by David Mamet
That is, with . . . not blind to the essence of this life, which is, that it is fleeting. With the will to say: “Not as a gambler, rather as a priest I consecrate those things . . . ”
Listen to me: . . . not, not to my possession . . . given to my charge . . . as steward of this life . . . of those great gifts, of the eternal gift of freedom . . .
I will guard that trust, as of another whom I love . . . sans bravery or show, or the desire of praise, but through my understanding of my place. Under God. With my fellow men.
My blessing is a charge and my arms are a sign: (the bearing of arms) that I do accept that charge . . . as did the Knights of Old . . . I find that intersection of the pommel and the hilt significant . . . that cross . . . (Pause.)
I will take it up. I will protect that which was given to my keeping . . . with my life. So help me God. And so find happiness. Thank you.
Pierce sits amidst applause. The M.C. rises.
M.C.: And now a . . . (Aside.) Did we do the . . . ?
Assistant (Aside): Yes.
M.C. (To the hall): A Friend of our Friends, a friend of ours, and, in this time, a man who, as the Gen'ral said, is not afraid to make allegiance known: Joe Brown.
Amidst applause Joe Brown goes to the podium, assembles his notes.
Joe: Thank you. Thank you all. Esteemed hosts, Brothers, Pals . . . I am reminded of a guy in Europe, a ballplayer as it happens. In the War, he's in Pigalle in Paris. He sees this hooker. A gorgeous . . . piece of ass . . . legs up to . . . young, alright? The . . . goes up to her—three words of French—he goes, “Combien?” She answers him, this rapid stream, he don't know what she, “blagadelablahbegela . . . ” He says, “Lentement! Lentement!” . . . and she says, “Oui!” But I'll try to be brief.
Nineteen-nineteen Arnold Rothstein, “A.R.” to his friends, Hotel Ansonia, New York. Dad was in, I believe, the Rag Trade . . . many of them were . . . son of a devout man, son . . . of course, a disappointment to him. Saw the movie? Bit the father says “kaddish,” his son is dead? A dead son. Not that bad, but almost . . . (Pause.)
A multi-millionaire, I'm talking nineteen-ten, nineteen-fifteen, in there, no, or small income tax.
Here's the thing:
Comiskey, as we know, perhaps the finest team ever seen in professional baseball; what's the average? Six, five or six thousand bucks a year he's paying to men who, they went elsewhere could start at three times that. Ballplayers getting twice that, mediocre men, easily, he's starving them.
Days of the Reserve Clause. Means you work for me or you don't work. Virtual indentureship. The men were riled. Eddie Cicotte, Shoeless Joe Jackson, legends in their time.
Men up against the . . . wives, et cetera . . . up against the wall. National Pastime. On the one hand, everything for show, nothing for the . . . but nothing for the Boys.
Team riled, unhappy . . . tried an abortive strike, which didn't . . . Rothstein comes to them. Our largest Gambler. “Put it in the Tank,” he goes. “You lay down for the Cincinnati Reds . . . ”
Someone brings him water.
Thank you . . .
The . . . what is this?
Waterbearer: Water.
Joe: Thank you. Rothstein. “You throw the Series and you'll never have to work ag . . . ” (Drinks water.) Now. Okay. The time the series comes about it's seven-to-five Sox, six-to-five and pick ‘em, even money, seven-to-five Reds, eight-to-five Reds. The word is, Cincinnati players calling out the Sox: “Is it true that you threw the game?” The rest is history.
Now: whence this seemingly new concept of advocacy for athletes? You might say nineteen-nineteen Blacksocks. You might say . . . in that same year, the Actors Union, faced with a . . . another strike. That same year. You . . . faced with a trans . . . faced with a transitional, I think we might say . . . between, on the one, concepts of serfdom . . . (let's not balk at . . . ) the idea that a man may indenture others, may, in effect, own that work; and, on the other hand, let's say, a Socialist State eschewing property entire . . . where . . . the work of the individual . . . we understand . . . what have . . . ? What have we . . . ? Between the . . . ? Between the two: A Free Market. Which, al . . . ? redounds to the benefit of . . . ? Well:
The Blacksocks said what? Abso . . . ? Ridden by guilt, nonetheless . . .
