REPORTER: (enters; he is outside the rectory) The waterfront may be a tough beat to cover—the boys who run it—their way—take a dim view of outsiders, especially outsiders who ask questions. News travels fast on the waterfront. You pick it up in the street—in the bars—and the latest buzz was about this young waterfront priest who was beginning to poke his nose into things he had no business looking into. (inside, Father Barry enters carrying books) I made a note to keep an eye on that priest. I wished I could’ve been a fly on the wall in the rectory where Father Pete was burning that midnight oil. (exits)
FATHER VINCENT: (enters in bathrobe) Pete, you woke me up, pacing back and forth. This is an old house—it creaks.
FATHER BARRY: Sorry, Vince—I just can’t sleep. My mind’s spinning like a top. Reading stuff I haven’t even thought of since seminary. (sits next to Father Vincent) Pius the Eleventh. “Reconstruction of the Social Order”—dynamite! “Grieving for the misery and wretchedness pressing unjustly on such a large proportion of mankind, my predecessor boldly took in his own hands the cause of the working men—isolated, helpless, and abandoned to the hard-heartedness of employers and the greed of unchecked competition. … ” What do you think of that?
FATHER VINCENT: I think it’s three o’clock in the morning and you have the early Mass.
FATHER BARRY: And I’ve also been reading Francis Xavier—how he stood up to the Portuguese merchants—tried to get ’em off the backs of their Hindu slaves …
FATHER VINCENT: Pete, that was four hundred years ago. In India.
FATHER BARRY: And things are different now, on the docks? Tell that to Johnny Friendly. Mister Sunday Catholic. Here in the front pew every week, big as life. Bigger.
FATHER VINCENT: Damn right he’s big! Guess who’s been in touch with Father Dowling—about you. The monsignor. It seems that the archdiocese—
FATHER BARRY: The Powerhouse.
FATHER VINCENT: —takes a dim view of your recent activities. Like getting Runty Nolan to talk to the Crime Commission. And urging other rebels to testify. Pete, you’re putting Runty and the rest of ’em in jeopardy. Real danger. You’ve got to take the long view. Think of your career.
FATHER BARRY: I’m thinking of the men, Vince. Everyone of these books tells me to do just that. And what are you doing? Sitting on your ass and watching good men get beaten up—killed? Jesus wasn’t very partial to pharisees, Vince. He preferred good Samaritans.
FATHER VINCENT: Pete, you ever wonder why I never got a church of my own? How come I never made monsignor? Because about fifteen years ago I swathe light on my road to Damascus. Believe it or not, I was outraged at the injustice, the cruelty being done to the poor of this parish—and I spoke up for them. Too soon. Too loud.
FATHER BARRY: I’ll be damned …!
FATHER VINCENT: (to Father Barry) Oh, you’re not the first who tried to change things down here. You probably won’t be the last, either. But change takes a long, long time. On the waterfront—and in the church.
FATHER BARRY: The men can’t wait that long.
FATHER VINCENT: You mean you can’t! But you have to—or you’re off to Siberia. I mean it, Pete—you’ll be running bingo games for the Ladies’ Sodality in Schenectady. So confine yourself to the spiritual support for the Runty Nolans—moral support—
FATHER BARRY: Vince, I told him I’d stand up with him! You heard me.
FATHER VINCENT: So did the monsignor—and the cardinal.
FATHER BARRY: C’mon! The cardinal can’t be backing Johnny Friendly.
FATHER VINCENT: No, His Eminence wouldn’t know that thug if he fell over him. But Friendly happens to be a spear-carrier for Big Bill McCoy.
FATHER BARRY: Mister Big?
FATHER VINCENT: Who runs the Port of New York.
FATHER BARRY: I hear he owns it. Tugboats, stevedore companies, sand-and-gravel, cement …
FATHER VINCENT: And he doesn’t like people who make waves. The cardinal doesn’t, either—’cause McCoy’s the biggest giver we ever had.
FATHER BARRY: And the biggest bastard.
FATHER VINCENT: They could squash you like a roach. And they will, Pete, unless you slow down to a walk.
FATHER BARRY: How about a crawl? You know, Vince, when people live together as close as we do in this rectory, they get to know each other pretty well. Maybe too well.
FATHER VINCENT: So …?
FATHER BARRY: So something tells me it isn’t just me you’re worried about. There’s a lot more—like the welfare and future of Father Vincent O’Mara.
FATHER VINCENT: All right. Look, you know what shape our pastor is in. He’s on his last legs—hanging on by his fingernails. And who d’ you think deserves to take over?
FATHER BARRY: So I was right: you want the job. You’ve been waiting a long time. You’ve earned it.
FATHER VINCENT: Thanks. And thanks for everything you’re doing to see I don’t get it. The last thing in the world we need down here is headlines about a rebel waterfront priest. And you know how the Powerhouse would handle that problem? Bring in somebody from the outside to clean house and put a cork in the bottle. Is that what you want for me—and for us?
FATHER BARRY: I hear what you’re saying … but I think we’ve reached a point where we can’t take one step forward—and two steps back!
FATHER VINCENT: You’ve got to be practical if you want to remain here and be effective! Then, if I’m running the show, you’ll see that a few years down the road—
FATHER BARRY: Vince, I gave my word. I promised!
FATHER VINCENT: You had no right to make that promise! You’re not a labor leader. You’re a priest, under church discipline!
FATHER BARRY: And under the teaching of Jesus Christ and the popes who applied those teachings to help the “isolated and helpless”—like Joey Doyle and Runty Nolan!
FATHER VINCENT: Pete, you’re right—but you’re wrong. I just don’t want you to be dead wrong.
FATHER BARRY: When Runty asked me if I’d go all the way with him, I said, yes, so help me God!
FATHER VINCENT: Now you’d better say, God help me … God help me!
FATHER BARRY: You say it for me, Vince.
REPORTER: (enters) I was there that day, trying to blend in as usual, in the sweltering hold of an Irish freighter at dockside. The pallet was loaded with cases of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey.
(Runty takes a bottle of whiskey from a crate and hands it to Luke; he then takes two other bottles and puts them in his jacket. As Luke sings he moves to all and passes the bottle. They also pass the crate around. Terry helps with the crate.)
LUKE: Mississippi water taste like sherry wine. Yes, Mississippi water taste like sherry wine. North River water taste like turpentine.
(all join in)
Mississippi water taste like sherry wine.Yes, Mississippi water taste like sherry wine. North River water taste like turpentine.
RUNTY: (wearing Joey’s jacket, given him by Pop at the shape-up) Who needs sherry wine? We got Jameson’s! An Eye-rish ship, loaded to the gunnels with fine Eye-rish whiskey!
