself he says, “How will I change? Surely this sign from God” —how can he see it otherwise? Singled from millions of men, his hope alone blest—surely he must, in his heart, see it as a proof of divine providence, of endorsement of that secret thought (we all have had it) “I am blessed. I am a special man.”
Let's stop a moment here.
On one extreme you see this thought expressed in Messianic Dreams, dreams of the demagogue—illusions of grandeur . . .
And on the bottom of the scale we see those (and we see them every day) oppressed, downtrodden, devoid of the most minimal modicum of Self-Esteem—slunk in the gutters, in the alleyways. Cowering in jobs they despise, weak, subservient, subserviated to their inability to avow their desires—to be Special. To be blest. To be singled out for the good each of us knows is in his breast.
And so we have two aberrations of the norm: Delusions of Grand
eur, and, on the other hand, a suicidal wish to be ignored, to be punished, for—finally—for harboring that same wish for a Divine Love.
The ordinary man—like ourselves, let us say, . . . one day content, the next day not; in some things talented, in some things dull; full of pride, full of hidden fears, feelings of . . . Torn Every Day between that part of him which says “There is a god—be humble, find a meaning in this life,” and “Go your way, get those things which can give you comfort, think of nothing, simply live and die.”
This man, like you and me, when his most hidden wish is broadcast to the world, what does he do? When, yes, the heavy hand of Providence taps him and says, “You are the one—among all—those who have watched and prayed—you are . . . ” and frees the man from want. And from material anxiety, and sets him . . . as a City on a Hill—to those in whose midst he happily toiled, and in whose happy midst he never will again . . . . This man . . . abstracted from his home, translated to a pinnacle, assaulted by greed . . . fear . . . greed . . . hatred . . . not unlike the Christ, for was it his goodness they hated? All of them were good. They killed him for that he had been preferred . . . as that man who had won a contest and had wished to win. My parallel . . . (Pause.)
My friends. In this world. As molecules move, as pigeons on the lawn move, as the stars in their predestined sway . . . so in the affairs of our so imperfect striving breed, so we are governed by forces we cannot see. Nor ever understand. Endorsed by Providence—why? What course shall we take? Our holy land? To, messianically proclaim, “Yes. Yes. I am the . . . you have waited for the one!” Or, as the abject wretch, say, “Forget me, I will not hear the call.”
Our happy land.
What course shall we . . .
Blest by a Jealous God, or blest by Random Chance with Freedom. How shall we enjoy it?
Freed from Fears . . .
Single out, yes. We must acknowledge it . . . our lives have changed.
The Signal of the World—that shining city . . . we can never shrink out of the world's gaze, or quiet that gaze through force.
Where can we find humility? (Pause.)
The force of arms. An armed man, blest by God, with the strength of will . . .