10 Crazy Plays
By Bob Liftig
()
About this ebook
Bob Liftig
Dr. Bob Liftig is a Connecticut based writer, actor, editor, teacher, and bagpiper. He is a graduate of the University of Maryland, earned a Masters Degree in English and American Literature at Central Connecticut University, and holds a Doctorate in English Education from Columbia University. He is currently a professor in the Applied Ethics Department at Fairfield University. He can be contacted at boblif@aol.com.
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10 Crazy Plays - Bob Liftig
Contents
A Note For The Reader, Actor, Director, Producer
The Trouble With Rhonda
Do I Know You?
Latch Key Kid
Mr. Lincoln’s Ghost
Battle Stations
Premature Deployment
Hi Honey. I’m Home!
I Shot The Sheriff
Welcome To Class
Hit The Road, Jack
A Note For The Reader, Actor, Director, Producer
All art is autobiographical, although you can get into trouble if you admit this about your own; so I won’t, and mine isn’t. A great deal of art is meant to offend. But you can get into trouble when you admit that, so I won’t, and mine isn’t. Also, as a professor friend of mine who teaches courses in Humor likes to say, You can’t have a joke without a having a victim
; but, again, these days, you can get into trouble if you victimize anyone, so even though my art may be funny – may be even hilarious to some people– it is not meant to make a victim out of anyone.
Most of these plays are about trying to get what you want, or as Edward Albee says, getting what you think you want,
even if you never started out to want it; but life for my characters is not so much about playing the cards they are dealt early on, but about trying to make lemonade out of lemons later in the game.
I want to make people laugh, because there is not enough laughter around these days. After 32 years of trying to entertain my students with the Humor
sections in anthologies and never seeing any notable results, I thought I ought to take a stab at it.
Whenever we want to civilize
ourselves (ie. Prepare a legacy), we must do battle with our baser instincts, so expressing myself in art is a civilizing, and not just a creative process – and it should be for you, because art is also communication, and you must be part of it. This is why I invite any actors, directors, or producers who want to change any trivial aspect of these plays, to present only that which they feel like presenting, as long as the basic idea of the piece and the nature of each character remains the same.
If you choose to sanitize
these scripts for your audience, please send me a copy of what you presented. It will make an interesting piece of research writing for someone, someday, and would help tell the story of the times we live in.
Finally, feel free to laugh with this material in the privacy of your own home and under your own fig tree, if you worry about being seen in public laughing like a hyena. Please enjoy reading 10 Crazy One Act Plays as much as I did when I wrote them.
Bob Liftig
Westport, CT
January, 2011
The Trouble With Rhonda
By
Bob Liftig @ 2010
February, 1968. Early evening, woodsy Connecticut home. Bob Bacharach opens door into the entryway. He is coming back from the University of Maryland on February Break. He is dressed in a University of Maryland jacket, unzipped in the front. Beneath, he wears an orange Nehru shirt, one string of purple beads around his neck, dungarees, and construction boots. He is almost six feet tall, robust and strapping. His straight brown hair is Beatle length but swept to the side over his forehead. He carries a duffle bag.
Dad, Al Bacharach, about 50, is dressed casual-professional, in chinos, sweater, and loafers and is of rugged build and chiseled features, and barely graying at the temples. He rises from his seat on the sofa when he hears the door open, leaving a copy of The Hartford Courant on the seat beside him. There is a roaring fire in the fireplace (Where else would it be?) and a television flickering in the corner. It’s Walter Cronkite and the CBS Evening News: images alternate between the anchorman and footage of U.S. soldiers fighting in Vietnam.
Mom, Fran Bacharach, about 45, is a blond, dressed in 60’s housewife attire. She is pert, smart,and athletic. She rushes out of the hallway and immediately hugs her son, more emotionally than would be expected. Dad comes up behind her, ready to hug him too, but less willing than Mom is, and not just because he is the male of the species.
There is a coffee table in front of the sofa behind them in the living room.
(Hugs all around)
Mom: Welcome home, Bobby.
Bob: Glad to be back, Mom. Even if I am two days late. Sorry.
Dad: Welcome home, son.
Bob: Glad to be home, Dad. Sorry about the delay.
Mom (misting): Oh, it doesn’t matter, honey. There are more important things to worry about. (Looks sharply over Bob’s shoulder at Dad). Aren’t there, Al? Don’t worry. We’ll help you work things out.
Bob: Work what things out, Mom?
Mom: Why don’t you eat first? I’ll make some sandwiches; then I’ll let your father handle this.
(Mom and Dad break off their greetings to stare at their son. Mom goes off to the kitchen around the corner.)
(Pause)
Bob: (looking confused and concerned) Handle what, Dad?
Dad: Why don’t you come into the living room, son; we need to talk.
Bob: (doesn’t move) What’s going on?
Dad: Your mother’s trying to tell you that your mid-term grades got home before you did.
Mom: (from the kitchen) No. That’s not what I’m trying to tell him.
Bob (explains to his father): I told you I couldn’t leave Maryland until after the Rugby Team’s election for next year’s officers.
Dad: That’s not what your mother’s worried about.
Bob: (to Mom in the kitchen) You didn’t have to worry about anything, Mom. I won hands down! I’m going to be Captain next year!
Dad: That’s one of the things I’m worried about.
Bob: What? (laughs it off) Me being Captain of the Rugby team?
Dad: No. The other thing.
Bob: What? (laughs it off again). Me coming home late for February break? (then, showing a little sarcasm) What? Me being late going back to Maryland next year? I’m ready to go back to Maryland right now if you want! I love the place! Besides, we’re going to begin Rugby practice in August - two weeks before classes start.
Mom: (from the kitchen) Your father’s trying to tell you that he’s not worried about you being late; he’s worried about Rhonda being late.
Dad: (toward the kitchen) That’s not what I’m trying to tell him. I’m trying to tell him that I’m worried about what he – what they – are going to do about everything next year! I’m not worried about Rhonda being late as much as you are. I’m a doctor. I know about these things.
Mom: (from the kitchen) Well, I’m a woman, in case if you haven’t noticed lately, and I know even more about these things. Rhonda’s late and I’m worried about it.
Bob: I didn’t even know Rhonda was coming.
Dad: Don’t talk dirty to your mother! Just come with me into the living room and let’s talk about these things. (Dad points to Bob’s duffle bag) And you can leave that right here. It stinks.
(Bob is baffled, and doesn’t put his duffle bag down. Dad leads the way into the living room. Mom meets them, holding two paper plates with turkey sandwiches and potato chips on them. Bob stops abruptly as soon as he sees her, and resumes his rapid patter. He still has much to tell them.)
Bob: Well, actually, guys; I’m also a little worried about next year. We’re going to be playing in a bigger division – all over the northeast and not just in the Metro D.C. area: New Jersey, Delaware, maybe New York, even. It will mean a lot of traveling on weekends, and I’ll probably be asking you for a car. Our reputation’s growing, you know.
Dad: You bet it is– all over Pomford.
Mom: So is Rhonda.
(Dad walks quickly off stage into the dining room,
and returns with a straight back chair, and plants it firmly across from his spot on the sofa, on the other side of the coffee table, then sits down on the chair)
Bob: I know. Rhonda’s a real star up at Boston College. But I don’t know why anyone in Pomford should even care about Rhonda’s reputation in Boston. And why would they care about how the Maryland Rugby Team is doing? What a nosy place this is! Our record’s great, I have to admit, though I’m not the best player on the team – not by a long shot. I’m just popular with the guys, I guess; so they made me Captain. Pretty cool, though, huh?
(Mom puts the sandwich plates down on the