Hey, just say NO! Come on, you don’t want to get into that filthy habit, do you, young man? I know you’re poor and your daddy beats you and Mommy is always out working. The teachers yell at you. The gang guys want you to hang out with them and help them out with their little deliveries. If you don’t, they won’t talk to you. They even jeer, swear at you, and tell the other kids not to associate with you. The cops rough you up, threaten you all the time, and run you out of the fields and playgrounds whenever they see more than two of you at a time. I know you feel like shit every time the television shows you rich white people, rich black people, a few rich Spanish people, and even Chinese and Japanese folks. I know when you see those ads for great looking cars and clothes you explode inside—feeling that those people who are advertising don’t mean you—because you will never, ever be able to buy any of that stuff. ‘n SO? That don’t mean you have to go and use drugs! Or use alcohol! Relax. Just say No and forget everything.
I know, I know, they tell you that you can get an education. But where? Even if you want one, there aren’t many teachers out there who can teach you anyway. When one of the good ones tries to get you so mad because you feel so bad, inadequate, inferior, scared—just scared—that you won’t let him. You sort of want to learn, but you don’t want to look different from the other students. You know, not as if you think you’re better or anything. Then some parents don’t want their kids to be corrected too much—maybe not at all. “You can’t talk to my kid that way,” and…”You better pass him, he’s not staying back. You can’t do that to my kid just because you never taught him to read and write…and SPEAK.” Hold on! Don’t go trying to teach my kids or me how to talk talk we don’t dig. You sayin’ we don’t know how? You sayin’ we talk funny or WRONG? WE don’t have to talk like those others who think they BETTER than anyone. We got our own ways and don’t you try to change ‘em. But show us how to get out of this place, Okay? Remember the north hearings? Oh, much earlier, Watergate: “At this point in time I indicated.” Translation: Then I said. We can’t even talk anymore! “The alleged suspect.” That’s entirely wrong, of course. He’s definitely a suspect. And he didn’t “proceed up the route immediately to the rear of the edifice.,” he ran up the alley! Okay, “behind the house.”
No one wants to just say it, for fear he might be UNDERSTOOD. God, that might mean I’m responsible for what I say—worse, for what I MEAN. Oh, dear, I can’t just say what I mean, can I? They’ll think this is too simple, not weighty material or serious work. So many people don’t realize that clear, concise eloquence comes through clear, ordered, and honest minds. I know why. Because being re-elected, making more money, and keeping your job are more important than clean, orderly, and harmonious living. They’re more important than life itself! Too bad. For all of us.
I have a suggestion. JUST SAY NO TO CRUELTY, POLLUTION, AND OBSESSION WITH MONEY. SAY NO TO STUFF, MORE STUFF AT ALL COSTS, HATRED, FREE SLAUGHTER, and Nuclear energy of ALL KINDS—because we cannot, cannot, cannot, handle the waste products, ever, ever, ever. In one country in Africa, they’re growing more food faster than any other African country can, using old, old, and clean, clean methods. In Peru, they have discovered an ancient irrigation system which is already providing more crops than ever before in modern times, anyway. Organic farmers here are finding they can grow everything cleanly. EVERYTHING. And feel good and make a living.
Standard of living means only one thing in this country. It means the amount of money you report to the IRS each year. That’s all. That’s. . . . ALL. WE speak of the Gross National Product. Gross is right! That means only one thing. MORE STUFF. That’s all. Not peace of mind, which is the only thing that matters. NOT harmony, the singing joy of appreciation of one another, all other creatures, and the earth. That’s bullshit to too many people. Sentimental crap. Tell that to the teenagers who committed suicide in this country last year. Tell that to the 125,000 teachers, mothers and fathers, children, truck drivers, hospital workers, doctors, store clerks, secretaries, actors, singers, priests and parsons who die every year from prescription drug problems. “That is more than all the illegal drug deaths put together,” says the writer and psypharmacologist Ronald Siegal.
