FADE IN:
EXT.
orchard - DAY
A perfect June day in a
cherry orchard. TOM, a slender young man
with soulful eyes, is up on a ladder, picking cherries into a burlap sack
hanging from his waist.
TITLE: Hood River,
Oregon, 1905.
Tom descends the ladder
and takes his sack to the weighing table.
BERT, the boss (about 30), weighs the cherries and speaks to ROSIE, a
lovely young woman nearby.
Bert
Twenty-six
pounds.
Tom goes over to Rosie.
TOM
Tom
Jefferson.
Rosie
(writing
in her notebook)
I know.
She gives Tom a new sack,
along with a smile. He grins and returns
to the trees, going past LITTLE CHARLIE, a Native American up on a ladder.
TOM
(with
an Irish accent)
Hey Little
Charlie, she smiled at me.
Little Charlie
shrugs. Tom goes past JAKE, a young
Irishman at another tree.
tom
(CONT'D)
She smiled
at me, Jake.
jake
(Irish
accent)
It's her
job, lad. Keeps the boys workin' for
miserable pay.
EXT.
orCHARD - late AFTERNOON
At the end of the day
Rosie is packing things up and Bert is loading them onto a nearby wagon. Tom speaks softly to Jake and Little Charlie.
TOM
Do you
think she likes me?
JAKE
Rosie?
TOM
I'd be
real happy to settle down with a girl like that.
Bert overhears and turns
to them.
BERT
Who are
you talkin' about?
TOM
(gesturing)
Her.
BERT
The
hell! You're talkin' about my wife!
TOM
WIFE? She's not your sister?
Bert grabs his shirt.
BERT
Listen,
you flea-bitten bum. You stay away from
her.
TOM
I swear, I
had it wrong.
BERT
All wrong,
ya scum.
Bert shoves him
hard. Tom shoves him back.
TOM
Don't you
push me!
BERT
All right.
JAKE
Don't,
Tom!
Bert socks him in the
jaw. Tom grabs a crate and bashes it
hard over Bert's head. Bert falls to the
ground, his head bleeding badly. He lies
moaning while Rosie runs up to him.
ROSIE
Bert! Bert!
Tom steps back and Jake
and Little Charlie pull him away.
JAKE
Ye knocked
the bejusus outta him! Ye gotta go. Hop
a train. Get clear outta state.
He hands Tom a silver
dollar. Little Charlie does likewise.
TOM
He
shouldn't a called me a bum.
JAKE
Fergit
it. He's the boss! They'll throw you in jail.
Little
charlie
Run, Tom.
Tom hesitates.
JAKE
Get yer
things and run!
Tom runs.
EXT.
railroad track - dAY
Tom, carrying a small
pack, limps along a railroad track to a little station where a freight train is
stopped. When the CONDUCTOR goes inside
the station, Tom slips into a boxcar.
INT.
boxcar - dAY
Tom sees a grizzled old
HOBO in the boxcar.
Hobo
(softly)
Howdy.
TOM
Howdy.
The hobo puts a finger to
his lips. Tom settles into a
corner. The train starts rolling. Tom pulls out a black notebook from his pack
and writes in it.
HOBO
Whatcha
writin'?
TOM
(same
accent as the hobo)
Rules to
live by.
HOBO
What
for? Bein' a hobo means you don't have
to follow no rules.
TOM
If I could
follow the rules I wouldn't have to ride the rails. I ain't a bum.
The hobo shrugs and
scrunches himself up for a nap.
HOBO
There's
worse things than bein' a bum. And worse things than ridin' the rails. Hard walkin'.
Mostly it's hard walkin' till you drop into a lonely grave.
Tom looks concerned.
TOM (v.O.)
Rules to
live by. Don't bash the boss's head--
(he
adds)
Even if
he's a stinkin' SOB.
EXT. Train
- dAY
The train rolls down the
track.
EXT. train
yard - dAY
The freight train pulls
into a train yard. The CONDUCTOR steps
out of the caboose and blows a whistle.
Conductor
San
Francisco, city of lascivious dreams.
Everybody off and don't let me see you.
He turns his back on the
train and grins as a number of HOBOES, including a bewildered Tom, pour out of
the train and quickly strike off in all directions.
EXT. San
Francisco hill - dAY
Tom trudges up a San
Francisco hill, dazzled by the mansions.
EXT.
another street - dAY
In a poorer part of town
Tom sees MARTHA, a petite, bright young woman selling newspapers at a corner
stand. She wears a bow of pleated
newspaper at the neck of her tidy shirtwaist.
Her tiny baby rests on a bundle of papers. Tom picks up a paper and pays her with
pennies.
