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MOVIES YOU WILL NEVER SEE/Empires of Crime/Part 4

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to Oct 13. Use Contact Us, above, for submissions.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,” Fort Apache, The Bronx,” Boys From Brazil,” and “Cocktail.”

EMPIRES OF CRIME/Part 4

By

Heywood Gould

Act 1 (cont)


INT. MAIER’S KITCHEN. DAY

YETTA, Maier’s mother, pinched and bitter, is looking anxiously out of the window. His father MAX, sallow and bent with a tubercular cough is poring over the Yiddish newspaper, while his younger brother JAKE struggles with his homework.

         YETTA
He’s comin’.

         MAX
So’s the messiah…

INT. TENEMENT STAIRWAY. DAY.

Maier opens the door and runs anxiously up the stairs. People pass him on the way down. SHOPGIRLS, RELIGIOUS STUDENTS, WORKING MEN. RABINOWITZ, the young activist, loaded with books, stops him.

         RABINOWITZ
Hey, Meyer, come to the
meeting. We’re gonna get
the union into Weinberg’s
bakery. Get the workers a
fair shake.

         MAIER
Watch out Weinberg don’t
bust your head.

He reaches under the landing to where he has hidden his schoolbooks. Then with a nervous breath he opens the door.

INT. MAIER’S KITCHEN. DAY

Maier enters with his books.

         MAIER
Hey…

         MAX
Hey is for horses. Where
were you all night?

         MAIER
I was studyin’ with Cousin
Asher. We fell asleep in the
kitchen…

Yetta leaps at him. Pinches his cheek..

         YETTA
Liar! I went over there.
They hadn’t seen you…

         MAIER
Ow ow! Okay…I was at
the fruit market. A man
needed help unloading.
He gave me two bucks.

Yetta twists his ear, forcing him to his knees.

         YETTA
Look at me. A good boy
with an honest job can
look his mama in the
eye…

         MAIER
Okay, okay. I was in
a crap game.

         YETTA
(scandalized)
Oy, Max what are we
gonna do with him?

         MAX
The dice are crooked.
You think the gangsters
play so you can win?

         MAIER
I know, Pop, but I
beat them at their
own game. Here…

He takes a handful of bills out of his pocket and offers them to his mother. She gapes at the money in amazement.

         MAIER
Here Ma, buy yourself
winter coat.

         YETTA
It’s schmutzikeh gelt,
dirty money.

         MAIER
It’s the same money your
boss don’t give you, Mama.
Now you don’t gotta sew
buttons twelve hours a
day, You can stay home
and rest, Papa. Take care
of your cough.
(pushes the money on his father)
Don’t worry Papa, this
is America. The Cossacks
ain’t gonna bust down the
door…

EXT. HUDSON RIVER. NIGHT

On a crumbling pier. A crap game in the eerie glow of FIREPOTS. Maier hangs back and watches as The Young Gambler repeats the same ritual. The flirty girl blows on the dice to the ribald cheers of the other players. Then, he rolls:

         YOUNG GAMBLER
Seven! Who says those dice
are cold?

         MAIER
Hey, I’m down, too. Pay
off.


A handful of crumpled bills is thrown Maier’s way. He tries to slip unnoticed through the crowd. But is suddenly knocked to the ground. Stunned, he sees:

THE YOUNG GAMBLER

standing over him with a pair of BRASS KNUCKLES. TWO BRUISERS move in behind him.

         YOUNG GAMBLER
I’ll teach ya to run a
racket on me, punk.

Maier ducks, spins and takes off. The Young Gambler and his two henchmen give chase.

EXT. CHRISTOPHER STREET. NIGHT.

Maier runs down the narrow street and into an alley. Runs into a stone wall…A dead end… Turns to see the Young Gambler, breathing fiercely.

         YOUNG GAMBLER
Gotcha now, you little…..

Something FLASHES in the darkness. Benny steps into the light, wielding a lead pipe. There is a THUD and the Young Gambler drops to his knees.

SALVATORE

comes out of the shadows, a KNIFE GLITTERING. One henchman screams, holding a bloody gash in his face. The other tries to flee, but Salvatore runs him down and sticks him in the ribs.

MAIER

grabs a garbage can lid sand whacks the Young Gambler in the head. The Young Gambler stumbles. Benny blocks his path. Raising the pipe high,he smashes the Young Gambler, driving him down, flat on his face.

         SALVATORE
Is he dead?

         BENNY
How should I know? I ain’t
a doctor…

Maier tears a GOLD WATCH and CHAIN off the Young Man’s belt. Goes through his pockets and finds a GOLD MONEY CLIP bulging with bills. Salvatore goes for the money, but Meyer holds on.

         SALVATORE
Give it here.

         MAIER
This is my proposition…

          SALVATORE
Okay, but it’s fifty fifty.
You take care of Benny outta
your end.

As they walk away, Maier is counting the money.

         MAIER
Thirty eight bucks…

         SALVATORE
Let’s go eat…

         BENNY
Let’s get a broad.

Behind them one of the henchmen staggers out of the alley, moaning and collapses in the street.

         MAIER
Let’s go someplace and
divvy it up…

EXT. TENEMENT.DAY

Salvatore walks jauntily down the street carrying a large loaf of bread and a bag of groceries. He ducks quickly into a storefront when he sees his father, FRANCESCO LUCANIA, a short wiry working man, come out of the building. PEOPLE greet him: “Buon giorno Signor Lucania…” He tips his cap and walks on. Salvatore jumps out and enters the building.

INT. TENEMENT STAIRWAY. DAY.
Salvatore bounds up the stairs and knocks softly. His mother ROSALIA, pale and careworn opens the door. She lights up at the sight of him.

         ROSALIA
Salvatore…

         SALVATORE
(with a big hug )
Mama…Don’t worry, Papa
didn’t see me.

He steps into a KITCHEN of desperate poverty. A rickety table, a coal stove, an ice box, scraps of food. His little brother BARTOLOMEO jumps up in glee.

         BARTOLOMEO
Salvatore!