Here’s something I know a little bit about firsthand. No matter how many people are addicted to heroin, crack, cocaine, or marijuana—many more are hooked on, obsession with—uncontrollably in the grip of—ALCOHOL. Are we honest? Shall we get honest, huh? REALLY AND TRULY? Then let’s test for the NUMBER ONE DRUG: Alcohol. Then for the NUMBER TWO DRUG, which has to be pills of all kinds, that seriously and dangerously affect just about anyone you can name. Finally let’s test for CIGARETTES, whose use—always excessive, no matter how you rationalize it—impairs vision and circulation, which means coordination, responsible judgment, and causes disabling illness and exacerbates disorders already caused by other self-destructive habits. Lets test the REAL CULPRITS because they all cause waste of millions of dollars. Oh, yes, I never forget the NUMBER ONE MOTIVATING FACTOR—the influence that fires more change than all the other influences combined—FILTHY LUCRE. It’s not that money talks. It’s that ONLY MONEY TALKS. It talks louder, faster, and more seductively than reason, love, and caring—which is why we have all this trouble in the first place. The mad scramble for money causes a din that drowns out all other rational sound. So be careful, because if your voice of REASON just happens to drift through somewhere in the Money Jungle, they’re liable to set a trap for you or just hack you to bits with a machete or split you in two with a barrage of bullets or a single shot. Ask the ghosts of those who tried to protect the rain forest, the animals in Africa, the streets of New York and other streets of crime, the citizens oppressed by Central American governments, and American leaders who begged for acceptance of one another because “all men are created equal.” I have not painted this picture. This is a report, not a work of art.
We could start by operating on the “interdiction front”, maybe the “law enforcement front”, or even the “education front”! That was a government official on television in August. No wonder people don’t understand one another anymore. He thought he was being eloquent—mind you—by using military terms, applying these weighty words to our own personal “War on drugs.” Hey, that’ll send the damned enemy scurrying, trembling in its boots. All those users and pushers. And we know who they are, that damned enemy, that bloodthirsty rabble: Mom and Dad, teachers, truck drivers, office workers, and doctors, yes, M.D.’s, who have to be the biggest pushers the world has ever seen, except maybe for voodoo, witch doctors, village witches, and seers down through the centuries. But there’s a big, vital difference between what they were doing and what modern practitioners are peddling. Modern drugs are artificial and highly concentrated, into deadly doses. They’re adulterated, to refine them or to dilute them so more batches can be sold. They’re packed into powerful doses in tiny packages for faster relief and higher trips. WE are poisoned by refinedfood and fuel, refined cleaning products, refined medicines, and refined drugs—in many cases the last two are, of course, the same! WE are soooo refined, ain’t we? It sometimes seems that we’ve refined ourselves down to no regulation at all, no govern…ment. To govern: “control the actions of,” “guide,” “control.” The White House says the states should control themselves. The cities and counties, in California, anyway, say You’re too slow. You’re accomplishing nothing, guiding no one, controlling nothing. By substances being dispensed by the ton, those poisons in the air that give us the dubious distinction of being rated Number One in air pollution. By the time you realize this rating alone PROVES that emissions from automobiles, factories, barbecues, aerosol cans, paints, lacquers, and pesticides are NO GOOD, LIKE, THEY’RE KILLING US, MAN!!!!! By that time—close at hand—or should I say “at this point in time” as opposed to “at this point in distance” or “at this point in thought” or at this point in the game or this point in the morning or this point in history or in the battle or in my life. AT THIS POINT IS ENOUGH. I UNDERSTAND!! Now.
I am living proof that one can, anyone can see the madness and destruction and accept it and continue to produce and thrive. In my case doing the only thing I could ever do in this absurd world, entertain. I am an entertainer.
