Steinbeck Calling radio theater with cast readings

Jumping Blues Welcome to the Coombran Report May the peace and blessings of the life-giving creative spirit be upon you and upon your family My name is Melvin Ishmael Johnson Coming at you live from Skid Row Studios And I'm in the studio with my co-host Earlene Anthony Our calling number is 1-800-893-9562 Now this week on the Coombran Report We are delighted to have with us in the studio Lee Beck and the public work improvisational theater company Reading of Steinbeck Calling First I would like to go to our community calendar with Earlene Anthony This is the community calendar for upcoming events Thursday, February 12th November 19th, 2015 at 8pm Public work improvisational theater Hosted by Lee Beck Presents Storyfile Storyfile is storytelling A poetry, spoken word, music, drama and much more The location is the Art Share 801 East 4th Place Los Angeles 913 That's downtown Los Angeles in the Little Tokyo area On Saturday, February 12th 2015 at 7pm A special live broadcast from Skid Row Studios The reading of a one-act play by award-winning playwright Tim Tarjama Entitled Yuri and Malcolm X The play is about the friendship between Yuri An Asian American activist And Malcolm X And of course J. Edgar Hoover Saturday, February 21st, 2015 Will be the first Featuring the famous actor Tim Tarjama And the first Featuring the famous actor Tim Tarjama And the first Featuring the famous actor Tim Tarjama And the last Featuring the famous actor Tim Tarjama And the last Featuring the famous actor Tim Tarjama And the last Featuring the famous actor Tim Tarjama Tim Tarjama Tim Tarjama Tim Tarjama Tim Tarjama Tim Tarjama discussing an original stage play, Nobody Told Me. This play will be performed by military veterans and theater by the blind actors. For more information about this event, you can call 310-902-8220 or go to www.creoutreach.org. Also, Voice in the Well, a public work production, their next show will be Thursday, March the 12th at the Wazawa Restaurant in Santa Monica, California. Title, What the World Needs Now is Satire. If you have a community event that you would like announced on our show, send the information to DramaStage1 at yahoo.com. Attention, Earlene Anthony. The call-in number for our show is 800-893-9562. Now, back to our show. Our host. Hey, thank you, Ms. Earlene Anthony. Now, I would like to present Public Works Improvisational Theater Company, Steinbeck Calling. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Ross. And welcome, everyone, to our radio theater presentation of Steinbeck Calling. This is dedicated to our favorite California author, John Steinbeck, who was born in Salinas in 1902 and passed away in 1968. But before he left, he gave us a wonderful array of novels and short stories and films. What I like about John Stein is that he once wrote, the writer is dedicated, delegated to declare and to celebrate man's proven capacity for greatness of heart and spirit, for gallantry and defeat, for courage, compassion, and love. In the endless war against weakness and despair, these are the bright rally flags of hope and of emulation. And so we're proud to share with you his work. And to begin, I've asked William H. Bassett to present to you, I Remember the 30s. And here he is now. Sure, I remember the 1930s. The terrible, troubled, triumphant, surging 30s. Ha ha. I can't think of any decade in history where so much happened in so many directions. Violent changes took place. Our country was modeled. Our lives remolded. Our government rebuilt. Forced to functions, duties, and responsibilities it never had before. And can never relinquish. The most rabid, hysterical Roosevelt hater would not dare to suggest removing the reforms. The safeguards and the new concept that the government is responsible for all its citizens. Looking back, the decade seems to have been as carefully designed as a play. It had a beginning, middle, and end. Even a prologue. 