NEVER CALL ME A LADY By Rusty Harding

Transcription

1 NEVER CALL ME A LADY By Rusty Harding Copyright 2015 by Rusty Harding, All rights reserved. Heuer Publishing LLC in association with Brooklyn Publishers LLC ISBN: CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that this Work is subject to a royalty. This Work is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America and all countries with which the United States has reciprocal copyright relations, whether through bilateral or multilateral treaties or otherwise, and including, but not limited to, all countries covered by the Pan-American Copyright Convention, the Universal Copyright Convention and the Berne Convention. RIGHTS RESERVED: All rights to this Work are strictly reserved, including professional and amateur stage performance rights. Also reserved are: motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound recording, all forms of mechanical or electronic reproduction, such as CD-ROM, CD-I, DVD, information and storage retrieval systems and photocopying, and the rights of translation into non-english languages. PERFORMANCE RIGHTS AND ROYALTY PAYMENTS: All amateur and stock performance rights to this Work are controlled exclusively by Heuer Publishing, LLC. No amateur or stock production groups or individuals may perform this play without securing license and royalty arrangements in advance from Heuer Publishing, LLC. Questions concerning other rights should be addressed to Heuer Publishing, LLC. Royalty fees are subject to change without notice. Professional and stock fees will be set upon application in accordance with your producing circumstances. Any licensing requests and inquiries relating to amateur and stock (professional) performance rights should be addressed to Heuer Publishing, LLC. Royalty of the required amount must be paid, whether the play is presented for charity or profit and whether or not admission is charged. AUTHOR CREDIT: All groups or individuals receiving permission to produce this Work must give the author(s) credit in any and all advertisement and publicity relating to the production of this Work. The author s billing must appear directly below the title on a separate line where no other written matter appears. The name of the author(s) must be at least 50% as large as the title of the Work. No person or entity may receive larger or more prominent credit than that which is given to the author(s). PUBLISHER CREDIT: Whenever this play is produced, all programs, advertisements, flyers or other printed material must include the following notice: Produced by special arrangement with Heuer Publishing, LLC COPYING: Any unauthorized copying of this Work or excerpts from this Work is strictly forbidden by law. No part of this Work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means now known or yet to be invented, including photocopying or scanning, without prior permission from Heuer Publishing, LLC. PUBLISHED BY HEUER PUBLISHING

2 NEVER CALL ME A LADY A Ten Minute Dramatic Monologue By Rusty Harding SYNOPSIS: Mary Harris "Mother" Jones recounts her life as a pioneering labor activist. She was instrumental in improving the working conditions for children, women, steel workers, and coal miners throughout the early 20 th century. She would ultimately become one of the principal founders of the Industrial Workers of the World, and would work tirelessly for the labor movement until her death at 93. CAST OF CHARACTERS (1 female) MOTHER JONES (f)... 84; Based upon the legendary Mary Harris Mother Jones. SETTING: A single bench in the middle of a bare stage, simulating a train station. COSTUMES: The character should wear period 1920 s clothing and aging makeup. Small Suitcase, 1920 s era Pocket Watch, 1920 s era PROPS DEDICATION This play is dedicated to Elaine Erback, a dear friend and a terrific actress, for whom it was originally written. 2

3 AT RISE: MARY MOTHER JONES HARRIS, enters the stage. She slowly approaches the bench, then smiles at an unseen woman sitting on the bench. MOTHER JONES: (To unseen woman.) Hello, sweetie. Would you mind terribly if I were to sit here beside you for a moment? My train doesn t leave for a few minutes, and I'm afraid I'm not as young as I used to be. Those trains rattle these old bones something fierce. (Sits, sighs wearily.) Ah, that's better. Always does a body good to rest a bit, although God knows there's precious little time to rest these days. Every year it seems to get harder. Here I am (Beat, thinking.) Wait, how old am I? What year is this, 1921? That would make me 84. My, my, much as it pains me to admit, I'm getting to be a tired old lady. (Beat, genuinely horrified.) Good Lord, did I just say that? Did I really use such terrible language? A lady is the last thing on earth I want to be. (Beat, laughs.) Sweetie, a lady is someone who has accepted the male perspective of silence and submission. She's let men convince her she doesn't know how to think for herself. A woman, all women, need to realize that there is no limit to what they could accomplish. God Almighty created women. (Bitterly.) Men like Rockefeller and his gang of thieves created ladies. In fact, when I was in jail, I once asked another prisoner why he was there, and he said he had stolen a pair of shoes. I told him he'd set his sights too low. If he'd stolen a railroad, he'd be a senator. (Beat.) Hmm? Oh, yes, I was in jail. Three times, in fact. Or was it four? I'm so old I'm beginning to lose count. (Beat.) What for? Oh, well, let me think. (Muses.) Once for creating a public nuisance, once, no, twice for trespassing, and once for sedition. Yes, that s right, sedition. (Beat, laughing.) I'm sorry, sweetie, I see I've shocked you. I suppose you don't know who I am? I'm Mary Harris Jones, although most people know me as Mother Jones. 3

