Like it or not, this modern world of ours
Is inconceivable without the working man
If only as a customer. I’ve always
Insisted that honest work is no disgrace.
Far from it. It’s constructive and conducive
To profits. As an individual
The working man has all my sympathy.
It’s only when he bands together, when he
Presumes to meddle in affairs beyond
His understanding, such as profits, wages
Etcetera, that I say: Watch your step
Brother, a worker is somebody who works.
But when you strike, when you stop working, then
You’re not a worker any more. Then you’re
A menace to society. And that’s
Where I step in.
Clark applauds.
However, to convince you
That everything is open and above
Board, let me call your attention to the presence
Here of a man well-known, I trust, to
Everybody here for his sterling honesty
And incorruptible morality.
His name is Dogsborough.
The vegetable dealers applaud a little louder.
Mr Dogsborough
I owe you an incomparable debt
Of gratitude. Our meeting was the work
Of Providence. I never will forget –
Not if I live to be a hundred – how
You took me to your arms, an unassuming
Son of the Bronx and chose me for your friend
Nay more, your son.
He seizes Dogsborough’s limply dangling hand and shakes it.
GIVOLA, in an undertone: How touching! Father and Son!
GIRI, steps forward:
Well, folks, the boss has spoken for us all.
I see some questions written on your faces.
Ask them! Don’t worry. We won’t eat you. You
Play square with us and we’ll play square with you.
But get this straight: we haven’t got much patience
With idle talk, especially the kind
That carps and cavils and finds fault
With everything. You’ll find us open, though
To any healthy, positive suggestion
On ways and means of doing what must be done.
So fire away!
The vegetable dealers don’t breathe a word.
GIVOLA, unctuously: And no holds barred. I think
You know me and my little flower shop.
A BODYGUARD: Hurrah for Givola!
GIVOLA: Okay, then. Do
You want protection? Or would you rather have
Murder, extortion and highway robbery?
FIRST DEALER: Things have been pretty quiet lately. I
Haven’t had any trouble in my store.
SECOND DEALER: Nothing’s wrong in my place.
THIRD DEALER: Nor in mine.
GIVOLA: That’s odd.
SECOND DEALER: We’ve heard that recently in bars
Things have been happening just like Mr Ui
Was telling us, that glasses have been smashed
And gin poured down the drain in places that
Refused to cough up for protection. But
Things have been peaceful in the greengoods business.
So far at least, thank God.
ROMA: And what about
Sheet’s murder? And Bowl’s death? Is that
What you call peaceful?
SECOND DEALER: But is that connected
With cauliflower, Mr Roma?
ROMA: No. Just a minute.
Roma goes over to Ui, who after his big speech has been sitting there exhausted and listless. After a few words he motions to Giri to join them. Givola also takes part in a hurried whispered conversation. Then Giri motions to one of the bodyguards and goes out quickly with him.
GIVOLA: Friends, I’ve been asked to tell you that a poor
Unhappy woman wishes to express
Her thanks to Mr Ui in your presence.
He goes to the rear and leads in a heavily made-up and flashily dressed woman – Dockdaisy – who is holding a little girl by the hand. The three stop in front of Ui, who has stood up.
GIVOLA: Speak, Mrs Bowl.
To the vegetable dealers.
It’s Mrs Bowl, the young
Widow of Mr Bowl, the late accountant
Of the Cauliflower Trust, who yesterday
While on his way to City Hall to do
His duty, was struck down by hand unknown.
Mrs Bowl!
DOCKDAISY: Mr Ui, in my profound bereavement over my husband who was foully murdered while on his way to City Hall in the exercise of his civic duty, I wish to express my heartfelt thanks for the flowers you sent me and my little girl, aged six, who has been robbed of her father. To the vegetable dealers. Gentlemen, I’m only a poor widow and all I have to say is that without Mr Ui I’d be out in the street as I shall gladly testify at any time. My little girl, aged five, and I will never forget it, Mr Ui.
Ui gives Dockdaisy his hand and chucks the child under the chin.
GIVOLA: Bravo!
Giri wearing Bowl’s hat cuts through the crowd, followed by several gangsters carrying large gasoline cans. They make their way to the exit.
UI: Mrs Bowl, my sympathies. This lawlessness
This crime wave’s got to stop because …
GIVOLA, as the dealers start leaving: Hold it!
The meeting isn’t over. The next item
Will be a song in memory of poor Bowl
Sung by our friend James Greenwool, followed by
A collection for the widow. He’s a baritone.
One of the bodyguards steps forward and sings a sentimental song in which the word ‘home’ occurs frequently. During the performance the gangsters sit rapt, their heads in their hands, or leaning back with eyes closed, etc. The meagre applause at the end is interrupted by the howling of police and fire sirens. A red glow is seen in a large window in the background.
ROMA: Fire on the waterfront!
A VOICE: Where?
A BODYGUARD entering: Is there a vegetable
Dealer named Hook in the house?
SECOND DEALER: That’s me. What’s wrong?
THE BODYGUARD: Your warehouse is on fire.