1929 gave contrast and tragic stature to the ensuing 10 years. Ha. I remember 29 years ago. I remember the first 10 years. I remember the most for. I made 10 grand in 10 minutes today. Let's see, that's 80,000 for the week. In our little town, bank presidents and track workers rushed to pay phones to call brokers. Everyone was a broker, more or less. At lunch hour, store clerks and stenographers munched sandwiches while they watched the stock boards and calculated their pyramiding fortunes. Their eyes had the look you see around the roulette table. I saw it sharply because I was on the outside, writing books no one would buy. I didn't even have the margin to start my fortune. I saw the wild spending, the champagne and caviar through windows, smelled the heady perfumes on fur-draped ladies when they came warm and shining out of the theaters. Then the bottom dropped. I could see that clearly, too, because I had been practicing for the Depression a long time. I wasn't involved with loss. I didn't have money to lose. But in common with millions, I did dislike hunger and cold. I had two assets. My father owned a tiny three-bedroom cottage on Pacific Grove in California. He let me live in it without rent. That was the first safety. Pacific Grove is on the sea. That was the second. People in inland cities or in the closed and shuttered industrial cemeteries had greater problems than I. Given the sea, a man must be very stupid to starve. I must drop the I for we now, for there was a fairly large group of people who were disillusioned by poverty of Only illness frightened us. You have to have money to be sick, or did then. And dentistry was also out of the question, with the result that my teeth went badly to pieces. Without dough, you couldn't have a tooth filled. It seems odd now to say that we rarely had a job. There just weren't any jobs. One girl in our group had a job in the women's exchange. She wasn't paid, but the cakes that had passed their saleable prime, she got to take home. And of course she shared, so that we were rarely without dry but delicious cakes. Being without a job, I went on writing books, essays, short stories. Regularly they went out, and just as regularly came back. Even if they had been good, they would have come back, because publishers were hardest hit of all. When people are broke, the first thing they give up on are books. For entertainment, we had the public library, endless talk, long walks, any number of games. We played music, sang, and made love. Enormous invention went into our pleasures. Anything at all was an excuse. For a party, all holidays, birthdays called for celebration. When we felt the need to celebrate and the calendar was blank, we simply proclaimed that Jack's our wild day. It's not easy to go on writing constantly with little hope that anything will come of it. But I do remember it as a time of warmth and mutual caring. If one of us got hurt or ill or in trouble, the others rallied with what they had. Everyone shared bad fortune as well as good. By 1936, the country must have been on the upgrade. When a writer does well, the rest of the country is doing fine. A book of mine, which had been trudging wearily from publisher to publisher, was finally bought and brought out by Pat Covici. It sold well enough so that it was bought for motion pictures. For $3,000. I had no conception of this kind of dough. It was like thinking in terms of light years. You can't. The subsequent history of that book is a kind of index to the change that was going on. The studio spent a quarter of a million dollars having my book rewritten before they abandoned it. Then they fired the man who had bought it in the first place. He bought it back for $3,000 and later sold it for $90,000. Shows how values change. But I still think of the original $3,000 as about as much money as there is in the world. They gave a lot of it away because it seemed like too much to be in private hands. I guess I wasn't cut out for it. I wasn't cut out for it. I wasn't cut out for it. I wasn't cut out for a capitalist. I even maintained, remained a Democrat. My books were beginning to sell better than I'd ever hoped or expected. And while this was pleasing, it also frightened me. I knew it couldn't last. And I was afraid my standard of living would go up and leave me stranded when the next collapse came. We were much more accustomed to collapse than to prosperity. Also, I was afraid of the future. And so I had an archaic angry God's feeling that made me give a lot of my earnings away. I was a pushover for anyone or any organization asking for money. I guess it was a kind of propitiation. It didn't make sense that a book, a humble, hat-in-hand, rejected book was now eagerly bought, even begged for. I didn't trust it. But I did begin to get around more. I met Mr. Roosevelt. And for some reason, made him laugh. To the end of his life, when occasionally he felt sad and burdened, he used to ask me to come in. We'd talk for half an hour, and I remember how he would rock back in his chair behind his littered desk. And I can still hear his roars of laughter. Thank you, Bill. And now we'd like to explore some of those novels of the 30s, when everybody was barely surviving. But Steinbeck found the humor. And so the next scene is from his work, Pastors of Heaven. And we have Carmen Vega and Jessica Wilson Cardenas to read to you now. Old Guillermo Lopez died when his daughters were fairly well-grown, leaving them 40. 