(GUITAR & MELODICA)


Garrison Keillor (SINGS): I'm going down the road to my hotel
In a rental car talking on my cell
Just one more sales personnel, Lord, Lord,
And I guess I'm gonna be treated this away. (FADE)


Tim Russell: GOING DOWN THE ROAD......stories of America's migrant workers. Brought to you by Bob's Bank.....in the green mobile home.


(MODULATE UNDER)
GK: I've been on the road a lot lately. I realized this the other day when I called home ----- I was in Cleveland, I think ----- or Denver ---- I forget ------ No, I was in New Orleans, now I remember.


Sue Scott (ON PHONE): Hi. How are you?


GK: Fine.


SS: We were worried about you.


GK: About what?


SS: The hurricane. Katrina. And now Rita.


GK: Who?


SS: The hurricanes.


GK: Where? Here?


SS: Look out your window.


GK: Well, okay----- oh my gosh. Where is everybody? No wonder room service has been slow.


SS: What've you been doing?


GK: Working. I've been online. On the phone. Teleconferencing. Sending e-mail. Nose to the grindstone.


SS: Well, anyway I'm glad you're okay.


GK: How's Martha?


SS: Who?


GK: Martha. Our daughter.


SS: Marcia.


GK: Marcia!!! Right. Marcia.


SS: She's fine. She was hoping you could make it back for her play.


GK: She's in a play?


SS: The senior class play.


GK: Our little girl?


SS: She's a senior.


GK: Marcia?


SS: She's seventeen.


GK: Our ------- I thought she was ------- so she's not------


SS: Honey, you've been gone for a long time.


GK: Well, yes, but------ I'm just sort of shocked. I was under the impression she was nine.


SS: You haven't been home since the fall of 1995.


GK: Oh I have too ----- I was home ------- since 1995?


SS: 1995.


GK: I had no idea.


SS: Don't you want to know about Buddy?


GK: We have a son, too?


SS: Buddy's our dog.


GK: Oh, right. The poodle.


SS: Doberman.


GK: He didn't have red curls?


SS: That was Marcia. Anyhow, we're all fine.


GK: I keep meaning to take time off and then something comes up--------


SS: It's okay. We understand. (BRIDGE)


GK: Ten years on the road for United Grommet & Drawstring as a fulfillment rep for the southern sales district. I guess I got caught up in it. But I called my boss and asked for some time off....


TR (BIG BOSS, ON PHONE): You're our top guy out there, Chuck. We need you out there, keeping UG&D No. 1. We're in a war with the Chinese ---- you don't want to see America's grommets and drawstrings made by communists, do you? Huh? Do you?


GK: Well, no, but......


TR (BIG BOSS ON PHONE): We've got to stay the course, Chuck. We can't cut and run. That'd be the easy thing, but people are depending on you. We need you out there on the road, Chuck, doing what only you can do----


GK: But my little girl is 17, sir. I need to go home. Please. I'm tired of hotel rooms.


TR (BIG BOSS ON PHONE): You don't have a daughter, Chuck. You're single. Says here you are. Single and you're left-handed and you weigh 138 pounds.


GK: I'm married, sir. And my name isn't Chuck. It's Carson.


TR (BIG BOSS ON PHONE): Carson?


GK: Carson Wyler.


TR (BIG BOSS ON PHONE): You're not Chuck Renfro?


GK: No, sir.


TR (BIG BOSS ON PHONE): Wyler.....Wyler.......Carson Wyler?


GK: Yes, sir.


TR (BIG BOSS ON PHONE): You were fired six years ago, Wyler.


GK: I was?


TR (BIG BOSS ON PHONE): We let you go. We sent a letter to your home.


GK: Oh. I was wondering what happened to my paychecks, but I didn't want to cause problems.


TR (BIG BOSS ON PHONE): Where are you?


GK: New Orleans.


TR (BIG BOSS ON PHONE): Oh. Maybe you could get a job with FEMA. Know anything about Arabian saddle horses?


GK: No, sir. (BRIDGE) So I flew home. St. Paul looked pretty much the same as always. So did Loretta.