POP: You see, Runty, the good Lord watches over us after all.
RUNTY: When we knock off, let’s have a bit of a party. We’ll drink to God an’ Ireland, its whiskey an’ its women … to Joey an’ Edie—and death t’ tyrants everywhere!
POP: You think one bottle’s enough for all that?
RUNTY: Patrick me lad, I’m aheada you. (opening jacket and revealing two more bottles) I was afraid one bottle might get lonely by itself. Now you see the beauty of a little man in a big coat.
LUKE: That sure is some swag jacket.
RUNTY: Joey Doyle’s, rest ’im. Hey—I wonder if I c’n walk with a coupla these down my pants.
MOOSE: How many Hail Marys will the Fathers lay on you for that?
RUNTY: It’ll be worth it!
TERRY: Listen, Runty—
RUNTY: (the group breaks up) What do you care if we rip off a coupla quarts?
TERRY: I don’t. It’s just that—
MAC: Come on, you guys! Get the damn thing loaded! An’ don’t help yaself to nuthin’! No individual pilferage!
RUNTY: Louder, Mac—I can’t hear ya!
MAC: If ya kept yer ears open once in a while steada ya big mouth …
RUNTY: It ain’t that my mouth is so big—it’s just that the rest o’ me is so small. (grabs crotch)
MAC: OK, OK—knock it off now! Stand clear! All right, take it away.
(Runty gives signal to raise pallet)
(light begins to fade as men watch pallet rise up)
REPORTER: Slowly the pallet began to rise up, out of the hold.
MORGAN: Hey, boys, wanna make some big bucks easy? The boss has a sure thing in the seventh at Belmont today. Sea Hawk—goin’ off at eight to one.
TOMMY: What makes it so sure?
MORGAN: Johnny talked to the horse himself, know what I mean? You bet fifty, you get four hundred.
(Runty takes out a bottle and drinks a little, then moves)
TOMMY: Except for yer lousy twenty percent.
MOOSE: All the money I get goes home to the missus.
LUKE: Same here, J.P.
TERRY: (looking overhead, horrified) Runty …!
(Everyone screams. In blackout, sounds of whiskey crates crashing, alarm bells, and sirens. Father Barry enters and kneels next to Runty’s body.)
REPORTER: I tell you it sounded like something out of hell—all that glass shattering—all that screaming—a lot o’ whiskey and a lot of blood mixed together—and when the mess was cleared away, there was Runty Nolan, who always said he was on borrowed time—and finally ran out of it.
FATHER BARRY: I’m here to keep a promise. I gave Runty Nolan my word I’d stand up with him—all the way. They tell me he had the knack of getting up again and again, no matter what. But this time they fixed him good—oh, they fixed ’im, all right—unless it was an accident like Big Mac says.
MOOSE: Accident, my ass. Tell ’em, Father!
TOMMY: Give it to ’em good!
FATHER BARRY: (stand up) OK, boys. Some people think the Crucifixion only took place on Calvary. They better wise up. Taking Joey Doyle’s life to stop him from organizing honest opposition, to stop him from testifying, that’s a crucifixion. Dropping a sling on Runty Nolan because he was ready to spill his guts to the Crime Commission in public—that’s a crucifixion. Every time the mob puts the crusher on a good man—tries to stop him from doing his duty as a union man and a citizen—it’s a crucifixion.
LUKE: Speak, brother—speak!
FATHER BARRY: And anybody who lets this happen—(to Reporter) and I mean anybody, from the shipping companies, the Police Commissioner, and the D.A., down to the lowliest worker in the hatch—anybody who keeps silent about something evil he knows about—shares the guilt of it just as much as the Roman soldier who pierced the flesh of Our Lord to see if He was dead.
BARNEY: G’wan back to yer church, Father!
FATHER BARRY: Pal, I’m learnin’ every minute this is my church! I took a vow to follow Christ. And boys, if you don’t think He’s down here on this waterfront, you’ve got another guess coming! And who do you think He lines up with—
TRUCK: Get ahta there, Father! (throwing banana at him)
FATHER BARRY: (getting hit) I’ll tell you who He doesn’t line up with—He doesn’t line up with hired guns!
TRUCK: Get ahta there—
TERRY: Let ’im finish!
TRUCK: Johnny ain’t gonna like this …
TERRY: Let ’im finish!
FATHER BARRY: Every morning when the hiring boss blows his whistle for the shape-up, Jesus stands beside you. (taunts and jeers from goons) He sees why some of you get picked and some of you get passed over.
TOMMY: Tell ’em why, Father!
LUKE: Lay it on ’em!
FATHER BARRY: Chances are, He gets passed over Himself because He won’t kick back and He won’t play ball with the boys who don’t have to work because they’ve got those strong backs of yours working for them. So Christ is left standing in the street with the other rejects. He sees the family men, worried about getting the rent money and putting food on the table for the wife and kids. And how do you think He feels when He sees them, His fellow workers, selling their souls to the mob for a day’s pay? (taunts and jeers from goons) How does He feel when He goes to a union meeting—one of your rare, rare union meetings—and sees how it’s run? Sees how few show up, and even fewer dare ask for the floor? Sees what happens to the one or two stand-up guys who haven’t had the last shred of human dignity—yes, dignity in Christ!—beaten out of them?
BARNEY: Cut the bullshit, God damn you, Father!
FATHER BARRY: That’s a venial sin … but—murder is a mortal sin!
(Barney throws beer can at Father Barry. Father Barry reacts and falls over Runty’s body.)
POP: By Christ, the next bum who throws somethin’ deals with me! I don’t care if he’s twice my size!
FATHER BARRY: (rising) And what does Christ think of His respectable followers, the shipping executives and the city officials who drop a fin in the basket after Mass—and then encourage and condone the goons who learned their stevedore techniques at Sing Sing and Dannemora? How does He feel about bloodsuckers picking up a longshoreman’s work-tab and grabbing twenty percent interest at the end of the week?
MORGAN: Keep yer nose outa my business, Father!
FATHER BARRY: What does Christ think of the easy-money boys who pose as your union leaders, and sell you out every day in the week and twice on Sunday? And wear custom-tailored suits and diamond rings on your union dues, your vocation fund, your kickback money? What must He who established the dignity of work with His own two hands think about a set-up like this? (walks) And how does He—who spoke up without fear against every evil (kneels)—feel about your silence?
TRUCK: (to Father Barry) How about some silence from you, shit-lips?
(Terry stops Truck with a punch in the face)
BARNEY: (to Johnny) You see that?