Martha
(friendly)
Fresh off
the boat?
TOM
Uh --
fresh off the boxcar. Would there be a
place to get a cheap meal around here?
MARTHA
The
Waterfront Cafe down at the dock. The
grease is an inch thick and a year old, but it's cheap.
TOM
Thank you,
Miss.
(seeing
the baby)
I mean
Missus!
He heads down the hill.
MARTHA
(shouting
after him)
Don't eat
the beans.
INT.
waterfront cafe - dAY
Tom nervously scans his
newspaper while eating his fried eggs.
He mops up the grease with a hunk of bread. Suddenly the SWEDISH COOK comes roaring out
of the kitchen, brandishing a raised cleaver.
He takes after MURPHY, the Irish owner.
Cook
I qvit, I
qvit dis filthy job, but first I kill you, filthy bastard!
Murphy
'Tis the
last time I hire a drunken Swede!
Murphy pours a pitcher of
ice water on the cook and ducks behind the counter just as the Swede throws the
cleaver -- which sticks in the wall.
A couple of rough looking
SAILORS grab the Swede and push him out the front door.
Tom has slid down in his
seat.
MuRPHY
(CONT'D)
T'anks,
boys. Close the door.
TOM
(Irish
accent)
Mister,
with all due respect, you're better off without him. These are the worst eggs I ever ate.
MURPHY
Can you do
better?
TOM
I reckon a
three-legged dog could do better.
MURPHY
Yer Irish,
aren't ye?
TOM
I--
MURPHY
Awright,
yer hired.
Tom is speechless.
MuRPHY
(CONT'D)
Come
on. I got orders waitin'.
Tom picks up his plate
and follows Murphy to the kitchen.
INT.
kitchen - nIGHT
Tom is sweating over the
stove, frying and flipping and learning fast.
INT.
kITCHEN – nIGHT (LATER)
Tom is cleaning up as
Murphy enters.
MuRPHY
I got a
little room out back. Ye want to sleep
there?
TOM
Sure.
EXT.
behind the cafe - nIGHT
Murphy and Tom go to a
lean-to shack. Murphy opens the door and
reaches in to place a kerosene lamp on a scarred dresser.
INT.
lean-to - nIGHT
Tom squeezes into the
tiny room, which has a narrow cot opposite a dresser. Murphy sticks his head in but there isn't
room for both of them. Tom looks
distressed.
TOM
Tight
spaces make me -- queasy.
MuRPHY
Ya got a
reservation up on Nob Hill, have ye?
TOM
This'll
do.
Murphy's head disappears
and he closes the door.
Tom sets his bag on the
bed and tries to open a drawer. It
smashes him in the shins. He pulls his
legs up onto the bed and opens the drawer a little more. It's full of empty liquor bottles.
When he stands up --
WHAM! -- he bangs his head on the low ceiling.
He flops onto the bed and writes in his notebook.
TOM
(cONT'D, V.O.)
Today I
got my first indoor job. Nothing in the
newspaper about the rancher in Oregon. A
good sign.
He wants to write more,
but he yawns and his eyes close.
EXT.
newsstand - dAY
Martha is reading at her
newsstand. She wears a stylish little
hat made from newspaper. Tom strolls up,
takes a newspaper and hands Martha a coin.
TOM
A good
mornin' to ye.
MARTHA
A good
morning to YOU.
TOM
I went to
that Waterfront Cafe like you told me, and now I'm the cook.
MARTHA
Well good
for you. Good luck.
TOM
Thank you.
MARTHA
Where're
you from?
TOM
New
Jersey.
MARTHA
(incredulous)
That's not
a New Jersey accent. You're Irish.
TOM
No,
really. I had an Irish friend, and the
boss is Irish, so I sound Irish.
MARTHA
Why?
TOM
I sound
like whoever I'm around.
(he
puts on a black southern accent)
In the
south ah worked with the black men in a lumber camp. Dey taught me to talk southern so the bosses
wouldn't beat me up for bein' a damn Yankee.
Martha laughs.
MARTHA
Well this
is California. You can use your own
accent because everybody is from somewhere else.
TOM
(back
to the Irish accent)
But me
boss thinks I'm Irish, so I better be Irish till I get another job.
MARTHA
You
figurin' to stay here?
TOM
I'd stay
-- if I could find a good job and put down roots. Maybe this is the place. Maybe I have to keep searchin'.
He starts to walk
away. She looks at him with interest.
TOM
(CONT'D)
Be seein'
ya, Miss. I mean Missus!
MARTHA
What's
your name?
TOM
Tom. Tom Jefferson.
MARTHA
I'm
Martha. Not Washington.
