THE SHOT HEARD 'ROUND CAMBRIA:

A Lighthearted Drama in Two Acts

Script Created by
Ben DeGrow

Based on the unpublished manuscript of

Passion and Purpose: The Rise and Fall of Al Gansee

Synopsis: In the early 1960s, a tiny Midwestern farm community has been transformed
into a Marxist workers' paradise upon the return of a charismatic native son and his
Russian KGB companion. Now leading a Socialist Union that bears his name, Chief
Comrade Al Gansee confronts the desire for territorial expansion and transmission of
his ideals. Gansee, his wife Mary Beth, his KGB “left-hand man”, a 10-year-old Amish
pyromaniac girl and the rest of the eccentric band of modern-day utopians march off to
the Battle of Cambria and an infamous gunshot that promises to transform the lives of
its participants and the once sleepy community for years to come.

(This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is mostly coincidental.)

© Copyright 2009
All Rights Reserved by the Author

Do Not Copy, Quote, or Distribute without the Author's Express Written Permission
 DRAMATIS PERSONAE (in order of appearance)

JOHN DAVIDSON, tall and lean man of 60, Socialist Union’s Minister of External Affairs

DR. NORMA FLANDERS, Minister of Health most noted for her spontaneously bleeding gums

BOB BROWN (aka Boris Bronovsky), rotund Russian-born KGB agent, Al’s “left-hand man”

AL GANSEE, the tall, charismatic, and eccentric Chief Comrade of the Socialist Union; a
native son returning to southern Michigan to imprint his deeply naïve Communist ideals

MARY BETH GANSEE, Al’s charming but alcoholic wife, cousin, and Minister of Justice

HIRAM WILCOX, middle-aged, staid high school principal turned Minister of Education

BENJAMIN “DOC” GIMBO, long-time apathetic proprietor of the Cambria General Store

MAUREEN FRICKARD, 98-year-old Cambria denizen fond of tobacco, pinochle, and shotguns

BOB “ONE-ARMED” GANSEE, Al’s father, a crusty but crafty World War One veteran

YOUNG AL GANSEE, age 9

JOSEPH and JIMBOB GANSEE, Al and Mary Beth’s twin terror sons, age 8

AMOS SCHLAFF, stout and serious Socialist Union resident, Amish farmer and father of five

REBEKAH SCHLAFF, Amos' spunky 10-year-old daughter and newfound pyromaniac

EZEKIEL WILSON, stoic patriarch of the local Amish community

FRED CAMPBELL, dim-witted day laborer turned spy of dubious Socialist Union loyalties

REV. ROY ALLEN, Cambria’s portly and greasy mayor, also pastor of the local Baptist church

OLD MAN JOHNSTON, Cambria's loyal former sheriff, blind since 1947 cropdusting incident

CHIEF “B” HUNTER, fashionably cross-dressing FBI Chicago bureau chief

FOUR FBI G-MEN

EMMALOU and VELMA NORTHCUTT, Cambria’s 60-something resident town spinsters

SOLDIERS in ALGANSEE REVOLUTIONARY GUARD

TWO PRISON GUARDS

 ACT I
Scene 1: Afternoon, Monday, December 4, 1961. The converted former Southland Springs
town council chambers. The Algansee Socialist Council meets in the musty room with tiny
cracks in the stucco walls, sparsely covered by patches of paisley wallpaper. The room is
adorned with secondhand Soviet memorabilia and insignia, including a slightly tattered flag
standing in the corner that looks like a cheaply sewn replica of the Soviet banner with the name
ALGANSEE carelessly embroidered in gold thread. Central to the space are photographic
portraits of Lenin, Stalin, and the Chief Comrade Al Gansee. Seven office chairs of varying
sturdiness and aesthetic value surround a well-constructed, finely-polished oak table.

Enter JOHN DAVIDSON, an old leather briefcase in one hand, a stack of books and papers in
the other. He pulls out a chair, lays down his load, then hesitates before anxiously turning to face
the audience.

JOHN: People out there don’t seem to know much about what we’re up to. Sometimes I think
we’re living in our own little world. This is the Socialist Union of Algansee, you see. [Shakes his
head] Didn’t think you’d heard of us. I’ve lived my whole life here. Now, this socialist union
thing, that’s a new business. And it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to this place.

What is this place, you say? Our own little corner of southern Michigan, mainly farm country.
We used to call it Southland Springs. But not anymore. We named it after the man who set us
free from our oppressors, from the ruling class of arrogant capitalists, like Mayor Lindeman and
his cronies who ran the Causland Lumber Mill.

His name is Al Gansee. I knew his father Bob, rest his soul. Al grew up here with my boys. He
left our town for nearly 15 years but came back to liberate us.

[Pauses soberly] It hasn’t even been a whole year since the Chief Comrade returned and brought
light into our dingy lives. But what a year it’s been. And it’s only going to get better, as he has
promised us. It must get better. Sometimes I just know we’re going to live forever!

[His head bows] Sometimes I wonder if anyone will remember us. Okay, I wonder a lot. Maybe
that's why he made me the Minister of External Affairs, you see. The Chief Comrade created the
whole department for me. What a tremendous honor, yet what a crushing load of responsibility,
too.

If they like my plan – if he likes my plan – well, he must like it. It’s the bold stroke we need.
Now, what would he say? [Recalling] “Spread the glories of socialism so our neighbors can
breathe in the fresh, pure air of equality and brotherhood.” [Looking directly at audience]
Inspirational.

[Pause] What? You don’t believe me. You have to hear him for yourself.

JOHN hurriedly takes his seat as DR. NORMA FLANDERS and BOB BROWN enter.
NORMA: [Giggling boisterously] …Bob, you cad …. [Noticing JOHN, her demeanor quiets]
Oh, John, er, Comrade Davidson. I didn’t realize anyone else was here yet.

JOHN: The meeting is scheduled to begin in less than five minutes. [Remembering himself, he
acknowledges his colleagues formally] Comrade Brown, Comrade Flanders.

BOB: Comrade Davidson. We’re looking forward to hearing more about your plan.

JOHN: [With uncertainty] Aren’t we all?

NORMA: You are still planning to come into the office for your physical this week, aren’t you,
Comrade John? You’ve been under a lot of stress lately….

JOHN: [Snapping back] Oh, go get yourself a piece of floss!

[In an instant, all three snap to attention as AL GANSEE glides briskly and regally into the
room, followed closely by his wife MARY BETH GANSEE and a pandering HIRAM WILCOX.
AL GANSEE wears a makeshift olive drab military coat with assorted emblems and decorations]

BOB: Hail, Chief Comrade! All hail, Al Gansee!

[AL GANSEE gestures for everyone to be seated. JOHN, NORMA, BOB, and HIRAM head to
their assigned seats. When AL pushes his chair away from the table, his wife MARY BETH sits in
his lap. It’s apparent she is a little bit drunk and lacking in decorum.]

AL: Enough, Comrade Hiram. Don’t bother me with your petty request for more pencils.
[Gestures at BOB BROWN] Talk to our Comrade Treasurer about the matter.

HIRAM: Thank you, Chief Comrade. [Turns to talk to BOB]

AL: Later! We have important things to discuss tonight. [Pauses] Mary Beth, my dear, why don’t
you lead us in the opening ceremonies?

MARY BETH: [Hopping off her husband’s lap, she loses her balance and nearly falls over,
steadied only by the Chief Comrade’s right arm] Whoa! Okay, everybody, you know how it
goes…. [All turn to face the flag and put their left hands over their hearts. As MARY BETH leads
and AL stands square-shouldered and silent, everyone else recites along] “I pledge my absolute
fidelity to the Socialist Union of Algansee and to the glorious ideals of equality and brotherhood
for which it stands: one community with hands clasped tightly together, marching into the future
with heads held high, and devotion to the state for all.” [Hiccups] Okay, hit it, Comrade Hiram!
[HIRAM WILCOX pulls a pitch pipe from his shirt pocket and quietly but deliberately blows a
note. MARY BETH begins leading the entire group, including AL, in the official song of the
Socialist Union, to the tune of “Yakety-Yak.” MARY BETH slurs some of the words in the
lounge-singing style, while others struggle to keep the tempo so slow. AL does a few, random
“Lindy” swing dance steps while he sings along.]
 Since blissful future has begun
Right here in nineteen sixty-one,
We praise the man who made us free,
Yakety Yak—Al Gansee!

Love and joy and peace are all nice

In our great workers’ paradise!
Experience pure equality,
Yakety Yak—Al Gansee!

Take out the slimy, pigdog trash

And join our utopian bash!
Come sing along with me,
Yakety Yak—Al Gansee!

[At the last note of the song, the mood quickly turns sober.]

AL: Perfect, simply perfect. That was great, Mary Beth. Let’s skip the rest of the ceremony. We
can’t do any better than that. [Everyone is seated, except the Chief Comrade. MARY BETH this
time takes her seat at AL’s right hand.] Let's dispense with the old business first. What do we
have on the plate, Comrade Brown?

BOB: Let me see. [Takes a moment to scan the document and cipher to himself] I see eleven
items on here ...

AL: Anything truly important?

BOB: [Pauses momentarily] Some of our comrades are still moaning about the maintenance, er,
issues with the North People's Common Barn. Apparently, the leaks in the roof have grown, well,
much worse.

HIRAM: Besides the rapscallion teens sneaking off to find a place to make out, does anyone
actually use that barn?

NORMA: What? It has no educational value?

HIRAM: Only if we're going to indoctrinate the youth in the value of shoddy workmanship!

NORMA: Hey, my Pop helped build that barn back... [Her voice trails off]

JOHN: Back in the dark ages of bourgeois capitalist greed?

AL: [Ignores the bickering] Does the Socialist Union not have resources to make these repairs?
Tell me what needs to be done, Comrade Brown.
BOB: Well, unfortunately, there has been some shortage in expected revenues from the Glorious
Facility Equalization Levy.

JOHN: A shortage, how much?

BOB: About 150 Gansee bucks.

AL: A hundred fifty? Could it be that some of our fellow comrades have deserted their sacred
duty of taxation? Could it be that someone doesn't see how the Levy benefits us all?

JOHN: [Gasps] Heresy.

BOB: Perhaps my math skills have been wanting.

AL: With or without the levy funds, where are the volunteers on behalf of our glorious ideals of
equality and brotherhood to do the necessary repairs?

BOB: I'm hoping that maybe some of our Amish friends might chip in to make repairs Thursday
after next – if the weather holds, that is.

AL: Well, all right then. Enough old business. Comrades, there’s serious business afoot tonight.
Serious business. Let’s dive into our report from the Department of External Affairs. Comrade
John, your report. [AL sits, as JOHN stands.]

JOHN: Thank you, Chief Comrade. [Bows his head momentarily to collect his thoughts and his
nerve] I am very troubled. I am troubled that our humble community is suffering from its
diminutive size. We need to expand, Chief Comrade. We must expand! [Everyone at the table
except HIRAM nods blandly and impatiently.]

HIRAM: It, uh, it's too risky. [Responding to angry looks] I must protest. It is too risky, my
Comrades.

AL: [Rises decisively to his feet, leans over the table as his stare penetrates a cowed HIRAM.
Meanwhile, JOHN quietly takes his seat.] Indecision is indefensible. Expansion is necessary, or
we die! It troubles me as much as it troubles you, even more perhaps, that our brothers and
sisters around us lack the faith to accept what we have for what it is. Too many do. This is the
reason why I created this post that Comrade John now fills. The people implore you. Your
conscience implores you. Your ideals implore you. Brothers and sisters, I implore you! Stand
firm, and we shall spread the truth throughout the Great Lakes Region! All hail Algansee!

BOB: All hail Algansee! [Chanting] Al Gan-see … Al Gan-see … [Everyone but the Chief
Comrade himself joins in the growing chant of their leader’s name. As the volume reaches its
peak, MARY BETH breaks down in tears of bittersweet joy. She reaches over and clings to her
husband by the neck, weeping on his shoulder. Before long, AL too breaks down and begins to
cry. Overwhelmed by the sight as well as the guilt of his timid fears, HIRAM approaches the
Chief Comrade, drops to his knees, and begins to kiss AL’s dusty work boots. The chant dies out
as BOB and NORMA embrace, and JOHN falls silent from a nearly exhausted voice.]

JOHN: My plan, everyone?

AL: Yes, of course. Yes. Serious business, my comrades. To our seats. [It takes a moment for
everyone to collect themselves and return to their seats.] Share your plan with us, Comrade John.

