An Incident in the Park

Interior. Television Studio.

Chaos. Except for newscaster (a WALTER CRONKITE), who sits behind his desk waiting to ''go on,'' a dazed grin on his face CRONKITE is gray and ten years older.

(Ad-libbed Confusion)

Suddenly someone snaps a finger and points at him. Silence from the others, HE's ''on the air.''

Cronkite

Good evening. September 13, 1977, and chaos reigns supreme. Catastrophes have occurred throughout our country. And the enemy remains in control. About the only thing left that could still occur and yet make the situation worse than it is is annihilation. For since the takeover early this morning, no slaughter has occurred. The enemy has been merciful. And tonight the question on everyone's lips is: Why?

Pause. And then HE's handed a note. HE tears it open.

Cronkite

Ladies and gentlemen. What we've all been waiting for. A note of hope ... the President of the United States. And the First Lady. Have just been spotted entering Central Park....

Beat.

Slow Dissolve to:

Exterior. Central Park. Day.

Medium Shot of President with First Lady in Background.

President

(speaking to someone unseen)

I ... am the President. This ... is my wife. We have come ... as instructed. Will you take us to your....

HE looks back at the FIRST LADY.

President

(sotto voce)

It's gonna sound ridiculous.

(continued on page 276)An Incident in the Park(continued from page 149)

First Lady: Say it, anyway.

President (to the unseen person) : Will you take us ... to your leader?

The President is looking up at this unseen person hopefully. Suddenly, his expression becomes grave concern. A naked arm reaches into view and gathers the President about the waist, scoops him off the ground (while the First Lady stifles a scream).

Full Shot--Indian Warrior on pinto pony with President thrown stomach down across the horse's back, galloping off into the distance of the park.

Another Warrior on another horse gallops over to the First Lady, reaches down, scoops her up and takes off in pursuit of the Presidential horse.

The camera does not pursue but only watches them as they fade into the distance.

Dissolve To: Exterior. Indian camp. Day. The Indian camp is set on the softball fields near the shore of the Central Park rowboat pond. In the distance can be seen the skyscrapers of the city. At the moment, the President and First Lady are well up on the shore in the midst of a crowd of warriors and squaws. They are walking toward one particularly large teepee, the crowd following beside and behind them. In the background, warriors sit on horses, guarding. A campfire is being built.

Dissolve To: Interior. Chief's teepee. The camera is looking toward the entrance flap. Noise outside. The flap opens. The President enters, followed by the First Lady. The Warrior who had held the flap stays at the entrance, grinning.

President: Thank you.

First Lady: Thank you.

President: Very helpful, you've been.

First Lady: Very hospitable.

President: Indeed.

First Lady: Yes, indeed.

President: Yes, indeed.

Short, awkward pause. The First Lady nudges her husband in the ribs with her elbow.

President: Ah! Right.

He reaches into his pocket.

President (to his wife, sotto voce) : How much?

First Lady: Quarter will do.

He hands the Warrior a quarter. The Warrior nods and exits, quarter in hand. The flap closes.

President: The thing is: Of all the money spent on defense, not a penny of it proved useful. That's what bothers me the most.

First Lady: Hmm?

President: I mean our radar, our missiles, our bombers, our submarines, what good were they in the end? None....

The whole thing: useless. A waste of money! A waste of time.

First Lady: Now, come on, Abe. Mustn't blame yourself.

President: The fact is, Mary, this country simply was not geared for bows and arrows. It sounds silly, I know, but there it is. The truth. And we slipped up.

First Lady: Abe, it's not your fault.

President: I mean, we're good at long range, Mary. You know? I mean, that's our specialty. Long range. And we're really good at it.

First Lady: I know, dear. I know.

President: So what happens? These sons of bitches come sneaking up on us from behind trees.... I tell you, it isn't fair.

First Lady: I know, dear. I know. Now, shhh. Quiet.

A pause.

President (to himself) : They had feathers on their heads.

First Lady: I know, dear. Now, shhh. Quiet.

President: When people go out to fight, they're suppose to wear helmets. Not feathers.

First Lady: I know, darling. I know.

A pause.

President: Not fair ... the whole thing. Just not fair.

Another pause. The First Lady stares at him with great concern. He is obviously on the brink of a breakdown. In the background, a pair of moccasined feet are seen.

Chief (Off Side): Perhaps white man would like to know what redskins want.

They turn toward the voice.

Cut To: Close-Up of Chief Falling Cloud.

Chief: Welcome to teepee of Chief Falling Cloud.

A loud pop is heard.

Chief: Care for some firewater?

Medium Shot of Chief Falling Cloud. He holds a bottle of champagne in his hands. He is smiling warmly. The champagne is bubbling out.

Dissolve To: Same. Interior of teepee. Group shot. The three of them are sitting, Indian fashion, on the ground. They are slightly soused. Champagne glasses are in front of them. Caviar and crackers on a tray. Fresh fruit. Hors d'oeuvres.