40 acres of rocky hillside and no money at all. They lived in a whitewashed clapboard shack with an outhouse, a well and a shed beside it. Practically nothing would grow on the starved soil except tumbleweed and flowering sage. And although the sisters toiled mightily over a little garden, they succeeded in producing very few vegetables. For a time, with grim martyrdom, they went hungry. But in the end, the flesh conquered. They were hungry. They were too kind and too jolly to make martyrs of themselves over an unreligious matter like eating. One day, Rosa had an idea. Are we not the best makers of tortilla in the valley? We have that art from our mother. Then we are saved. We will make enchiladas, tortillas, tamales. We will sell them to the people of Las Pasturas del Cielo. Will those people buy, do you think? Oh, listen to this from me, Maria. In Monterrey, there are several places where tortillas only one finger as good as ours are sold. And those people who sell them, they are very rich. They have three dresses, dresses twice a year. And do their tortillas compare with our tortillas? I ask that of you remembering our mother. They do not. In the whole world, there are none like those tortillas beaten by the sainted hands of our mother. Well, then, adelante. If they are so good, the people will buy, they will buy. There followed a week of frenzied preparation in which the perspiring sisters scrubbed and decorated. The front room of the house was transformed into a restaurant containing two tables which were covered with yellow oil cloth. A pine board on the fence next to the county road proclaimed tortillas, enchiladas, tamales, and some other Spanish cooking. R and M, Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. Lopez. If there's any money over, a sweet. For you and for me, a big one. When Maria drove back to the house that afternoon, she found her sister strangely quiet. The shrieks, the little squeals, the demands for every detail of the journey, which usually followed a reunion, were missing. Rosa sat in a chair at one of the tables, and on her face there was a scowl of concentration. I bought the husk very cheaply. And here, Rosa, here is the sweet. The biggest kind and only four cents. Rosa took the pro-offered candy bar and put one huge end of it in her mouth. Today, today I gave myself to a customer. Oh, no, do not make a mistake. Do not make a mistake. I did not take the money. The man had eaten three, enchiladas, three. Be still. What do you think I should do now? It is necessary to encourage our customers if we are to succeed. And he ate three, Maria, three enchiladas, and he paid for them. Well, what do you think I should do? I think, Rosa, I think our mother would be glad, and I think your own soul would be glad if you should ask forgiveness of the Mother Virgin and of Santa Rosa. That is what I... I did just as soon as he went away. He was hardly out the door before I did that. Rosa, my sister, I think... I think I shall encourage the customers, too. That day marked a turning point in the affairs of the Lopez sisters. It is true that business did not flourish, but from then on, they sold enough of their Spanish cooking to keep food in the kitchen and bright print dressings, and they were able to sell their dishes on their broad, round backs. Under the Virgin, there was a polished place on the floor where they had knelt in their night dresses. Life became very pleasant to the Lopez sisters. Now the house was filled with laughter and squeals of enthusiasm. They sang over the flat stones while they patted out the tortillas with their fat, strong hands. Let a customer say something funny. Let Tom Bremen say to them as he ate his third tamale, Rosa, you're living too high. This rich living is going to bust your head. It's going to bust your gut wide open if you don't cut it out. And both of the sisters would rack with giggles for a half an hour afterward. Don Tom was a fine man, they said. A funny man and a rich man. And once he ate five plates of chile con carne, but also something you did not often find in a rich man, he was also an hombre fuerte. Oh, very strong. Over the tortilla stones, they made a sign, nodded their heads wisely, and reminiscently at this observation, like two connoisseurs remembering a good wine. It