JOHN: The fundamental question before us, comrades, is peaceful transmission or martial
invasion. Will the revolution be spread through discussions and diplomacy, or through the use of
force? I think you will see, once you hear the outline of my plan, that the obvious course is
invasion. But invasion disguised as a mission of peace will make our work even more effective.
If we disguise everyone in the entire socialist union as Hare Krishna priests [reaching into his
stack of papers, he holds up a magazine illustration], like these here. You see, and we’ll all carry
flowers of some sort, and—

NORMA: Ooh, daisies! I love daisies.

MARY BETH: Me, too.

JOHN: Yes, yes. If we all carry daisies – petunias, poppies, whatever – our victims – I mean, our
future Marxist disciples – wherever we’re doing this, those people, they will be lulled into a false
sense of capitalist security. It’s then, at that precise moment….

BOB: Which precise moment is this again?

JOHN: [Getting flustered] We’ll know it when we see it. Don’t forget, this is just an outline
sketch of the plan. The detailed master plan awaits your approval of the, of the concept.

BOB: Okay, I see.

JOHN: We’ll brandish the weapons hiding in our flowing Hare Krishna robes. We’ll subdue the
whole town, whichever town it is, before they know what to do. [HIRAM’s obviously skeptical
body language interrupts his change of thought] Of course, militarism is only a means to the end.
It will compel them to see the light of Marxism, from which once they have tasted, they will
need not be forced to hold on to.

AL: They will breathe in the pure, fresh air of equality and brotherhood.

BOB: Most wisely stated, Chief Comrade. But I’m not sure about Comrade Davidson’s proposal.
I mean, I have nothing against an invasion, but, but…. Flowers? Robes? Is this to be taken
seriously?

JOHN: [Brandishing a stack of typed pages] I spent weeks coming up with this plan. You have
only heard a sketch outline!
AL: [Maintaining a calm, but passionate, demeanor] The other details, Comrade John, we can
squabble about them later. Now we must decide where we will attack, and let that determine our
tactics more precisely. [As JOHN bows his head in shame, AL rises to his feet, approaches him,
and gives him a gentle and fatherly pat on the shoulder] A good effort, Comrade John. I know
your heart is in the plan.

BOB: How about Montgomery?

AL: [With somber hesitation] Their vast library stores great knowledge. I fear the
Montgomerians.

NORMA: What about Kinderhook? [BOB, HIRAM, and MARY BETH nod affirmatively]

AL: [Sternly] You have got to be kidding, Comrade Norma. They are led by the powerful sheriff,
Andrew Zimmerman. And, please, for the love of Lenin, find a piece of floss! [Under the
wilting gaze of her Chief Comrade, NORMA runs out of the room in embarrassment]

MARY BETH: [A little tipsy] What do you think of taking over Reading?

AL: The thought of conquering the tavern with its tasty hamburgers and cheese nuggets would
make me happy, but I fear they are too strong for us right now.

JOHN: [As an idea comes to his mind, a smile quickly paints itself across his face] I've got it.
Cambria! Just think about it. Cambria. They could share in our unity and brotherhood—

BOB: Are you kidding, Comrade John? The Cambrians could be our slaves!

AL: [Laughing arrogantly] This is the best idea I have heard all day. Draft the general order,
Comrade John. [To BOB] My faithful left-hand man, will you assist him? [Taking his seat] If our
plan is to succeed, we must conclude the “peaceful transmission” [using air quotes] before the
snows of winter melt and our farmers return to the agrarian bliss of our fields. Because of the
sterner character it builds in the souls and backs of our salt-of-the-earth comrades, the cold of
winter is the best time to move forward in constructing the socialist order.

JOHN: Thank you, my Chief Comrade, for all you have done for us.

MARY BETH: [Cuddling up to her husband] He’s the best, ain’t he?

AL: [Stoically] Our plans must remain top secret. We must not tip off our enemies. Even the fool
Cambrians, given enough time, can take advantage of the advance warning.

BOB: Certainly.

AL: [Gesturing defiantly] Cambria will soon be ours!!! [The lights dim on the council table, as a
spotlight shines down on a contemplative AL.] Cambria …. Fame and glory in Cambria ….
Brutal memories of younger days ….
Gradually the spotlight dims.

EXEUNT.

Scene 2: Morning, Saturday, February 25, 1938. Interior, Cambria General Store. The humble
wood-framed mercantile off Lilac Road is just starting to show signs of wear. The proprietor
BENJAMIN “DOC” GIMBO is a mustached man in his early 40s with more than one tooth
missing. A woman in her mid-70s, the WIDOW MAUREEN FRICKARD, is looking through the
cloth samples.

Enter BOB “ONE-ARMED” GANSEE, a man nearing 40 without a left arm, and his only son
YOUNG AL, nearly 9 years old.

DOC: Find what yer’ lookin’ fer thar, Miz Frickard?

MAUREEN: [Stodgily] Don’t see the latest in calicos….

DOC: We ha’nt no new calicos since I done been here. Don’t think the ladies is wearin’ em that
much no more. [MAUREEN sighs and harrumphs] Well, guess you’d done know that better than
me.Not that I gets 'round to updatin' things much in that department, anyhow.

ONE-ARM: [Gruffly] Excuse me there, Doc.

DOC: Greetin’s to ya.

ONE-ARM: And to you. Mighty mild weather we’ve been having.

MAUREEN: [Without lifting her eyes from the cloth samples] Been ‘round these parts a long
time, can’t recall it being so warm in Feb’ry. I done heard that some scientists are sayin' the
world is a heatin' up so fast, we're headin' for a [pauses to recollect the precise phraseology]
“global calamity”, that's what it is. We're doomed. I reckon it'll all be fire and brimstone before
long!

DOC: If ya say so, Miz Frickard. Could be. Is that somewhar' in the Good Book? Haven't read it
in awhile, ya' know.

YOUNG AL: [Tugging on his dad’s sleeve] Why is the pond frozen?

ONE-ARM: [Muttering under his breath] Probably something to do with hell freezing over. [To
DOC] Enough jabbering. I came here to propose a trade.

DOC: I’s a-wond’rin. It’s been awhile since we done seen ya here.
YOUNG AL: [Interjecting] It’s been warm. How come the pond’s still frozen?

DOC: [Chuckling] Just ‘tis the way things be.

YOUNG AL: But why?

ONE-ARM: [Scolding] Leave him be, boy.

DOC: Don’t worries me none, Mr. Gansee. [To YOUNG AL] Don’t reckon I knows why, Albert.

YOUNG AL: It’s Al. Just Al. You can call me Al.

ONE-ARM: [Slaps YOUNG AL hard on the bottom] Don’t sass back, boy.

YOUNG AL: But my name ain’t Albert. It’s Al. That’s what you and Mama—

ONE-ARM: This isn't the time or place to desecrate the memory of your mother!

YOUNG AL: [Sincerely] Do I get a birthday this year?

ONE-ARM: No. Not this year and not next.

DOC: Ain’t no need to be so hard on the boy.

ONE-ARM: [Explains] He’s only ever had two birthdays.

DOC: Two birthdays? He done look like he’s outta his short pants. An’ mighty tall for bein’ nary
past two.

ONE-ARM: He’s not two years old, Doc. He was born on February 29. Leap year. So his
birthday’s only come around twice. But enough about that….

YOUNG AL: I’m almost nine! [BOB “ONE-ARMED” GANSEE throws his son roughly to the
ground with his one good arm, just as the WIDOW FRICKARD, holding a box of shotgun shells,
approaches the counter]

MAUREEN: No calicos today, Doc. Can you put this on my tab?

DOC: [Scrawling on a piece of paper] Sure shootin’, Miz Frickard. One box of Winchester 20-
gauge shells. Have a good day!

MAUREEN: Don’t hurt yourself none, Doc.

DOC: [Hollering, as an afterthought] Watch out fer the fire and brimstone out there! [WIDOW
FRICKARD exits. YOUNG AL thumbs through an old magazine intently, while BOB “ONE-
ARMED” GANSEE twiddles his only thumb. DOC regains his earlier train of thought, bending
over to address YOUNG AL] The Cambria Pond, it just stays a-freezin’ longer than most.

ONE-ARM: Longer than most? Where else is a man gonna’ go ice fishing in May?

DOC: [Stands erect, fists on hips] Early May. Now ya know ya can’t do that come Memorial
Day, and some years ‘tis all melted away in April …. But anyways, what trade be ya' proposin’?

ONE-ARM: Well, we need a new tractor over at the Gansee stead, and word came around that
you had one for sale here at the General Store.

DOC: It’s a bit used, belonged to old Sam Frickard before he passed on last fall. The widder’
Frickard traded it in to pay off some debt she had. Yer’ welcome to look at it, Mr. Gansee.

ONE-ARM: Oh, I looked at it, Doc, I did. And I could be interested in it for the right price.

DOC: You could, huh? What ya’ got?

ONE-ARM: [Reaching into his pocket to pull out a piece of paper tied up with a fancy-looking
ribbon] Two things. First here is the deed to some property. Al, go on and get the other. [Pauses
after getting no response] Did you hear me, boy? Go on and get the other.

YOUNG AL hurriedly exits.

DOC: This here deed. It’s not to your farmstead, is it?

ONE-ARM: [Removes the ribbon, unrolls the paper, and hands it to DOC] No, no, no. It’s a
thing of speculating beauty. Forty acres of oceanfront property in New Mexico.

DOC: That sure’s a long way from here. I don’t think I wanna move away…. [Studies the paper]

ONE-ARM: No, no, of course not, Doc. But imagine how much this will be worth? I hear
they’re planning to build a giant resort, something called the Grand Xanadu.

DOC: Reckon that sounds pretty fancy.

YOUNG AL re-enters carrying a small tin bucket of sand covered with a lid. He sets it down by
his father.

ONE-ARM: Fancy ain’t the half of it, Doc. But don’t take my word for it. Just imagine how
much the resort developers might be willing to pay.

DOC: You’re going to give all that up for a lousy tractor?

ONE-ARM: Well, either that or the other thing. [Picking up the bucket] Doc, you ain’t going to
believe this, but this is a bucket of genuine “Dust Bowl” dust.
DOC: [Skeptical] What’s the big deal ‘bout that? [Takes the lid off, inspects the dirt]

ONE-ARM: Think like an investor, Doc. Sure, it ain’t worth much now. But a bucket of genuine
“Dust Bowl” dust is going to be a valuable historical artifact before long. A lot of important
people studying the history of our difficult times will be willing to lay down a decent sum to
claim it. Don’t you think?

DOC: Not if we all get burned up in a global calamity first.

ONE-ARM: [Impatiently] Never mind that...

DOC: Where’d ya get it from?

ONE-ARM: [Speedily] Friend of a cousin, someone who parted with it for a song.

DOC: [Pauses to ponder] So ye'r sayin’ one or the other fer the tractor.

YOUNG AL tries to hold back his laughter, which earns him a sharp elbow from his father.

ONE-ARM: I’m having a hard time giving these up, Doc. But I really need the tractor. And times
being what they are….

DOC: Personally, I’d be inclined to take the bowl of dust. But it’s hard for a feller’ runnin’ a
store to wait so long to get his money’s worth. Whaddaya say to both the oceanfront property and
the bowl of dust for the tractor?

ONE-ARM: You drive a hard bargain.

DOC: I’ll throw in the magazine the boy was lookin’ at.

YOUNG AL: [Spouting off mechanically] Life Magazine, July 1926.

ONE-ARM: You was still nothing but a gleam in my eye then, boy.

DOC: Whaddaya say?

ONE-ARM: [Reaching out his only hand to shake] It’s a deal.

DOC: Ye'r one of my best customers, Mr. Gansee.

ONE-ARM: Pleasure doing business with you, Doc. [Mutters under his breath] Fire and
brimstone...

YOUNG AL: What a big sucker, dad! [BOB “ONE-ARMED” GANSEE grabs his son by the
collar and hurriedly drags him out the door.]
DOC: Key to the tractor’s in the ignition!

EXEUNT.

Scene 3: Evening, Friday, December 8, 1961. The Gansee home on Grove Road. AL GANSEE
and his wife (and first cousin) MARY BETH sit at the kitchen table in their ranch farmhouse,
nursing beverages. On the mantel on the far wall stand small busts and figurines of notable
Communist leaders. A stack of official papers and correspondence rest on the table in front of
AL. AL’s military-style overcoat is unbuttoned, revealing a “wife-beater” T-shirt. MARY BETH,
distinctly more sober than her previous appearance, is wearing a house dress in the style of the
day. Eight-year-old twin idiot sons JOSEPH and JIMBOB, running wildly around the house, can
be heard even when offstage.