His sister GINA runs out:

         GINA
Salvatore!

         ROSALIA
You look so thin, Salvatore…

         SALVATORE
I’m doin’ great, Ma. Got a job
deliverin’ hats on Twenty third.

         ROSALIA
Every night I pray your father
will let you come back…

         SALVATORE
Forget it. Not even God could
get that hard headed Sicilian
to change his mind. Look at this
beautiful prosciutto.

He takes a large BAKED HAM out of the bag. Melon, tomatoes.

         ROSALIA
My God, what am I gonna tell
your father?

         SALVATORE
Tell him the Tammany boys gave
it to you for votin’…

         BARTOLOMEO
Hey Sal, I’m gonna come live
with you…

         SALVATORE
(takes a swipe at him)
You stay in school, stupid.
You wanna be a bum like me?

The door flies open. Francesco enters, clenched, furious.

         ROSALIA
(appeasing)
Francesco, he just came for
a visit. Look what be brought.

         FRANCESCO
Tony, the peddler says you
stuck him up.

         SALVATORE
Why do I wanna take pennies
off that crum? He’s a liar…

         FRANCESCO
You are the liar. You dishonor
this family…

Francesco raises his hand, but Salvatore grabs his wrist.

         ROSALIA
Salvatore!

Salvatore lets go and steps away.

         SALVATORE
This ain’t the old country,
Papa. I don’t have to stand
here and take a beatin’ from
you.
(tries to make up)
C’mon, I know how much you love
a nice prosciutto ham…

         FRANCESCO
I won’t take charity from a
thief.

Francesco grabs the ham and the bread and throws them out of the window. The whole family sags with disappointment.

         SALVATORE
The rats are gonna eat good
tonight, but your kids’ll go
hungry. That what you want?

         FRANCESCO
Get out! You’re not my son no more.
Get outta my house.


Salvatore hugs his mother and Gina.

         SALVATORE
(tousles Bartolomeo’s hair)
Stay in school…


EXT. TENEMENT. DAY
A cold wind is blowing as Salvatore comes out of the house. He shivers and turns for one last look.. Then walks away, pulling up the collar of his skimpy jacket.

END ACT ONE


Next: Act Two/Partners (Wednesday, 11/2/11)

In a new department the Daily Event will reoffer some of these scripts. Read them and decide: would you like to have seen this movie?

Our first script is EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development it is a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.
The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to Oct 13. Use Contact Us, above, for submissions.

 

MOVIES YOU WILL NEVER SEE/Empires of Crime/Part 3

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to Oct 13. Use Contact Us, above, for submissions.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,” Fort Apache, The Bronx,” Boys From Brazil,” and “Cocktail.”

EMPIRES OF CRIME/Part 3

By

Heywood Gould

Act 1 (cont)


EXT. DELANCEY STREET. DAY.

ELECTION DAY. A gray drizzle cannot dampen the festivities. BANNERS reading MURPHY FOR ASSEMBLY flutter from lampposts. A BAND PLAYS. CHESTNUT VENDORS hawk their wares. POLITICOS in DERBIES with GOLD WATCH CHAINS slap backs and kiss babies.

INT. LANDING. DAY

Two men climb the stairs, chatting amiably. One is TIM SULLIVAN, the Tammany Man, the other FIORELLO LA GUARDIA, short,round, bursting with energy. La Guardia carries a bouquet, Sullivan a fresh killed turkey. They knock at a door.

         LA GUARDIA
The Republicans are gonna
catch up on you guys today.
Only underdogs vote in the
rain.

         SULLIVAN
Ah now, we’ll get the vote out.


An ITALIAN LADY opens the door. La Guardia bows.

         LA GUARDIA
Fiorello La Guardia, Signora,
from the Republican Party,
the party of Lincoln, Teddy
Roosevelt, the party of the
poor…


Sullivan laughs and interjects.

         SULLIVAN
Don’t believe him, mama. The
Republicans are rich. Rockefeller,
J.P. Morgan…
(thrusting the turkey at her)
Take this beautiful bird as a
gift from Big Tim Sullivan.

         LA GUARDIA
That turkey won’t get you a
fair wage…

         SULLIVAN
But it’ll feed your kids.
(referring to a list)
I see you’ve got your husband
Vittorio and three boys here.
That’s five votes.

         ITALIAN LADY
My boys is too young to vote.

         SULLIVAN
Everybody votes in my ward,
mama, we don’t discriminate.
(with a scornful look at La Guardia)
We ain’t sellin’ fancy ideas.
We’re in business to help
good Democrats.


EXT. BOWERY. DAY.

A cold rain falls over the district where the streetwalkers prowl. Salvatore stands in a doorway pouring liquid opium into small jars, while little Davey keeps watch. A YOUNG PROSTITUTE, wet and shivering, stumbles in.

         PROSTITUTE
Hey Salvatore, I was lookin’
for you on Pell Street.

         SALVATORE
Can’t help ya now, toots,
I got work to do.


Maier jumps, shivering into the storefront followed by BENNY SIEGEL, a scrawny kid with a crazy look in his eye, who looks avidly at the Prostitute.

         MAIER
Okay we’re here.

         SALVATORE
I told ya to bring some
tough guys, not this
skinny marink…

         BENNY
(squares off)
I can take care of myself.
Wanna see?


A WAGON rolls up and Hines shouts:

         HINES
Hey you guys, no brawlin’ on
Election Day. Who can read
here?

         MAIER
Whaddya think we’re stupid?

         HINES
See this list? These people
are all dead, but they like
Charley Murphy so much we’re
gonna bring ‘em back to life
to vote for him.


MONTAGE…The BOYS get out the vote.

A BOWERY GIN MILL…DRUNKS mumble in their beers. Salvatore and his boys burst through the swinging doors, shouting:

         SALVATORE
Election day…Everybody
votes.

And drag the drunks off their stools, promising:

         SALVATORE
After you vote all the
drinks are on Mr. Charley
Murphy…

OUTSIDE A KOSHER RESTAURANT…Maier and Benny recruit voters in a crowd of ORTHODOX JEWS.