The in . . .
But could not: Chuck Comiskey (field bears his name today) “I . . . I'm the owner. They belong to me. I'll pay ‘em what I want. That's what I'll pay ‘em.” (Pause.)
What I would like you for tomorrow to:
Rationalize the . . . so we do not say, because I know that this is . . . many of you do. Others have spoken here about avoiding zero-sum.
“I win/you lose,” strategic, though, in speaking for your man, from time to time, we must . . . aaaand, we know, from, as an exercise, your: At the strike, during the strike, given intransigent behavior on the owners . . . with Rothstein, and with the Grand Jury: to represent cogently, concisely, as Churchill said: “Muster your arguments upon one side of a sheet of paper.” To determine.
One: what it is that my client wants. And, again, to employ, as we heard yesterday, the Method of Parameter . . .
Two: how do I Get It?
Or, ‘f you will: tactics and strategy.
Now: also: for each one of you . . . and I'd like a paper . . .
During the strike, the proposed strike, and, after the scandal, to present and defend Comiskey's position as the owner of the club.
A questioner on the floor raises his hand.
Yes.
Questioner: Was the club wholly owned?
Joe: Wholly owned by Comiskey. Yes.
Another Questioner.
Questioner II: How long should the paper be?
Joe: You're representing a man. How long should your fight be? (Pause.)
The Romans had a law, the name of which now escapes me, and you've heard of it before, that the test, the prime
test of negligence in agency was this: put as a question to a reasonable man, eh? Did the agent prosecute his client's interests better than he would have acted for his own. The name of that law was?
Man in hall: Lex agencia.
Joe: Thank you. Mr. Sloan . . . ?
Joe retires to his seat, another man takes his place at the podium.
Sloan (Pause): When we get home we will find things have changed. At once, at once things change and our view of them alters. So that a Static State is an illusion.
Many will say “Where have you . . . where have you been?”
The rage that they feel at not having been there will express itself in . . . doomed to loneliness, then, many will deny the fact of love. If you will. In Australia we heard that returning troops, taunted with innuendos of our own men opened fire on them.
Men from the Great War. Sitting in a garden, Years, or thought they did . . . remembering what? Our own George Patton, who slapped that Jewish Boy . . . your wives . . .
Your . . . on return, who would cry “Embrace Me.” Or “Share your thoughts with me. Share . . . your innermost being.”
In a happier time.
Governed by Code.
A man would compartmentalize his life. Now: in a world ruled by war. Vast and horrific weapons, they tell us, loom on the horizon. Huge bombs capable of destroying a City Block. We have seen gas, and the machine gun, and tanks. (Pause.) And armored . . .
Once, arms swathed, a faceplate, young men fought for Honor. In the Dueling Schools, and once, in Japan, where day and night, wrong and right, a man and his State, his God, his conscience were distinct . . . but not now. And when you go home you will find things have changed.
Be of good faith with your faith. Trust in God.
The things which you see, which transpire, are real. Though they are frightening, and we may say that you are the apparition. As you are. Locked in a prison. Locked . . . one day as any day the concerns of that day obliterate . . . remember: at your death you will say happiness was just those days. Friend
ship, comradeship, camaraderie, love, competition . . . in an orderly . . . this saying: What is constant in the world? I am.
A pause. He takes his seat. The M.C. stands behind the podium.
M.C.: Thank you. (Pause.) Thank you. (Pause.) I think that's . . . oh! We have ann . . . ?
Assistant: Yes.
M.C.: We have announcements.
Assistant (Stands at his place): Several of you have asked about the picnic.
You are free to bring whomever you like. They need not . . .
M.C.: . . . the price includes the . . .
Assistant: . . . yes. The price is for you and a friend. You must . . .
M.C.: . . . any friend, that would be . . .
Assistant: . . . your wife, your sweetheart. A friend, an acquaintance, any . . . but you must, as there is the one ticket, you must present it together.
M.C.: . . . at the . . .
Assistant: . . . at . . .