MARY BETH: Is something the matter, snugglebunny?

AL: Sometimes I have second thoughts about that one-armed freak of nature who claimed to be
my father. Did we do the right thing?

MARY BETH: He was a collaborator. He was part of the old, decaying capitalist order.

AL: I know. We had no choice. We had to eliminate him. Still….

Screaming twins enter the room. A stocking hat is pulled over JIMBOB’s eyes as he blindly
crashes into the wall. JOSEPH doubles over in laughter, snorting and snickering and kicking.

MARY BETH: Joseph Vissarionovich Dzhugashvili Gansee, what in the name of Karl Marx did
you do this time?

AL: [With impatient dreariness] Answer your mother!

JOSEPH: Him dumber than me are! Big hat dumber than me are! [While JIMBOB futilely
struggles to remove the hat, he stumbles and knocks his brother into the mantel, knocking off
some of the figurines.]

MARY BETH: [Leaping from her seat] Not the Stalin! Not our Uncle Joe!

AL: [Flatly] Don’t worry, my dear. They can’t break the man of steel.

MARY BETH: [Slightly exasperated, removing the stocking hat from JIMBOB’s head] We need
to get our head out of the clouds!

JIMBOB: [Plowing over MARY BETH] Freeeeeeeeeee!!!!

JIMBOB chases JOSEPH off stage right. MARY BETH brushes herself off, waits a second for
the help of her husband, who is too engrossed in poring over some papers in front of him.
Unaided, she finally stands up and carefully places the figurines back on the mantel.

MARY BETH: Thanks for nothing.

AL: [Oblivious] First, the Glorious Facility Equalization Levy, now this. [Sighs] One thousand
four hundred twenty-two Gansee dollars. “From each according to his ability….”

MARY BETH: What?

AL: The final cost from the Trotsky Birthday-a-Thon: fourteen hundred and twenty-two bucks.

MARY BETH: Comrade Bob had said something about going over budget.

AL: Well, there was that little explosion.

MARY BETH: Blame the Amish pyromaniac girl.

AL: Rebekah Schlaff? How could she have known you’d swung the axe into the rusty kerosene
tank when she put out her cigarette?

MARY BETH: She’s only 10, snugglebunny!

AL: That’s not the point. There wouldn’t have been any kerosene to ignite if you hadn’t missed
the Trotsky and hit the kerosene tank! Perhaps you had a bit too much vodka….

MARY BETH: [Indignant] Why do you keep bringing this up? You know I don’t want to relive
that Trotsky Eve nightmare.

AL: [Sincerely] Sorry, my dear.

MARY BETH: [Protesting too much] I do not have a drinking problem!

JIMBOB chases JOSEPH in from stage right, awkwardly holding a baseball bat and blustering.

JIMBOB: Me gets you, dumbhead! Me gooder than you….

JOSEPH: Momma!

MARY BETH: Jimbob Gansee, drop that bat! [Instead, JIMBOB lifts the bat to swing it at his
mother, before JOSEPH tackles him from the side. AL scoops up the bat and makes a scary face
at his twin idiot sons. They run away and exit stage left.]

AL: [Studying the bat] We could use this in our invasion of Cambria!
MARY BETH: [Wryly] “Peaceful transmission,” snugglebunny. “Peaceful transmission.”

AL: Of course. Very peaceful.

A knock on the door.

MARY BETH: [Smoothing her hair and her skirt] I’ll get it.

MARY BETH exits stage right, as AL flips through the pages in front of him. A moment later,
MARY BETH returns following BOB BROWN, who greets the Chief Comrade in his native
Russian. AL returns the favor in kind.

BOB: How goes it?

AL: Fourteen hundred Gansee bucks.

BOB: Yes, the Birthday-a-Thon bill. Have no fear, all will be taken care of.

AL: Some of these expenses don’t make any sense. You’re not taking a cut off the top for
yourself, are you?

BOB: [A full-bellied laugh] Of course not. What would I do with it around these parts anyhow?

AL: Well, all right then. We would have done just fine if not for the wild cigarette young Miss
Schlaff discarded into the pool of kerosene.

BOB: Yes, but a nice little conquest of Cambria, and all our losses will be recouped.

MARY BETH: Recouped, and far more!

AL: [Rising to his feet] Indeed!

BOB: Speaking of the Schlaff girl, I’ve been talking with Comrade Davidson about our
preliminary battle plans. I see great potential in Rebekah. I think she’s worthy of an officer’s
post, perhaps even command of our artillery.

MARY BETH: She’s only 10!

BOB: Yes, Rebekah Schlaff is only 10, but look at the evidence of her academic prowess,
combined with her tremendous inclinations for all things explosive and incendiary. Well, I just
think the Socialist Union would make a terrible mistake not to accord her some responsibility in
the upcoming invasion – I mean, “peaceful transmission.”

AL: [Mildly perturbed] You know I’ve made no final decisions in this matter….
BOB: Yes, Chief Comrade, but I just beg you to consider the possibility. I plan to introduce this
motion and several others pertaining to the military command structure at our next meeting.

MARY BETH: And what of who will lead the Revolutionary Guard into battle?

BOB: The decision of whether the Chief Comrade will take direct tactical command is his
decision alone. [The gaze of both BOB and MARY BETH is cast inquisitively on AL.]

AL: In due time, comrades. Have no fear. In due time...

JOSEPH and JIMBOB enter from stage left, wrestling and punching each other.

BOB: I can see not much has changed.

MARY BETH: [Sighing] If only the twins could clean their room half as well as we’ve
constructed the socialist order. [Shouting] Don’t kill each other … and if you break anything…!

MARY BETH chases both JOSEPH and JIMBOB off stage right.

BOB: [Picking up a figurine from the mantel] Looks like Uncle Joe has lost a bit of flesh.

AL: The man of steel?

BOB: Marred, but not broken. The dream lives, Chief Comrade.

AL: And it grows.

BOB: We’ll see to that.

EXEUNT.

Scene 4: Evening, Thursday, December 14, 1961. The Schlaff farm in the southern region of
the Socialist Union. Amish farmer AMOS SCHLAFF answers the door and finds JOHN
DAVIDSON there.

JOHN: Hello there, Comrade Amos!

AMOS: [Skeptical] Greetings, Comrade John. How may I be of service?

JOHN: I carry important news from our Chief Comrade. [Brandishes a brown envelope from the
pocket of his overcoat] I was told Comrade Ezekiel was here, as well. I need to speak with you
both.
AMOS: Is this about the barn repairs? [Almost apologetic] I know I told Comrade Brown that we
mightest provide assistance with that project this evening. But there is no levy money available,
he hath said. And the weather is a bit on the cold and bleak side....

JOHN: No, Comrade Amos. No. This doesn't have anything to do with the North People's
Commons Barn or the Glorious Facility Equalization Levy.

AMOS: [His disposition lightens] Oh, never mind then. Please, please come in, Comrade John.
[His 10-year-old daughter REBEKAH SCHLAFF, wearing traditional Amish dress, scurries into
the room from stage right, curtseys to JOHN DAVIDSON, and implores her father with her eyes.]
What is it, Rebekah? Thou mayest speak.

REBEKAH: Greetings to thee, Comrade John. [To AMOS] Father, I prithee allow me to light the
evening candles.

AMOS: [Sternly] Thou wilt not smoke the sin stick again, wilt thou? [REBEKAH’s head hangs]
Didst thou not ask thy mother? [Still no response] If thy mother forbids, then thou knowest that
so do I. Now, if thou wilt, go fetch Father Ezekiel that he may come and speak with Comrade
Davidson and me. [REBEKAH scurries away stage right.] I apologize, Comrade John. May I
take thy coat? [Takes JOHN’s overcoat and hangs it on a rack near the door] Canst I summon
my wife to pour thee a warm beverage?

JOHN: No, thank you. I’ll be brief. [Clearing his throat] With your permission, Comrade Amos,
I might ask that young Rebekah join us, too.

AMOS: May I beg thy pardon?

JOHN: The news from our Chief Comrade concerns your daughter, as well.

AMOS: [With a wry smile] I dare say thou hast me confounded.

REBEKAH: [Scurrying back into the room with the elderly and stoic EZEKIEL WILSON
ambling behind] Father, may I retire to my room and read? [AMOS gestures silently to
REBEKAH] Read my Socialist Union textbook, of course.

AMOS: ‘Twould be a fine idea for most nights, but on this evening Comrade John hast requested
thy presence as well.

EZEKIEL: [To JOHN] Hast thou come to chide us about the leaky barn roof in the commons?

JOHN: No, not at all. You'll have to talk with Comrade Bob about that.

EZEKIEL: Well, whatever it be, my attention can be thine for no more than one half hour.

JOHN: What I have to tell you will not take that long.
AMOS: Shall we all be seated? [JOHN defers to EZEKIEL, who takes the grand oak rocking
chair, while JOHN is seated on a stool. REBEKAH sits next to her father on the sofa.] Please,
Comrade John. Our attention is thine.

JOHN: First, I wish to thank you for your hospitality. I know no one holds more influence among
our Amish community than you two men. That is why I have come to you directly and
personally. [EZEKIEL rocks slowly and solemnly, cynically listening as JOHN opens the brown
envelope and hands the contents to him, fidgety from nicotine withdrawal] You are reading
Special Order Number 3, personally authorized by our munificent Chief Comrade himself. The
name of each person here is included, as you will see.

REBEKAH: [Beaming] Me, too?

AMOS: Be not so vain, my child.

EZEKIEL: My eyes strain to read the words, but—

REBEKAH: Father, shall I light the evening candles?

AMOS: Nay! [Sidestepping her father’s authority, REBEKAH brandishes a Bic lighter and
tosses it to EZEKIEL, who uses the light to enhance his reading ability. A few second pass as he
begins to scan the order]

EZEKIEL: [Indignant] “Order of battle”?

JOHN: Yes, Comrade Ezekiel. The Chief Comrade has sought to honor your people with
positions of prominence in the coming peaceful transmission of our socialist ideals to a
neighboring community.

AMOS: Peaceful transmission? [Rises from his seat, approaches EZEKIEL]

EZEKIEL: [Hands the order to AMOS, who also refuses the lighter, which EZEKIEL
extinguishes] What need is there for an “order of battle” to perform a “peaceful transmission”?

JOHN: We have to be distinctly prepared for the possibility that resistance will be met.

EZEKIEL: [With a burning gaze] Our people are a peaceful people.

JOHN: Certainly. But are you not also brothers loyal to the Socialist Union?

EZEKIEL: Barns and sometimes taxes notwithstanding, thou knowest there are none more loyal.

AMOS: [Reading the order in astonishment] “Rebekah Schlaff, 1st Sergeant”? Not only Ezekiel
and I, but my daughter also hast been summoned to serve as a military officer? She is only 10
years old.
REBEKAH: I will be 11 in March.

AMOS: Hush, Rebekah!

JOHN: Let me assure you all that every detail of this order has been carefully crafted and
considered. Following the Birthday-a-Thon festivities, the Chief Comrade has developed the
utmost confidence in the capabilities of our young Comrade Rebekah. Some among the council
have even championed her as artillery commander.

AMOS: [With barely contained anger] I must protest!

JOHN: Your fatherly protectiveness is appreciated. However, the Chief Comrade in all his
wisdom decided that bestowing such a post on your daughter would be premature. Still, the
experience she might gain as a First Sergeant in the Socialist Union’s Revolutionary Guard, well,
that would be most invaluable. Besides, it would bring great honor to the Chief Comrade and to
all our ideals of equality and brotherhood.

EZEKIEL: Comrade John, as the elder statesman of our Amish community, it befalleth me not to
speak too rashly. I canst not give the answer thou seekest.

JOHN: I do appreciate your position. But might I add for your consideration that the Chief
Comrade has decided to personally lead our forces onto the field. The more members of your
community whom you can persuade to join us, the more honored your place will be.

As EZEKIEL contemplates in silence, the young girl interjects her thoughts.

REBEKAH: Oh, Father, may I please? First Sergeant sounds like such a felicitous opportunity.
Please tell me, Comrade Davidson. Are there any candles to light?

AMOS: [Intervening before JOHN can answer] We will discuss this matter later.

REBEKAH: Please?