         MAIER
Two bits every time you
vote.

         OLD MAN
Two bits. Vus es two bits?

         MAIER
A quarter.

The crowd is impressed. “A quarter…”

A BROTHEL…Maier and Benny hang back shyly as Salvatore emerges with a PROSTITUTE, pale and depleted from drugs.

         PROSTITUTE
I’m sick Salvatore.

         SALVATORE
Vote for Charley Murphy,
I’ll give you the cure…

Suddenly, several gaudily dressed PIMPS burst out. “Where ya think you’re goin’?”

         SALVATORE (cont’d)
Ah, we’ll bring ‘em right
back.

         PIMP
(shoves Salvatore)
Take a walk.

Benny jumps in and kicks him in the groin. The other pimps jump him, but Benny fights them off furiously.

         MAIER
Okay, Benny they had
enough.

         BENNY
Not ’til I say so.


Benny knocks a pimp to his knees and kicks him in the face Pulls another pimp down by his hair and slams his head into the ground. Salvatore steps back and watches in amazement.

         SALVATORE
(to Meyer)
This kid’s nuts…

         MAIER
They call him Bugsy on the
block. Everybody’s scared
of him.

         SALVATORE
But not you?

         MAIER
Benny’s my best friend. He
wouldn’t hurt me.


EXT. POLLING PLACE. DAY.

A long line of VOTERS, some illiterate, some underage, herded together by Salvatore and his boys. PRECINCT CAPTAINS with DERBIES and GOLD WATCH CHAINS, speaking Yiddish, English and Italian with thick New York accents, escort VOTERS into the booths and mark their ballots for them. “ Charley Murphy’s the people’s choice..”

MAIER

escorts an old Jewish man up to a corrupt ELECTION OFFICIAL.

         ELECTION OFFICIAL
What’s his name?

         MAIER
Vus es die nommen?

         OLD MAN
(reads haltingly from a slip)
Liam O’Kelly..?

         ELECTION OFFICIAL
(checks off the name)
A fine Irish name.


Salvatore brings up a PROSTITUTE.

         ELECTION OFFICIAL
Name…

         PROSTITUTE
Rabbi Nathan Goldberg.

         ELECTION OFFICIAL
Right this way, Your Holiness…


EXT. POLLING PLACE. DAY.

As the voters emerge, Salvatore and his boys march them to the back of the line. Salvatore grabs a BOWERY LUSH.

         SALVATORE
Where ya goin, pal, you’re
votin’ again. Everybody’s
votin’ today..


EXT. ELIZABETH STREET. NIGHT.

The boy gather eagerly around Salvatore as he counts off the money from a big roll.

         SALVATORE
Twelve bucks for Benny.
Twelve for Maier. Twenty
four for me. I get
double ‘cause it’s my
proposition.

         MAIER
Okay. I got a proposition
for you.


ESSEX STREET. NIGHT.

Maier, Salvatore and Benny stand in the shadows watching a CRAP GAME. A YOUNG GAMBLER with a FLASHY YOUNG LADY in a low cut dress, is rolling the dice.

         MAIER
Gimme eight dollars I’ll
give you sixteen back.

         SALVATORE
(hands him the money)
You better…

THE YOUNG GAMBLER turns to his lady friend.

         YOUNG GAMBLER
Here doll, blow on these
for luck.

The Young Lady bends, giving the players a good look and blows flirtatiously on the dice.

MAIER.

darts into the crowd, throwing the money down. The Young Gambler rolls a SEVEN.

         STICK MAN
Lucky seven…

He throws some bills back at the Young Man. Maier jumps in.

         MAIER (CONT’D)
Hey Mister, what about me?


The Stick man looks up at the BANKER, another Italian.

         BANKER
Kid got lucky. Pay him off.

         MAIER
It’s s’posed to be three
to two.

         BANKER
Kid’s a bookkeeper.

SALVATORE AND BENNY

are waiting in the shadows.

         SALVATORE
How did you know this guy was
gonna roll a natural?

         MAIER
(demonstrates)
It’s a trick. He palms the
loaded dice. While everybody’s
watchin’ the pretty girl he
switches ‘em.


Salvatore gives him an affectionate smack.

         SALVATORE
You got some eyes on you
to spot this racket. We’re
gonna make big money, me
and you.

Next: Part 4/Dirty Money (Monday, 10/31/11)

In a new department the Daily Event will reoffer some of these scripts. Read them and decide: would you like to have seen this movie?

Our first script is EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development it is a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to Oct 13 (Calendar at right.) Use Contact Us, above, for submissions.

 

 

 

MOVIES YOU WILL NEVER SEE/Empires of Crime/Part 2

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to Oct 13 (Calendar at right.) Use Contact Us, above, for submissions.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,” Fort Apache, The Bronx,” Boys From Brazil,” and “Cocktail.”

EMPIRES OF CRIME/Part 2

By

Heywood Gould

Act 1


DISSOLVE TO

LITTLE ITALY, NY, 1913

EXT. MOTT STREET. (STOCK) DAY

A million immigrants jammed into ten square blocks. Noisy, narrow, teeming with desperate humanity. PUSHCARTS, HORSE DRAWN WAGONS. WORKERS,bent and weary, PEDDLERS screeching their wares. Sharp eyed women haggle in the Sicilian dialect keeping a wary eye on their CHILDREN running underfoot. MUSTACHIOED MEN in black suits swagger arm in arm with their GAUDY WOMEN.

YOUNG CHARLEY LUCIANO

still known by his given name, SALVATORE, sixteen, wiry, ashamed of his shabby clothes, has his nose pressed hungrily against the window of an ITALIAN BAKERY.

THROUGH THE BAKERY WINDOW

he sees JOE MASSERIA, a member of the BLACK HAND gang of extortionists. In his early ‘20’s, but already starting to bulge out of his black suit, Masseria is at a table with his HENCHMEN gorging himself on a huge slab of ITALIAN CHEESECAKE. As Salvatore watches the PROPRIETOR arrives with more pastry. He sets down the tray with a desperately ingratiating smile and slips Masseria a wad of BILLS

SALVATORE

licks his lips. He’s hungry, he’s always hungry. As he walks on he is followed by a three RAGTAG BOYS, led by DAVY BETTILO, a runty kid, mad at the world.