JOHNNY: Did you, Charley?
CHARLEY: Even if the Father’s full of it, you don’t dump on a priest. That’s what the kid meant.
FATHER BARRY: You want to know what’s wrong with our waterfront? It’s love of a lousy buck. It’s making love of a buck—the cushy job, the wholesale stealing—more important than the love of man. It’s forgetting that every fellow down here is your brother—yes, your brother in Christ. But remember this, fellows: Christ is always with you—Christ is in the shape-up, He’s in the hatch, He’s in the union hall, He’s kneeling here beside Runty Nolan. And He’s saying to all of you, “If you do it to the least of Mine, You do it to Me!” You do it to Me! Believe me, boys—what they did to Joey, what they did to Runty, they’re doing to you. And you. And you. All of you! And only you, with God’s help, have the power to knock ’em off for good! (kneels by Runty) OK, Runty? Amen.
TERRY: (waving red rag on pole over his head) G’wan, g’wan, get outa here!
EDIE: (enters carrying a jacket) What’re you doing?
TERRY: Swifty, my favorite. Flew back three hunnerd miles. Didn’t stop fer food or water—and then—would you believe it?—a damn hawk grabs him just as he’s comin’ in!
EDIE: Is he hurt bad?
TERRY: He’s a tough bird. He c’n take it. You’re gonna be OK, Swifty ol’ boy. (puts bird in box) Gonna keep ’im in this box f’ a day or two, so the other birds don’t bother ’im. They’re scared—that damn hawk is still up there. Smells blood, I guess. That’s how they are.
EDIE: I remember Joey lost a bird that way once …
TERRY: I saw one torn apart—feathers all over the roof. Made me sick to m’ stomach. (takes pole and waves it again) G’wan—get outa here, ya bastid—get outa here! (puts pole down) OK Swifty—he’s gone. You made it—OK? Now get some rest.
EDIE: You really love those birds, don’t you? (Terry nods) Here, I brought this for you. (hands him jacket) It was Joey’s.
TERRY: Aw—I’d feel funny wearin’ it. Know what I mean?
EDIE: I’m not sure I do.
TERRY: Edie, lissen, there’s somethin’ on my mind, somethin’ I gotta tell ya …
EDIE: Yes …?
TERRY: Oney every time I try, it sticks in my throat—like somethin’s caught in there ’n’ I can’t spit it out.
EDIE: Try, Terry. Try. (sits)
TERRY: Edie, I guess what I’m tryin’ t’ say is—I never knew a girl like you. I mean—when you’re lookin’ at me like you’re lookin’ at me now, I feel I gotta tell you that I …
EDIE: That you love me …? (extends her hand to him)You don’t have to say it. I know. I know …
(Terry turns to her, takes her into his arms, and kisses her)
REPORTER: (enters with newspaper) Waterfront priest calls longshoreman’s death a crucifixion! (Father Barry enters. Reporter exits.)
FATHER VINCENT: (enters carrying newspapers) A fine sermon down there, Pete. From what they say, it was one of the best … since Martin Luther.
FATHER BARRY: That supposed to make me feel bad, Vince? You know I don’t hold with Luther anymore’n you do—but at least he spoke his mind. That’s all I did.
FATHER VINCENT: And you know what they’re going to do? They’re going to lower the boom on you, my friend.
FATHER BARRY: Vince, it took me a long time to get into this. It’s too late to try an’ scare me out.
FATHER VINCENT: I have to hand it to you, Pete—one word from me and you do as you damn please. You even made the Times. Some send-off you gave Runty Nolan!
FATHER BARRY: He deserved it. A little man with balls big enough to bowl with.
FATHER VINCENT: I’m glad you left that out. Oh, you also made the News, the Mirror, and the Herald-Trib. Any minute now, the afternoon papers’ll be beating down the door. Precisely what we didn’t need!
FATHER BARRY: I never thought it’d break like this.
FATHER VINCENT: What did you expect? You didn’t spare anybody.
FATHER BARRY: I just hope it does some good.
FATHER VINCENT: I hope it doesn’t do us too much harm. The archdiocese will be all over us now.
FATHER BARRY: Is that what you’re worried about?
FATHER VINCENT: Damn right I am! Too loud, Pete—too soon.
FATHER BARRY: We’ll see.
FATHER VINCENT: I’m afraid we will. (exits)
TERRY: (from offstage) Hold it, Father—hold it! (enters, to Father Barry) I want to make confession.
FATHER BARRY: Father Vincent c’n take your confession.
TERRY: But you’re the one I want to tell! What you said over Runty, about keepin’ silent when ya know the score … I’m guilty—ya hear me? I’m guilty!
FATHER BARRY: I don’t want to hear it in there!
TERRY: Huh? I don’t get it …
FATHER BARRY: Say it in the confessional and my lips are sealed. Don’t you understand? I can’t use it.
TERRY: But you gotta listen to me!
FATHER BARRY: Tell Father Vincent.
TERRY: Lissen—it was me set up Joey Doyle!
FATHER BARRY: Yeah? Then give it t’ me straight. Fish or cut bait. Go on—there’s nothing I haven’t heard.
TERRY: It started as a favor—for my brother—you know, they’d ask me things, an’ it’s hard t’ say no. A favor—who’m I kiddin’? They call it a favor but it’s do it or else. An’ this time the “favor” turns out t’ be helpin’ ’em top off Joey. I jus’ thought they’d lean on ’im a little, but … last night with Edie I wanted t’ tell her, only it—stuck in my throat. I love her, Father. She’s the first nice thing that ever happened to me.
FATHER BARRY: What are you going to do?
TERRY: About Edie …?
FATHER BARRY: Edie—the Commission—your subpoena. I know you got a subpoena.
TERRY: It’s my own brother they’re askin’ me t’ finger—’n’ Johnny Friendly. His mother an’ my mother was cousins. When I was this high he took me t’ ball games an’—
FATHER BARRY: Ball games! Don’t break my heart! I wouldn’t care if he gave you a life pass to Yankee Stadium. You got a brother? Well, let me tell you something, kid—you got some other brothers. And they’re getting the shitty end of the stick while your cousin Johnny gets mustard on his face at the ball games. If I was you—Listen, Terry, I’m not asking you to do anything. It’s your own conscience that’s got to do the asking.
TERRY: Conscience. … Never even heard the word until you ’n’ Edie opened up on me. … This conscience stuff c’n drive ya nuts!
FATHER BARRY: It sure can, Terry. It sure can.
TERRY: Yeah, yeah—don’t cost you nuthin’ t’ say that, over on the sidelines.