must not be supposed that the sisters were prodigal of their encouragement. They accepted no money for anything except their cooking. However, if a man ate three or more of their dishes, the soft hearts of the sisters broke with gratitude. It was late in the afternoon before Maria neared home again. In the yard, Maria slowly unharnessed Lindo. There were no vehicles in front to indicate the presence of customers. Maria hung up the old harness and turned Lindo into the pasture. Then she took out the candy bars and the garters and walked slowly into the house. Rosa sat at one of the little tables. A silent, restrained Rosa. A crim and suffering Rosa. And then, she took out the candy bars and the garters, and walked slowly into the house. Rosa, I'm back home, Rosa. Yes? Are you sick, Rosa? No. I have a present, Rosa. Look, Rosa. Rosa, do you see the present? Don't you like them, Rosa? Won't you put them on, Rosa? You are my good little sister. Rosa, tell me, what is the matter? You are sick. You must tell your Maria. Did someone call? Yes. The sheriff came. The sheriff came? Yes. Now we are on the road. Now we will be rich. How many enchiladas, Rosa? How many for the sheriff? My poor little sister. Now we cannot ever sell any more enchiladas. Now we must live again in the old way with no new dresses. Rosa, you are crazy. Why do you talk this way to me? It is true. It was the sheriff. He told me that you are running a bad house. I have a complaint. I have a complaint that you are running a bad house. But that is a lie, I said. A lie and an insult to a mother and to General Vallejo. I have a complaint, he told me. You must close your doors or else I must arrest you for running a bad house. But it is a lie. I tried to make him understand. I got a complaint this afternoon. He said, when I have a complaint, there is nothing I can do. Nothing I can do for you, Rosa? He said to me as a friend, I am only the servant of the people who make complaints. I am only the servant of the people who make complaints. And now you see, Maria, my sister, we must go back to the old living. Be still. Be still, Maria. Be still, Maria. I have been thinking. You know, it is true that we will starve if we cannot sell enchiladas. Do not blame me too much when I tell you this. I have made up my mind. Yes, Maria. I will go to San Francisco and be a bad woman. For money? Oh, yes. For a great deal of money. And may the good mother forgive me. Oh, Rosa. I am your sister. I am what you are. Rosa, I will go to San Francisco with you. I too will be a bad woman. Oh, Rosa. Thank you. Thank you, Carmen and Jessica. Wonderful. And so now we take you to another scene from Of Mice and Men. A very famous Steinbeck piece. And we have to take you right towards the end of the film or the end of the story. And, well, you will see. I am going to show you a very famous scene a very dramatic scene. And that will be with Caitlin Farrell and Tony Bush. It's hot out here. Not cool like in the barn. Hey, I said it's hot out here. Why don't you go back to your own house now? I don't want no trouble. I ain't giving you no trouble. Think I don't like to talk to somebody every once in a while? You got a husband. Go talk to him. Sure, I got a husband. Swell guy. Why ain't he? Say, what happened to Curly's hand? He got his hand caught in a machine. Baloney, what do you think you're selling me? How'd you get them bruises on your face? Who, me? Yeah, you. Got his hand caught in a machine. Yeah, okay. I couldn't even play my records tonight. I got no records left. I had four. Am I Blue, Little by Little, Button Up Your Overcoat, and Ten Cents a Dance. Curly got mad at me after supper. Broke all my records. I know how you got them bruises on your face. And how Curly got his hand busted. He got his hand caught in a machine. Yeah, alright. You know, someday I'm going into town and no one's ever gonna see me again. Not Curly, not his old man, not a damn one of you bindle stiffs. Why can't I talk to you? I never get to talk to nobody. I get awfully lonely. I ain't supposed to talk to you. You can talk to people, but I can't talk to nobody but Curly or else he gets mad. How'd you like not to talk to nobody? Hey, what you got covered up in there? I... That's a pup! That's that little pup! Why, it's dead. But I was just playing with it. Hmm. Well, don't you worry, Nun. He's just a mutt. You can get another one. Easy. Well, it ain't that much but George, he ain't gonna let me tend them rabbits now. Well, why won't he? Well, he said when I did any bad things then I wouldn't be able to tend them