4 (Beat, grinning.) Oh, so you have heard of me? Nothing good, I'll wager. (Beat.) How's that? It's all right, you can tell me. I've been called every name known to creation, and quite a few that aren't. After eighty four years, nothing bothers me now. (Beat, musing.) Agitator? Oh, yes, I'm very familiar with that one. But I don't like that name. Oh, no, doesn't suit me at all. I prefer to think of myself as a hell-raiser. Much more appropriate. (Beat.) What? Well, of course I'm proud of it. Why wouldn't I be? Anyone who fights injustice should always be proud of it. That's what I do: fight injustice. Whenever and wherever I find it. And God knows there's more than enough of it around. That's why I'm traveling today; why I'm always traveling. In fact, my address is like my shoes, (Lifts her feet.) it travels with me. (Beat.) Why do I do it? Well, someone has to. Someone has to take up for the workers and the common laborer. (Beat.) Would I be mistaken in assuming you re a wife and mother, sweetie? (Beat, quickly.) Oh, there s nothing wrong with that; nothing at all. God s great vocation for the majority of women is to raise children. You should be proud of your family. (Wistful.) I had a family once, a long time ago. A husband and four beautiful children. But they all died. Yellow fever. (Beat, dismissive.) No, no, don't be sorry, it was a long time ago. A very long time ago. I was devastated when it happened, of course, but I learned very quickly I had to adapt and move on. I was a schoolteacher then, living in Memphis, but I decided to move to Chicago and start a dressmaking business. (Winking.) I preferred sewing to bossing little children, you see. I did quite well, too, until Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicked over that lantern and burned me out of business. (Chuckling.) Along with most of the city. In fact, it was while I was trying to rebuild that I got into the hellraising business. I went to a linen mill to negotiate a contract for material, and do you know what I found? Most of their workers were children! Children, some as young as six years old, working from 5:30 in the morning until seven at night! Children going home to sleep on a straw pallet until time to resume work the next day. And the conditions they worked in were absolutely appalling. 4

5 I remember one little girl, she couldn t have been more than ten or twelve; her head was covered by a dirty shawl. She had no hair. It had been ripped right out of her head by a looming machine. And do you think she was compensated? Not by a damn sight. And not a single tear had been shed by her management. (Angrily.) Don't ever let anyone tell you there are no more slaves in America. I saw children sold for two dollars a week to the manufacturers. And if a child was injured, like that little girl, or even died, which too many did, they were simply replaced by another. (Shaking head bitterly.) It was too much to bear. Simply too much. Those children needed a voice, and by God, it was going to be mine. I marched 100 of those dear, sweet children all the way to Washington to bring their plight before President Roosevelt and Congress. Roosevelt refused to meet with us, but the publicity we generated in the press got Congress to listen. They called it the Children s Crusade, and they were able to get those jackasses to pass a child labor law that increased wages and improved working conditions. (Slyly.) Never underestimate the power of the press. When they re on your side they can move mountains. (Shakes head bitterly.) When they re not, they throw them down on top of you. (Coldly.) Roosevelt later called me "the most dangerous woman in America". Can you imagine that? Dangerous! Because I didn t want children to suffer. (Scoffing.) That coward! The hero of San Juan Hill, frightened of a widowed woman and impoverished children. (Chuckling.) You know, sweetie, I m convinced the Almighty created woman after he created man only because He wanted to rectify His mistake. In any event, after my children s crusade, I decided to go wherever the labor fight took me: Kentucky, Colorado, and Pennsylvania. I saw a lot of good, and I saw a lot of bad. I saw unarmed steelworkers shot down by hired thugs in Pittsburg, simply because they wanted better conditions in their mill. I saw eleven women and children burned to death in a ragged mining camp in Colorado, when they wouldn t obey the mine owner s order to leave. I ve seen miners families in West Virginia turned out of tar-paper 5

6 shacks, the only hovel they could afford to live in, just because they wanted to join a union. I learned early on that labor must bear the cross for the sins of the wealthy. I've never been afraid to speak out against this evil. Never. (Proudly.) I've been arrested eight times, imprisoned three or was it four? and run out of two states by armed mobs. (Beat, laughing.) Yet here I am, eighty-four years old and still raising hell. And I ve never voted, either. I ve never understood why it is women feel they need to vote. You don t need a vote to raise hell; just a loud voice and convictions. (Beat.) What s that? Aren t I afraid? I ll be honest with you; I am afraid. I m afraid of what will happen if I remain silent to injustice. The worst the law can do is hang me, and if they want to, then by God, let them. I intend to keep going. I pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living. And I intend to keep fighting until the Almighty Himself calls me home. (Beat, winking.) And even then, I might have to raise a little hell with Him, if it happens I m not ready to go. (Pulls a pocket watch from her dress pocket.) Well, I suppose I should be getting along. They ll be calling my train any minute. I m on my way to West Virginia. There s a labor union trying to organize some of the coal mines up there, and I m hoping I can help them avert a fight. (Beat, sadly.) Somehow I doubt it, but at least I ll give it a try. (Slowly stands with obvious effort.) I hope I haven't bent your ear too badly. (Smiles affectionately.) I appreciate your putting up with an old hell-raiser like me. You take care, now. (Starts to walk away, then suddenly turns back and grins.) And whatever you do, don't you ever be a lady! Winks slyly and slowly shuffles offstage. Down Lights. THE END 6

7 NOTES 7

8 NOTES 8