1
STAY WITH ME IN UNCERTAIN TIMES
(A Play in One Act)
REVISED
By T.J. Gillespie
The Players:
James Boyle
Michael Boylehis son
Jack Gallagherhis son-in-law
Sissy GallagherJack’s daughter, James’ granddaughter
Anne GallagherJack’s daughter, James’ granddaughter
Mrs. O’Halahana neighbor
The Scene:
Evening. October 1918. A small living room in Philadelphia. The space is comfortable yet compact, well-ordered but plainly furnished. A small table is center stage with three chairs facing each other diagonally toward the audience. There seems to be a small kitchen, or at least a cooking area, in the back stage with a fireplace. There is a modest vase beside the cupboard holding a small arrangement of flowers. The walls are essentially bare, with the exceptions of a picture of the Virgin Mary on one side and a picture of the Sacred Heart on the other. A door stage left leads to other bedrooms; a door stage right leads out of the home.
Sitting at the table is MICHAEL BOYLE reading quietly to himself. Beside him is his father, JAMES BOYLE, his wrinkled face and furrowed brow make him appear older than he is. He is sitting stiffly at the table with his arms crossed. He stares out at a distance, not absent-mindedly, but with fierce concentration as if trying to separate himself from the others in the room. On the floor upstage are two young girls, SISSY and ANNE GALLAGHER, James’ granddaughters. Sissy hums to herself as her sister brushes her hair. Sissy seems pleasantly content while her older sister seems almost on the verge of tears.
MICHAEL: Listen to this, Da’. (Reading) “The Americans, under General John Pershing, continued their attack on a salient south and west of Verdun as part of a general advance. The Germans are steadily pulling back…”
JAMES: (To himself, almost a whisper. He speaks with a slight brogue.) Ah, Jimmy.
MICHAEL: (Continuing excitedly) “Inspired by the German retreat, the Americans are hastily pushing forward. With Bulgaria’s decision to sign an armistice, there is great hope for a German cease-fire in the coming weeks.” (Now looking up and practically shouting) In the coming weeks! Did you hear that! Those Krauts are going to surrender! They’re no match for the boys of the U.S.A!
JAMES: (again muttering) A hundred thousand of our boys done in Argonne. All gone.
MICHAEL: But, Da’, don’t you see, the war’s going to be over! We did it. And don’t think that Jimmy didn’t have anything to do with it, cause he did, you know. (Singing) The Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming! The drums rum-tumming.
JAMES: (getting up from the table. Humorless.) Enough tea. (To himself). Just a nip.
MICHAEL: (to the girls) Sissy, tell me your rhyme again! The one for uncle Jimmy.
ANNE: I don’t want to. It isn’t really a time to be silly.
MICHAEL: You’re right. But it is a time to celebrate. I know that sounds strange to you, right now, but do you understand what’s happening? This is a very important time. Come on, Sissy, you’ll do it won’t you? Sing me your little rhyme.
SISSY:I spy Kaiser at the door.
Eating a lemon pie
But we'll squash Willy in his eye
And there won't be any Kaiser anymore.
MICHAEL: I think this is great news. Not just because we’re winning, which of course is great news, but because of morale. I don’t mean the soldiers, I mean us. The rest of us here really need that kind of lift.
JAMES pours himself a small glass from a dark bottle in the back. He swirls the glass and swallows all the contents.
ANNE: I hope Father comes home soon. (She resumes brushing her sister’s hair.) He’s never this late.
SISSY: Anne, you’re scaring me.
MICHAEL: Girls, girls, nothing to be scared of. We’ve beaten back the Hun! If anything, your dad has joined a parade, swept up in the victory.
JAMES: (Forcefully, as if he has quickly returned to his senses.) You know damn well there will be no parades.[1] You’ve either no brains or no heart. I hope to God you’re just a fool.
MICHAEL: (Apologetically) No, Da’, I didn’t mean... I…I was trying to make them feel better…
JAMES: Hush, that’s enough. I am taking a cup of tea in for your mother.
James exits stage left.