FATHER BARRY: Sidelines? Terry, you think all I did was give Runty the Last Rites? Hell, I can’t stop thinkin’ about what I pushed him into. The price is high. Damn high. For both of us. Good luck.
TERRY: Father—is that all ya got t’ say to me?
FATHER BARRY: It’s up to you, kid. One more thing—you better tell her. (exits)
(Edie enters)
TERRY: Edie … Edie …
EDIE: Terry—what’s wrong?
TERRY: I—I been talkin’ t’ Father Barry.
EDIE: About us …?
TERRY: About everything. It’s up t’ me—he says it’s up t’ me …
EDIE: What is? Terry—what’s up to you? Say it!
TERRY: I told the Father … what I did to Joey.
EDIE: What you did …
TERRY: What I did to Joey. The way it was, Edie—
EDIE: Don’t tell me! Don’t tell me!
TERRY: —They said they jus’ wanted me t’ help straighten him out. So I took one o’ my birds ’n’ said it was his, it flew inta my coop by mistake ’n’ I’d give it back on the roof. Oney Johnny’s goons went up there. Jus’ to work ’im over, Charley said. I—didn’t know they didn’t give a damn about straightening ’im out. I guess Johnny figured it was too late fer that—so they pushed ’im over … don’t you see, Edie? I never thought they was gonna—(Edie slaps Terry and exits) I don’t know what t’ do, Edie—I don’t know what t’ do! I swear to God I—Edie! Edie, what’ll I do? What’ll I do …?
(Charley and Johnny are seated at a table. Morgan sits away from the table. Truck, Barney, and Mac stand.)
JOHNNY: Drink up, Charley. We’re ahead of you.
CHARLEY: I’m not thirsty.
JOHNNY: That’s funny. After what we been hearing about your brother, I thought your throat’d be kinda dry.
CHARLEY: So they laid a subpoena on him. That doesn’t mean he’s going t’ talk. There’s no evidence until he gives public testimony.
JOHNNY: Thanks for the legal advice, Charley. That’s what I always kept you around for. Now—how do we keep him from givin’ this testimony? Isn’t that what you call the—er—main order o’ business?
CHARLEY: Johnny, he’s not the brightest, but he’s a good kid. You know that.
MAC: He’s a bum. After the days I give ’im in the loft—he’s got no gratitude.
CHARLEY: (rising to Mac) You shut up! How about some gratitude to me? I kept you on the job. The boss stevedore wanted to fire you a dozen times.
JOHNNY: All right, Charley—Mac—knock it off. I’m conductin’ this … investigation.
CHARLEY: Terry’s done a few favors for us, Johnny. We mustn’t forget that. It’s simply that this girl and maybe the priest, too, have begun exerting some kind of influence over him that’s, well, that’s affecting his mental attitude. See what I mean?
JOHNNY: Mental attitude! Goddammit, talk straight so I can understand it!
CHARLEY: I mean the Doyle broad and the priest maybe getting their hooks into him so deep he doesn’t know which end is up anymore.
JOHNNY: I ain’t interested in all that crap. We’re into a bi-state investigation. This ain’t no two-bit city deal we c’n talk or buy our way out of. This one is make or break. Your little brother can hang us. All I want t’ know is, is he D ’n’ D or is he a canary? Talk to me!
CHARLEY: I wish I knew what he is.
JOHNNY: So do I, matooze. For your sake. I was never for tying that kid in close. There’s no room for fuck-ups in this business. It’s time to straighten out that brother of yours.
CHARLEY: Straighten out how?
JOHNNY: OK, all you fellas—march. (Truck, Barney, Mac, and Morgan exit) Look, it’s simple. First, you talk to him somewheres private. See if you can’t get him back in line. Maybe stake him and ship ’im out. Baltimore, maybe. But if he won’t play, if he tries to stiff ya—drive ’im out to … that place we’ve been usin’ … and turn ’im over to Danny D.
CHARLEY: Johnny, you can’t do that. I mean, all right, maybe the kid’s out of line. But Jesus, Johnny, I can handle him. He’s just a confused kid.
JOHNNY: Confused kid? Lissen, cousin—first he crosses me in public and gets away with it. Then the next joker—an’ pretty soon I’m just another fella down here.
CHARLEY: But it’s a risky thing, messing with a psycho like Danny D right now. Who needs it, Johnny? It’s time to lie low.
JOHNNY: Don’t give me that lie-low shit! I lie low now and they pile it on me. I’m a crap-shooter, Charley. When I get behind, I don’t pull in. I double up on the bet. I go with everything I got. I came up that way. And, brother, I’ll go down that way—if I gotta go, which I wouldn’t take no bets on if I was you.
CHARLEY: Johnny, I love ya, you know that. I know the work, the guts it took to muscle-in and build this beauteeful machine. Anything you asked me, I was always there, you know that. But Johnny, this thing you’re askin’ here, I can’t do that. I just can’t do that, Johnny.
JOHNNY: Then don’t. Forget I asked ya.
CHARLEY: (getting on his knees) Johnny, it’s my kid brother. …
JOHNNY: If it was my kid brother—hell, if it was my own mother, God bless ’er—I’d have to do it if they crossed me. I ain’t sayin’ I’d like it. I’m just tellin’ ya what you have to do if you wanna be a real man in this business.
CHARLEY: Jesus Christ Almighty … (rising)
JOHNNY: (using the palm of his hand to demonstrate) You can have it my way (up) or you can have it his way (down). But you can’t have it both ways (rotate). Right? OK, deep thinker—on your horse.
(Terry is pacing nervously. He tenses up as he hears footsteps offstage.)
CHARLEY: (enters) Relax, kid. It’s me.
TERRY: Gee, Charley, I’m sure glad ya wanted to see me. I needed to talk t’ ya. What’s it they say about blood, it’s—
CHARLEY: Thicker than water. You wanna talk to me? First I wanna talk to you. The grapevine says you picked up a subpoena.
TERRY: That’s right.
CHARLEY: Of course the boys know you too well to take you for a cheese-eater.
TERRY: Mmm-hmmm.
CHARLEY: You know, they’re gettin’ rather interested in your future.
TERRY: Mmm-hmmm.
CHARLEY: They think you shouldn’t be on the outside so much. They want you a little more on the inside. They think it’s time you had a few little things goin’ for you on the docks.
TERRY: A steady job an’ a few extra bucks—that’s all I want.
CHARLEY: Sure, that’s all right when you’re a kid—but you’re getting on. You’re pushing thirty pretty soon, slugger. Time you got a little ambition.
TERRY: I always figured I’d live longer without it.