SS: Hi, honey. You're home! You look good. You're aging very well.


GK: Thanks.


SS: How do you like the new carpeting?


GK: It's nice. I like green. Where's my mail?


SS: I've been putting it into big garbage cans. There's about four of them now. In the garage.


GK: Okay. Thanks.


: Hi, Daddy.


GK: Marcia. Wow. You----- you look terrific. The ----- uh ------ you're not wearing the navy blue jumper, huh?


ER: That was at St. Agnes, Dad. I'm in the Jack Kerouac High School of the Arts now.


GK: Oh. Great.


ER: Did mom tell you, I'm in the play?


GK: Right. That's great.


ER: It's called "Breathing"-----


GK: Interesting.


ER: It's sort of experimental. I play the role of a moth who's in love with a candle.


GK: A moth. Well. I look forward to that.


ER: This is my costume.


GK: What? That's all?


ER: I'm a moth.


GK: Just those two little diaphonous things?


ER: These are my wings.


GK: Oh.


SS: Her director is from France. He's very big in avant garde drama over there.


GK: Well, that's nice, but-----


SS: Here he is now. Henri------


TR: (EXCITED FRENCH, ENTERING)


SS: (AS FRENCH CONTINUES) He really is excited about Marcia.


GK: (AS FRENCH CONTINUES) I can see that.


SS: He thinks she has so much potential.


GK: Why is he putting his arm around her like that? Hey sir----- He's kind of old for that, isn't he. Sir----


TR: FRENCH


SS: Henri doesn't speak English.


GK: How is he teaching her then?


ER: He's teaching me breathing. And he does it by demonstrating it----- not lecturing about it----


GK: By putting his hands all over you?


ER: In theater---- we learn to lower our defenses.


GK: Well, keep a few just in case----


ER: Everytime I'm with him I learn new things.


GK: That's what I'm afraid of. Unhand my daughter, sir! (SLAP)


TR: (ICY FRENCH HAUTEUR)


ER: How dare you hit him? He's my mentor -----


GK: Your what?


ER: And you----- you forgot to come home and you miss out on half of my life!


GK: I was working. Trying to save money for college for you.


ER: I'm not going to college. I'm going to the Ecole des Artes Dramatique in Paris.


GK: You are not.


ER: You disappear for ten years and you're trying to tell me how to live my life? Well, I DON'T THINK SO! (STALKS OUT, SLAMS DOOR)


TR: ANGRY FRENCH


GK: Oh go jump in the lake.


TR: (STALKS OUT, SLAMS DOOR)


SS: Are you hungry?


GK: No.


SS: I fixed you a plate of meatballs.


GK: No thanks.


SS: I fixed about forty pounds of meatballs actually. Froze the rest of them. They're in plastic bags. Each one is about a meal.


GK: Well, that was very nice of you.


SS: I don't want you to starve while I'm gone.


GK: You're going?


SS: I got a job.


GK: On the road?


SS: I'm doing lecture tour, talking about single parenting.


GK: Huh.


SS: I've got 134 lectures lined up starting tomorrow night in Vermillion, South Dakota. Kind of exciting, going out on the road. Meeting new people. Different city every night. Well---- bye.


GK: Bye.


SS: (OFF) You take care of Marcia when she comes back.


GK: The thrill of the road wears off, believe me. (DOOR CLOSE) Home. Alone. Odd. (FOOTSTEPS) I don't remember how anything works. Haven't made a bed in ten, fifteen years. Food. Where does it come from? Fridge, I guess. (FOOTSTEPS, FRIDGE DOOR OPEN) Hmmmm. Celery and tomatoes. Onions. Broccoli. What am I supposed to do with this? (THEME, GUITAR AND MELODICA)


TR: GOING DOWN THE ROAD......stories of America's Migrant Workers.


GK (SINGS): I'm living in my home, feeling bad,
Sort of miss the wandering life I had
I'd rather be a gypsy than a Dad, Lord Lord
And I guess I'm going to be treated this away.

(MUSIC OUT)