JOHN: If I may say so, young Comrade Rebekah has all the marks of a natural leader. Perhaps
someday a prominent position in the Socialist Union’s council will be hers.

AMOS: Thou shalt not tempt us with a lust for power.

EZEKIEL: Yea, Comrade John. We will resist such temptation as the “roaring lion that walketh
about.” Else I might be serving on the council today, perhaps in thine own place.

JOHN: Perhaps. But the Chief Comrade has placed his confidence in me to help forge the path to
spreading our ideals to our surrounding neighbors.

AMOS: We all remain equals.

EZEKIEL: Surely thou dost not include thy children as equals.

AMOS: Nay, not in that sense. Though it appeareth that Rebekah and I shall share the same rank
in the Chief Comrade’s Revolutionary Guard.

EZEKIEL: But not thy younger children.

AMOS: Nay, certainly not Kevin, Tyrone, and Laquisha. How shalt they obey the father who is
their equal?

JOHN: [Obviously disinterested in the finer points of the conversation] Well, I’ll take up no more
of your time. The offer stands.

EZEKIEL: Please extend our request for a personal meeting with the Chief Comrade to discuss
this matter further.

JOHN: I will see to it. I’ll give you a phone call myself. [EZEKIEL’s stare brings JOHN’s
attention to his mistake.] Oh, never mind that. I’ll let you know somehow.

EZEKIEL: [Rising to his feet and exiting stage right] I shall rejoin my company and bid thee
farewell.

JOHN: [Meekly] Farewell.

AMOS: [Making a beeline to the door] A good evening to thee, Comrade John.

REBEKAH: [Picking up the lighter from the rocking chair] Father, may I light the evening
candles?

AMOS: Nay, my daughter. To bed with thee… to read thy textbooks.

REBEKAH trudges off stage right.

JOHN: [Donning his overcoat] A good evening to you and your family. All hail, Al Gansee!

AMOS: All hail, Al Gansee!

EXEUNT.

Scene 5: Morning, Friday, February 9, 1962. The Algansee Parade Ground near the
dilapidated Methodist Church. From the steps of the church, AL GANSEE formally reviews the
troops of his Revolutionary Guard. In the background can be heard the strains of “Doo Wah
Diddy” half-capably played on old brass instruments.
AL: [Proudly, to himself] Oh, glorious Revolutionary Guard, what a sight. The apple of your
Chief Comrade’s eye. In three weeks you shall march down the streets of Cambria behind me,
joyfully passing on our glorious socialist ideals … spreading the blissful word of equality and
brotherhood. Aah, how sweet it will be! The left wing of the army first, led by my faithful left-
hand man. [Shouting out, gesturing] Comrade Bob! Join me! [Once again, to himself] Dr. Norma
Flanders, chief medical officer and adjutant commander. [Shouting] Get a piece of floss, Norma!
[To himself, again] Young Comrade Dzlinsky, faithful in spite of your father’s own treason.
Amos, oh Amos, yes, it is good to see you and your Amish brethren have agreed to join us….

Enter BOB BROWN. He strikes a familiar tone with AL not seen in their previous interactions.

BOB: Yes, Al?

AL: [Sings to himself gleefully, to the tune of Doo-Wah-Diddy] “…Singin’ watch out Cambria,
here comes Al Gansee!”

BOB: [Disgusted, in a previously unheard Russian accent] An entirely bourgeois choice for a
martial song to lead us into battle.

AL: It inspires morale.

BOB: Of course. You know I wouldn’t share my private opinions with the others.

AL: A KGB man is as good as his word. [BOB nods affirmingly] We’ve known each other for
more than a decade, Bronovsky. I trust you implicitly.

BOB: [Unconvincingly] I’m glad to hear it.

AL: [Looking out over the troops] What do you think of the decision to put Davidson in charge
of the right wing?

BOB: There was no choice but to give him a nominal command. Also no choice but to personally
oversee him yourself.

AL: Between me and Mary Beth, we’ll keep him in line.

BOB: Will Ezekiel’s division hold up under the strain?

AL: The pacifist was given the easiest assignment: rear guard action. It is, after all, your wing of
the army that will be doing the heavy lifting.

BOB: [Pauses] Can we really count on the pond remaining frozen?

AL: [Chuckling] It would take either a capitalist-induced heat wave the likes no one has ever
seen, or perhaps authentic fire and brimstone, to melt the ice on the Cambria Pond before the
middle of April. Just ask Norma sometime ….
BOB: It’s as though that pond is part of its own Siberian climate. How else do you explain it?

AL: In this case, I don’t care to know why. It is enough to know the frozen pond is a vital piece
of our plan.

BOB: Speed and agility will be the key. Once we hit our strategic targets with the artillery, we
should create enough confusion to seize the bridge, the church, and town hall in good order.
After that, the rest will be academic.

AL: I have dreams about riding into Cambria atop the tank that belonged to the one-armed
reactionary fool who claimed to be my father. It will be a beautiful moment!

BOB: Indeed … I have every confidence the socialist order will continue to be constructed here
near your Great Lakes. [Casting surreptitious glances, in hushed tones] Any word from our
operative?

AL: [Shaking his head] No news is good news. The Cambrians are asleep. They will awaken into
the arms of utopian bliss.

BOB: Here comes Davidson. [Enter JOHN DAVIDSON, BOB adjusts his accent accordingly]
Hark, Comrade John. What a beautiful display, don’t you agree!

JOHN: [Ecstatically] This Revolutionary Guard is the culmination of a dream …. [Sobering]

When are we going to be able to obtain all the munitions we need? After so many months ago.
You know, the firearms were confisca—er, pledged to the common good of the socialist union…

AL: [Reassuringly] I know, Comrade John. Fear not!

JOHN: On the good news front, I believe our little army will be ready to fight by the end of the
month.

BOB: Agreed. [An unsettling pause]

JOHN: How can we be sure the Cambrians aren’t already tipped off to what we’re doing? I
mean, parading around like this has to attract some attention.

AL: Comrade John, I think you’re giving them too much credit.

JOHN: Isn’t it dangerous to underestimate them, even if they are the Cambrians?

BOB: Are you doubting the collective wisdom of the socialist union embodied in the judgment
of our most munificent Chief Comrade? [JOHN shakes his head vigorously]

AL: [Disinterested] Comrades, farewell. Mary Beth and I need to review some specialized
tactics.
BOB and JOHN: All hail, Al Gansee!

AL exits stage left.

BOB: [Sternly] Comrade John, your skepticism is bordering on disloyalty.

JOHN: I resent the accusation.

After an uneasy silence, JOHN exits stage left. At the same time, NORMA enters stage right.

NORMA: Hey, sweets. That was a lot of fun, wasn’t it?

BOB: [Still distracted] Sure, sure ….

NORMA: Well, I have a couple patients to tend to this afternoon. Do you want to get lunch at
Dzlinsky’s first?

BOB: I’d love to, but I’ve got official business on the docket. We’ll catch up tonight.

NORMA: [Pecks BOB on the cheek, then starts to leave stage left] Okay, then.

BOB: Norma?

NORMA: Yes?

BOB: Can we really count on the Cambria Pond to remain frozen?

NORMA: [Laughing] Of all things, I wouldn’t worry about that. [Exits stage left]

BOB: What does that mean?

EXEUNT.

Scene 6: Afternoon, Sunday, February 11, 1962. FRED CAMPBELL, a 28-year-old day laborer
who comes across as a simpleton, serves the eyes and ears of Al Gansee in and around Cambria,
unbeknownst to those around him. After the Baptist Church service, he visits with the portly REV.
ROY ALLEN, the preacher who doubles as Cambria’s mayor.

FRED: Hate to say it, Preacher Roy, but that sermon done gave me a bad feelin’.

ROY: [Heartily] Amen.

FRED: [Awkward and uncertain] Amen… I guess. Well, uh, what’s new down at the town hall?
ROY: Don’t like talking about that business on the Lord’s Day.

FRED: No, I reckon, uh, I reckon not.

The 98-year-old MAUREEN FRICKARD leads the OLD MAN JOHNSTON, himself nearly 70,
blind, and mostly toothless, in from stage right.

ROY: Greetings, Widow Frickard.

MAUREEN: Good day, preacher boy.

ROY: And to you, Old Man Johnston.

JOHNSTON: Not too bad preachin’ there.

ROY: [Feigning politeness] Thank you very much. What can I do for you?

MAUREEN: I thought you’d want to hear what our former sheriff has to say.

ROY: Oh?

JOHNSTON: I don’t see much any more, Roy, but there ain’t anything the least bid bad about
my ears. Let me tell you, there’s mischief afoot over there in Southland Springs.

ROY: [Chuckling] With that crazy, godless Gansee character running around, I could have told
you that.

JOHNSTON: With all due respect, it’s more than that. I hear talk of some kind of invasion.

MAUREEN: Did ya’ hear that, preacher boy? Invasion….

ROY: Invasion of who or what?

JOHNSTON: Don’t know fer sure. But somewhere ‘round these parts. Folks are gettin’ nervous.
Guess those Al Gansee-ites were paradin’ around in uniforms, doing military drills and such. We
ought to be payin’ it heed.

FRED: Well, I’ll be….

JOHNSTON: So I just want to let you know I’m volunteering myself for service.

ROY: What can you do in your condition, Old Man Johnston?

JOHNSTON: The loss of one sense sharpens all the others. And besides, I'm still fittin' to use
most of the skills I learned as sheriff of this town. It wasn't that long ago....
ROY: [With phony smile] All right, all right.

MAUREEN: Count me in, too.

ROY: I appreciate that very much. From both of you. [Somewhat dismissively] We’ll take all the
sensible precautions we can here in Cambria. But I’m sure it’s as much pomp as circumstance.

FRED: That’s a mighty fine song.

ROY: Amen.

JOHNSTON: Put me wherever I can be of the most service.

ROY: You know I don’t like to talk about these matters on the Lord’s Day. Come by Town Hall
tomorrow morning. [Moving away stage right] I’m off to get me some fried chicken dinner. You
all have a fine afternoon. [Exit stage right]

FRED: So you haven’t heard where the invasion is being planned.

MAUREEN FRICKARD begins leading OLD MAN JOHNSTON off stage right.

MAUREEN: [Temper rising] Nope. Best not be in our backyard, though. If they know what’s
good for them.

JOHNSTON: Amen to that.

MAUREEN: I needs some chewin' tobackey to calm my nerves, or I might just invade that Al
Gansee feller myself.

JOHNSTON: Think I might have some you can borrow....

EXEUNT.

Scene 7: Morning, Wednesday, February 14, 1962. The Algansee Parade Ground near the
dilapidated Methodist Church. AL GANSEE confidently strides up the steps of the dilapidated
church, with BOB BROWN and MARY BETH following briskly behind. A solitary radio
microphone stands in the middle of the top step. AL wears his fully-adorned military-style jacket
and a Fidel Castro-style cap. The other two, like all in the Revolutionary Guard, wear newly-
purchased olive green Nehru jackets with embroidered red ‘A’ patches on the left breast. BOB’s
uniform designates him as a two-star general. MARY BETH’s uniform designates her as a full-
bird colonel. At the top of the steps, AL’s compatriots quietly prep him as he waits to give the
most memorable address of his life.
BOB: Ready to go?

AL: I feel a bit rushed. It’s all sooner than I’d like to do this, but since we learned from our
informant that the Cambrians have been tipped off….

BOB: No choice. I know.

MARY BETH: [Squeezing AL’s arm] So this is it, snugglebunny. [AL winks at her amorously]

BOB: Just follow the script, Al.

AL: It’s committed to memory. In my soul.

BOB: Remember, you can’t make this too dramatic. Go for the big one.

AL: [To BOB] I know I said it before, but getting radio coverage was a fabulous idea. We have a
platform from which to proclaim our most glorious ideals. My hopes for success are greater than
ever.

BOB: [Joking] Just don’t break out into your rendition of “Chattanooga Choo-Choo.” [Catching
a signal from the corner of his eye] It’s the producer. We’re almost on.

AL steps forward to the microphone, as his compatriots assume rigid and dignified posture
behind him, BOB on his left and MARY BETH on his right. After a few seconds of waiting, he
begins the address.

