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Correction Paroles
November 22, 1963
par
Stephen Sondheim
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And now we take you live to KTEX— Oh! I'm sorry. I was just browsing. Please carry on with whatever you were— Is that the right time? Yes? I don’t know what's the matter with this watch. Excuse me for a moment— —speaking to you from Love Field, where the President's plane has just touched down and is taxiing toward us across the tarmac. We understand the President plans to speak briefly— Dearest Marina. Today I end my life so that your life can begin. Last night— I’m sorry, is that your note? F**k you. Wе seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot hеre. It's my fault, I shouldn't have just— You're not going, are you? Come on, I didn't mean to—Alik. What did you call me? Alik. You used to like that nickname back in Minsk. Marine said Lee sounded Chinese, so she called you Alik. Of course I don't have to call you Alik. I just thought— How do you know what Marina called me? I know lots about you, Lee. Let's see... Born, New Orleans, October 18, 1939. Father, Robert, died before your birth. Crazy mother, Marguerite. Dropped out of school at seventeen. Joined the Marines. Court-martialled twice. Defected to the Soviet Union, October 1959. Defected back, June 1962. Married, Marina Nikolaevna. Two children, June and Rachel. Current employment, stock boy, Texas School Book Depository, Dallas, Texas... Oh. And this morning, depressed over your estrangement from a wife who views you as a dismal and pathetic failure, you rose before dawn, kissed your sleeping children, put your last hundred dollars and your wedding ring into a demi-ta**e cup which Marina's mother gave you for a wedding present, and came here to kill yourself... Who are you? I’m your friend, Lee. I don’t have any friends. Yes, you do. You just haven't met them yet Show me your badge. My what? You b*st*rds think you’re so smart. I know my rights. You try to interrogate me at my place of business I can sue you for hara**ment. Ah! You think I'm with the F.B.I.! I have a right to see your badge. Search me, Le.. You think I've got a badge. Come on, search me. The F.B.I. You really love those morons, don't you? Hell, why wouldn’t you? No one else cares if you live or die. Those guys can't get enough of you. "How was your day, Lee? Sell any secrets to the Soviets? Sabotage any defense plants? Kick off your shoes, tell us all about it!" F**k you, whoever you are! Lee. I'm sorry, Lee. It's just so sad. I mean, it's all you've ever wanted, isn't it? Someone who won't leave you alone. Someone who wants to hear about your day. Someone, anyone—your mother. Mother Russia. The Marines. Your wife Marina... Attention must be paid. What's that mean? It's from a play. About a salesman. A man very much like you, Lee. Independent, proud, a decent man who tries and tries but never gets a break. So he does something dumb. When things go really sour, when he realizes that his whole life has been a failure built on lies, he kills himself. And when he's dead, his wife stands at his grave and says attention must be paid. She has to beg the world to pay attention to this poor, misguided nobody. I'll tell you something, Lee. I'm an actor. And I'm a good one. But Willy Loman is a part that I could never play. And I don't think that you should play it either. I don't know what you're talking about. What do you want, Lee? You know so much, why don't you tell me? You want what everybody wants. To be appreciated. To be valued. To be in other people's thoughts. For them to think of you and smile. You want someone to love you, Lee. Right?... Isn't that it?... Lee? Yes. Forget it. What? It's never going to happen. It's a fantasy. You've got to give it up. I'm going to kill myself! Don't you think I've given it up?! No. I think you're going to kill yourself because you think that's how to get it. "When I'm dead, then they'll be sorry! When I'm dead they'll know how much they loved me!" When you close your eyes you probably see the funeral, don't you, Lee? A gentle rain is falling. Everybody has umbrellas... Shut up! There's Marina, weeping quietly. Your sobbing children clutching at her skirt. Your mom, your dad. Every boss who ever fired you— Shut the f**k up! Sorry, Lee. It's just so childish. It's so dumb— You think it's dumb?! If I shouldn't kill myself then what should I do?! Go home?! Beg her to take me back?! Plead with her?! Beat her up?! You tried all that. It doesn't work. I know it doesn't work! So tell me what I should do! You should kill the President of the United States. What? His plane landed at the airport fifteen minutes ago. He's coming into town to make a speech. His motorcade is going to go right past this window. When it does, you shoot him. You're nuts. Maybe I am, so what? I didn't come here to shoot the President. He didn't come here to get shot... All your life you've been a victim, Lee. A victim of indifference and neglect. Of your mother's scorn, your wife's contempt, of Soviet stupidity, American injustice. You've finally had enough, so how're you planning to get even? By becoming your own victim. I'm not a murderer. Who said you were? You just said I should kill the President. Lee, when you kill a president, it isn't murder. Murder is a tawdry little crime; it's born of greed, or lust, or liquor. A****erers and shopkeepers get murdered. But when a president gets killed, when Julius Caesar got killed—he was a**a**inated. And the man who did it... Brutus. Ah! You know his name. Brutus a**a**inated Caesar—what?