         BETTILO
Salvatore, wait up…

         SALVATORE
(pushes him away)
Stupido, don’t follow me.
Go cross the street and
come when I tellya.

Bettilo retreats, shamefaced. And Salvatore passes:

BIG TIM SULLIVAN

stocky, florid in a bowler hat, smiling broadly under a sign reading, FREE SHOES FROM BIG TIM SULLIVAN, TAMMANY HALL. PEOPLE fight and jostle as a young block captain, JIMMY HINES passes out shoes from enormous boxes.

         SULLIVAN
We’re goin’ to give out
seven thousand pairs of
shoes and socks today to
our loyal voters…


RABINOWITZ, a young idealist, jumps out and harangues the crowd.

         RABINOWITZ
Don’t sell your souls to
these Tammany crooks! Vote
for justice.

         JIMMY HINES
Justice won’t keep your
feet warm in the winter.
Who gives you what you need?


The CROWD responds in gleeful unison:

         CROWD
Big Tim Sullivan. He’s a
damned fine Irishman. Vote
for Sullivan.


Salvatore laughs and walks on. Lighting a cigarette he passes:

A PEDDLER

hawking fruit from a pushcart with the cry:

         PEDDLER
Applapear…Applapear…
Get ‘em over here. Two
cents a piece…Applapear…


Salvatore checks the street for COPS, then approaches, cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

         SALVATORE
The t’ieves is thick as flies
around here, huh Tony. Gimme
a quarter a day, I’ll keep’em
away.

         PEDDLER
(swipes at him)
Get outta here, I call a cop…

         SALVATORE
Cops don’t care about
greaseballs like you…


He gives a signal. Davy Bettilo leads the three boys across the street. They swipe handfuls of apples. Shouting, the Peddler gives chase. They dodge him laughing. Little Davey doubles back and pushes over his cart. Apples and pears roll off onto the street, setting off a stampede as PASSERSBY run to pick them up. The Peddler gets the message.

         PEDDLER
Okay a quarter…

SALVATORE

He runs out and rounds up the boys. Smacks them, grabs them by the ears…Chases them.

         SALVATORE
Hey you bums, put them
apples back, every single
one of ‘em. This man’s a
friend of mine. Don’t ever
bother him again, you
understand?


The Peddler looks at Salvatore with new found respect. He digs into his pocket for a few coins. Salvatore flips a coin back at him.

         SALVATORE
Pick me a few nice apples
for my mother,Tony…


JIMMY HINES

has been watching in amusement. He grabs Salvatore.

         JIMMY HINES
Hey kid, you the boss of
the block?

         SALVATORE
Just lookin’ out for my
friends.

         JIMMY HINES
I could use you and your
boys next week to get out
the vote. Give you
fifty cents a head.

         SALVATORE
A buck for every vote we
bring in…

         JIMMY HINES
Okay…But get me some tough
Yiddish kids to speak the
lingo to the greenhorns…

         SALVATORE
(walking on)
There ain’t no tough Yiddish
kids…


EXT. DELANCEY STREET. DAY.

The Jewish quarter. Shop signs in Yiddish. PEDDLERS hawking their wares in Yiddish. ORTHODOX JEWS in long coats and beards.. FLASHY PIMPS jostle wild eyed RADICALS.

SALVATORE

swaggers fearlessly into this alien territory. He stops to buy a pickle from a peddler.

INT. HEBREW SCHOOL. DAY

STUDENTS with YARMULKES muttering over their books, while the TEACHER, a spiteful, humpbacked old man, smacks the inattentive on the backs of their heads. He stops at little MAIER SUCHOJWOLANSKA, who is staring out of the window. Prods him hard with the pointer.

         TEACHER
So, Maier, This is where
the portion is? In the
street?

         MAIER
(defiant)
I know the lesson.

         TEACHER
So, how much gold did the
Israelites pledge for the
Tabernacle?

         MAIER
Twenty-nine talents and
730 shekels.

         TEACHER
How much silver?

         MAIER
One hundred talents and
seventeen hundred and
seventy five shekels.

         TEACHER
How many wandered in the
desert?

         MAIER
Six hundred and three thousand,
five hundred and fifty.

         TEACHER
So. And why do we study it?

         MAIER
God’s secret is in these
numbers. When every man
knows every number in the
Bible, the Messiah will
come and our enemies will
be defeated.

EXT. HEBREW SCHOOL. DAY.

A crumbling white stoned SYNAGOGUE. As Maier and the boys come out, one of them points across the street at

SALVATORE

who is watching from a doorway.

         FRIGHTENED BOY
That’s the kid, Maier. His gang
robbed us on Delancey yesterday.
Oy, look they’re comin’.

The boys turn to flee, but Maier grabs two of them.

         MAIER
Don’t run, stick together.

The others try to escape, but Salvatore’s boys sweep down on them from across the street and shove them into a storefront, slapping them, smacking their heads against the shop window…“Hey kid, a nickel to walk on Delancey Street…” One boy tries to run. “Hey, where you goin’, Ikie?” He is grabbed by the sidelocks and thrown to the ground.

MAIER

tightens his grip on his two friends. They walk the other way, but are pursued by Bettilo and two BIG BOYS.

         BETTILO
Hey, you gotta pay a nickel
to walk on the street.

         MAIER
Who says?

         BETTILO
I say.


Bettilo tries to grab Maier by the hair, but Maier sidesteps and pokes him in the eye, then clubs him to the ground. The Big Boys run at them, but Maier kicks one in the groin. Then pulls the other boy’s jacket up over his head and clubs him, bloodying his nose, Bettilo comes at him, swinging blindly. But Salvatore steps in pushing Bettilo away.