AL: Today I stand before my proud army, men who believe in the equality, unity, and the
brotherhood of all men. Today we stand together because of the threat of the evil Cambrian
empire! That evil Cambrian empire which represents a way of life totally contradictory to our
ideals of peace, joy, and love. That is why we must defend our way of life. And sometimes in
the course of defending what we hold dear we must march out on the offensive to stamp out the
evil before it spreads. And that is what I have been suggesting to all of you. Not suggesting,
rather imploring. The fate of civilization rests upon your shoulders, and I know you will perform
your duty well in this your union's darkest hour! "With malice toward none," except the
Cambrians, of course, "with charity" for everybody else, "with firmness in the right as God gives
us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in." And furthermore, my brave
soldiers, let me remind you that "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself." And when you
have performed your duty well you can be assured that there will be "a chicken in every pot and
a car in every garage!" So that we shall one day say, "Old soldiers never die, they just fade
away." So that when you return I can look you all in the eye and say, "Never in the field of
human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few." [Pausing to look heavenward, a tear
in his eye] "I have a dream; that one day this nation will rise up, live out the true meaning of its
creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." Equal, my
brothers! Equality and brotherhood! Life and joy and peace! Cambria, this is your warning.
You evil empire, cease and desist from your wicked ways. And as I look upon the finest fighting
force ever assembled, [reaches to remove one of his shoes, which he proceeds to wave wildly in
the air] I feel proud, just, and confident to say, [shouting defiantly] "We will bury you, Cambria!"

Sounds of whoops and hollers, along with various other kinds of cheering and applause, can be
heard. The chintzy brass instrumental rendition of “Doo Wah Diddy” also sounds. AL waves and
greets and salutes the crowd with dramatic flair. BOB and MARY BETH stand proud and tall. A
big smile creeps across MARY BETH’s face, while BOB remains stoic. After nearly a minute or
so, BOB nudges AL, finally getting his attention letting him know it’s time to exit the platform. As
the entourage exits, MARY BETH gleefully jumps into AL’s arms. AL carries MARY BETH off
stage. BOB finally is overcome by the moment, his stoic exterior breaking down. He walks
behind, massaging AL’s shoulders in festive celebration and throwing his head back in jubilant
laughter.

Off stage BOB’s voice can be heard: “I have this terrible craving for a peanut butter and
pineapple sandwich.”

EXEUNT.

END of ACT I
 ACT II

Scene 1: Morning, Wednesday, February 21, 1962. Briefing room at FBI Regional
Headquarters in Chicago. Four G-MEN in trenchcoats sit in chairs, some at desks, as they wait
to get briefed by CHIEF “B” HUNTER, a strangely gruff but effeminate character. HUNTER
sashays in from stage right, wearing a silky suit and tie combo, a feather boa, nylon stockings,
and low-heeled women’s shoes. He carries a file folder under his arm. An FBI insignia hangs on
the wall.

HUNTER: Boys, we got a strange one on our hands. I trust you’ve all read the report.

G-MAN 1: [Scanning the file in front of him] Is this some kind of a joke?

G-MAN 2: April Fools is more than a month away.

G-MAN 3: The Socialist Union of Elmer Gantry?

HUNTER: Al Gansee.

G-MAN 3: I know, but c’mon…

G-MAN 1: All this talk about an invasion ain’t serious, is it, B?

HUNTER: We have too much evidence to take it lightly. Regardless, there are about 93 cases of
tax evasion in this little town that need to be dealt with. [Throws the file folder down on the desk]
We’re going to throw the book at ‘em, and D-Day is tomorrow.

G-MAN 4: It looks to me like there might be some sort of coordinated KGB plot. [Thumbing
through his copy of the file] I can’t believe we don’t have more solid proof of that.

G-MAN 2: This bio on Gansee is amazing. Personal contacts with Stalin, Khrushchev, Castro.
[Reading off the page] May have worked inside the Kremlin from ’50 to ’57. Sold arms to Cuban
Communist revolutionaries….

HUNTER: I know.

G-MAN 1: How has this character been walking around under our noses?

HUNTER: Low priority. Our hope has been that he would lead us to some bigger fish, but after
last week’s radio address the situation has reached critical. We can’t sit back any more, boys.

G-MAN 4: [All business] So we’re on destination at 1200 hours tomorrow.

HUNTER: Yes, remember, we keep a low profile.

G-MAN 3: A low profile, B? You ain’t wearin’ the pink number tomorrow, are you?
HUNTER: I’ll have to look at my wardrobe. Can’t afford to make the wrong splash.

G-MAN 3: The wrong splash in Hicksville?

G-MAN 2: [Reading] Cambria.

HUNTER: [Looking at his reflection in a small compact] Yes, boys. Cambria. Any questions
about the primary targets?

G-MAN 1: [Sorting through photos] Some of these are a little grainy. Is this the best we’ve got?

G-MAN 2: Gansee’s wife, a local school principal, female doctor … Do we really have any
reason to consider any of these to be dangerous?

HUNTER: It’s Brown, the one we know the least about. Believed to have past associations with
Gansee, but no good pictures to verify his identity. We’ll proceed with caution around him.

G-MAN 4: [Raising his hand] Chief?

HUNTER: Don’t call me Chief.

G-MAN 4: [Obviously uncomfortable] B… With this Gansee clown, I mean, if this really is an
“invasion,” do we shoot to kill?

HUNTER: We want him alive, preferably, and in custody. Same with all the others.

G-MAN 1: Are we really supposed to arrest this whole invading force?

HUNTER: We’re picking up the principals, the ones featured in your files. Count on backup
support from local law enforcement for the rest.

G-MAN 3: [Wryly] Commies in Cambria. What’s the world comin’ to?

HUNTER: The FBI always gets its man.

G-MAN 2: No, you’re the man, B.

HUNTER: [His head flung back in self-deprecating laughter] You guys sound just like Eddie.

G-MAN 1: You mean the big guy himself?

HUNTER: [Sashaying out stage right] Let’s get out there and get to work. It’s Cambria
tomorrow. Oh, how I love ya’ tomorrow!

EXEUNT.
Scene 2: 2:15 PM, Thursday, February 22, 1962. Main intersection, town of Reading. AL
GANSEE, BOB BROWN, and JOHN DAVIDSON, all donned in their uniforms, come together to
confer briefly. In the background can be heard the hum of a tank motor.

AL: [With an authoritative air] Halt, halt, halt! Comrade John, what time is it?

JOHN: A little after two hours past noon.

BOB: You mean 1400 hours.

JOHN: Whatever, yeah.

AL: From here on out, we maintain radio contact. Is everyone ready to execute the plan? [AL is
greeted by an uninspiring silence.] What? We’ve been over this a hundred times.

BOB: It’s some of the men. They’re not so sure of themselves. They’re not as ready as they
could be.

AL: Yes, the timetable is not ideal. Our hand has been forced, though. It’s after two o’clock. We
can’t wait. We can’t stop. We can’t retreat….

BOB: No, of course not, Chief Comrade.

JOHN: [Echoing, shaking his head] No… no.

AL: Do I need to give another speech to inspire them?

JOHN: The one this morning… [catches himself]

AL: What about this morning’s speech?

JOHN: It could have been a bit better received. There wasn’t the booming applause that greeted
you last time.

AL: Comrade John, do you not agree with me that our Revolutionary Guard received the speech
exactly as it was intended to be received? With quiet, sober reflection, with steely resolve, with
the internal preparation necessary to meet the great duties they face today?

JOHN: [Humbled] Certainly, Chief Comrade.

BOB: I think the best thing is for them to move into action as swiftly as possible. The men will
find their nerves calmed and their spirits lifted.

AL: Agreed. Off we go. [With JOHN at his side, he strides to the far side of the stage, then
hollers back] Time for our parting now has come! [BOB nods in agreement. AL makes a giant,
sweeping gesture] When next we meet, Cambria will all be ours! [All salute]
EXEUNT.

Scene 3: 4:00 PM, Thursday, February 22, 1962. Outside the Victorian farmhouse on
Cambria Road, west of Cambria. As the lights come up on the scene of the empty road below,
the audience hears the voice of OLD MAN JOHNSTON from indoors, upstairs, in the widow’s
peak with no window.

JOHNSTON: It’s an unusually mild day for February. Don’t suspect it’s enough to scare off
those Commie bastards. I just know they’re a-comin’ today. They ought to know better. They
ought to know better ‘n to mess with my town. I don’t know what’s wrong with that fool mayor
of ours. You’d think he could take these threats a little more serious. Back when I was sheriff, we
woulda’ nipped this Red nonsense in the bud. I had great respect for that one-armed Gansee
fella’. That no-account son of his? … Well, in his case, the apple blew a long way from the tree.
[Pauses, reacting to something he hears] What’s that?

From offstage, the audience can hear singing to the tune of “Doo Wah Diddy.” Quiet at first, it
gradually crescendos.

CHORUS: Here we are, just a ridin’ down the street, singin’… [Pause of silence] Snappin’ our
fingers and shufflin’ our feet, singin’… [A longer pause] He looks good! [Short pause] He looks
fine!

AL: Cambria will soon be mine!

JOHNSTON: Blasted fool! [Sounds of JOHNSTON slowly descending stairs]

Members of the Revolutionary Guard now parade on from stage right, along with MARY BETH
GANSEE, EZEKIEL WILSON, and REBEKAH SCHLAFF. Riding atop a slow-moving World
War One reproduction tank are AL GANSEE and JOHN DAVIDSON.

CHORUS: Here we are, just a ridin’ down the street, singin’…

AL: Watch out Cambria, here comes Al Gansee!

CHORUS: Snappin’ our fingers and shufflin’ our feet, singin’…

AL: Watch out Cambria, here comes Al Gansee! … I look good!

CHORUS: He looks good!

AL: I look fine!

CHORUS: He looks fine!

AL: [Shouting ecstatically] Cambria will soon be mine!! [Roars with menacing laughter]

Half of the parade column has passed off stage left, including EZEKIEL and REBEKAH.
Meanwhile, OLD MAN JOHNSTON ambles blindly on stage through the main door of the house.

JOHNSTON: [Shouting] Hey, you! Are you those Commie bastards from Southland Springs?

SOLDIERS: [From offstage] Algansee, old man!

AL: [With semi-amusement] Are you the lookout?

JOHNSTON: I heard y’all comin’.

AL: Were you watching for us from the widow’s peak up there?

MARY BETH: [Gazing upward and stage right] There’s no window….

JOHN: Doesn’t matter much. The man is blind, after all.

JOHNSTON: [Asserting in seriousness] I order you in the name of the law, in the name of
Cambria, and in the name of all things good and decent, to drop your weapons and surrender!

AL: [Gives a full-throated, cocky laugh, then turns to JOHN] Kill that decrepit freak of nature.

JOHN: Yes, sir. [Brandishing a small caliber pistol from his holster, he turns and takes aim at
OLD MAN JOHNSTON, who continues to stumble closer to the tank. The sound of a single
gunshot follows, JOHNSTON clutches his left knee and topples over.]

JOHNSTON: You Commie bastard! Now how am I supposed to get to the telephone and call
back into town?

AL: That's your problem to figure out, freak.

JOHN: [To AL] This is almost too easy, Chief Comrade. I fear the Cambrians may be setting a
trap.

AL: Bah! [Exploding into laughter once again] The Cambrians couldn’t catch a snapping turtle
with—

JOHN: With what, Chief Comrade?

AL: Three quarts of whiskey and four front row tickets to see Camelot on Broadway.

JOHN looks puzzled but says nothing as the tank pulls them off stage left.
JOHNSTON: [Writhing in pain] I’ve failed. I’ve failed. I’ve failed.

EXEUNT.

Scene 4: 4:45 PM, Thursday, February 22, 1962. Interior, Cambria General Store. The humble
wood-framed mercantile off Lilac Road shows increasing signs of wear from a quarter-century
earlier. The proprietor BENJAMIN “DOC” GIMBO is a wrinkled, moustached man in his mid-
to-late 60s with multiple teeth missing. He is counting the change in his ancient cash register.
FRED CAMPBELL is loitering mindlessly around the shop counter.

DOC: Has ya’ figured it out yet?

FRED: Nope. I came here to tell ya’ somethin’ – wish I could done recollect it….

DOC: Well, ya’ gots me mighty curious. [Goes back to counting] Seventy, seventy-five,
eighty….

FRED: Wish I could cipher like you, Doc. I’d have my own store, perhaps, not breakin’ my back
day after day.

DOC: [Angry] Ya’ made me lose my train a’ thought!

FRED: Sorry. [Pauses, scratching his head] I didn't know you had somethin' to do with the
railroads.

DOC: Railroads?