Hook, the dealer, rushes out. A few follow him. Others go to the window.
ROMA: Hold it!
Nobody leave the room!
To the bodyguard.
Is it arson?
THE BODYGUARD: It must be. They’ve found some gasoline
cans.
THIRDDEALER: Some gasoline cans were taken out of here!
ROMA, in a rage: What’s that? Is somebody insinuating
We did it?
A BODYGUARD, pokes his automatic into the man’s ribs:
What was being taken out
Of here? Did you see any gasoline cans?
OTHER BODYGUARDS, to other dealers:
Did you see any cans? – Did you?
THE DEALERS: Not I…
Me neither.
ROMA: That’s better.
GIVOLA, quickly: Ha. The very man
Who just a while ago was telling us
That all was quiet on the green goods front
Now sees his warehouse burning, turned to ashes
By malefactors. Don’t you see? Can you
Be blind? You’ve got to get together. And quick!
UI, bellowing: Things in this town are looking very sick!
First murder and now arson! This should show
You men that no one’s safe from the next blow!
A sign appears.
8
The warehouse fire trial. Press. Judge. Prosecutor. Defence counsel. Young Dogsborough. Giri. Givola. Dockdaisy. Bodyguards. Vegetable dealers and Fish, the accused.
a
Emanuele Giri stands in front of the witness’s chair,
pointing at Fish, the accused, who is sitting in utter apathy.
GIRI, shouting: There sits the criminal who lit the fire!
When I challenged him he was slinking down the street
Clutching a gasoline can to his chest.
Stand up, you bastard, when I’m talking to you.
Fish is pulled to his feet. He stands swaying.
THE JUDGE: Defendant, pull yourself together. This is a court of law. You are on trial for arson. That is a very serious matter, and don’t forget it!
FISH, in a thick voice: Arlarlarl.
THE JUDGE: Where did you get that gasoline can?
FISH: Arlarl.
At a sign from the judge an excessively well-dressed, sinister-looking doctor bends down over Fish and exchanges glances with Giri.
THE DOCTOR: Simulating.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: The defence moves that other doctors be consulted.
THE JUDGE, smiling: Denied.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Mr Giri, how did you happen to be on the spot when this fire, which reduced twenty-two buildings to ashes, broke out in Mr Hook’s warehouse?
GIRI: I was taking a walk for my digestion.
Some of the bodyguards laugh. Giri joins in the laughter.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Are you aware, Mr Giri, that Mr Fish, the defendant, is an unemployed worker, that he had never been in Chicago before and arrived here on foot the day before the fire?
GIRI: What? When?
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Is the registration number of your car XXXXXX?
GIRI: Yes.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Was this car parked outside Dogsborough’s restaurant on 87th Street during the four hours preceding the fire, and was defendant Fish dragged out of that restaurant in a state of unconsciousness?
GIRI: How should I know? I spent the whole day on a little excursion to Cicero, where I met fifty-two persons who are all ready to testify that they saw me.
The bodyguards laugh.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Your previous statement left me with the impression that you were taking a walk for your digestion in the Chicago waterfront area.
GIRI: Any objection to my eating in Cicero and digesting in Chicago?
Loud and prolonged laughter in which the judge joins. Darkness. An organ plays Chopin’s Funeral March in dance rhythm.
b
When the lights go on, Hook, the vegetable dealer, is sitting in the witness’s chair.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Did you ever quarrel with the defendant, Mr Hook? Did you ever see him before?
HOOK: Never.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Have you ever seen Mr Giri?
HOOK: Yes. In the office of the Cauliflower Trust on the day of the fire.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Before the fire?
HOOK: Just before the fire. He passed through the room with four men carrying gasoline cans.
Commotion on the press bench and among the bodyguards.
THE JUDGE: Would the gentlemen of the press please be quiet.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: What premises does your warehouse adjoin, Mr Hook?
HOOK: The premises of the former Sheet shipyard. There’s a passage connecting my warehouse with the shipyard.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Are you aware, Mr Hook, that Mr Giri lives in the former Sheet shipyard and consequently has access to the premises?
HOOK: Yes. He’s the stockroom superintendent.
Increased commotion on the press bench. The bodyguards boo and take a menacing attitude toward Hook, the defence and the press. Young Dogsborough rushes up to the judge and whispers something in his ear.
JUDGE: Order in the court! The defendant is unwell. The court is adjourned.
Darkness. The organ starts again to play Chopin’s Funeral March in dance rhythm.
c
When the lights go on, Hook is sitting in the witness’s chair. He is in a state of collapse, with a cane beside him and bandages over his head and eyes.
THE PROSECUTOR: Is your eysight poor, Hook?
HOOK, with difficulty: Yes.
THE PROSECUTOR: Would you say you were capable of recognising anyone clearly and definitely?
HOOK: No.
THE PROSECUTOR: Do you, for instance, recognise this man?
He points at Giri.
HOOK: No.
THE PROSECUTOR: You’re not prepared to say that you ever saw him before?
HOOK: No.
THE PROSECUTOR: And now, Hook, a very important question. Think well before you answer. Does your warehouse adjoin the premises of the former Sheet shipyard?