         SALVATORE
Give up Davey, don’tcha
know when you’re licked?
(and turns to Maier)
I never seen no Jewish kid
fight like that

         MAIER
(fists clenched)
You wanna see one now?

         SALVATORE
(backs off,laughing)
G’wan get outta here, tough
guy, you win.


Maier runs after his friends and grabs them by the necks.

         MAIER
Where you guys goin’? Gimme
two cents for savin’ the both
of yiz.

         FRIGHTENED BOY
But you’re robbin’ us, too.

         MAIER
Hey, it’s a good deal. Them
Italianas woulda taken all
your money and givin’ yiz a
beatin’ too.


SALVATORE

watches the boys pay up and calls:

         SALVATORE
Hey kid, c’mere I wanna ask
you somethin’.


Maier approaches warily. Salvatore lunges and pokes Maier in the neck with his lit cigarette. Maier recoils in pain.

         SALVATORE
See, I know more tricks than
you. Ya got friends tough
like you?

         MAIER
(rubbing his neck)
I got friends.

         SALVATORE
Bring ‘em around. We’ll make
some money…

         MAIER
Doin’ what?

         SALVATORE
What I tell ya. I’ll give
you a quarter for every kid
who can handle hisself. Okay?

         MAIER
Fifty cents

         SALVATORE
Yeah, yeah, okay. How much you
get off those little sissies?

         MAIER
Four cents.

         SALVATORE
(holds out his hand)
Gimme two…
(as Maier protests)
Hey, you wouldna made nothin’
if I didn’t stick ‘em up.


Grudgingly, Maier hands the money over. Salvatore offers his hand.

         SALVATORE
Shake,partner.


Maier is uncertain at first, but is taken in by Salvatore’s charm. With a shy smile he shakes his hand.

         MAIER
Okay…Partner.


EXT. DEWEY HOUSE. OSWOSSO MICHIGAN. DAY


A white Victorian house on a tree lined street in a picturesque small town outside of Detroit. From within we hear the pure tones of a young tenor, singing:

         YOUNG TOM
Mine eyes have seen the glory/
Of the coming of the Lord/He
is tramping out the vintage/
Where the grapes of wrath
are stored…


INT. DEWEY PARLOR. DAY

YOUNG TOM DEWEY, thirteen, but still in knickers is belting out the song, while his mother, KATHERINE proudly accompanies him on the spinet.

         YOUNG TOM
He has loosed the fateful
lightning/Of his terrible
swift sword/His truth is
marching on…

The guests listen appreciatively. The men, portly, cigars peeking out of their vests. The women standing, plain, unadorned in long sleeved long skirted dresses. They all join in the final chorus:

         EVERYBODY
Glory, glory Hallelujah/
His truth is marching on…


INT. HALLWAY. DAY

Tom carries a tray of pastries and a big silver coffee pot across the hall and opens the door to THE STUDY, a book lined, smoke filled room where his dad GEORGE and his UNCLE JOHN and several other men are smoking cigars.

         GEORGE
Ah refreshments. Set ‘em
down here son…

         UNCLE JOHN
(an overbearing man)
You can climb outta those
knickers now, nephew, you’re
a big boy now. Your Dad
tells me you’re bent on
studying music.

         TOM
(knows he disapproves)
I’d like to give it a
try,sir.

         UNCLE JOHN
Singin’ is for church socials,
Tom.

         GEORGE
(an old argument)
Let’s not bring this up again,
John…I’ve told Tom he can
do what he wants…

         UNCLE JOHN
You’re too easygoing with the
boy, George.

         GEORGE
Don’t tell me how to raise my
son…

         UNCLE JOHN
I think I have a right to
express my point of view.
Has your father ever told
you what kind of stock you
spring from. Tom?

         YOUNG TOM
Yes sir, of course.

         GEORGE
I don’t burden the boy with
our family history.

         UNCLE JOHN
It’s not a burden, it’s an
honor. The first Dewey was
a Huguenot Protestant escaping
persecution by French papists…
Our cousin Cousin Admiral
George Dewey defeated the
Spanish Navy in 1898. And
Cousin John was a great
teacher, who invented the
Dewey Decimal system. Every
time a boy takes a book out
of a library to improve his
mind he can thank our cousin
John…And your father…

         GEORGE
John. please…

         UNCLE JOHN
If you won’t blow your own
horn I’ll blow it for you.
Your father isn’t just
running a small town newspaper,
Tom. His editorials are read
all over the country. He is
defending Republican ideals
against the corrupt, machine
politicians in the big cities…
You see Tom, America has been
invaded by a horde of ignorant,
retarded criminals.

         GEORGE
They’re immigrants just like
our ancestors…

         UNCLE JOHN
They’re thieves, pimps, deviants.
A tide of filth breaking on the
big cities and threatening to
engulf the true Americans.
People like us aren’t free to
follow our whims, Tom. Every
Dewey has to be on the front
line defending our way of life.

         GEORGE
Don’t lecture the boy, John.
He knows his responsibilities.

         UNCLE JOHN
(with a pointed look)
Do you, Tom?

         YOUNG TOM
(looks him in the eye)
I know what’s expected of me,
sir. And I’ll try to live up
to it.


Next: Part 3/Election Day (Thursday, 10/27/11

In a new department the Daily Event will reoffer some of these scripts. Read them and decide: would you like to have seen this movie?

Our first script is EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development it is a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to Oct 13 Use Contact Us, above, for submissions.

 

           

MOVIES YOU WILL NEVER SEE/Empires of Crime/Part 1

In a new department the Daily Event will reoffer some of these scripts. Read them and decide: would you like to have seen this movie?

Our first script is EMPIRES OF CRIME by Heywood Gould. Seven years in development it is a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

For Introduction with submission guidelines go to Oct 13 on Calendar at right. Use Contact Us, above, for submissions.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,” Fort Apache, The Bronx,” Boys From Brazil,” and “Cocktail.”