rabbits. Don't you worry about talking to me. Listen to those guys yell. They ain't gonna leave till their card game's over. I ain't supposed to talk to you. George said he'd give me hell. He told me so. Well, what's the matter with me? Ain't I got a right to talk to nobody? George says you get folks in a mess. Ugh, nuts. What kind of harm am I gonna do to you? I tell ya, I ain't used to living like this. I could've made something out of myself. Maybe I will yet. A show come through Salinas and I met one of the actors. He said I could go with the show. My old lady wouldn't let me but this guy said I coulda. If I went, I wouldn't be living like this. You bet. You know, we was supposed to get a nice little place and then get rabbits. Another time I met a guy, he was in pictures. Went out to the Riverside Dance Palace with him. He said he was gonna put me in the movies. He said I was a natural. As soon as he got back to Hollywood, he was gonna write me all about it. I never did get that letter. I always thought my old lady stole it too. She said no. So, uh, I married Curly. Met him at the Riverside Dance Palace that same night. Are you listening? Sure. I ain't told nobody this before. And maybe I ought to. I don't like Curly. He ain't a nice fella. I coulda been in the movies. Had nice clothes. This guy said I was a natural. Maybe. If you took this pup and you throwed him away, then George would never know. And I'd get to tan them rabbits with no trouble. What makes you so nuts about rabbits? I like to pet nice things with my fingers. Soft things. Well, who don't? Everybody likes that. Do you like to feel velvet? You bet, by God. I got me some too. The lady give me some. And then I lost it. You're nuts. But you're kind of a nice fella. Just like a big baby. Sometimes when I'm doing my hair, I just sit and stroke it cause it's so soft. Feel. Right here. That's nice. Like it, don't ya? I like it too. It feels nice. Yeah. That's nice. Don't mess it up. Hey, look out now. You'll mess it up. Don't mess it up. Let go. You let go. Hey, no. Don't do none of that. Please stop yelling. Don't. Don't you yell. Don't. Now stop. Don't yell. Stop it. George is gonna be mad if you yell. I don't wanna hurt you, but you're gonna get me in trouble. You've done a bad thing. I've done a bad thing. I've done a real bad thing. I've done a real bad thing. Thank you, Caitlin and Tony and that dramatic scene of Curly's wife and Lenny. So now our artistic director, Lee Beck, is gonna have a word with you. Public Works Improvisational Theater Performers and writers, please stand by. We are writers who specialize in cultural activism theater. Through storytelling, song, dance, and improvisation, Public Works Improv creates intelligent entertainment that puts you in touch with today's meaningful events in a funny, relevant, challenging, and socially, politically, and personally inspiring way. So if you believe in the transformative power of art and want to support theater that's dedicated to reaching our underserved communities and want to inspire people to be creative, please join us. We're here to help you. We're here to help you. We're here to help you. If you want to help improve communities and want to encourage coming generations to find their own creative voices, now is the time to make the difference. Go to PublicWorksImprov.com and hit the donate button on the upper right-hand corner. Do your part today to support local arts and progressive ideas. PublicWorksImprov.com Public Works Improvisational Theater is a 501 3C nonprofit. All donations are tax deductible. Yes, and that was the Lee Beck, and we're back with Steinbeck Calling. And I'd like to introduce a great folk singer, Ross Altman, who's going to, well, he'll tell you. Here he is now, Ross Altman. Woody Guthrie wrote a song about the Grapes of Wrath after seeing the movie. He said he wanted the people back home in Oklahoma who couldn't afford to spend a dollar on the book or even didn't even have a quarter to go and see the movie to find out what Preacher Casey had said. So Woody figured if he wrote it in a song, they would hear it and then they would know what he said. Woody also said this, I hate a song that makes you think you're not any good. I hate a song that makes you think you're just born to lose, bound to lose. No good for nothing. No good. No good for nobody. Because you're either too old or too young or too fat or too slim or too ugly or too this or too that. Songs that run you down and poke fun at you on account of your bad luck or hard traveling. I'm out to fight them kind of songs to my very last breath of air and my last drop of blood. I'm out to sing the songs that'll prove to you that this is your world. And if it has hit you pretty hard and knocked you for a dozen loops, no matter what color, size you are or how you're built, I'm out to sing the songs that'll make you take pride in yourself and in your work. Oh, I could hire out to the other side, the big money side, and make several dollars every week just to quit singing my own kind of songs and to sing the kind that run you down still further and make fun of you even more. But I decided a long time ago that I'd starve to death before I'd sing any songs like that. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Tom told him that a truck driving man There he caught him a ride Said I just got loose from that caster pen On a charge called Homicide A charge called Homicide The truck rolled away in a cloud of dust Tommy turned his face toward home He met Preacher Casey and they had a little drink They found that his family, they was gone He found that his family, they was gone Tom Joe walked down to the neighbor's farm Found his family They took Preacher Casey and they loaded in a car His mother said we've got to get away Tom, his mother said we've got to get away They stood on a mountain and they looked to the west Looked like the promised land That bright green valley with a river running They looked to the west and they looked to the west They looked to the west and they looked to the west There was work for every single hand They thought work for every single hand Tom Joe'd run back to where his mother was asleep He woke her up out of bed He kissed goodbye to the mother that he loved He said what Preacher Casey said Tom Joe, he said what Preacher Casey said Everybody might be just one big soul Well it looks that-a-way to me So wherever you look in the day or night That's where I'm gonna be, mom That's where I'm gonna be Wherever little children are hungry and crying Wherever people are hungry and crying Wherever people ain't free Wherever men are fighting for their rights That's where I'm gonna be, mom That's where I'm gonna be So where do I go when I know where I'm going Thank you. And that in broad strokes is the story, the entire story of Grace of Wrath, a 600-page novel. Amazing job of Woody Guthrie. So now we'd like to bring you a scene. You can imagine all these cars coming slowly down Route 66 from Oklahoma to California, and all these people rely completely on their cars. And just like a vulture, there's a used car salesman at the side of the road just waiting to get his hands on them. And for that, we have Lee back in the studio now. And here he is with the used car salesman from Grace of Wrath. Those sons of bitches over there ain't buying. Every yard gets them. They're lookers. Spend all their time looking. Don't want to buy no cars. Take up your time. Don't give a damn about your time. Over there, them two people. No, with the kids. Get them out in the car. Get them out in the car. Start them out at 200 and work down. They look good for about one and a quarter. Get them rolling. Get them out in the jalopy. Sock it to them. They took up our time. Hmm. Owners. With rolled up sleeves. Salesman. Neat. Deadly. Small intent eyes watching for weaknesses. Watch a woman's face. If a woman likes it, we can screw the old man. Start them out on that Cad. Work them down into that 26 Buick. If you start them on the Buick, they'll go for the Ford. Roll up your sleeves. Get busy. Show them that Nash while I pump up that slow leak on that 25 Dodge. Cars lined up. Noses forward. Rusty noses. Flat tires. Parked close together. Like to get in to see that one? Sure, no problem. I'll pull her out of the line. Get them under obligation. Make them take up your time. Don't let them forget they're taking up your time. People are nice, mostly. They hate to put you out. Make them put you out. Then sock it to them. Flags. Red and white. White and blue. All along the curb. Used cars. Good used cars. Today's bargain up on the platform. Never sell it. Makes folks come in, though. If we sold that bargain at that price, we'd hardly make a dime. Tell them it's just sold. And take out that yard battery before you make delivery. And put in that dumb sell. Christ, what do they want for six bits? Roll up your sleeves. Pitch in. This ain't gonna last. If I had enough jalopies, I'd retire in six months. Looking for a car? What'd you have in mind? See anything attract you? I'm dry. How about a little snort of the good stuff? Come on, while your wife's looking at that LaSalle. You don't want no LaSalle. The bearings is shot. Uses too much oil. Now, I got a Lincoln 24. Now, there's a car. Runs forever. Make her into a truck. Limp flags in the afternoon sun. Today's bargain? A 29 Ford pickup. Runs good. What do you want for 50 bucks? A Zephyr? All right, Joe. You soften them up and shoot them in here to me. And I'll close them. I'll deal them or I'll kill them. Don't send in no bums. Now, I want deals. Yes, sir. Step right in. You gotta buy there. Yes, sir. For 80 bucks. You gotta buy. I can't pay more than 50. The man in the yard said 50. 