CHARLEY: Maybe. Look, kid—there’s a slot for a boss loader on a new pier in Baltimore. I c’n fix it.
TERRY: Boss loader?
CHARLEY: Ten cents a hundred pounds on everything that moves in or out. And you don’t have to lift a finger. It’s five, six hundred a week just for openers.
TERRY: An’ for all that dough, what do I haveta do?
CHARLEY: Absolutely nothing. You do nothing and you say nothing. You understand, don’t you, kid?
TERRY: Yeah—yeah—I guess I do. … But there’s a lot more to this than I thought, Charley. I’m telling you. A lot more.
CHARLEY: Terry—I hope you’re not trying to tell me you’re thinking of testifying against—Kid, I hope you’re not telling me that.
TERRY: I don’t know—I don’t know. I tell ya I ain’t made up my mind yet. That’s what I wanted t’ talk t’ ya about.
CHARLEY: Listen, Terry—these piers we control through the local—you know how much they’re worth to us …
TERRY: I know. I know.
CHARLEY: Then you also know Cousin Johnny isn’t goin to jeopardize a setup like that for one rubber-lipped ex-tanker—
TERRY: Don’t say that!
CHARLEY: —Who’s walking on his heels!
TERRY: Don’t say that!
CHARLEY: What the hell …?
TERRY: I coulda been better!
CHARLEY: That’s not the point—
TERRY: I coulda been a lot better, Charley!
CHARLEY: The point is—we don’t have much time.
TERRY: I tell you, Charley—I haven’t made up my mind!
CHARLEY: Make up your mind, kid! Please. Please! You think I want to take you to Three-thirty-three River Street? (turns away from Terry)
TERRY: Three-thirty-three—isn’t that where Danny D …? Charley … you wouldn’t hand me over to Danny D …? (turns away from Charley)
CHARLEY: (turning to Terry and pulling a gun) Terry! (Terry turns to Charley) For the last time, take the job in Baltimore. Please kid. For God’s sake, I don’t want to hurt you!
TERRY: Charley … Charley. Wow …
CHARLEY: I wish I didn’t have to do this, Terry.
TERRY: Charley—oh, Charley …
CHARLEY: Please take the job.
TERRY: You know I c’d always take a punch, Charley—but this? (pushing gun down) Wow …
CHARLEY: What d’you weigh these days, slugger?
TERRY: Eighty, eighty-five. What’s it to ya?
CHARLEY: Gee, when you tipped one-seven-oh you were beauteeful. You could’ve been another Billy Conn. That skunk I got to manage you brought you along too fast.
TERRY: It wasn’t him! It was you, Charley. You an’ Johnny. Like the night the two of youse come in the dressin’ room and says, “Kid, this isn’t your night—we’re goin’ for the price on Wilson.” It ain’t my night. I’d of taken Wilson apart that night! I was ready—remember the early rounds, throwin’ them combinations? So what happens?—This bum Wilson, he gets the title shot—outdoors in the ball park!—and what do I get? A couple bucks an’ a one-way ticket to Palookaville. I was never no good after that night. It was you, Charley. You was my brother. You shoulda looked out for me a little bit. You shoulda taken care o’ me. Just a little bit. ’Steada making me take them dives for the short-end money.
CHARLEY: I always had a bet down for you. You saw some money.
TERRY: See! You don’t understand!
CHARLEY: I tried to keep you in good with Johnny …
TERRY: You don’ understand! I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody. Instead of a bum, let’s face it, which is what I am. Oh yes, I am. It was you, Charley. … It was you.
CHARLEY: OK, OK—I’ll tell Johnny I couldn’t find you. Ten to one he won’t believe it, but—Go ahead, blow. Quick, Terry—and keep going … (Terry exits) Keep going … as far as you can.
TERRY: (banging on door) Edie, it’s me! Lemme in—it’s me!
EDIE: (from her bed in darkened room) Stop it! Stop it! Get away from there!
TERRY: I gotta see you! Gotta talk to you!
EDIE: Leave me alone. I want you to leave me alone!
(Smashing through the door, Terry bursts in)
TERRY: Edie—I had t’ see you!
EDIE: Lucky Pop isn’t home—he’d kill you.
TERRY: You think I stink, don’t you? You think I stink fer what I done?
EDIE: I don’t want to talk about it. I just want you to—
TERRY: I want you to believe me! I want to be with you.
EDIE: How can you be with Charley and Johnny Friendly and still be with me? Either way it’s a lie. You’ve got to be one or the other.
TERRY: I don’t want to hurt Charley—I don’t want t’ hurt you.
EDIE: You’re hurting yourself. By keeping it inside you, like a poison.
TERRY: I know what you want me t’ do!
EDIE: I don’t want you to do anything. Let your conscience tell you what to do.
TERRY: That—friggin’—word—again! Shut up about “conscience”! Why d’ ya hafta keep usin’ that goddam word?
EDIE: I never mentioned it to you before. Never.
TERRY: No …?
EDIE: You’re starting to listen to yourself. That’s where it’s coming from.
TERRY: Yeah? I keep hearin’ it—I keep hearin’ it, an’ I don’ know what t’ do … I don’ know what t’do … My hand … I cut it on the door.
EDIE: It’s just a scratch. You won’t die.
TERRY: Edie … (moving toward her)
EDIE: Get away from me.
TERRY: Edie, I need ya to love me. (taking hold of Edie) Tell me ya love me.
EDIE: I didn’t say I didn’t love you. I said stay away from me.
TERRY: Edie—Edie, I—
EDIE: Stay away from me. (she struggles; he holds her) Stay away—(she turns to him and hits at him; he pulls her closer) Stay—(they kiss and lie down together) I love you. God help me! I love you …!
BARNEY: (calling offstage) Hey, Terry! Yer brother wants ya! He’s down here.
TERRY: (rising) Charley …?
BARNEY: He’s waitin’ for ya. Come on!
EDIE: No Terry—don’t go. Don’t go!
TERRY: Maybe Charley needs me. I better find out. (he runs out)
EDIE: Terry …! Terry …! (grabs her coat and follows)
MUTT: (lurching through the darkness) Tippi-tippi-tan, tippi-tan …
(Charley screams offstage)
EDIE: (enters, calling) Terry!
JIMMY: (enters running, followed by Truck) Motherfucking son-of-a-bitch! (exits)
TRUCK: Come here, you little shit! (follows him off)
MUTT: Tippi-tippi-tan, tippi-tan …
TOMMY: (offstage) Drop dead!
MUTT: Spit on me—curse me an’ stone me—but I suffer fer yer sins.
TOMMY: Go suffer somewheres else, ya bum!