EMPIRES OF CRIME

 By

Heywood Gould

Act 1

NAPLES 1962


EXT. DA GIACOMINO’S RESTAURANT. DAY


The “classiest joint” in Naples. Vases of fresh flowers, white coated WAITERS, bustling, festive. But today there’s a traffic jam. AMERICAN SAILORS, TOURISTS and REPORTERS clog the aisles leading to a large round table in the back. Who is the focus of all this celebrity attention? It’s mob boss LUCKY LUCIANO,early sixties, elegant, gray at the temples, dressed in his usual impeccable style in a Brooks Brothers gray summer suit, his signature yellow and black handkerchief in the breast pocket. Next to him is a VOLUPTUOUS GIRL. Whispering in his ear is MARTIN GRAYSON, a fawning Hollywood producer. Lucky is plowing through a plate of spaghetti, but stops good-naturedly to sign autographs and answer questions.

         SAILOR
Can you make it out to
Jimmy, Mr. Luciano?

         LUCIANO
Sure kid. Can’t do enough
for our boys in uniform.

         TOURIST
(aiming a camera)
Say cheese Mr. Luciano…

         LUCIANO
Provolone. Hey, don’t point
that thing,it might go off.


Everybody laughs as the FLASH BULB pops.

         REPORTER
Senator Kefauver says that
the Mob is raking in five
billion dollars a year from
illegal gambling and you’re
in for ten per cent…

         LUCIANO
Five billion? Lemme tellya
somethin’: every time a
politician wants to get
elected he says he’s gonna
throw mob boss Lucky Luciano
in jail. I put more crums in
office than the Democratic Party…

         SAILOR
When you gonna come home,
Mr. Luciano?

         LUCIANO
Funny you should ask. My
associate Mr. Grayson here
has a big producer flyin’
in from Hollywood to buy my
life story. Think we can
get five billion, Marty?

         GRAYSON
The sky’s the limit, Lucky.

         REPORTER
Who do you want to play you,
Lucky?

         LUCIANO
I’m thinkin’ of starrin’ in
it myself…

Laughter and agreement from the crowd. “You could do it, Lucky..” “You look great…”

         LUCIANO
But if Cary Grant’s busy maybe
Sinatra. That kid owes me a lot.

A WAITER pushes through the crowd, bearing a huge ITALIAN CHEESECAKE.

         LUCIANO
Hey, look at that. I got two
weaknesses in life, cheesecake
and…Cheesecake…

LUCIANO

He puts his arms around the Voluptuous Girl and everybody laughs. Then looks up at the waiter.

         LUCIANO
You new here?

         WAITER
My first day Signor Lucky.

LUCIANO

Luciano stuffs a few bills in his shirt pocket.

         LUCIANO
Well now we’re old friends…

As the crowd laughs he eyeballs the cake

         LUCIANO
Last time I saw a cake this
big a guy jumped out blastin’…

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM. DAY

In the darkened room a NEWSREEL on a portable screen. We see Luciano in front of a bank of microphones.

         NEWSCASTER
Mob boss Lucky Luciano is
comingout of exile to tell
his story…And the world
can’t wait…

         LUCIANO
I’m gonna leave no stone
unturned, boys. I’m gonna
rattle some cages from
Mulberry Street right on up
to the White House…

The screen goes dark. The lights come on. We are in the law offices of DEWEY, BALLANTINE, et al… THOMAS E. DEWEY, early sixties, austere black suit, pencil mustache, is sitting at the head of a conference table. With him is LIEUTENANT COMMANDER “RED’ HAFFENDEN formerly of NAVAL INTELLIGENCE and FBI agent GEORGE BLACK.

         DEWEY
He can’t come back. The
terms of his parole barred
him from ever setting foot
in the US again.

         HAFFENDEN
He’s applying for a
temporary visa to visit
his sick brother, Governor
Dewey.

         BLACK
It’s blackmail. His lawyer
threatens to reveal Luciano’s
war time activities if he
isn’t issued the visa.

         HAFFENDEN
He’s trying to sell the
movie rights to his life
story. Just wants to get
into action again.

         DEWEY
You always liked him,
Haffenden.

         HAFFENDEN
Everybody likes Lucky…

         DEWEY
(a rueful smile)
Don’t I know it. I prosecuted
the man. Proved that he was
a pimp and a murderer. And he
got better press than I did.
Still does.

         BLACK
We should have taken him
out when we had the chance.

         HAFFENDEN
(bristling)
We should have given him
a medal.

         BLACK
The man’s a security threat.
He can reveal classified
information about the FBI.

         DEWEY
About all of us. We
don’t want it known that
Luciano worked for Naval
Intelligence during the
war, do we Commander
Haffenden? I certainly don’t
want it to come out that I
made a secret agreement or
his services.

         HAFFENDEN
Charley’s a patriot in his
own cockeyed way. He won’t
talk.

         BLACK
We have to be sure.

         DEWEY
Ask Lansky.

         HAFFENDEN
Meyer? They haven’t spoken in
years.

         DEWEY
Doesn’t matter. Lansky was
his partner. They were so
close they could read each
other’s minds…Ask Lansky.

EXT. COLLINS AVE (MIAMI BEACH). DAY

A modest bungalow by the beach. FBI AGENTS WHITMAN and SNYDER are on stakeout, parked across the street in the shade of the palms.

MEYER LANSKY
emerges, with his constant companion, BRUZZER, an ancient Shih Tzu dog. He is a short, wiry man in his sixties,in a plain white shirt and slacks, a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth .He smiles, sardonically as they approach.

         LANSKY
My own personal FBI. Want
some iced tea? A little
seltzer, maybe?

         SNYDER
Thanks Meyer, but I don’t
think J. Edgar would
approve…

         WHITMAN
Lucky’s writin’ a book,
Meyer.

         LANSKY
Lucky? Lucky who?

         WHITMAN
C’mon Meyer…

         LANSKY
You mean Charley Luciano?
Knew him in the old days.
Writin’ a book, huh? I
didn’t know he could
spell.

         SNYDER
They say Lucky knows
everything.

         LANSKY
Oh yeah? So maybe he knows
a good horse at Hialeah…

         SNYDER
He’s gonna tell everybody
where you got your money
hidden, Meyer.