M.C.: . . . at the Gate.
Assistant: At the gate. Yes.
M.C.: Now: We:
Assistant: One more.
M.C.: I'm sorry.
Assistant: We've been given an opportunity to buy . . . you
saw the list on the board . . . many items of surplus from Bartell.
He's giving us twenty percent off—the list price is on the board. You have ‘til the first, and I urge you, if you've looked at the list, take advantage of this, it's a once-in-a-lifetime offer.
From the floor.
Questioner II: What's on the list?
Assistant: The whole “K” series.
Questioner II: And the “102"?
Assistant: You'll have to check, but I believe it is. (To M.C.:) Alright.
M.C.: Did you . . . ?
Assistant: Oh. (Pause.) (Checks papers.)
The family of John Murray . . . many of you knew John. John died in South America with the Green Division last month. (Pause.)
Katy has asked that we, to those who knew him—we have a list of his personal effects . . . (He refers to list.) His battle ribbons, a . . . his Zippo lighter with a crest of the One Hundred Ninth . . . .His Browning Hi-Power . . . which I believe is the one which he carried in Africa.
(Pause.)
Many of you who knew him . . . (Pause.) Who . . . (Pause.) Well. The list is on the board, the items are for sale. The proceeds go to his family. Thank you. (He sits.)
M.C.: To you all; thank you all. For making this the success it has been.
Let us say, as we always say:
Good Luck, Good Weather,
Bright at Dawn.
We step where those have stepped before.
A Happy Heart.
Strong shoulders to the wheel.
What is the password?
All: Answer to the Call.
M.C.: What is the Call?
All: Willing to serve.
M.C. (Arranging his papers): Until we meet again.
The Spanish Prisoner
One
A: I have never met a beach bum who is interesting.
Their life is devoted to rest.
B: Nothing wrong with rest.
A: No. There is nothing wrong with rest. And there is nothing wrong with French pâté. I do not like it. There is a time in one's life one learns to say this: balance, as a principle of nature, is attractive and we see it is essential and we see it is a primal force, that all things tend toward rest. As I get older I see also for those who cannot eschew the world another force is personality—personality, which is to say not, not those quirks, those random . . . shiftings caused by tension—not those extraneous . . . those dissipations of our energy, our silver cig, our cigarette cases, our our our our inabilities our (Pause.) Our . . . our . . . there is a point where we cannot confront our longings—our desire turns inward, and we then begin, we, to dissimulate. Our poses with the smoke, a silken dressing gown, the smoke rising, as in a photo in the nineteen . . . there are other things; we say “genetic,” learned, I don't know . . . sages said culture is not, it is not biologically inheritable. I always thought that that was trash. I did not find it true. Today they say: perhaps it is, and a whole area . . . the whole of, say, a certain culture, or or, culture, or . . . or . . . anthropology . . . all our life we were taught to escape the teachings of our senses and accept a . . . to accept a . . . unimpassioned view of the world. (Pause.) In which we live so short a time . . . and called this science. And we raised it. On an altar, and we died from it, while the world . . . (Pause.) And I was saying there is something else which I call “personality” which is the, if we say we are put here to, as bees in a hive, to build a, to cooperate . . . and if we say nature has not deserted us, and if we use our senses and look at the world, of which we are a part, and whose laws we are subject to, then we see this: that there is order; that we are a part of it—(how little and in spite of our . . .
B: . . . our inabilities . . .
A: . . . as little as we can discern it . . . ) And as bees are separated by their traits, so are we—(Pause.) One, so, for this . . . Another for that . . . Building, planning, (Pause.) Dreaming. In this hell in which we live. Where we have warped, where a warped, with . . . (Pause.) all turned to one—the sole gift which we . . . I will not say endorse, for it goes so, so far be . . . accept. And the rest, we say the test of life, the final: THE WILL TO EXPLOIT.
We, that, not only we say the excellent man, but, but we all . . . whomever does not possess this must die, because there is too little. In a more leisurely, in a historically, or an imaginary realm, or that realm of the mind—in a book or a phantasy, a perfect spot, a spot of rest.
But not here.