FRED: I thought I made you lose...

DOC: Why don’t ya’ go back t’some of that back-breakin’ work yer’ jabberin’ on about?

FRED: [Sighs] Job let off early today. Besides, there was somethin’ important, somethin’ really
special about today …

DOC: Yes?

FRED: [Scratching his head vigorously] ‘Cept I don’t recollect.

DOC: [Counts again] Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five….

FRED: Maybe I’ll go ice skatin’ later on.

DOC: Why not now? [Counting] Forty, forty-five….

FRED: A bunch of folks is hangin’ round the pond, that’s why!

DOC: [Disinterested] Oh, really?

FRED: Yeah … [His eyes twinkle with recollection, while DOC fails to show the least bit of
interest or attention] Al Gansee’s bunch is headin’ over this way, an invasion they done called it.
I’m their spy, ya’ see. Not that yer’ supposed to know that….

DOC: Sure, sure.

FRED: I was gonna’ meet ‘em over at the Town Hall for the celebration dis evenin’….

DOC: [After a brief but noticeable pause, he is finally finished counting the nickels in his cash
register] One dollar and forty-five cents. [Looks at FRED and smiles] Did ya’ recollect what ya’
was gonna’ recollect?

FRED: I’m t’be warnin’ ya’ not t’be someplace.

DOC: [Feigning seriousness] Oh, where’s dat?

FRED: I dunno. If I recollect it….

DOC: [Impatiently] If yer’ gonna be stayin’ round here, could ya’ at least helps me by
straight’nin’ out the magazine rack?

After stuffing a wad of tobacco in his mouth, FRED complies, stepping over to the haphazard
magazine rack with random back issues of sundry periodicals.

FRED: Well, I’ll be! Sez here da Japs may be surrenderin’ soon.

DOC: About time, I say.

FRED: [Leafing through another magazine] Hey, Doc, did you read Field & Stream? Great
article on how to rebuild your classic '35 Buick coupe.

DOC: Fred? Hello? Hello? You mean Astronomy Weekly, don't ya’? [FRED mindlessly stares
back at DOC, his jaw slowly and rhythmically chewing his tobacco.] Are you gonna’ buy
somethin’, Fred? This is a place of business, ya’ know. Are you gonna’ buy somethin’?

FRED: I gots myself a bad feelin’, Doc.

DOC: Quit pesterin’ me with yer bad feelins. Are ya’ gonna straighten up the magazines or not?

FRED: Nah, but mebbe I’ll git a copy of dis here magazine. [Picks up the first magazine] ‘Cuz
dat would be good n’ if da Japs really did give up. [Feels in his pants pockets] I dunno. I only
gots a nickel, an’ I may need it later.
DOC: [About ready to explode] Make up yer mind!

FRED: I think I figured out da’ bad feelin’.

DOC: Now are you gonna’ buy somethin’ or are you gonna’ keep annoyin’ me with your silly
“bad feelins”?

Enter EMMALOU NORTHCUTT and VELMA NORTHCUTT from stage left. The sisters are also
Cambria’s resident town spinsters, both around the age of 60. While they interact with the store’s
proprietor, FRED grows increasingly nervous and unsettled, but can’t get anyone’s attention to
share what he wants to say.

EMMALOU: Why, good mornin’ Doc.

VELMA: Yes, good mornin’ to ya’, Doc.

DOC: Dat’s nice, but it ain’t mornin’ no more. The way Fred’s been dronin’ on, I presume it’s
nigh to midnight by now.

VELMA: The sun’s still shinin’.

FRED: Yeah, but--

DOC: Well, never mind, then. What can I do ya ladies fer?

EMMALOU: We’re cuttin’ out quick from a fierce game of pinochle. Had ta’ get some more
tobackey for the Widder Frickard.

FRED: Uh… uh….

DOC: [Reaching for a can behind the counter] I’s bin a-wondrin’. Bin nearly two weeks since
Maureen bought some chew.

VELMA: She gits pretty ill-tempered when she don’t have none fer awhile.

DOC: [Chuckling] Ain’t dat da truth!

VELMA: But fer someone nigh 100, t’ain’t much t’complain about.

FRED: Complain? B, but…

DOC: Cash or charge?

EMMALOU: Can ya put it on da Widder’s tab?

DOC: Reckon I can, but tell Maureen next time she needs t’buy her shotgun shells er chew, I’m
gonna’ need some cash.

EMMALOU: [Taking the can of tobacco] All right, then.

FRED: [Finally gets through] Hi, ladies.

VELMA: What’s got y’all troubled?

FRED: I gots a BAD feelin’.

EMMALOU: [Condescendingly] Oh, what’s that, Fred?

FRED: T’ain’t able t’explain it….

Just then, the sound of a shrieking mortar shell approaches. The ladies try to duck for cover,
while FRED stares upward.

DOC: Wha—

Before DOC can finish a syllable, the lights go down and the sound of an explosion is heard.

EXEUNT.

Scene 5: 5:00 PM, Thursday, February 22, 1962. The Lilac Road perimeter west of Cambria.
With JOHN DAVIDSON and MARY BETH close by his side, AL GANSEE paces with boundless
energy. The explosive report from the Cambria General Store stirs the leadership of the Socialist
Union Army’s right wing in action.

AL: [Gleefully] A direct hit! Blasted the General Store to pieces, no doubt. [To MARY BETH] Did
you hear that?

MARY BETH: [Sneaking a sip of vodka] Whoa.

JOHN: [Steeling up his own courage] Here goes nothing.

AL: [To both] Are your divisions prepared to act?

JOHN: Third Division is standing by. The Fourth….

AL: Yes?

JOHN: The Fourth is not at full strength. Due to the, uh, “unfortunate incident” with Major
McPherson, I had no choice but to put him and four others under arrest and…
AL: I know that. I left it to your discretion to transfer men from the Third as you see fit.

JOHN: I decided against it, sir. If we take men from the vital defensive position at the outer
intersection at this late hour, it could create havoc and make us needlessly vulnerable to a
counter-assault, and….

MARY BETH: [Laughing derisively] A counter-assault? From the Cambrians?

AL: [Dismissing his wife’s comments out of hand] I presume then you believe that Captain
Schlaff and her 10 men are prepared to follow us into town. [JOHN gives him nothing but an
empty, indecisive look. He turns to MARY BETH] Bring Captain Schlaff to me… now! On the
double!

MARY BETH staggers off stage right.

JOHN: [Bolstering his own fragile nerves] It will work. I know it will.

AL: [Looking through his field glasses] Of course, John. [Pauses and smiles] There’s chaos in
Cambria. Looks like Comrade Bob is fulfilling his portion of the mission. [Brings down the field
glasses and offers them to JOHN] Go ahead. See for yourself.

JOHN: [Peering through the field glasses] I don’t see Bob or any of our men.

AL: Not yet. But they will soon be there, and we must be ready for our triumphal entry.

JOHN: [Studying his own uniform] Do you think I look dapper enough for tonight’s victory
celebration?

AL: Dapper enough to share the glorious ideal of equality!

A knapsack slung over her shoulder, 10-year-old REBEKAH SCHLAFF scurries in from stage
right, MARY BETH staggering behind.

REBEKAH: [Nearly out of breath] Chief Comrade, sir. You requested to see me.

AL: Is your division ready for the triumphal advance?

REBEKAH: [Playing nervously with her fingers and hair] Um, yeah, I guess so.

AL: [With a hearty laugh] Good, good, Comrade Rebekah.

REBEKAH: [Pulling a box of matches out of her knapsack] When do we get to burn stuff?

JOHN: [Nervously intervening] Soon, soon. I’ll let you know….

REBEKAH: [Suddenly filled with arsonous rage] 'Cause I’m gonna’ burn those Cambrians!

JOHN: [Taking REBEKAH by the shoulders, guiding her off stage right] Let’s get you back to
your division, dear.

AL: [Barking orders to his wife] Check on Comrade Shekkie’s division, and report back to me if
there are any problems. [MARY BETH hesitates momentarily] Go! [MARY BETH exits stage left]
Cambria will soon be mine!

EXEUNT.

Scene 6: 5:00 PM, Thursday, February 22, 1962. On Cambria Pond. BOB BROWN, NORMA
FLANDERS, and HIRAM WILCOX, appearing every bit the stodgy and insecure educrat,
awkwardly adorned in military olive green, stand amid the left wing of the Socialist Union of Al
Gansee’s Revolutionary Guard. Several soldiers are huddled around them, poised to strike their
foe.

BOB: Are the troops in formation to strike?

NORMA: What? They’re supposed to be in formation?

BOB: Yes, formation! Now hurry. We’re losing our tactical advantage as we sit here and talk.

NORMA: What do you think? Should we go for aesthetic value? I mean, line the men up
symmetrically or something like that?

BOB: [Furious] You Pavlovian sycophant capitalist dog! We must seize upon our opportunity at
once! Here, I’ll handle it. [Aside to the audience] Women in combat. Let me rephrase that:
Women with periodontitis in combat! [Turns to his troops, in a bold and martial voice] Up men,
and to your posts! Today we dismantle Cambria.

SOLDIER 1: How do you reckon we’re gonna’ get there?

BOB: Why, across this pond if we have to!

SOLDIER 2: No disrespect, Comrade Brown, but that pond couldn’t hold up a mouse!

BOB: It’s frozen, isn’t it?

SOLDIER 2: Yeah, but it’s nearly 60 degrees and has been for almost a week!

BOB: I admit it strikes me as a bit odd that this pond should be frozen, but we shall cross it!
SOLDIER 2: No disrespect, but I wouldn’t trust you to cross a bridge made of reinforced
concrete!

BOB: [Irate] I will not tolerate this insolence. Soldier, out on the ice and test it! Now! Test it!
[SOLDIER 2 gets up and moves out cautiously in front toward the pond, while BOB turns back
and exclaims to the rest] If he drowns, he dies! If he crosses, we all follow! To your feet, men!
For the honor of Al Gansee and the glory of our socialist state....

SOLDIER 2: [From the far edge of the stage, mutters to himself] Well, I’ll be a durned capitalist
pig. [Yelling back] Feels sturdy as a rock to me!

BOB: Then, forward! Forward, men of Algansee! Forward, and we shall seize Cambria! [His
voice and his legs weaken, as he loses his balance and falls over, dizzy and hyperventilating]

NORMA: [Panicking shrieks] Aah! Aah! [Drops down and places her left ear on BOB’s chest]
He’s not breathing! He’s not breathing! [Concerned, HIRAM drops to one knee and begins to
look over the prone, portly figure, while SOLDIER 2 retraces his steps and retreats to join the
crowd]

HIRAM: [Coolly, and with determination] Back in formation! Loyal sons of Algansee, your
mission is not over! We have not yet begun to fight... [Losing his composure a bit] So don’t
leave!

SOLDIER 1: Where would we go?

HIRAM: [Discombobulated] No matter! Just, just don’t! [Begins slapping BOB and pouring
handfuls of snow in his face, as though to rouse him] Give him a few minutes, everybody.
[Pauses, rises to his feet, then speaks dryly and nonchalantly] The assault will continue.

SOLDIER 1: What are we gonna’ do?

SOLDIER 2: We could sing a song to kill some time.

NORMA: What a terrific idea!

SOLDIER 1: [Begins to sing a familiar tune] “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps
tonight….”

BOB: [Seated, awake, in a classic countertenor] Whoo-oo, whoo-oo-oo-ooo…. [The crowd

breaks up in laughter simultaneously, as HIRAM and NORMA aid BOB to his feet] Okay, okay.
[Turns to NORMA] Are we ready to go?

NORMA: Sweets, are you all right? I thought you were … you were…

BOB: There’s no time for that now. We have work to do! Tell me, are we ready to go?
NORMA: Everyone is accounted for, sweets, I mean, Comrade Bob. Squads are organized and
ready to take their respective targets. [Losing formality] This is it, then…

BOB: Forward, men of Algansee! To Cambria … and victory! [The army rushes forward to the
far edge of the stage, but before they can get there, they are headed off by CHIEF “B”
HUNTER, wearing a mauve satin dress and holding an elongated cigarette holder between his
fingers] What the--?

HUNTER: So gentlemen, out for a walk today?

NORMA: [Her jaw hanging agape] What’s that? [As her gums start to bleed, she reaches out to
cover her mouth, and turns away]

BOB: Who are you?