         LANSKY
That’s no secret. It’s
in the pishka.

         WHITMAN
What’s that?

         LANSKY
Little glass jar where you
drop pennies to give to
the poor people in the
Holy Land…
(looks toward the house)
I better go back and tell
my wife I’m not bein’
arrested. Seeya boys…

         WHITMAN
You could do yourself a
lot of good telling your
side of the story, Meyer.

         LANSKY
I’m an old man sittin’
in the sun. That’s my
story…


INT. LANSKY’S BUNGALOW. DAY

Plain and comfortable. Family photos, book lined shelves, bric a brac or tchotkes as they are known in Yiddish. TEDDY LANSKY, early sixties, a former chorine, still trim and glamorous, is waiting anxiously.

         TEDDY
Oy Meyer, is Charley gonna
make trouble?

         LANSKY
(fishing in a drawer)
He just wants to be Page
One again. But he won’t
talk outta school.

He finds a faded photo and sits back in his lounger.

INSERT PHOTO (CROSSCUT)

Three YOUNG MEN, nattily dressed in the style of the ‘20’s. Lansky looks at it, nostalgically.

          LANSKY
Look at me and crazy
Benny… And Charley. Boy,
we sure started somethin’,
didn’t we?


Next: Part 2/LITTLE ITALY, NEW YORK, 1913

In a new department the Daily Event will reoffer some of these scripts. Read them and decide: would you like to have seen this movie?

Our first script is EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development it is a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

For Introduction with submission guidelines go to Oct 13 on Calendar at right. Use Contact Us, above,  for submissions.

 

MOVIES YOU WILL NEVER SEE

Sick of the movies you’re seeing? Would you like a look at the ones you’ll never see?

For every movie that is released there are hundreds of scripts that were commissioned, “developed”, written, restructured—and rewritten; reconceived, redeveloped—and rewritten; restored to their original state and—rewritten; Acquired in “turnaround” by another production entity which redeveloped, reconceived, rewrote, rejected, rescued, restored and finally—shelved them.

In a new department the Daily Event will reoffer some of these scripts. Read them and decide: would you like to have seen this movie?

Our first script is EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development it is a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House. Who hunted Luciano for years, using wiretaps and bugs, informers and tainted witnesses to send him to prison. And then released him into exile, enduring vicious accusations by his political enemies and dooming his chances of the Presidency, while never revealing the reason for his sudden turnabout.

Readers are free to submit their own shelved scripts for publication.

With two conditions:

1. The scripts must have been commissioned or acquired by a producing entity.  

2. The  writer must have full rights to the script.

The Daily Event legal department (non-existent) does not want a young Business Affairs attorney to pause the Coeds in Bondage video he is watching for the seventy-third time to write us a threatening letter.

Decisions of the judges will be final. Until, of course, they are reconceived, reconsidered, reexamined and—repeated.

AN INTERVIEW WITH HEYWOOD GOULD

Nightbird Publishers interviews Heywood Gould about his new book SERIAL KILLER’S DAUGHTER and about his life as a writer 

PART 1

What actors do you envision playing the leads, Peter Vogel and Hannah Seeley, in the movie version, should there be one?

I’d like Montgomery Clift and Donna Reed, but don’t think they’re available.

Do you write every day? What does a typical writing day look like for you?

I try to write five days during the week and a half day on Sunday if there are no good football games.

Of your overall writing time, what percentage is new writing and what percentage is rewriting and editing?

I start the day by rereading what I wrote the day before. Sometimes I hate the stuff. It’s either incoherent or glib, clumsy or cheaply facile. A repeated word or a grammatical mistake can throw me into a panic. A flaw in logic or a key omission makes me Google “Symptoms of Dementia,” all of which I discover I’ve had since childhood.  Then I begin to rewrite—what choice do I have?  That can sometimes take a whole day and can affect the new stuff I had planned so I go back even further to clip off any loose ends. A different story begins to emerge. The story that was meant to be.

            As all other Gods have failed I’ve gotten mystical about the writing process. I no longer see myself as a creator, bringing something new into the world, but as an explorer on a voyage of discovery. Rewriting is a course correction to get to my El Dorado. It’s out there fully formed shimmering in the sun, —the perfect noir best seller with a huge movie sale.

The face of publishing appears to be changing. Where do you see it going over the next 5-10 years?

E-books obviously. But I think younger readers will discover the joy of the printed book; I see more people reading on the NYC subway than ever. The big houses will follow the big movie studios and aim for the mass audience. Small publishers who can operate on low overhead will become more influential. I think you’ll see most of the NBA, Pulitzer, Edgar, Hugo, etc. winners coming from the independent publishers.

How do you build strong characters in a novel, and which is your favorite character that you created? Any characters of your creation that upset you and made them difficult to keep writing about?

The fun of writing is when you start to “read” your characters. When they acquire a life of their own and you become a stenographer taking down their stories.  I’ve found most of my characters—even the bad guys—interesting and fun to write. But I was appalled by Arnold Seeley, the murderer in Serial Killer’s Daughter. He’s the first totally evil character I’ve ever written and I wondered in what depths of my brain he had been lurking. His scenes were the most difficult I’ve ever written. I felt like Dr. Frankenstein: why was I dredging this monster up?  But, in the same book I found two innocent young lovers who create an Eden in the back seat of a Volkswagen Bug traveling up and down the 101 Freeway. I finished the book with a darker view of humanity. But, paradoxically, with a greater appreciation of the redemptive power of love.

What do you like to read?

I read to become a better writer. To quote Norman Mailer: “To see how the other guys pull their jobs.” I read the Bible every day before writing as a constant lesson in how to tell a vivid story in simple language. Also, the Bible is uncanny in the way a name mentioned in Genesis, pops up in later books; how a story in one book lays the groundwork for an event in another. Some people would say that God, the author, used divine logic. I’d rather think that some human redactor (with God-given talent, of course) went through all the writings, paying off characters, resolving stories and tying up loose ends. I try to read writers who are better than me; you can easily pick up bad habits from the hacks. The great novelists can teach you how to tell a story. The great noir writers—Chandler, Simenon, Hammett and a few lesser known masters like Kenneth Fearing, Jonathan Latimer, Steve Fisher and many others to teach how to create atmosphere and suspense.   History and biography show how lives seem to meander, but are really driven by the logic of events. To make the coincidental and the unlikely seem inevitable is the great challenge of fiction writing.