HOOK, after a pause: No.
THE PROSECUTOR: That is all.
Darkness. The organ starts playing again.
d
When the lights go on, Dockdaisy is sitting in the witness’s chair.
DOCKDAISY, mechanically: I recognise the defendant perfectly because of his guilty look and because he is five feet eight inches tall. My sister-in-law has informed me that he was seen outside City Hall on the afternoon my husband was shot while entering City Hall. He was carrying a Webster sub-machine gun and made a suspicious impression.
Darkness. The organ starts playing again.
e
When the lights go on, Giuseppe Givola is sitting in the witness’s chair. Greenwool, the bodyguard, is standing near him.
THE PROSECUTOR: It has been alleged that certain men were seen carrying gasoline cans out of the offices of the Cauliflower Trust before the fire. What do you know about this?
GIVOLA: It couldn’t be anybody but Mr Greenwool.
THE PROSECUTOR: Is Mr Greenwool in your employ?
GOVOLA: Yes.
THE PROSECUTOR: What is your profession, Mr Givola?
GIVOLA: Florist.
THE PROSECUTOR: Do florists use large quantities of gasoline?
GIVOLA, seriously: No, only for plant lice.
THE PROSECUTOR: What was Mr Greenwool doing in the offices of the Cauliflower Trust?
GIVOLA: Singing a song.
THE PROSECUTOR: Then he can’t very well have carried any gasoline cans to Hook’s warehouse at the same time.
GIVOLA: It’s out of the question. It’s not in his character to start fires. He’s a baritone.
THE PROSECUTOR: If it please the court, I should like witness Greenwool to sing the fine song he was singing in the offices of the Cauliflower Trust while the warehouse was being set on fire.
THE JUDGE: The court does not consider it necessary.
GIVOLA: I protest.
He rises.
The bias in this courtroom is outrageous.
Cleancut young fellows who in broadest daylight
Fire a well-meant shot or two are treated
Like shady characters. It’s scandalous.
Laughter. Darkness. The organ starts playing again.
f
When the lights go on, the courtroom shows every indication of utter exhaustion.
THE JUDGE: The press has dropped hints that this court might be subject to pressure from certain quarters. The court wishes to state that it has been subjected to no pressure of any kind and is conducting this trial in perfect freedom. I believe this will suffice.
THE PROSECUTOR: Your Honour! In view of the fact that defendant Fish persists in simulating dementia, the prosecution holds that he cannot be questioned any further. We therefore move …
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Your honour. The defendant is coming to!
Commotion.
FISH, seems to be waking up: Arlarlwaratarlawatrla.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Water! Your Honour! I ask leave to question defendant Fish.
Uproar.
THE PROSECUTOR: I object. I see no indication that Fish is in his right mind. It’s all a machination on the part of the defence, cheap sensationalism, demagogy!
FISH: Watr.
Supported by the defence counsel, he stands up.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Fish. Can you answer me?
FISH: Yarl.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Fish, tell the court: Did you, on the 28th of last month, set fire to
a vegetable warehouse on the waterfront? Yes or no?
FISH: N-n-no.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: When did you arrive in Chicago, Fish?
FISH: Water.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Water!
Commotion. Young Dogsborough has stepped up to the judge and is talking to him emphatically.
GIRI stands up square-shouldered and bellows: Frame-up! Lies! Lies!
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Did you ever see this man – He indicates Giri. – before?
FISH: Yes. Water.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Where? Was it in Dogsborough’s restaurant on the waterfront?
FISH, faintly: Yes.
Uproar. The bodyguards draw their guns and boo. The doctor comes running in with a glass. He pours the contents into Fish’s mouth before the defence counsel can take the glass out of his hand.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: I object. I move that this glass be examined.
THE JUDGE, exchanging glances with the prosecutor: Motion denied.
DOCKDAISY screams at Fish: Murderer!
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Your Honour!
Because the mouth of truth cannot be stopped with earth
They’re trying to stop it with a piece of paper
A sentence to be handed down as though
Your Honour – that’s their hope – should properly
Be titled Your Disgrace. They cry to justice:
Hands up! Is this our city, which has aged
A hundred years in seven days beneath
The onslaught of a small but bloody brood
Of monsters, now to see its justice murdered
Nay, worse than murdered, desecrated by
Submission to brute force? Your Honour!
Suspend this trial!
THE PROSECUTOR: I object!
GIRI: You dog!
You lying, peculating dog! Yourself
A poisoner! Come on! Let’s step outside!
I’ll rip your guts out! Gangster!
DEFENCE COUNSEL: The whole
Town knows this man.
GIRI, fuming: Shut up!
When the judge tries to interrupt him:
You too!
Just keep your trap shut if you want to live!
He runs short of breath and the judge manages to speak.
THE JUDGE: Order in the court. Defence counsel will incur charges of contempt of court. Mr Giri’s indignation is quite understandable. To the defence counsel: Continue.
DEFENCE COUNSEL: Fish! Did they give you anything to drink at Dogsborough’s restaurant? Fish! Fish!