HUNTER: [Pulls a billfold from his handbag and holds it up] B. Hunter, Federal Bureau of
Investigation, Special Domestic Cases Assignment Chief, Chicago office. [Two G-MEN enter
behind him]

BOB: [Impatiently, but politely] Comrade Hunter with a long title, how may we oblige you?

HUNTER: Just curious, my boy. What are all these men doing here?

BOB: [Thinking on his feet] Let me be honest and up front with you. These men and I are
practicing to re-enact the Battle of the Bulge. It's sort of a yearly tradition here. There’s what
you might call a large Belgian population ‘round these parts and—

HUNTER: [With a sassy guffaw] Oh, is that so?

BOB: [Obviously fibbing] Yes… Actually, yes.

HUNTER: [Shyly clenching his skirt] Did you hear the explosion a little while ago?

BOB: [Coyly] Explosion?

HUNTER: Looked like some sort of rocket shell might have come from this direction. [Finally
having caught BOB without any response, he decides to play all his cards] Mr. Brown, the only
Battle of the Bulge going on here is the battle with your waistline.

BOB: So you know my name? [HUNTER nods, gestures to the G-MEN. They come forward
ready to arrest BOB and his higher-ranking associates. Desperation sets in] You wear ladies’
clothes. You pansy! You yellow-bellied pansy! Are you a girl or a man? So what’s your color--
pink or purple? Ha, ha! Wait, you’ve got a run in your stockings! Hee, hee! Where’d you get
such a beautiful figure? Victor’s Secrets? Ha! . . .
HUNTER: [Winces, pouts, then tears begin to come down his face] Now look, my mascara is
running!

BOB and NORMA: [Shrugging their shoulders] Sorry?

HUNTER: [To the G-MEN] What are you waiting for? Arrest and seize them immediately!

The sound of multiple police sirens can be heard in the background. Panic ensues among the
rank and file.

SOLDIER 2: Run away, run away! [Fleeing with the other soldiers off stage left]

BOB: No, wait! Maintain order! Maintain order, I say! To the trucks and regroup! Regroup and
re-form … we must take Cambria!

HUNTER: [Aside, to G-MAN 1] Strange people in these parts!

G-MAN 1: [Distracted from apprehending BOB] Yes, sir. And might I say you look stunning in
pink! [Seizing the moment of distraction, BOB began to flee after his men]

HUNTER: It’s mauve, Peterson. Don’t you forget it! [Notices BOB fleeing] After him!

HUNTER and the two G-MEN take off after BOB, but out of the blue NORMA throws herself
between them, knocking the high-heeled HUNTER over. The two G-MEN turn away from the
chase. One aids his chief to his feet, while the other puts NORMA in handcuffs. HUNTER rises
unsteadily and brushes off his mussed dress.

NORMA: You know, that really is more suited for evening wear.

HUNTER: Silly woman. This is Hubert de Givenchy – you can wear it any time.

NORMA: If you say so. Fancy tastes, I guess. [Gazes off in the distance BOB fled, smirking
proudly to know she has helped her paramour to escape]

HUNTER: [Following NORMA’s gaze, turns to his G-MEN] Fools, you let Brown escape!

NORMA: [As G-MAN 2 escorts her offstage in cuffs] All hail, Al Gansee!

HUNTER: [Collaring G-MAN 1, removing his high heels] To the car, Peterson.

EXEUNT.

Scene 7: 5:15 PM, Thursday, February 22, 1962. Downtown Cambria. The backdrop is dark,
as the audience only sees a pair of spotlights, one each on AL GANSEE and JOHN DAVIDSON,
seated atop the vintage World War One reproduction tank as it slowly barrels toward downtown
Cambria. The mood is tense. No one speaks a word, but JOHN hums Chopin’s Funeral March—
at first in quiet tones, gradually crescendoing to an annoyingly overbearing pitch.

AL: [Tersely] Enough of that! [JOHN stops humming. AL pauses, recites meditatively]

Much Madness is divinest Sense--

To a discerning Eye--
Much Sense--the starkest Madness--
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail--
Assent--and you are sane--
Demur--you're straightway dangerous--
And handled with a Chain--

Maybe this one is more appropriate.

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant--

Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind—

[Glancing over, he sees JOHN studying him with a strange curiosity] Emily Dickinson.

JOHN: [Blankly] Oh. Never met her.

AL: [Mildly annoyed] Nor I. [In command] Stay focused. [Pause] Cambria is just around the
bend now. It’s the same feeling I had before I spoke to everyone at the Elks Lodge that night,
more than a year ago now. [As JOHN nods, his spotlight fades. AL is lost in his thoughts. He
hops down from the tank and speaks directly to the crowd, re-enacting the speech 13 months
earlier that ushered him to power]

Today we heard the Irish mobster’s son speak of a distant Camelot as he ascended to power in
Washington. He spoke boldly and optimistically about the need for sacrifice. About something
greater than the individual. Yet in his brashness, he showed his blindness to the collectivist
dream, the true dream. It’s a dream we can realize, a dream we can share. A vision so
misunderstood and misaligned it has taken a thousand dirty slanders from the greedy capitalist
pigdogs who live to keep us all in ignorance, in rags, in poverty, in despair.

We need not listen to them. And the dream need not be ours alone. Oh, believe me, you must
believe me: Southland Springs can be a shining beacon of hope. From miles around our
neighbors can be witnesses to the glorious fact that we have found the dream. If you follow me,
if you heed my words, that dream can be ours.

Friends and fellow citizens, we have come here today a little peckish for the catch of the sea. Or
perhaps a little peckish to win that bingo jackpot. But these things, as glorious and fulfilling as
they may be, cannot satisfy the deepest longings of man’s soul—equality and brotherhood. Why
should there be poverty in this beautiful community while a few live in complete luxury? Take,
for example, Mayor Lindeman—or Mr. Causland who runs the lumber mill. Their children have
the finer things in life, as their struggles and toils cannot hold a candle to those of you, the
common man. The common man is what matters!

Why should we let such disparity in wealth provoke such jealousy when peacefulness and
brotherhood and unity should be the landmarks of Southland Springs? Friends, I want a better
Southland Springs. Friends, you want a better Southland Springs. Why can’t we have a better
Southland Springs? Are we trapped in the status quo?

[Bows his head reverently, takes a deep breath, then looks in the audience’s eyes once more, an
almost superhuman confidence writ large on his face]

Let me paraphrase the words written by a great man. We disdain to conceal our views and aims.
We openly declare that our ends can be attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing
social conditions. Let the ruling classes tremble at our revolution. We have nothing to lose but
our chains. We have a world to gain. Workers of Southland Springs, unite!

[Bringing down his raised fist, AL climbs back aboard the tank and rejoins the present, as
JOHN’s spotlight comes back up]

JOHN: What is it, Chief Comrade?

AL: [Smiles reflectively] Another great historic moment is upon us.

JOHN: [After a silent pause, tries to bring back the focus onto the task at hand] As you said,
Comrade Bob has succeeded at his part. Now all we must do is secure the last two main
intersections, and—

AL: [With a sweeping gesture] And Cambria will be ours!

While AL gazes heavenward, JOHN hops off the tank. Stage lights come up to reveal the
downtown Cambria corridor, the Baptist Church at far stage left, and in the background (from
left to right) the one-story Cambria Town Hall and the two-story Masonic Lodge House.
REBEKAH SCHLAFF, clenching a lighter in one hand and a dust broom in the other, and a
handful of her Revolutionary Guard soldiers are ready to strike into action.

JOHN: [Barking orders] Comrade MacPherson’s squad, stand by. Captain Schlaff, are your men
ready to move forward and clear the way for our Chief Comrade?
REBEKAH: [Concern quickly turning to panic] Comrade John, why don’t I see any of Comrade
Bob’s men around? [JOHN hesitates as his deeply unsettled feeling returns.] Comrade John?
Should we still go forward? [Finally, getting no response, she shrieks with a panicked scream] I
need something to burn!

JOHN: [Speaking into the radio device] Yellow sickle, this is red hammer. Are you there?
[Pauses] I repeat, yellow sickle, this is red hammer ... Yellow sickle, come in! [After another
pause, turns to AL] This isn’t right, sir. Abort! We must abort! [AL slowly takes in his
surroundings, as JOHN continues] Shall I give the order to retreat? Or shall we move forward?
Uh, Chief Comrade, sir … we need to do… something.

AL: [With a mixture of irritation and utter surprise] Where in the name of Marx is Bronovsky?

JOHN: Chief Comrade, I think we should abort – er, retr, I mean, redeploy back to our previous
position. Perhaps Comrade Bob has been….

AL: [An authoritative interruption, rising to his feet atop the tank] No! We can do it alone! We
can do it alone! [To REBEKAH] Lead your men in … [As REBEKAH begins to re-gather her
squadron and advance, AL shouts maniacally, capturing everyone’s attention] We will bury you,
Cambria!

The figure of MAUREEN FRICKARD appears in one of the second-floor windows of the
Masonic Lodge House. She has been killing time cleaning her shotgun while futilely waiting for
her friends to return with her chewing tobacco. She looks angry as she draws back the curtain
and watches AL standing atop the tank. Instantly, the barrel of her shotgun pokes out the window
in AL’s direction.

MAUREEN: Have y'all seen where my chewin' tobackey's at? Velma oughta' be back from the
General Store by now!

AL: [Laughing maniacally] General Store? Thank Lenin that place is in smithereens now!

While AL doesn't even bother to look up at the mere annoyance of an old woman's voice, JOHN
spots the shotgun out of the corner of his eye, and instinctively tries to plead with MAUREEN.

JOHN: No need to get out of sorts, ma'am....

MAUREEN: [Ignores JOHN, fixes sights on AL] Lenin, eh? You're that fool son of old One-Arm.
[Finger on trigger] For the love of Cambria, die, you Commie bastard!

Everyone below freezes momentarily, as the gun blast goes off. AL grasps his right shoulder and
tumbles off the tank in a heap. He ends up face down on the ground below. REBEKAH tries to
ignite her lighter for a few seconds, finally throwing it down in frustration. Most of the others
just point at the window where the shots came from. As quickly as she appeared, MAUREEN
slides back out of view.
JOHN: [Runs to AL’s side, then shouts to the others] Get the stretchers! Get the stretchers!
[Noticing his men standing around, he finds the resolve to try to stir them back into action] Stop
pointing, and start firing!

REBEKAH: [Composing herself, she brandishes a kitchen knife from her apron and holds it
aloft] Men of Algansee, respond. Kneel! ... Fire! I said, Kneel and fire! [A couple of the soldiers
comply. One soldier attempts to fire his weapon, but it won’t go off. Another picks up a rotten
vegetable off the ground and tries to throw it at the second-story window where the old lady had
been. He misses. A couple others rush for the door of the Lodge House, rattle the knob, but can’t
get it unlocked. A sense of desperation starts to set in.]

JOHN: Get the stretchers! [From off stage left can be heard in the distance the voice of G-MAN
4 shouting, “Freeze! FBI!” The soldiers pay no heed to JOHN, but start to run away. JOHN and
REBEKAH are able to collar two of the fleeing soldiers] Have we no stretchers?

SOLDIER 3: Guess not. [Taking a step away, JOHN throws his arms up in futile disgust]

REBEKAH: Pick him up, then! Pick him up and carry him! [At first, the two soldiers look
astonished. After looking at each other, they quickly comply and pick up AL’s wounded body. The
voice of G-MAN 4 offstage left is loud and near this time: “Freeze!”]

JOHN: Run away! [Nobody needs to wait for JOHN’s order. They’re already well on their way to
exiting stage right. G-MAN 3 and G-MAN 4 enter stage left]

G-MAN 4: For the last time, I said, “Freeze!” [G-MAN 3 fires his pistol at the fleeing Socialist
Revolutionary Guard.]

JOHN: [Ducking and flinching] That’s all, folks! [Exits stage right.]

G-MAN 4: After him!

Just as the two FBI agents start to move, MAUREEN FRICKARD comes lumbering out the front
door wielding her shotgun. Tense and confused, she quickly points the barrel at the agents.

MAUREEN: Drop yer weapons, I mean “now”! [G-MAN 3 delicately sets his weapon down,
while G-MAN 4 freezes and points his hands in the air] Tell me, what are ya’ Commie bastards
still doin’ here?

G-MAN 3: Ma’am, we’re with the FBI….

MAUREEN: [Unpersuaded] How do I know yer’ all not some of dem Algansee-ites? [Suddenly
defensive] Don’t answer! Hands in the air!

G-MAN 4: Was it you we heard firing the shotgun?