I am sure now that people who go around saying ‘Just say no’ and ‘Peace on earth, good will towards men’ are full of it! And they do no good. They are not indignant. They call those words OPTIMISTIC: “The belief that the universe is improving and the good will ultimately triumph over evil.” So. . . The optimist does know! He knows that there’s a battle, sort of, maybe. At least, he knows that good and evil are all around us and there is some question as to whether one is superseding the other. So, if the good is prevailing then there is no need for action or concern. If we mistakenly believe, insist on believing that things aren’t so bad and go around spouting platitudes and smiling and shooshing the people who complain, WE WILL GET CREAMED!! When I was in Texas on tour with I NEVER SANG FOR MY FATHER, I found out what it means to get creamed. Every soup in Texas is CREAMED. You can get creamed spinach, cream of potato, cream of broccoli, creamed corn, very creamy chowder, and almost any other kind of buttered and flour-thickened gravy-fattened or lard-laden “hearty” soup or gumbo. To be fair, most other places on the tour offered pretty much the same choices, back to Dallas. Restaurants feels that a clear broth with lovely colorful vegetables floating in it! That is, vegetables that have not been cooked until they turn gray, such pure and siple fare cannot be offered for sale. It’s not substantial enough. It’s too easy to prepare. It’s too thin, that;s all. Real food is thick and greasy. On the other hand, fancy restaurants will charge you five dollars for a “consommé,” a very thing, but pureed liquid, because it’s fancy. Fancy? A couple carrots, a little water, and a blender. I had hope one day in Dallas. In the dining room, at the buffet table was advertised “barley soup.” I sat at a table, a waiter came and I said, “Good, I see that you have barley soup today. Yay!” “Right, I know, it’s not gumbo or zucchini.” “Oh,?” said I. “Well, surely you’ve noticed that the only vegetable seems to be zucchini.” Come to think of it, you’re right. I laughed and said, “My biggest concern has been that I can’t find a soup that’s not creamed, but today you have barley, thank God.” He smiled, flipped a fork onto the table, pirouetting and left. For a spit second, I felt something was wrong, but the buffet was a self-serve affair, so I just went over to fill a big bowl with unadulterated barley soup. Are you ahead of me? Yup. I lifted the lid while reaching for the ladle and looked down into a cauldron of white foam. Only in Texas could you find CREAM OF BARLEY SOUP!!! The waiter came back, ready to take the rest of my order. I kept staring at the menu. Finally I said, I give up. Even the barley is creamed. He smirked and whispered, “What do you think I left?”
That afternoon, I think it was, I found my whole foods store. It was a cab ride away, but it was worth the trip. They had so many choices of breads and dried fruits and raw nuts that a code was posted, with instructions on proper labelling of the plastic bag once you’d made your choice. The same—or similar—system was used at the coffee display. Yes, I ingest one dubiously helpful substance on a regular basis. If you can see through it, it’s not coffee. So I buy the darkest roast and combine it with a strong decaffeinated variety, maybe one flavored with amaretto or vanilla, and some days I drink twelve cups of it. Other days, I drink two. I’m spared the temptation to drink any coffee on a soundstage or movie set, because it’s so bad. I brew my own, in the dressing room, and I always invite the cast to share. That keeps my consumption down, and I like the visitations.
That was a sweet company. We were mostly veterans. Out of a cast of ten, each of six actors had been working for over twenty years—as actors, not waiters or Brooks Brothers salespeople during the holiday rush season, nor as parks of cars in L.A. or booksellers at the Drama Bookshop in Manhattan. The other four had been around for an average, I’d say, of ten years or so each. WE were all happy to be working, and especially happy to be in this beautiful play. The playwright, Robert Anderson, liked hearing me call his very personal play “beautiful,” as if my endorsement confirmed the truth. It didn’t. People might have listened to me, but they decided for themselves. I NEVER SANG FOR MY FATHER is a difficult play to watch. It feels to viewers like a story about themselves. It also feels as if it’s exposing some intimate facts, facts sensitive and private and too fragile and personal to tell to strangers. These characters, in fact, find it almost impossible to tell each other their deepest fears and pains. But it’s funny, too, or it wouldn’t work as entertainment. But it’s funny, too, or it wouldn’t work as entertainment. But it’s funny in the way we are all funny without meaning to be, thank God, or we wouldn’t be able to stand life. It’s really about forgiving each other for not loving as we wished or hoped to be loved. It’s about accepting one another as we are. That’s tough to do. The problem, it turns out, is failure to communicate. I figured out a few years ago that this is the basis of all dramatic conflict. It may be the only key, indispensable conflict! It is, in HAMLET and OTHELLO, in DEATH OF A SALESMAN, in RAINMAN and DANGEROUS LIAISONS in GONE WITH THE WIND and even THE WIZARD OF OZ and certainly in CASABLANCA and in Pinter’s work and in Tennessee Williams’ and even in Neil Simon’s comedies. I may have discovered the key to human behavior, the only problem you need to understand in order to start dealing with a solution to all those difficulties you’ve been having with . . . EVERYONE!! Think about it. Or don’t. No, you won’t forget it. You won’t be able to ignore this premise, will you? Just apply the theory at each impasse, at every tense moment with someone, to every nagging question in your head and every worry flitting around in there.
