Audition for T. Stedman Harder, Phil Hogan and Josie Hogan

Audition for T. Stedman Harder, Phil Hogan and Josie Hogan

T. Stedman Harder is an heir to the Standard Oil fortune, having “earned” his wealth simply by being born into it. He is soft in many ways, and takes his upper-class superiority for granted. His opulent estate is next to the Hogan farm, and he is mortified to have to live near, and interact with, the “trailer trash” he deems the Hogan family to be. Phil and Josie Hogan use their street smarts and agile minds to flummox the dull, stolid Harder in this scene, much to their great amusement.

(Harder is in his late thirties but looks younger because his face is unmarked by worry, ambition, or any of the common hazards of life. No matter how long he lives, his four undergraduate years will always be for him the most significant in his life, and the moment of his highest achievement the time he was tapped for an exclusive Senior Society at the Ivy university to which his father had given millions. Since that day he has felt no need for further aspiring, no urge to do anything except settle down on his estate and live the life of a country gentleman, mildly interested in saddle horses and sport models of foreign automobiles. He is not the blatantly silly, playboy heir to millions whose antics make newspaper headlines. He doesn't drink much except when he attends his class reunion every spring--the most exciting episode of each year for him. He doesn't give wild parties, doesn't chase after musical-comedy cuties, is a mildly contented husband and father of three children. A not unpleasant man, affable, good-looking in an ordinary way, sunburnt and healthy, beginning to take on fat, he is simply immature, naturally lethargic, a bit stupid. Coddled from birth, everything arranged and made easy for him, deferred to because of his wealth, he usually has the self-confident attitude of acknowledged superiority, but assumes a supercilious, insecure air when dealing with people beyond his ken. He is dressed in a beautifully tailored English tweed coat and whipcord riding breeches, immaculately polished English riding boots with spurs, and carries a riding crop in his hand.

(It would be hard to find anyone more ill-equipped for combat with the Hogans. He has never come in contact with anyone like them. To make matters easier for them he is deliberate in his speech, slow on the uptake, and has no sense of humor. The experienced strategy of the Hogans in verbal battle is to take the offensive at once and never let an opponent get set to hit back. Also, they use a beautifully co-ordinated, bewildering change of pace, switching suddenly from jarring shouts to low, confidential vituperation. And they exaggerate their Irish brogues to confuse an enemy still further.)

HARDER--(walks toward Hogan--stiffly) Good morning. I want to see the man who runs this farm.

HOGAN--(surveys him deliberately, his little pig eyes gleaming with malice) You do, do you? Well, you've seen him. So run along now and play with your horse, and don't bother me. (He turns to Josie, who is staring at Harder, much to his discomfiture, as if she had discovered a cockroach in her soup.) D'you see what I see, Josie? Be God, you'll have to give that damned cat of yours a spanking for bringing it to our doorstep.

HARDER--(determined to be authoritative and command respect--curtly) Are you Hogan?

HOGAN--(insultingly) I amMisterPhilip Hogan--to a gentleman.

JOSIE--(glares at Harder) Where's your manners, you spindle-shanked jockey? Were you brought up in a stable?

HARDER--(does not fight with ladies, and especially not with this lady--ignoring her) My name is Harder. (He obviously expects them to be immediately impressed and apologetic.)

HOGAN--(contemptuously) Who asked you your name, me little man?

JOSIE--Sure, who in the world cares who the hell you are?

HOGAN--But if you want to play politeness, we'll play with you. Let me introduce you to my daughter, Harder--Miss Josephine Hogan.

JOSIE--(petulantly) I don't want to meet him, Father. I don't like his silly sheep's face, and I've no use for jockeys, anyway. I'll wager he's no damned good to a woman. (From inside her bedroom comes a burst of laughter. This revelation of an unseen audience startles Harder. He begins to look extremely unsure of himself.)

HOGAN--I don't think he's a jockey. It's only the funny pants he's wearing. I'll bet if you asked his horse, you'd find he's no cowboy either. (to Harder, jeeringly) Come, tell us the truth, me honey. Don't you kiss your horse each time you mount and beg him, please don't throw me today, darlin', and I'll give you an extra bucket of oats. (He bursts into an extravagant roar of laughter, slapping his thigh, and Josie guffaws with him, while they watch the disconcerting effect of this theatrical mirth on Harder.)

HARDER--(beginning to lose his temper) Listen to me, Hogan! I didn't come here--(He is going to add "to listen to your damned jokes" or something like that, but Hogan silences him.)

HOGAN--(shouts) What? What's that you said? (He stares at the dumbfounded Harder with droll amazement, as if he couldn't believe his ears.) You didn't come here? (He turns to Josie--in a whisper) Did you hear that, Josie? (He takes off his hat and scratches his head in comic bewilderment.) Well, that's a puzzle, surely. How d'you suppose he got here?

JOSIE--Maybe the stork brought him, bad luck to it for a dirty bird. (Again Tyrone's laughter is heard from the bedroom.)

HARDER--(so off balance now he can only repeat angrily) I said I didn't come here--

HOGAN--(shouts) Wait! Wait, now! (threateningly) We've had enough of that. Say it a third time and I'll send my daughter to telephone the asylum.

HARDER--(forgetting he's a gentleman) Damn you, I'm the one who's had enough--!

JOSIE--(shouts) Hold your dirty tongue! I'll have no foul language in my presence.

HOGAN--Och, don't mind him, Josie. He's said he isn't here, anyway, so we won't talk to him behind his back. (He regards Harder with pitying contempt.) Sure, ain't you the poor crazy creature? Do you want us to believe you're your own ghost?

HARDER--(notices the bottle on the boulder for the first time--tries to be contemptuously tolerant and even to smile with condescending disdain) Ah! I understand now. You're drunk. I'll come back sometime when you're sober--or send Simpson--(He turns away, glad of an excuse to escape.)

JOSIE--(jumps up and advances on him menacingly) No, you don't! You'll apologize first for insulting a lady--insinuating I'm drunk this early in the day--or I'll knock some good breeding in you!

HARDER--(actually frightened now) I--I said nothing about you--

HOGAN--(gets up to come between them) Aisy now, Josie. He didn't mean it. He don't know what he means, the poor loon. (to Harder--pityingly) Run home, that's a good lad, before your keeper misses you.

HARDER--(hastily) Good day. (He turns eagerly toward left but suddenly Hogan grabs his shoulder and spins him around--then shifts his grip to the lapel of Harder's coat.)

HOGAN--(grimly) Wait now, me Honey Boy. I'll have a word with you, if you plaze. I'm beginning to read some sense into this. You mentioned that English bastard, Simpson. I know who you are now.

HARDER--(outraged) Take your hands off me, you drunken fool. (He raises his riding crop.)

JOSIE--(grabs it and tears it from his hand with one powerful twist--fiercely) Would you strike my poor infirm old father, you coward, you!

HARDER--(calling for help) McCabe!