MICHAEL: (Awkwardly) Girls, you know I love you very much…and you know your ma was my sister…well, of course… and I looked up to her very much…and it’s important….
Knock on the door. James runs to answer, eager to end his conversation with his two nieces.
Mrs. O’HALAHAN:(Entering stage right) Good evening, good evening, Boyles. I’ve brought you over some onion soup[2]. Now, I know we shouldn’t be running all around, it isn’t safe, and I agree, but this soup will do you and your ma wonders.
JAMES: (taking the container) Well, thank you very much, Mrs. O’Halahan, but…
MRS. O’HALAHAN: Careful, it’s still hot.
JAMES: Yes, but my mother….
MRS. O’HALAHAN: No need to thank me, I am just doing my part. Onions. You ought to each eat six onions a day. (To Sissy and Ann.) That goes for children too. Eat your onions every day! They’ll keep away the fever!
MICHAEL: Onions! I thought you said to sprinkle drops of turpentine on sugar[3]? Let me tell you, that tastes like medicine!
MRS. O’HALAHAN: Oh, yes, my boy, that works, that works, but the onions are better. For prevention and for cure.
MICHAEL: Well, it smells better than the kerosene rags you brought over last week.
James returns quietly into the main room.
JAMES: (To himself) Heavens, what is she prescribing today? (Louder) Mrs. O’Halahan, what on earth do you have around your neck?
MRS. O’HALAHAN: Camphor balls. An ounce of prevention, you know…
JAMES: Right you are. But it’s a cold we are fighting, not vampires, my dear Mrs. O’Halahan.
MRS. O’HALAHAN: Oh, Mr. Boyle, whiskey is not medicine, you know. You’re better off with onions and camphor balls!
JAMES: (Suddenly downcast) Not for what ails me.
MRS. O’HALAHAN: (To Michael) Now, be sure to heat that up for your mother. It should be served warm. (To James and the girls) I must be off, now, but give Mrs. Boyle my best.
MICHAEL: Crackpot.
JAMES: (Actually smiling) Of all the quackery.
MICHAEL: The next thing you know, she’ll be bringing over tin can stew!
JAMES: If you don’t have a sick stomach already, her cooking will certainly give one.
MICHAEL: Is there anything more nauseating than camphor balls?
JAMES: (laughing) Around your neck!
MICHAEL: At least, we should be able to smell her coming.
JAMES: Give us time to hide!
SISSY: Grandpa?
JAMES: Yes, dear.
SISSY: I’d like some of Mrs. O’Halahan’s soup.
JAMES: You would? But dear, you know that it won’t…yes, dear, I’ll ladle you a cup.
ANNE: And what about Gramma? Mrs. O’Halahan brought it over for her.
JAMES: Yes, I’ll take some in. When she’s finished her tea.
ANNE: I want you to have some too.
JAMES: Me?
ANNE: And uncle Michael. I think we should all have some onion soup.
MICHAEL: (Getting soup bowls from the cupboard). Can’t hurt.
James pours out servings of Mrs. O’Halahan’s soup. Michael takes his back to his place at the table. The girls take theirs by their grandfather who looks suspiciously into his serving.
SISSY: You’re not eating yours!
JAMES: Mmm. Pungent.
MICHAEL: Actually, it’s not bad. Salty.
ANNE: I like it. I think it’s working.
JAMES:(Smelling it) Working?
ANNE: Protecting us. From the cough.
JAMES: (Taking a taste.) I am shocked!
MICHAEL: That it’s good?
JAMES: That she didn’t ruin it with turpentine or bromo-quinine mouthwash.
MICHAEL: Ugh! Remember that stuff? It would rot the teeth right out of your mouth!
ANNE: (Watching her grandfather drink more) That’s better. See?
MICHAEL: I am beginning to like it. Put some potatoes and some bacon and you’ve got the makings of a proper meal. It certainly isn’t as ridiculous as Monsignor’s hat remedy. How’d that go?