First Lady (to her husband, sotto voce) : Dear, we've been here over an hour already. Find out what they want.

President: Shhh! (to the Chief) And then you graduated Princeton....

Chief: That's right--B.A. in American history.

President (to his wife) : Isn't that wild?

Chief: And you?

President: Government.

Chief: I minored in anthropology.

President: How come we never met?

Chief: Different fraternities.

President (to his wife) : It's just too wild.

Chief: Care for some more?

President: Thank you.

The Chief pours some more champagne. The President starts to sing the Princeton alma mater. He is joined by the Chief.

First Lady: Dear, I don't want to bother you; but even though he's a classmate, he happens to be the enemy. Find out what he wants.

President: Oh, yes. Um....

Chief: Suppose I tell you what we Indians want.

President: Good idea, (to his wife) He's not a bad chap, you know. I think we may come out of this all right.

The Chief has taken out a scroll of parchment, from which he will read.

Chief: In exchange for twenty-four dollars ... (He drops $24 worth of coins on the ground) ... twenty-four dollars ... we want island of Manhattan back.

President: Hmm? Wha'd he say?

First Lady: Manhattan.

President: Manhattan?!

Chief: Second. We want Louisiana Territory.

President: Um ... um....

First Lady (sotto voce) : Better humor 'm. He may be mad.

President (with forced joviality, as if it were all a game) : Um, it was never yours.... Sorry.

Chief: That's all right. We want, anyway. Third. Union Pacific Railroad, Southern Pacific Railroad and the Atchison, Topeka, and Saute Fe will be ceded to Chippewa Indians, who suffered most in the Morrill Land Grant Act.

President: Oh, come on, now. What is this, a----

First Lady (nudging him to keep quiet) : Dear....

Chief: In exchange for all these considerations, and in accordance with a document drawn up by my able lawyer, Chief Justice----

President (to his wife, stunned) : Did he say----

First Lady: That's right. Chief Justice. Now keep quiet.

Chief: White man will be awarded unmolested use of Cumberland Gap. Any questions?

President: Yes. Why are you doing all this? Granting, that is, that you're serious.

First Lady (warning him to keep quiet; sotto voce) : Darling----

President: Shhh. Don't worry. We're classmates.

Chief: Because we redskins are jealous, that's why.

A pause.

President: Jealous?

Stunned silence by this outburst.

President: Of, uh, whom?

Chief: Of those goddamn bloody Negroes!

President: Oh! Oh, God. Now--now, listen. I can explain all that. We'll get to you. It's just that we have to, um, get through this Negro thing first.

He chuckles. They stare at each other.

President: But we're getting there, Harry. I mean, this time we've almost got it licked. And, uh....

The Chief spits on the ground.

President: We'll get to you. Oh, God! Look. I ... I ... promise. Just be a little patient with us and, uh, your people will receive justice, too.

Chief: Justice?

President: Yes, justice. Look, Harry, for God's sake, what is this?

A pause.

Chief: I'm sorry. But you've misunderstood. We don't want justice.

President: You don't?

Chief: No.

President: Well ... well ... well ... what do you want ... ?

First Lady (to her husband, sotto voce) : Mention money, dear.

President: Um, money. Would you like some money?

Chief: You mean wampum.

President (laughing weakly) : Yes, uh ... wampum.

The First Lady and the President both laugh at this "joke."

Chief: No, thank you.

A pause. The President and the First Lady glance uneasily at each other.

First Lady (sotto voce) : "Power."

President: Um, power? You know, in the running of things. I'll make you, uh, Secretary of the Interior or something....

A pause.

President: Vice-president?

Silence.

President: Co-President?

Chief: No. Thank you. You may keep your power.

The President again turns to his wife.

First Lady: Dear....

President: What?

First Lady: Revenge.

President: Oh, God! Harry, listen, tell me something. Is it revenge you people want? Be-because, if it is. I-I mean, I will agree with you, things have been----

Chief: NO, white man. It is not revenge my people want.

And the Chief smiles for the first time.

President: Well, then, what the hell is it you want?

Chief: Just persecution.

President: Hmm?

First Lady: Hunh?

Chief: Well, I mean. Why do you think we're asking for all those ridiculous things: Manhattan, the Louisiana Territory, the Atchison, Topeka, and Sante Fe?

President: I-I ... I ... don't know.

Chief: Why, so you can come and take them back, of course. So you can have some reason to attack us again; steal our land, kill our children, subjugate us; lie to us. We want the "good ol' days," Abe--when being an Indian meant something.

He stares at the President and the, First Lady. He smiles sadly. Then he turns and walks to the entrance of the teepee. The Warrior opens the flap and stands at attention.

Chief (to the Warrior, in passing) : Guard them well. White man speak with forked tongue.

The Chief exits. The Warrior stands guard at the exit. The President and the First Lady stare at the Warrior, dumfounded; lost.

Fade Out.