50? 50? He's nuts. I paid 78.50 for that little number. Joe, you crazy? You trying to bust us? I'm gonna have to can that guy. Jesus. I'm gonna have to can him. Well, I might take 60. Now, look here, mister. I ain't got all day. Jesus. There's a dumb bunny. Looking at that Chrysler. Find out he got any jack in his jeans. Some of these farm boys are sneaky. Soften them up and roll them in here to me, Joe. You're doing good. Sure. We sold it. Guarantee? We guaranteed it to be an automobile. We didn't sell it to anybody. We sold it to a guy. We didn't guarantee a nurse made it. Well, now listen here, you. You bought a car. And now you're squawking. Well, I don't give a damn if you don't pay the payments. We don't want to got your paper. We turn that over to the finance company. And Sam will come after you. Not us. We don't hold no paper. Yeah, well, you get tough. And I'll call a cop. No, we did not. We didn't. We didn't. I switched the tires. Joe, get him out of here, Joe. Jesus. He bought a car. Now he ain't satisfied. What if I bought a steak sandwich and half of it. Tried to bring it back. We're running a business here. We ain't running a charity ward. Can you imagine that guy, Joe? Shoot. Say, lookie there. Got an elk's tooth out there. Run over there. I'm not running a charity ward. Let him glance over that 36 Pontiac. Yeah. Soften him up, Joe. Jesus, I wished I had a thousand jalopies. Get him ready to deal, son. And I'll close him. Going to California? Here's just what you need. Look shot. But she's got thousands of miles in her. Lined up side by side. Good looking. Good looking. Side by side. Good used cars. Bargains. Clean. Runs good. Yes. Thank you, Lee. We needed a bad guy. I did my best. Thank you. So now you can imagine the Joad family has made this odyssey from the! From their broken down farm in Oklahoma and they've come to California and they've been put through the mill by ranch owners and thugs and through it all, Ma Joad has kept a stiff upper lip through. And we would like to close our event here with the final scene from Grace of Ra. And that'll be with Kaitlyn and Tony and Lee back. Here we go. What's the matter, Ma? Getting scared? No. Ain't ever gonna be scared no more. I was, though. For a while I thought we was beat. Good and beat. Looked like we didn't have nothing in the world but enemies. Wasn't nobody friendly and nobody to talk to. But now we're friends. I'm not afraid of you anymore. Made me feel bad and scared too. Like we was lost and nobody cared. Watch me pass that Chevy. You're the one that keeps us going, Ma. I ain't no good anymore and I know it. Seems like I spend all my time these days thinking of how it used to be. Thinking of home. And I ain't never gonna see it anymore. I know. Woman can change better than a man. Man lives in jerks. Baby born or somebody dies, that's a jerk. Gets a farm or loses one, and that's a jerk. With a woman, it's all one flow. Like a stream. Like eddies. Like waterfalls. But the river, it goes right on. Woman looks at it like that. Look at that old jalopy steam. Yeah, maybe. But we sure taking a beating, Ma. I know. I know. Maybe that makes us tough. Rich fellas crop up above everybody's heads. And then they die. And then their kids ain't no good and then they die out. But we keep a coming. We're the people that live. Can't nobody wipe us out. Can't nobody lick us. We go on forever, Pa. We're the people. Thank you. Thank you, Caitlin. And I hope you have a wonderful day. Thank you, Tony and Liebeth. And that was the closing scene of Grapes of Wrath. So we hope you enjoyed our celebration. And we actually have been doing this. We made a 25-city library tour. And we think the themes of Steinbeck have come back to haunt us all. The themes from the 30s are back in 2020. And we're going to be doing that. And we're going to be doing that in 2015. And yet it takes the kind of resolve and the kind of courage to face the difficulties and to find our true character. So this has been quite