EDIE: (enters) Terry!
MUTT: I seen ’im. I seen ’im …
EDIE: Which way did he go?
MUTT: I seen it happen. With me own eyes I seen it.
EDIE: What? What did you see?
MUTT: I seen ’em put ’im to death! I heard ’im cry out!
EDIE: Who—who did you see? Tell me. Tell me!
MUTT: His executioners. They was stabbin’ him in his side. Oh, I weep fer ’im … I weep fer ’im …
EDIE: Tell me who!
MUTT: Our Lord Jesus. When He dies t’ save us. (reaches out to her)
EDIE: Oh get away—get away, you fool!
MUTT: Tippi-tippi-tan, tippi-tan … (wandering off)
EDIE: (Terry enters and runs into Edie) Terry—are you all right?
TERRY: Huh? Sure. Oney I can’t find Charley. Charley …!
BARNEY: (calling) He’s over here, Terry. Waitin’ fer ya. (exits)
TERRY: (Terry and Edie turn to see Charley standing. Mutt exits) Hey, Charley … (Terry and Edie cross to Charley) Charley—you was lookin’ fer me …?(Terry reaches out to Charley) Hey, Charley …!(Terry touches Charley; Charley falls into Terry’s arms, and they both go to the ground) They topped him. They topped Charley …! Scummy, motherfuckin’ bastards! He wouldn’t hand me over, so—
EDIE: (kneeling next to Terry) Terry, let’s go away!
TERRY: Charley …
EDIE: I mean it—let’s get away from here! First Joey, then Runty, now Charley—and, any minute … I’m frightened, Terry—I’m frightened!
TERRY: I’ll take it outa their skulls.
EDIE: I don’t want to see you killed. I want to live with you—live with you. Any place it’s safe to walk the streets without …
TERRY: I’ll take it outa their skulls. I’ll take this outa their skulls! (searches Charley’s pockets and finds his gun) They put a hole in Charley. I’ll put holes in them.
EDIE: No, Terry—no!
TERRY: Don’t hang onto me. An’ don’t follow me. Don’t follow me. Go get Father Barry. Tell ’im t’ take care o’ Charley. I don’t want ’im layin’ out here in this stinkin’ street too long.
EDIE: Where are you going?
TERRY: Don’t ask dumb questions. Just do like I say. (getting up)
EDIE: Terry, for God’s sake! (grabs Terry)
TERRY: Get outa my way.
EDIE: I can’t let you! I can’t! You’re—
TERRY: (he shoves her aside and runs off) Outa my way!
(Bartender serving Barney and Truck. J.P. is also present.)
REPORTER: I was having a beer in Friendly’s Bar when Terry Malloy walked in.
TERRY: (enters) I wanta see Johnny.
MORGAN: He ain’t here.
TERRY: No? (sits at table center) Gimme a double.
BARTENDER: Take it easy now, Terry.
TERRY: Fuck the advice. Gimme the whiskey!
MORGAN: What’d y’ do to yer mitt?
TERRY: (downs drink) Hit me again.
BARTENDER: Listen, Terry, why don’t you just go on home before Johnny—
TERRY: No advice. Just whiskey.
MORGAN: Easy. Easy now, kid. You oughta go home an’ take care o’ that.
TERRY: Zip it up, J.P. I’m staying here. (Terry pushes Morgan away)
FATHER BARRY: (enters followed by Luke) Terry—don’t give me a hard time …
TERRY: Waddaya want?
FATHER BARRY: Charley’s gun.
TERRY: Mind yer own business, Father.
FATHER BARRY: This is my business.
TERRY: Go to hell!
FATHER BARRY: I want that gun.
TERRY: Go fuck yaself.
FATHER BARRY: What did you say?
TERRY: (standing up) I said go f—(Father Barry punches Terry in the face. Terry falls to the ground, gets up, and lunges toward Father Barry but is stopped by Luke.) Dammit, lemme go!
LUKE: (pushing Terry) You can’t talk to a priest that way, you bum.
TERRY: What did you call me?
FATHER BARRY: (between Terry and Luke) He called you a bum. What do you think you are—a brave man, a hero? Gunning down another man isn’t brave. You want to hurt Johnny Friendly? You want to fix him for what he did to Charley—and a dozen men who were better than Charley? Don’t fight him like a hoodlum. That’s just what he wants—He’ll hit you in the head and plead self-defense.
LUKE: Right on!
FATHER BARRY: Testify tomorrow at the public hearing. Hit him with the truth. That’s more dangerous to Johnny Friendly than—(takes gun from Terry) this little cap-pistol. That is, if you’ve got the guts. If you haven’t, you better hang onto it. (gives gun to Terry; turns away) You want a beer? (to Bartender) Two beers. (Bartender brings beers to the table. Terry puts gun down on table and Father Barry turns to him.) Now you’re making sense.
TERRY: Am I? To Johnny Friendly?
FATHER BARRY: To hell with him—and his boss.
TERRY: Tell Johnny I was here. (exits)
BARNEY: Definitely!
(Interrogator, in a cassock, sits facing upstage, opposite Father Barry.)
INTERROGATOR: Father Barry, it has come to the attention of the Chancery Office that you not only instigated a meeting of dissident members of Local Four-forty-seven, but—
FATHER BARRY: Wait a minute! I didn’t “instigate” anything. Those men are working under inhuman conditions on the docks—they were just looking for a safe place to meet. I gave it to them—I figured that’s one of the things the Church has always been for: sanctuary.
INTERROGATOR: But you didn’t stop with that, did you?
FATHER BARRY: I didn’t see how I could.
INTERROGATOR: So you not only encouraged those men to cooperate with the Waterfront Crime Commission, you even escorted them there—
FATHER BARRY: I saw it as my pastoral duty.
INTERROGATOR: —Without waiting for official sanction from your superiors! Is that not true?
FATHER BARRY: Father, these men were being subpoenaed. With all due respect, there wasn’t time for ecclesiastical red tape.
INTERROGATOR: So you just went ahead on your own, and helped them organize their testimony?
FATHER BARRY: Believe me, Father, they were rank-’n’-filers from our parish, scared to death—they needed help.
INTERROGATOR: Father Barry, comforting them in their ordeal would have been one thing—but didn’t you actually take them by the hand and coach them? Take the case of Terry Malloy … (on the other side of the stage a Waterfront Commission interrogator, doubled by Glover, faces Terry Molloy)
GLOVER: Name?
TERRY: Terence Francis Malloy.
GLOVER: Do you swear to tell the truth—the whole truth—and nothing but the truth, so help you God?
TERRY: Right. I do.