JAMES: Actually, I thought that had real potential. (Imitating a doctor with mock seriousness) Ingredients: one hat and one bottle of strong whiskey. Step one: Go to be and hang the hat on the bedpost. Step Two: Drink the whiskey. Step Three: Drink some more. Drink until there are two hats on the bedpost. Step Four: Pass Out. Step Five: Upon waking, repeat the procedure until fully recovered. Best medical advice I ever received.[4]
MICHAEL: It may not stop pneumonia, but at least you’ll forget that you’re sick.
JAMES: Think about it boy. The demon drink is what’s keeping our lungs clean and clear, while saints like…
MICHAEL: That’s enough Da’. I’ve finished my soup. Girls?
SISSY: All gone!
A VOICE OFFSTAGE: Is everyone all right? Is everyone safe?
JACK GALLAGHER enters from stage left. Jack, the father of the two girls, rushes in almost in a panic. A strong, broad man several years older than Michael, Jack is dressed in workman’s clothes that are plain and rather non-descript. What is immediately striking is the fact that a large white gauze mask is fixed on his face.
JACK: Oh, thank God you’re all okay. I would have been home sooner but I had to…I decided to walk rather than take the streetcar. Sissy, how are you feeling? Let me feel your head.
SISSY: I’m fine, Daddy. I didn’t cough once today.
JACK: And Anne?
ANNE: I’m okay, Dad. Just a little sad sometimes. I miss Mommy.
JACK: I know, honey, I know. But girls, where are your masks?
MICHAEL: (interrupting) You got off the streetcar?
JACK: I’m telling everyone I see not to ride in them.
MICHAEL: That’s crazy. How are people supposed to get to work?
JACK: What work? Nobody is working in town.
MICHAEL: You mean like Boston?
JACK: It’s worse than Boston…(looking at Sissy and Anne)…Everyone’s going to be fine, if you listen to me Now girls, where are your masks? .
JAMES: I told the girls that they didn’t have to wear them here.
JACK: We’ve been over this. You can’t be too careful. Especially since…
JAMES: This is our home. If we aren’t safe here…
JACK: That’s just it, innit? We aren’t safe anywhere. Bridge thought she was safe here. Mrs. Boyle thinks she’s safe in the bedroom…
JAMES: My wife is safe.
JACK: I didn’t mean that. Of course she is… How is she? (He takes his mask off reluctantly and with great care.)
JAMES: Drinking her tea. (To Michael) Michael, take your mother some of Mrs. O’Halahan’s delicious onion soup.
JACK: (Bending over to his daughters) Girls, what’s the rhyme I taught you?
Obey the laws
And…
SISSY AND ANNE AND JACK: And wear the gauze.
Protect your jaws
From septic paws.
JACK: Girls, run along now and get your masks. You don’t have to put them on right now, but I want you to get them ready.
SISSY and ANNE: Yes, father.
JACK: And girls, did you get your things together like I asked?
ANNE: Yes, father. (Looking at Sissy) I did.
JACK: You help your sister. But don’t come out until I fetch you. Okay, girls.
ANNE and SISSY: Yes, sir.
JACK: Now, you be good. And stay quiet. Anne, I don’t want any teasing. And Sissy, you must be a big girl. We don’t want you pestering Gram-mom. She’s getting her rest.
The girls exit quietly.
JAMES: So, you decided to walk home, eh?
JACK: One of the passengers suffered a sneezing attack on the trolley. I don’t know who was more irresponsible—him or me. I won’t be riding it again.
JAMES: It seems to be getting worse. Will you be going into work in the morning?
JACK: No. I haven’t changed my mind about anything. If anything, my mind is even more committed…I’m thinking of the girls. We are leaving tomorrow morning.
MICHAEL enters back into the room: Jack, the phone lines are down too. Did you hear that? Mrs. O’Halahan has been over just about every hour now. In between her goose-grease poultices and chloride of lime, she acts like the evening edition.
JACK: The phones were working at the Baldwin Works.
MICHAEL: It’s not that they don’t work. It’s that we shouldn’t use them.
JACK: What do you mean?
MICHAEL: Apparently, all the operators reported sick. It’s every person's duty to the community to cut out every call that isn’t absolutely necessary. I think it is a brilliant idea.