MAUREEN: Sure shootin’, boy. Without my tobackey, I’m in a foul mood.

G-MAN 4: You’re out of tobacco?

MAUREEN: Yeah, I sent Velma and Emmalou down to the General Store pret’ near an hour ago.
They never came back. Now, ya’ see, it’s bad enough to have yer pinochle game ruined like dat,
but no tobackey, either?

G-MAN 4: Did you say the General Store? Is that the building down around the corner?

MAUREEN: ‘Course it is. Don’t ya got no sense, boy?

G-MAN 4: I hate to tell you, but the store was destroyed by some kind of a mortar shell.

MAUREEN: Well, I thought that was just my grandson’s car backfirin’ … [Pauses] Ya' mean
that's not just some fool story the Algansee-ites made up? [Pauses again] Serves dem Commie
bastards right, blowin’ up our store. The least they deserved was what I gave ‘em.

G-MAN 3: Ma’am, we can help you stop them. Just let me show you my badge.

MAUREEN: The tobackey first...

G-MAN 4: They’re getting away.

MAUREEN: Okay, but move yer hands slowly, boys…. [G-MAN 3 complies, pulling out his
badge and a stash of chewing tobacco. She greedily grabs a handful of chew, then studies the
badge for a moment.] All right, then… [She lowers the shotgun, as the REV. ROY ALLEN giddily
comes bounding in from the church’s vicinity, and the G-Men continue the chase stage right]

ROY: Wheeeee… Wheeeee! We dun’ whooped ‘em!

MAUREEN: [Spitting tobacco again] Reckon so, preacher boy. Reckon so….

EXEUNT.

Scene 8: Dusk, Thursday, February 22, 1962. The Lilac Road perimeter west of Cambria.
JOHN DAVIDSON, REBEKAH SCHLAFF, and SOLDIER 3 struggle to carry AL GANSEE’s
wounded body in from stage right. MARY BETH GANSEE and the elderly and stoic EZEKIEL
WILSON are standing lookout over the rear guard, when they notice the approach of their
comrades. Discombobulated and slightly inebriated, MARY BETH runs to see her husband.

JOHN: [Wearily, almost rote] For the glory of the Socialist Union and all its ideals of equality,
life, joy, and peace.
REBEKAH: He’s too heavy. I can’t go on…. [Slowly they lay down AL’s body out of the way of
traffic]

EZEKIEL: I hadst known that trouble would befall us. Of all the men to fall, the Chief Comrade.
It's terrible. Devastating. None among us is his equal.

JOHN: I think you mean he's more equal than the rest of us.

EZEKIEL: Surely, equality doth have its limits.

JOHN: No, pure equality. Though some are more equal than others.

EZEKIEL: “Four legs good, two legs bad.” [Draws blank stares and nonrecognition from the
others] Pay me no heed.

MARY BETH: [Hovering over AL] Is he alive…?

JOHN: He’s not dead. He’s just hurt. And resting now … His shoulder’s badly wounded … If we
can’t get him to a doctor, though … [REBEKAH trudges over to hug EZEKIEL]

MARY BETH: Where’s that bloody Norma Flanders when you need her?

JOHN: You haven’t seen the left wing of the army, by chance, have you?

MARY BETH: Not a peep from ‘em, Comrade John. Not a sad, sorry peep.

EZEKIEL: How art thou, child? [As REBEKAH cries uncontrollably, EZEKIEL takes on a stoic
but comforting tone] Didst thou lead thy men humbly and bravely?

REBEKAH: Y-yes, Father Ezekiel.

EZEKIEL: 'Tis good to hear thou wert equal to the task.

JOHN: ‘Tis true, Comrade Ezekiel. She was braver than us all. All the rest ran like schoolgirls,
frightened and unashamed. What dishonor!

SOLDIER 3: [Speaking up] Excuse me.

JOHN: Thank you. Not all, but most of the rest ran away like schoolgirls…. And there are guys,
look like FBI agents, they've got guns...

REBEKAH: B-but I didn’t get to burn anything… [More crying]

As the conversation hits a lull, all attention turns again to their wounded Chief Comrade.

AL: [Through painful groans, almost delirious] The dream still lives. It lives!
MARY BETH: Save your energy, snugglebunny. [To JOHN] We must get him into hiding.

EZEKIEL: [Looking out, notices trouble coming] Thou hadst better act quickly. Angry
Cambrians doth approach!

JOHN: [Firmly] Follow me!

Breaking his embrace from REBEKAH, EZEKIEL helps JOHN and SOLDIER 3 lift and carry AL
GANSEE away. REBEKAH, wiping tears from her eyes and regaining her resolve, tags along
afterward, just off stage left. From stage right enter REV. ROY ALLEN, MAUREEN FRICKARD,
and OLD MAN JOHNSTON with a compress around his knee and hobbling on crutches, trailing
behind B HUNTER and all four G-MEN. Thinking quickly, a distraught MARY BETH starts to
play-act.

MARY BETH: [Shouting] These men are mad Commie bastards! They’ve tried to destroy your
town! They kidnapped me, and, and….

G-MAN 1: Who kidnapped you?

ROY: There ain’t no one here but yourself.

MARY BETH: [Relieved] I guess the cowards ran away. [On HUNTER’s signal, G-MEN 1 and 2
fan out to look, exiting stage left]

HUNTER: [Strutting forward] Why are you wearing one of their uniforms?

MARY BETH: It was, uh, it was part of the kidnapping.

JOHNSTON: [Bubbling over with vengeance] Just let me get my hands on that Gansee boy, and
I’ll wring his neck good. I’m telling y’all….

MAUREEN: [Interrupting] Which way did the Commie bastard go?

HUNTER: [Turning at her, scoldingly] Please leave this to the professionals, ma’am.

MAUREEN: Looks like someone shoulda’ left yer wardrobe to the professionals.

HUNTER: [Indignant] What do rubes like you know about Givenchy?

ROY: [More indignant] Rubes, eh?

G-MAN 4: [Approaching MARY BETH, along with G-MAN 3, he brandishes handcuffs] You’re
going to have to come with us, ma’am. We have lots of questions.
MARY BETH: [Playing dumb] I don’t know where they went. I didn’t see what happened.
[HUNTER gets in a cat scuffle with the old woman and the preacher. JOHNSTON even gets in a
mild blow or two with one of his crutches. Distracted again, G-MAN 3 and G-MAN 4 run over to
sort things out. In an instant, MARY BETH dashes away. Several seconds later, everything is
sorted out]

HUNTER: Where did the woman go?

G-MAN 3: [Gesturing at MAUREEN] The old lady’s right here, boss.

HUNTER: No, no, you fool! The woman in the uniform. That was Mary Beth Gansee! [G-MAN
4 goes looking for MARY BETH, while G-MAN 3 escorts the two Cambrians off stage right.
HUNTER primps to make sure his hair and makeup are in place] Curses if they get away. What’s
Eddie gonna’ think?

EXEUNT.

Scene 9: Evening, Friday, June 8, 1962. Cell, Federal holding penitentiary. Donned in a blue
prisoner’s jumpsuit, JOHN DAVIDSON sits on the bottom bunk. He pulls a letter out from under
his jumpsuit and begins to read. As he reads, AL GANSEE’s voice narrates the text.

VOICE of AL: Comrade John, many apologies for taking so long to write. Only but recently has
the news reached me of your unfortunate plight. I implore you to stay strong in this difficult
time.

Your noble sacrifice will not soon be forgotten. Nor the sacrifice of many others. All in all, I fear
our efforts in Cambria were hampered by the unusually warm weather that melted some of our
sterner character. Yet on that dark and disastrous day, you sacrificed yourself for our sacred
ideals of equality and justice, claiming full responsibility as the mastermind of the invasion. You
acted bravely so that I may go free and live again to share our dreams another day. Believe me,
our dream is not dead, only in hibernation. Hope lives.

Because of what you did, I have been transported to the full cover of two separate safehouses.
The capitalist goon police will not find me at my new location under my new identity. Nor do I
dare reveal the locations in this letter, for fear it will fall into the wrong hands. But be assured
that my shoulder, albeit sometimes stiff and painful, is recovered. My body is hale and strong.
And I spend my free hours planning our return. What a glorious day that will be!

To maintain cover, I work days as a short-order cook. I often told Mary Beth that my most
sublime and placid dreams were not to be the Chief Comrade of our Socialist Union, but to be
the Master Broccoli Quiche Maker for the Great Lakes Soviet Republic. So as I live now, I can
hardly complain.
There is no telling how long I will be able to stay here, but it is a wonderful place. As wonderful
as can be, without Mary Beth. They give me no news here of Mary Beth. Have you heard?
Where is she? Is she well? We are all indebted to her cunning and bravery, but I fear the worst
has befallen her. Perhaps a bit foolish of me, but it’s very hard to embrace the dream without her.

Norma Flanders, they tell me, was released on some sort of technicality. Hiram got off on
probation. Comrade Brown is another story. He truly has disappeared into the shadows, but I
expect to hear from him soon. And what more can be said of brave young Rebekah? She most
certainly has an adventurous life ahead of her.

Again, please, I implore you, stay strong. Do not be bullied by the capitalist goons. But continue
to share our glorious ideals as you see best fit to do in your current state.

And once you have committed the contents of this letter to memory, destroy it at once. Our
enemies need no clues. We shall drive them cold from my trail. Comrade John, as long as one of
us lives, the Socialist Union lives on, too. The glorious day approaches!

In Perfect Marxist Equality,

Al

JOHN: [Folding up the letter and tucking it back in his jumpsuit, he smiles broadly and gazes at
the audience] However could I doubt him? He’s alive and well. This is wonderful news, if ever
there’s been any. “Hope and change are coming.” [Begins to hum the tune of “Yakety-Yak,” softly
at first, getting gradually louder. He steps over to the bars of the jail cell and begins to sing
aloud]

Since blissful future has begun

Right here in nineteen sixty-one,
We praise the man who made us free,
Yakety Yak—Al Gansee!

As the music continues to play, the lights go down on the jail cell and come up on the rest of the
stage, revealing a transformation to the town council chambers where the Algansee Socialist
Council met. AL and MARY BETH enter from stage left, while BOB BROWN, NORMA
FLANDERS, and HIRAM WILCOX file in from stage right. Joyful hugs and handshakes and
Russian-style kisses fill the room. Then all six turn to the audience and sing.

Love and joy and peace are all nice

In our great workers' paradise!
Experience pure equality,
Yakety Yak—Al Gansee!

Take out the slimy, pigdog trash

And join our utopian bash!
Come sing along with me,
Yakety Yak—Al Gansee!
AL: Yes, that’s me!

The music continues. While AL and MARY BETH do some “Lindy” steps together, the Amish trio
of EZEKIEL WILSON, AMOS SCHLAFF, and REBEKAH SCHLAFF square dance in from stage
right. JOSEPH and JIMBOB come in from stage left, beating on each other and pulling each
other’s hair. The company is joined by all available extras, dressed in the uniform of the
Algansee Revolutionary Guard. As they all sing in chorus, a number of them hoist AL GANSEE
on their shoulders.

ALL: Since blissful future has begun

Right here in nineteen sixty-one,
We praise the man who made us free,
Yakety Yak—Al Gansee!

JOHN: Three cheers for our Chief Comrade, Al Gansee! [A resounding trio of “Hip, hip,
hoorays” respond]

ALL: We praise the man who made us free,

Yakety Yak—Al Gansee!

AL hops down with zest and élan, embracing JOHN and patting him on the back, as the joy of
equality and brotherhood fills the air. Then, suddenly, MAUREEN FRICKARD appears with her
shotgun in tow and fires a blast into the air. Joy turns to panic on everyone’s faces, as all but
JOHN scatter off stage. The light goes down on MAUREEN, and JOHN wistfully trudges back to
the bars of his jail cell, where the lights come up. Two guards briskly enter and open the cell
door with a set of keys. GUARD 2 grabs JOHN by the collar.

GUARD 1: [Barking angrily] I told you to shut up, you Commie bastard! Enough of this racket!

JOHN: [Babbling and pleading] B-but he promised us utopia….

GUARD 1: Back to the real world, brother.

GUARD 2: Hard labor, solitary confinement, perhaps?

The guards drag him stage left, almost offstage.

JOHN: [To audience] It’s not supposed to end this way.

GUARD 1: Somebody else is gonna’ hafta’ set you free.

EXEUNT.

END OF ACT II
FIN