—two thousand years ago, and here's a high school drop-out with a dollar twenty-five an hour job in Dallas, Texas, who knows who he was. And they say fame is fleeting... This is stupid. Up here on the sixth floor, what would I do? Throw school books at him? What's in the package? What package? The package that you brought to work. What's in it? Curtain rods. You sure? Sure I'm sure. Marina wanted me to take them to the— That's a Mannlicher-Carcano. 6.5 millimeter. Stopping range 900 yards. The sight's already been adjusted. Who are you? My name is John Wilkes Booth, Lee. John Wilkes Booth shot Abraham Lincoln. Attention has been paid... All your life you wanted to be part of something, Lee. You're finally going to get your wish. What is this? The past you never had, the future you'd abandoned—it's called history, Lee. My name is Charles Guiteau. I a**a**inated President James Garfield. Leon Czolgosz. William McKinley. Sam Byck. I'm going to try to kill D**k Nixon. John Hinckley. Ronald Reagan. Lynette Fromme— Sara Jane Moore— Gerald Ford. Zangara. FDR. I don't get this— It's simple, Lee. You're going to bring us back. And make us possible. We're in your debt, old boy. This Bud's for you, babe. Bravo! What's he doing? Getting out of here. You mean you're not going to do it? Goddamn right. He's not going to do it! You said he would! You promised! Okay, okay, shhh... Lee, I'm sorry. I know things are happening kind of fast here. But you can't leave now. No? Watch me— No, you have a responsibility here, Lee. To who? To you? I'm responsible to me and no one else! Not anymore, Lee. Fifty years from now they'll still be arguing about the gra**y knoll, the Mafia, some Cuban crouched behind a stockade fence, but this—right here, right now—this is the real conspiracy. And you're a part of it. Get out of my way. Listen to me, Lee. You have to do this. Now. You won't get another chance. So? So what? So I'll do something else. I'll shoot my wife. I'll shoot my kids. I won't shoot anyone! Who cares?! He wants to know who cares... I care, you stupid fool! We all care! Haven't you been listening, for Christ's sake? Are you such a vapid, vacuous nonent**y— Sorry, I'm sorry... John— Yes, sir? John, when Lee was eight he had a dog. What was its name? Tex. The Marines sent him to radar school. Where? The Naval Air Station, Jacksonville, Florida. The K.G.B. official who de-briefed him in the Kremlin—what was his name and rank? Lieutenant-Colonel Boris Kutzov. Eighteen years from now, when John tries to a**a**inate President Reagan, they're going to search his room, and you know what they're going to find? Every book about you ever written. Can I have your autograph? Take a look, Lee. You know what that is, outside that window? That is America. The land Where Any Kid Can Grow Up to Be President. The Shining City, Lee. It shines so bright you have to shade your eyes. But in here, this is America too. "The ma** of men lead lives of quiet desperation." An American said that. And he was right. But there are no lives of quiet desperation here. Desperation, yes. But quiet? I don't think so. Not today. Today we are going to make a joyful noise. This is the big one. You're the big one. You're the one who's gonna sum it all up and blow it all wide open. Why, after you... Tell him. Should I tell him? Go on!... Tell him!... Go ahead! What the hell... Is Artie Bremer here tonight? Where's Artie Bremer? It was a bum rap! My p*n*s made me do it! Who's next?! Who else is out there?! Death to the enemies of Palestine! Of course, of course! Sirhan Sirhan! And James Earl Ray! Who do these rednecks always have three names? James Earl Ray, John Wilkes Booth— Lee Harvey Oswald! I've seen the future, Lee. And you are it. —and now the motorcade is turning into Elm Street. There's someone holding up a banner, "All the Way with JFK". The President is smiling and waving as his car heads for Dealey Plaza where it will swing past the Texas Book Depository and— People will hate me. They will hate you with a pa**ion, Lee. Imagine people having pa**ionate feelings about Lee Harvey Oswald... Somebody. Help me... Please. I beseech you... We are the hopeless ones. The lost ones... We live our lives in exile... Expatriates in our own country... We drift from birth to death, despairing... Inconsolable... But, through you and your act, we dare to hope... Through you and your act we are revived and given meaning... Our lives, our acts, are given meaning... Our frustrations fall away... Our fondest dreams come true... Today, we are reborn, through you. We need you, Lee. Without you, we're just footnotes in a history book. "Disappointed office seeker." "Deranged immigrant." "Vainglorious actor." Without you, we're a bunch of freaks. With you, we are a force of history. We become immortal. Finally we belong. To one another. To the nation. To the ages. Bring us together, babe. You think you can't connect, connect to us. You think you're powerless? Empower us. It's in your grasp, Lee. All you have to do is move your little finger.
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