JAMES: It’s true. Strawbridge’s has turned its phones into a hotline. If you call Filbert 100 and say influenza, they’ll send help. Bloody Strawbridge and Clothiers!
MICHAEL: And Litt Brothers are turning their delivery trucks into ambulances!
JACK: See, you’re proving my point. This is crazy! We’ve all got to leave this place!
MICHAEL: Everybody’s got to do their part, you know. Duty calls, Jack. No one said it would be easy. It’s like the war effort!
JACK: It’s nothing like the war effort! The city is not just shut down, Michael. It’s dying. And if you had any sense, you’d…
MICHAEL: Wear a piece of gauze across my face?
JACK: You’d pack your things and get out of here!
MICHAEL: Let’s not get into a panic, Jack. I mean I understand the phone service is a bit unusual. And I am not trying to take anything away from your loss, our loss. We all miss Bridget, but I think there’s a danger in getting, what’s the word?
JAMES: Hysterical.
JACK: Did you read your father The Bulletin?
MICHAEL: No.
JAMES: We don’t read The Bulletin. We have The Inquirer and…
MICHAEL: The Public Ledger.
JACK: And, there’s got to be something in it! Churches are closed. Theaters are closed. The fights have been cancelled. Everywhere you go there is a sign, a warning, or worse.
JAMES: What do you mean worse?
MICHAEL: (Interrupting) You’ve got to be…optimistic! You’ve got to have hope. I am optimistic. Our boys are winning a war. The end is in sight. It’s your DUTY TO BE OPTIMISTIC!
JAMES: What do you mean worse?
JACK: I mean it isn’t just the Schubert Theater closing Chu Chin Chow, or Philip Sousa shutting down Willow Grove Park.
JAMES: Or Bell Telephone?
JACK: That’s nothing.
JAMES: Well, we’ve been to enough funerals to know. We all lost Bridge, Jack. We’re all grieving.
JACK: It’s not the sorrow of a widower I’m talking about. There aren’t funerals anymore. (With a mixture of shock, disgust, and pity) There are just the bodies. They’re everywhere.
MICHAEL: Bodies? What are you talking about?
JACK: There are coffins on the streets…
MICHAEL: What?
JACK: They’re turning storages into morgues. Carriages are going up and down the streets collecting the dead.
JAMES: Where are they taking them?
JACK: They’ve got the seminarians from St. Charles digging graves. Over at Potter's Field, they began to use a steam shovel to dig trenches. For graves. Mass graves.
JAMES: (horrified) Not even a Catholic burial. For shame. (He crosses himself)
MICHAEL: Where is that?
JACK: The trenches are up at Second and Luzerne. But the wagons are everywhere. It’s like some sick comedy—“Bring out your dead!”—except of course it isn’t the least bit funny. It’s real, even if it doesn’t feel that way.
MICHAEL: (Going through the newspaper) You’re…exaggerating. This can’t be happening.
JACK: I saw it with my own eyes!
MICHAEL: You’re talking like you’re crazy. You’re talking like…like…a traitor! (Sweeping through the paper frantically) Look, look at this. (He reads)
“What are the authorities trying to do? Scare everyone to death? What is to be gained by shutting up well-ventilated churches and theaters and letting people press into trolley cars?
What then should a man do to prevent panic and fear? Live a clean life. Do not even discuss influenza... Worry is useless. Talk of cheerful things instead of disease.”
JACK: I don’t care what The Inquirer says. That’s irresponsible! “Talk of cheery things! Talk of cheery things!” This is insane! There are more people dying than they know what to do with!
MICHAEL: Don’t you see, that’s how they want you to act!
JACK: Who? What are you talking about?
MICHAEL: The Germans! Everybody knows that this…disease…or whatever you want to call it…isn’t really the grippe. It’s a weapon!
JACK: You make as much sense as that newspaper.
JAMES: War is a terrible thing. It takes away our children.
MICHAEL: Think about it. Not even optimistically. Just logically. Everybody is calling it influenza, right? It was influenza that killed Bridget, right?