TOM
See you
tomorrow, Missus Not Washington.
She waves and turns to a
CUSTOMER. Tom anxiously reads the paper
as he walks off.
INT.
kITCHEN - nIGHT
Tom is working hard at
the kitchen stove. He mops his face with
a bandanna, deftly smashes a cockroach with his spatula, uses a dirty rag to
wipe the spatula, and then flips the meat with it.
EXT.
stREET - dAY
As he walks down the
street Tom notices a poster with a picture of a beautiful actress, mature but
still voluptuous. It reads, "Sylvia Harrington, first lady of the American
theatre, on her farewell tour." Tom
is drawn to her deep, mysterious eyes.
ExT.
nEWSSTAND - dAY
Martha sits at her
newsstand, intently reading a paper.
Today she wears cut-out photos pinned all over the front of her
skirt. Tom appears and buys a paper.
MARTHA
You're
quite a reader, Mister President. Maybe
YOU should be selling papers.
TOM
Maybe
so. I see you readin' a lot.
MARTHA
A benefit
of the job. I aim to educate myself.
TOM
Me
too. And -- if I get educated enough --
maybe I could even write for a paper.
Wouldn't that be grand?
MARTHA
(laughing)
Grand.
TOM
Pardon me,
but I don't know if I should call you Martha, or Missus Not Washington, or
what. I'm tryin' to get civilized -- I'm
tryin' to learn manners, but I haven't had good examples.
MARTHA
Call me
Martha. I'm Mrs. Zarziski, but I'm a
widow.
TOM
Now that's
grand! I mean -- I'm sorry.
MARTHA
It's all
right.
TOM
And what's
the baby's name?
MARTHA
Joseph. Like his father.
TOM
He's a
right bonny lad.
MARTHA
Speak
American, Tom.
TOM
Oh. He's a -- good lookin' little mite.
MARTHA
(laughing)
That'll
do.
TOM
Say,
Martha. Now that you're a widow -- uh --
could I interest you in going out for a steak dinner? I have Sunday off.
MARTHA
I really
don't know you... No, I don't think so.
TOM
Why not?
MARTHA
Don't be
in such a hurry, Tom.
INT.
detective office - dAY
HAROLD PARTRIDGE, a
skinny young man in a stiff suit, and his plump MOTHER are in the office of
Harold's UNCLE RALPH, who sits behind a desk.
A sign on the desk reads "Ralph Coleman, Esq. Coleman Detective Agency."
Mother
Ralph,
he's turning into a lazy bum. All he
does is draw obscene pictures.
(she
leans forward and whispers)
I'm sure
he's abusing himself. He's ruining his
health!
She bops Harold on the
head.
Ralph
Sissy,
what do you expect ME to do?
MOTHER
Can't you
give him a job? Anything to keep him
occupied and turn him into a respectable man.
(to
Harold)
Tell Uncle
Ralph you'll work.
Harold
(speaking
with a stutter)
Sh-sh-sh-sure,
Uncle Ralph.
RaLPH
(reluctant)
Well, I do
have a new case.
HAROLD
(excited)
A
c-c-c-case? I'd be a d-d-d-detective?
RALPH
Not
exactly. But I need to track someone
down. A certain Thomas Jefferson.
HAROLD
The
p-p-p-president? I thought he was dead.
RALPH
(a
little annoyed)
Another
one.
He takes out an envelope
sealed with a big blob of red wax.
RaLPH
(CONT'D)
I need
someone to deliver this legal document to Thomas Jefferson. We think he's in California.
HAROLD
C-C-C-California? C-C-C-Clear across the country? Is he d-d-d-dangerous?
Ralph leans forward,
portentous.
RALPH
He very
well could be.
MoTHER
Now Ralph,
I don't know --
HAROLD
I'll
d-d-d-do it!
RaLPH
You have
to find him by next April 18th. It's
dead serious.
MoTHER
He'll be
away all those months? But Ralph --
RALPH
Do you
want him to have a job or don't you?
MOTHER
Of course
I do, but you know how forgetful he is.
He's so easily distracted.
HAROLD
I can
d-d-d-do it, Uncle Ralph.
RaLPH
I'll give
you $800 in bank drafts for your expenses.
If you find him fast, you keep the money. If you spend it too soon, you're out of luck.
Harold jumps up and
embraces his uncle.
HAROLD
Oh
th-th-thank you, Uncle!
Mother looks skeptical.
EXT. park
bench - dAY
Tom sits on a park bench,
reading his newspaper. A picture of the
actress, Sylvia Harrington, catches his attention. The caption reads, "Sylvia Harrington,
famed actress, dead of pneumonia."