an experience. And now I'd like to bring back to the microphone Melvin Ishmael Johnson. Here he is now. Melvin Ishmael Johnson. Okay. Yeah, another hand for Steinbeck Carlin. Yeah. Still got a little time. Let's go around a minute and introduce the cast one more time. Yes. Thanks. I'm a great actor. I've served as your host. And I like to choose classic moments from great literature and ask actors to breathe new life into it. And so I'm very proud to present Tony Bush sitting next to me. And Tony, would you say a few words? Thank you, Eric. Yes. I read for the part of Al in the Grapes of Wrath. And I also read for Lenny in Of Mice and Men. I really enjoyed this, Eric. And I thank you for all the hard work you put into it. Oh, sure, Tony. Thank you. And now I would like to present folk singer Ross Altman. I'm Ross Altman. And it's always an honor to be able to sing Woody Guthrie, especially down on the Skid Row Studios because that's where Woody played on the streets in Los Angeles in the 1930s and 1940s. And I'm very proud to be here. And so his spirit is somewhere in the air still. Some of his great songs were first sung right here in Los Angeles on the nickel. Thank you, Ross. And that's a good point. Both Woody Guthrie, John Steinbeck, and good old Will Rogers were really the voice and the conscience of the 30s. And we have much to thank them for. And now I'd like to present our artistic director, Lee Beck. Lee Beck. Well, I'm very happy to be here. And I'm thankful to all this wonderful cast for doing such a good job of reading this material. And I thank John Steinbeck for writing it. And I thank Melvin Ishmael Johnson and the crew here at Skid Row Studios for having us in to read this. It's really been a pleasure to do it. Thanks, Lee. And now I'd like to introduce William H. Bassett, a classic actor that I first met at L.A. Repertory Company. 20 years ago. We're still going strong. Good grief. It's been that long? Well, it's always a joy to participate in these readings. And I'm looking forward to the next one. Thank you, Bill. And now I'd like to introduce our young ingenue, Jessica Wilson Cardenas of the Poetry Society. Thank you so much, Eric. And thank you for having me. Thank you, Bill. And thank you, Bill. Thank you, Bill. Thank you, Lee, and the Public Works Improv and Skid Row Studios. It's just an honor to be a part of this production and be here in this experience. And I play part of Maria Lopez in Las Pasturas del Cielo. Thank you. Very good, Jessica. Thank you. And another good friend of mine, Carmen Vega, a great L.A. poet and actress. And she's always come through for us. And here she is now, Carmen Vega. Thank you, Eric. Thank you, Eric Vollmer. I appreciate you having me still with the project. And it's very reminiscent of when you initiated it back in, I don't remember the year, but it was a tour of John Steinbeck's through the Voice in the Well Ensemble. So I'm very honored to still be part of the John Steinbeck reading. And it's always been very rewarding to bring the work to life because it's such a wonderful text. So thank you for having me be part of it. Very good. Yes, Carmen was referring to our centenary tour for John Steinbeck in 2002. And also actually Ross Altman was out there celebrating Steinbeck. And we were just crossing paths as we went all through California. Well, now I'd like to, I'd like for Mel to take the microphone. Okay. I'll go back to Lee, you want to say something? Well, I just want to remind folks that this Thursday night is our Story File at Art Share. And we really enjoy having you come out to see our shows. We have music, poetry, and storytelling. And we have a really great cast coming up this Thursday night at 8 o'clock. So come on down. And then the next Thursday night at the Warzawa Restaurant in Santa Monica on Lincoln, right near Santa Monica Boulevard, our production of Voice in the Well, which is a literary salon. So we look forward to having you come out. Thanks. Okay. I would like to thank, I would like to extend a special thanks to Public Works Improvisational Theatre Company. Please listen to past shows of the Coon Round Report by Googling in Coon Round Report. Thank you for tuning in to the Coon Round Report. And from your host, Melvin Ishmael Johnson, may the peace and blessings of the life-giving creative spirit be upon you and upon your family. I leave you with Jumping Blues. Jumping Blues Jumping Blues Jumping Blues Jumping Blues Jumping Blues Jumping Blues Jumping Blues Jumping Blues Jumping Blues Jumping Blues Jumping Blues Jumping Blues Thank you.