GLOVER: Mr. Malloy—is it true that on the night Joey Doyle was found dead, you were the last person to see him before he fell or was pushed off the roof?
TERRY: Except for the guys who pushed him off. Believe me, Joey didn’t fall—he was pushed!
GLOVER: And are you acquainted with those individuals?
TERRY: Ya mean that pair o’ bums they call Specs and Barney?
GLOVER: Do you refer to Richard C. Flavin?
TERRY: That’s Specs.
GLOVER: And Jackson H. Rodell?
TERRY: Yeah, that’s Barney.
GLOVER: Now, Mr. Malloy, let me ask you a question regarding Michael J. Skelly, also known as Johnny Friendly …
(back to archdiocese)
FATHER BARRY: I still say it’s my pastoral duty—that the pastoral mission of the Church obligates us to protect the workingman … against those who are concerned only with adding to their wealth.
INTERROGATOR: That sounds dangerously close to Marxist thinking!
FATHER BARRY: With all respect again, Father, I was quoting directly from his Holiness Pius the Eleventh. He went on to say that such people have no scruples in committing the gravest injustices against others.
INTERROGATOR: Yes, yes—we recognize the teachings of Pius the Eleventh—but how they are to be applied in this situation remains at the sole discretion of the Chaplain of the Port, who—
FATHER BARRY: Who seems to have forgotten the Christian principles of social justice!
INTERROGATOR: Your devotion to social justice is most commendable, Father—but may I remind you of the importance of balancing the demands of your own conscience against the Rule of Obedience to the authority of the church?
FATHER BARRY: Look, I wasn’t only trying to satisfy my conscience by helping the men—I could see how many of them we were losing because of our failure to defend their God-given rights. And I blame that on the monsignor!
INTERROGATOR: That’s enough, Father! You are restricted to the rectory of Saint Timothy’s while your case is considered by the Vicar General.
(back to Waterfront Commission hearings)
GLOVER: Mr. Malloy, did the man you know as Johnny Friendly ever say anything to you about getting rid of Joey Doyle—about wanting to end his life?
TERRY: Are you kiddin’? Hell, yes!
GLOVER: Specifically, what did Mr. Skelly say with respect to Joey’s death?
TERRY: Well, that he couldn’t afford to let a bum like Joey—some bum!—screw ’im outa the sweet deal he had goin’ on the docks. It was worth millions, see—I guess you fellas know that, huh?—so, he couldn’t let Joey keep on agitatin’ against ’im an’ squealin’ to you—he hadda scare ’im off. Anyway, that’s what I thought. Oney Johnny don’t play that way, he plays fer keeps. I shoulda known ya don’t scare off a stand-up kid like Joey—ya kill ’im off …! Goddam it, I shoulda known—Johnny kills ’em off! Like Runty ’n’ Charley, an’ now me maybe if he ever gets his hands on me. But I swore t’ tell the truth, goddam it, and that’s what you’re hearin’, the whole goddam truth! OK, you want more?—Just ask me!
(Terry enters—sees Jimmy on adjoining roof)
TERRY: Hiya, champ—how’s the kid?
JIMMY: (hurls a dead bird at Terry) A pigeon for a pigeon! (exits)
TERRY: (goes to coop and finds all his birds dead) Oh Christ. Oh Christ … Goddam butchers! (he sinks down, puts his head in his hands, and sobs)
EDIE: (enters) I’ve been wanting to see you.
TERRY: Yeah? Well, ya took your time.
EDIE: Pop wouldn’t let me come near you. He said it was dangerous.
TERRY: He’s probably right.
EDIE: He wants me to go back to Marymount …
TERRY: Yeah?
EDIE: What you did at the hearing—I was so proud of you!
TERRY: Forget it. It’s done.
EDIE: (noticing dead pigeons) Oh my God! Oh no, oh no …
TERRY: Every goddam one of ’em! The champeen flock of the neighborhood. (picks up dead bird)Even Swifty, my little champ.
EDIE: Oh Terry, why—why …?
TERRY: To show me what they think of stool-pigeons, I guess.
EDIE: What do they want instead—murderers?
TERRY: Forget it.
EDIE: Terry, you’ve got to get away from here. Maybe ship out, or out west, a farm …
TERRY: Farm?
EDIE: Anywhere, as long as it’s away from here, from Johnny Friendly, from the whole horrible—
TERRY: Look, the law of the waterfront is, if they’re gonna get ya, they’re gonna get ya. Out west—in Sing-Sing—even heard of ’em catching up with a lamster in Australia …
EDIE: So … what are you—what are we going to do?
TERRY: Don’t worry about me. Go back to school. Get to be a teacher an’ try t’ pound some sense into a lot of snotnose kids. Maybe meet a man teacher so the two of you c’n starve to death an’ live happily ever after.
EDIE: Terry …
TERRY: Go on! Your old man’s right. I know how to duck, but I want you to go back to Daisyland lookin’ as good as when you came down. Go on.
(she turns, moves off, then stops and turns back)
EDIE: Terry, I can’t do it—there’s no Daisyland to go back to. I want to be with you.
(They embrace, clinging to each other. Then he gently pushes her away and takes his hook from a rear loop in his jeans and drives the point into a crate.)
EDIE: What are you doing? (he hammers his hook into crate) You’re going down there, aren’t you? You think you’ve got to show them, don’t you? That you’re not afraid of them and—you won’t be satisfied until you walk in and hand them your head, will you? (Terry drives his hook into the smashed crate in mounting fury) Then go ahead. Go and get yourself killed, you stupid, pig-headed son-of-a-bitch!
TERRY: (picking up jacket from where it’s hanging outside the coop) Joey’s jacket. Time I start wearing it. (putting on jacket) Everybody said I was a bum—even you. Well—not anymore. Don’t worry—I’m not gonna shoot nobody. I’m just gonna show them bums I’m not a bum no more. They don’t own me no more. Don’t hafta take no dives for ’em. Not in the ring. Not on the docks. Nobody owns me no more!
(Edie watches in dismay as Terry heads off)
(Longshoremen are working upstage while Johnny confers hurriedly with Mac, Morgan, and Truck.)
REPORTER: By the last shape-up I made I was finally beginning to get the ink that I had been pushing for.
JOHNNY: (to Mac)… An’ here’s the number you can reach me. Only fa Christ sake use a pay phone.
BARNEY: (entering) The car’s waitin’, boss. Ain’t too much time.
JOHNNY: Yeah, yeah. Now listen—
MORGAN: (hands Johnny newspaper) This don’t look good, boss.