Tom can't take his eyes
off her. He carefully tears out the
photo and puts it in his pocket.
INT.
restaurant - nIGHT
Tom and Martha sit in a
lively steakhouse with huge steaks on their plates and tall glasses of
beer. They dig into their food with
gusto. In the background the SINGING
WAITERS serenade another table.
Tom no longer sounds very
Irish when he's with Martha.
TOM
I'm sure
glad you changed your mind.
MARTHA
I was
hungry for steak.
TOM
This is
almost as good as my cooking at the cafe.
They laugh.
MARTHA
So how's
the job?
TOM
I like the
pay, but I don't know how much longer I can stick with it. I get dragged out of bed to cook every time a
ship comes in at night.
MARTHA
This
country needs labor unions. The bosses
-- they treat you like dirt. That's why
I have my own business.
TOM
You're
smart, Martha.
MARTHA
Nah, but I
graduated with honors from the school of hard knocks. What else can you do?
TOM
Not
much. Farm work. Logging.
I wasn't trained for nothing -- anything.
MARTHA
How long
you been away from home?
TOM
All my
life.
MARTHA
Pardon me?
TOM
I'm an
orphan. Grew up in a boys' home in New
Jersey.
MARTHA
So your
name --
TOM
They named
us after presidents and famous people.
Abe Lincoln, Ben Franklin, Billy Shakespeare. They tried to inspire us to be good.
MARTHA
You
must've had a New Jersey accent.
TOM
I guess
so, but that's not me. That was the
accent of my jailers. I don't know what
I'm supposed to sound like. I don't know
who I am.
MARTHA
Did you
learn about the real Thomas Jefferson?
TOM
I'm still
learning. I learned that compared to him
I'm nothing but a mouse turd.
Martha looks surprised.
TOM
(cONT'D)
Oh. I guess it's wrong to say mouse turd in
polite company.
MARTHA
Probably.
But you shouldn't say it at all because it's not true.
TOM
You hardly
know me. How do you know I'm not a mouse
-- dropping?
MARTHA
A mouse --
dropping -- wouldn't be interested in getting educated.
TOM
And I
am. Maybe if I learn enough I'll get
civilized like people with families.
MARTHA
Some
families are hardly civilized.
TOM
But they
have a home. They're not worried about
where to spend the night. They have
library cards!
Martha laughs.
TOM
(cONT'D)
That's
what I want. A permanent address. Family and friends who know the real me.
MARTHA
And then
YOU'LL know the real you.
TOM
I hope
so. I'm stupid enough to make trouble
for myself. I've done some bad things,
but now I'm trying to improve.
He leans forward to
confide in her.
TOM
(cONT'D)
I've got a
notebook where I write down rules to live by.
MARTHA
Really? What sort of rules?
TOM
The basic
ones, like "Don't bash the boss's head."
Martha laughs again.
TOM
(cONT'D)
I'm gonna
keep writing rules till I figure it all out.
The singing waiters come
to their table and begin SINGING, "I'm Only a Bird in a Gilded
Cage." Tom and Martha joyfully sing
along. They gaze at each other and enjoy
the sight.
EXT. park
- nIGHT
Tom is walking Martha to
her boarding house through the park.
MARTHA
I had fun
tonight. First time I felt like singing
in six months.
TOM
What
happened to your husband?
MARTHA
He was a
railroad man, a brakeman.
A beat as they walk.
TOM
He left
you?
MARTHA
Got
crushed at the rail yard.
TOM
I'm
sorry. It must be hard.
MARTHA
It was
three months before little Joey was born.
TOM
Don't you
have any family you could live with?
MARTHA
Just a
sister, but she has five kids and a husband who drinks.
TOM
Did your
husband have insurance?
MARTHA
A hundred
dollars and a paid funeral. I put the
money in bonds for Joey's future.
TOM
If I had
money I'd give it all to you.
MARTHA
Don't be
silly.
TOM
I mean
it. I wouldn't even know what else to
spend it on.
MARTHA
You're
sweet. But silly.
TOM
Martha,
I'm crazy about you.
He grabs her and pulls
her to him and kisses her hard.
MARTHA
(pushing
away)
Not so
fast, Tom. Not so rough.
TOM
I've never
met a woman like you --
MARTHA
You've
never met a woman at all, from the looks of it.
He starts pushing her.
TOM
Let's go
behind the bushes.
MARTHA
No!
TOM
I like
you, you like me -- I'm burning up --
MARTHA
Well cool
off --
TOM
I can't, I
can't. I've never felt like this!
He grabs her breasts.
MARTHA
STOP IT!
She slugs him hard in the
eye. She's got a punch like John L. Sullivan.
Tom staggers and holds his face.