Many of your novels are noir and depict the seedy underbelly of society. How did you decide to write this genre?

I grew up a few blocks away from the mother of famed bank robber and perpetual prison escapee Willie Sutton. She was a trembly old lady prowling the streets with a market basket, but she walked in an aura all her own. People pointed her out, told stories about her, but left her alone. I was eleven and consumed with curiosity. One day in the butcher store I asked her: “Are you Willy Sutton’s mother?” She smiled. “That’s me.” She seemed to want to talk, but when I got outside the butcher came after me in his blood spattered white coat and gave me a hard shove with his cold, beefy hand. “You bother that lady again, you’ll get a smack.” That was my first inkling that there was a secret world in my neighborhood that the butcher and Willy Sutton’s mom were part of and I was not.  From then on I’ve been fascinated with life in the alternate universe of crime.

What new projects are you currently working on?

I’m working on a thriller about a poetry-writing, pot-smoking detective in Santa Monica. Also, a musical version of a movie I wrote called “Cocktail.”

What do you like the best about writing, and what do you like the least?

I hate writing. Oh yeah and I guess I love it, too.  I love finishing something, but I hate reading it over and seeing how far it has strayed from the original conception. I love getting paid for what I’ve written, even if it’s only a few dollars. But I hate the nagging feeling that the publishers and producers are ripping me off. I love the elation when I get off a good line,  but hate the deflation at a cliché that has somehow gotten into print. I was once haggling with a producer about a screenplay fee. “I’m doin’ you a favor payin’ you at all, “he said. “You’d do this thing for nothing and you know it…” That about sums it up.

Do you have a personal favorite of the books you have written? How about a favorite Heywood Gould screenplay/movie?

There’s good and band in all of them. The good stuff seems like it was written by someone else. As if I went into a trance and it was dictated to me.  The bad stuff is all too recognizable as mine and mine alone.

What kind of research do you do for your crime novels? FORT APACHE, THE BRONX is especially gritty and real. Have you participated in ride-alongs with cops on their beats to get that sense of reality?

I covered police for the NY Post in the ‘60’s. With the anti-war demos, the drug busts, the Mob hits and the street crime there was enough action in one night for a hundred scripts. Ride-alongs were inconceivable. The cops didn’t want any reporter to see how they really did their jobs. Anyway, there’s something voyeuristic about Ride-alongs—like watching the animals from a Land Rover. And they’re unproductive. You get the official version, but people in the street won’t give you the straight story with two cops standing behind you. If you want to write about a neighborhood you shouldn’t be afraid to venture into it alone. Go to the scene, nose around. People are brimming with the great unarticulated drama of their lives. You’ll find somebody who wants to talk.

The Fort Apache characters were loosely based on two Bronx cops, who had a wealth of great stories and great humor about the job. They made writers undergo an initiation, taking them on a tour of the Bronx bars and if they were still conscious, dropping them in “hooker central” outside the Bronx Zoo. Two guys had washed out before me. But I was working as a bartender, drinking a quart of Martell a night. I was in training. We went shot for shot for hours.  When the cops started to fade I saw my chance. I bypassed my mouth and threw the last four rounds over my shoulder. They were too drunk to notice. When we pulled up outside the zoo and the hookers rushed the car, I asked: “Is this on you guys?” Cops are famously cheap. They sped away. I got the job.

Tell us about your early days as a writer. Was it difficult for you to get published? Do you have a few “trunk” or “apprenticeship” novels that never saw print?

I have scores of short stories and half-finished novels that were rejected. Several plays and at least twenty screenplays that will never be produced. It’s like being a baseball player: a .300 batting average is pretty good. My first published books were non-fiction and were like longer, more detailed versions of the stories I had done as a reporter. Fiction was harder to write. There was no template. Every story demanded its own kind of telling.  A dull reporter can write a competent story if the subject is interesting. A dull novelist will write a dull novel because in the end  subject of every novelist is him/herself.

Your memoir, CORPORATION FREAK, about your experiences workig as a consultant for IBM, is hilarious and insightful. The corporate mindset is a frightening  thing, right? Tell our readers about those days at Big Blue…the highs and the lows.

Random thoughts of an office worker staring out of the window of a suburban industrial park on a spring day. Economic life in the so-called “developed world” is based on the production of useless artifacts. All we really need to do is eat, sleep, stay warm and have sex, but a race of aliens have enslaved us to their vanity–the bosses. We have no share in the wealth we produce for them. They use faith, patriotism and fear to keep us in line. What if we tore everything down and gave everyone a plot of land? We could raise our own food, sing songs and stay out of the rain. Life would be simple. We would be happier. But the bosses wouldn’t. Those crummy bastards. This whole capitalist/corporate/consumer culture has been created to serve their urge to dominate their fellow human beings. You can see it in the parking lot. The gleaming SUV’s of the bosses, the modest, crumpled sedans of the drones. The big houses, the manicured lawns of the bosses, the crumbling bungalows and brown patches of the workers. What is jewelry? Why do I have to languish in a thankless job so some power-mad pervert can buy his wife a diamond necklace? I’m like a stoker, sweaty and grimy, shoveling madly to fuel the furnace of their greed. How come their kids are so sleek and talky when mine are sulky and always have running noses? Let’s rise up.  Overthrow the whole rotten system. Burn their cars, rip the diamonds off their wives’ necks, give their snotty kids a timeout. Let’s put ‘em against the wall, the dirty sonsabitches. Nobody’ll miss ‘em—not even their own families. …Oh, look at the time…It’s almost lunch…They day’s half over…And tomorrow’s casual Friday…

To Be Continued…Part 2 HOLLYWOOD