It’s indispensable to the writer. It’s probably the essential rub, thorn or other petard by which the hero or heroine or villain or innocent bystander is hoisted, in every book worth reading. The writer chooses it. Or does he have a choice? Is it true that we are all the same, exactly like one another—feeling all the same feelings and thinking all the same thoughts? Probably we are. No, I’m sure of it. The details may vary, because we make up these games. We play house and neighborhood and tribe and continent and hemisphere. Then we dress up and make up and carry things and wave things and eat certain things, prepared in a certain way, and do up our hair and mess around with our skin and faces and limbs, painting and scraping or slashing or blanching or tanning them; and we dope out wounds: word wounds which we call language, and music sounds. WE dance around or just jump around—everyone jumps around, in Africa on the dusty plains and in the leafy forests and on the dusty stages of the Bolshoi and Radio City Music Hall—and put on and take off cloth and skins and bark and feathers and polyester and plastic and grass and paper. We do all these superficial things to accomplish what? Hell, I know why I do it! I’m an actor. They pay me to play dress up and to be different. I love it when people say, meeting you for the first time, having seen you only on television or in a theater, almost always trying to be someone else, GEE YOU LOOK DIFFERENT! Well, gee, thanks. That’s my job. If I’m successful at the transformation, I’m good. If I fail, I’m bad. The thing I mustn’t forget is that I am able to be many other people because we people, human beings, we are all alike UNDERNEATH IT ALL. A tribe tries to be different by adopting superficial practices, and they fool themselves into believing that they are unique. A tribe will fight to the death just to prove it is different. Better, it thinks. We’re better, and don’t you forget it. Of course, sometimes tribes have had good reason to fear other tribes. Those other have come to them to try to change them, instead of to integrate, or just to live side by side. If only they knew and if only they celebrated the differences and realized that together they could have a lot more fun, experience a greater variety of clothing and food and dancing and music and literature and talking and working. The reason we actors are able to be anyone else, anyone at all, is that we know that all humans are the same inside. So all we have to do it change the superficial details and keep changing them, and we can go on being all sorts of different folks. Of course we form bands, too, don’t we?
WE set up barriers. We put up our fists. When our feelings are hurt—usually through failure to communicate—we get mad and sometimes we strike out. It’s always the same. Tribes. Fear. Fear of losing something you already have, or fear of not getting something you think you have to have. Oh, sure, sometimes it’s a matter of actual need. Someone needs a piece of bread. Or a fix. Hey, when you have no control left, no choice, it’s a need! But in my experience the problem is usually the result of wanting or expecting and being disappointed. You want a certain place in the line, or you have your place in line and someone is trying to take it. You need that parking space, you’ve gone around the block to get it, and someone else beat you to it! Worse, you’ve pulled up just ahead of it and that S.O.B. behind you knows that, he KNOWS that, and he’s sneaking in there anyway. You’ve got to have that promotion. The boss says no. Worse, he gives it to another person, someone who doesn’t even DESERVE it. There is no justice. You make an investment and the deal explodes. You do a favor and you don’t even get a Thank you. Oh, hell, I don’t expect anything, not even a Thank you.
I don’t. Really. But Geez, you’d think she could at least acknowledge the effort, just a little bit. SOMETHING! She doesn’t understand me. Why should I have to tell every little thing that I need? OH? So you can read her mind, hmm? She doesn’t ever have to say exactly what it is with her, does she, so why should you have to ask for a hug or a word of encouragement—ever? Failure to communicate.