And I can not choose to do it. Much as I . . .
And I do not.
Two
C: The galleon.
D: Was . . . ?
C: Where was I . . . ?
D: About the . . .
C: Alright. The galleon, a man in . . .
D: The Escorial.
C: With papers. Sitting in the, say, half dark not, if you've never been there, in the dusk. An oblique . . .
D: . . . a half-light.
C: A slanting light.
D: You, well, it is. It is red. And you can, you can, as much as they . . . You can smell it, and it is the same as the . . .
C: As the manuscripts.
D: Today, when everything, when paper, most of all, you see, the idea that it cannot decompose is monstrous.
C: It is monstrous.
D: In the . . . ? You were . . . ?
C: The Escorial. A map proclaiming, fifteen forty-two, The Croja Abajo. En route to Spain, en route to, coming home to Spain. Laden with, as they conquered them. As they were conquered, and you can not read between the lines, and, curiously . . . (Pause.) Curiously . . .
D: You're saying?
C: Because they had enslaved, is what I came to—that terror, suppressed which we felt. We saw it as boredom, even among the ruins, though, and stricken by a majesty, and one can not suppress an awe, a modern awe, of archi . . . or, we say, “construction” even then, the piety we feel for Greece was not there. Only dread, and it was hidden, I say, for the thought was: “If it . . . ” "As it happened to them, so to us . . . ” the obverse of the coin, then, was, of course . . .
D: It was Madrid.
C: I say it was. It was Madrid, for sitting in that room, there was no terror. There was scholarly . . .
D: . . . yes . . .
C: . . . And repose, but no, and so we look back. And we say they could not feel, Nor know, Five hundred years ago. Four hundred years ago . . . and, perhaps, (Pause.) No . . .
D: You were going to say that it was cursed.
C: I don't know that I . . . The. The land. For, if they could, then so could we, but in the heat. In the dusk, we could not, and the walls were of stone, you know.
The lattice . . . (Pause.) As I sit here—I see a pattern on the page, and the old tints. The drawings on the map. Old script.
D: .
. . you had electric light.
C: Of course, and it was, green glass shades. It threw, it threw . . . there . . . (Pause.)
D: Croja Abajo.
C: Lost it, quite right, and it was, too. It, lost in the, yes, we, in the (Pause.) "In the year of . . . ”
In fifteen forty-three. The lading bill—the . . . papers that she had. A copy of her . . .
D: What?
C: Of her . . . what? Of her sailing orders. Four years earlier. It all . . . I'm sure that it will disappear. It all was there. Through all the . . . (Pause.) They've kept it. For whom? For whom? But for me—I asked myself. Who after me? Who before? (Pause.)
Who before me?
The records that we keep.
The latitudes. What were you going to learn? Plotted positions of her captain?
Why?
There was, this was the . . . (Pause.) The . . . this, this . . . this . . . the hurricane the dates said, the direction of her, that is to say, she, en route to her final port-of-call . . . how did it catch her, if the dates did not conform, and how were, the winds, where did she, where did she try to run, for it said that she did, where did she seek that shelter? What were the things she had done before? That he had done, where had he taken her?
A map upon the table.
A . . . accentuate to what? To their, to tr . . . re . . . a feeling . . . ”Play the Black . . . ” Finally what is it? Just a feeling, buttressed by . . . (Pause.) Science. By Experience?
To make us less afraid.
“The ship is down,” they'd tried to find her for . . . They'd tried to find her for . . . The records had been opened since . . . Before the war, and then after the war. Who'd sat like me, and looked upon . . . The records of their trip . . . the . . . sketches of the artifacts—but not the gold.
D: Others had gotten gold.
C: And lived in, you see it . . . the cruelty of the Middle Age. Especially here—cursed by . . . We can see that there are cursed folk . . . I thought: What does it mean?
The plagues of Egypt.
Surely they afflicted . . . this is the: the power to see did not lessen their danger. For the Jews, though, it does not say, but it says they were not giv'n a sign until the final, so they must have lived with those ten plagues, and, stricken by them, too, looked for . . . (Pause.) They . . . (Pause.)