JOHNNY: It’s gonna look worse, believe me. I’m headin’ for the Bahamas with Barney. I’m leavin’ Mac in charge. J.P., you can go on with the loans, only lower the rates for a while, OK? Truck, you take off upstate, Canada maybe. I’ll let you know when it’s OK to come back. All right, Barney—
(Terry enters, wearing Joey’s jacket and carrying hook)
TRUCK: Well, look who’s here.
TERRY: I wan’t t’ talk t’ you, cousin.
JOHNNY: Oh, you do? (holding up newspaper) About this? Read it, cheese-eater—you put it there! “Dock-Boss Tied To Three Murders”! Me! (throws paper down) You’re a walkin’ dead man! You’re dead on this waterfront and every waterfront from Boston to New Orleans. You don’t go nowheres, you don’t drive a truck or a cab—you don’t even live! You dug your grave, dead man. Go fall in it!
TERRY: Just where you put my brother! Listen, Mr. Michael J. Skelly, you’re through giving orders! You wanna know somethin’? Take the heater away and y’re nuthin’—take the good goods away, an’ the kickbacks ’n’ the shakedown cabbage away, take the pistoleros away—an’ you’re a great big hunk of shit! Your guts is all in yer wallet an’ yer trigger finger!
JOHNNY: Go on—you’re talkin y’self straight inta the river. Go on, go on …
TERRY: I’m glad what I done t’ ya, see. You give it to Joey, you give it to Runty, you give it to Charley who was one o’ yer own. You good-fer-nuthin’ bum! So I’m glad what I done—ya hear me?
JOHNNY: You set me up for an indictment. I might even hafta do time. Thanks to you and yer mouth. You ratted on us, Terry!
TERRY: Listen to that shit.
JOHNNY: You ratted on us!
TERRY: From where you stand, maybe. But I’m standin’ on my side now. I was rattin’ on myself all them years an’ I din’ know it—helpin’ punks like you against stand-up guys!
JOHNNY: (taking overcoat and jacket off) Come on—I want you. You’re mine. You’re mine!
TERRY: Am I? Am I? (gives cargo hook to Luke)
(The men gather around Terry and Johnny as they fight. Terry throws punches that drive Johnny back into Barney’s arms.)
JOHNNY: Mac, yer hook—gimme! (Mac gives Johnny his hook. Luke gives Terry his.)
(Terry and Johnny cross hooks, and Truck steps in grabbing Terry from behind. Barney moves to Terry punching him several times in the face and stomach while Mac fends off the longshoremen. Johnny puts on his jacket and overcoat. Terry falls to the ground, and Truck and Barney stomp him.)
REPORTER: I saw that showdown between Johnny and Terry like something out of a bad dream because I knew the waterfront too well now. Johnny hadn’t recruited his pistol local officers for their ability as union organizers.
POP: For God’s sake stop them—stop them!
JOHNNY: He’s getting just what he deserves. His days are down to minutes now.
(Truck and Barney move away as Mac moves in with a blackjack hitting Terry in the face, the second blow turning Terry over. As he is getting up, Mac strikes Terry at the base of the neck, killing him.)
TOMMY: (rushing to Terry’s body) You took care of him, you son-of-a-bitch—took care of ’im good!
JOHNNY: It was self-defense.
POP: Bullshit! Ya topped ’imbecause he stood up t’ ya!
LUKE: You’re done for, Johnny. For good.
BARNEY: Boss, let’s get ahta here!
JOHNNY: Done for huh? You think you can make this stick—this and the others? Wanna bet? I got connections, lawyers—lawyers on toppa lawyers. I’ll be back, bigger’n ever, an’ I’ll remember ya—every fuckin’ one of ya! (Johnny exits through house followed by Barney, Truck, Mac, and Morgan. Edie and Father Barry enter and hurry to Terry’s body.)
EDIE: (kneeling over body) Terry … Terry …!
FATHER BARRY: (kneeling beside Edie and Terry’s body) Oh my God … My God … (he begins Last Rites) Susepe Domine/Servum tuum/ancillam tuam in locum sperandae sibi salvationis a misericordia tua/Amen.
(as Father Barry quickly dons cassock, longshoremen, Mutt, Glover, and others enter church adjoining)
FATHER BARRY: God! Day after day, forever, I’ll torture myself with the question of Terry and Runty’s sacrifice. I took their lives in my hands. I took these two and right or wrong I made them dare as St. Ignatius dared when he chose the Coliseum: “I am God’s wheat: I am ground by the teeth of the wild beasts that I may end as the pure bread of Christ.” Runty ’n’ Terry ’n’ all the rest of ’em—ground by the teeth of the wild beasts in this jungle of a city. Is it all for nothin’, God, or do they get a shot at winnin’, as the pure blood of Christ? We get tired of askin’, God! We’re waitin’ f’ answers!
(All the longshoremen there. Also, Glover and others. A mourner begins the “Kyrie Elision.” The Reporter enters, then Father Barry enters from sacristy. Edie enters as Jimmy follows, holding a pigeon.)
EDIE: (seeing Jimmy) What do you want?
JIMMY: It’s Swifty. He wouldn’t die. When I went back on the roof, he was still breathin’. I killed him and he wouldn’t die.
EDIE: Get away from me.
JIMMY: Swifty could always go the distance. A tough old bird. Terry woulda wanted you to have ’im. (He gives her the bird. She takes it and sits. The Kyrie Elision ends.)
FATHER BARRY: Domine, dilexi decorem domus tuae, et locum habitationis gloria tuae.
MOURNERS: (begin piously) O Lord, I love the beauty of Thy house and the place where Thy glory dwells, (voices beginning to rise) Destroy not my soul with the impious, O God, nor my life with men of blood, (as the voices grow stronger and angrier, the prayer becomes a mantra of defiance) In whose hands there is iniquity, whose right hand is full of bribes. But as for me, I will walk in my innocence, rescue me and be gracious to me …
MUTT: Tippi-tippi-tin, tippi-tin, tippi-tan-tippi-tan …
REPORTER: (turns to audience) Did I get the whole story into the paper? Just another rumble on the waterfront. (stands) How big a headline do you want for one more manslaughter case on the docks? OK, so we take it lying down. Let the mob run the waterfront arm-in-arm with the oh-so-respectable shippers. What do you want to bet, forty, fifty years from now they’ll still be arm-in-arm, with the greatest natural harbor in the world still one big cookie jar—our cookie jar—with their greedy hands in it? Like Father Pete said, before they shipped him off to Schenectady, “We get tired of askin’, God! We’re still waitin’ for answers.”
(the Reporter goes to exit, stops, crosses to Mutt, gives him a dollar, and exits)