Scene 1

(Lights up. It is a classroom in an average midwestern small-town high school. The classroom, however, is anything but average. The walls are festooned with posters, pictures, buttons, cabinets, shelves, all displaying historical artifacts in a garish sensory assault. Upstage left is a door leading into the hallway, and upstage center is a small table with two chairs, some cups, and a coffee maker. SR is a desk, basic teacher fare, adorned with a laptop and other ridiculous historical bric-a-brac. At the desk is a young man, mid-twenties/early thirties, pouring over the laptop, typing animatedly. Every once in a while he will pause, lean back, gesticulate feebly, then continue typing as inspiration strikes. He is dressed somewhat eclectically, but befitting of such a brilliant classroom. In his sweatervest and small glasses, he looks every bit the turn-of-the-last-century scholar.
Behind him stands a man: tall, proud, confident, it is MR. SCOTT HOSIER. In contrast to the portly seated one, he is lankier, but his build also suggests an athletic background. Around mid-thirties, perhaps approaching his forties. He is clean shaven, as opposed to the other’s goatee; and his hair is short, slightly receding in a widow’s peak, opposed to the other’s middle-parted, longer coif. His shoes are enormous wingtips, and he rocks back and forth on them as he watches the other type. Finally, it appears as if the AUTHOR has hit a road block, and he begins to writhe slightly in frustration of a lost term. MR. HOSIER, grinning, leans down and whispers:

MR. HOSIER: Armistead.

AUTHOR: (startled) What?!

MR. HOSIER: Armistead. Brigadier General Lewis Addison Armistead. You’re trying to ask which three forces lead Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg. Garnett, Kemper…and Armistead.

AUTHOR: Right! Armistead. Old–

MR. HOSIER: Old Lo, short for “Lothario–”

AUTHOR: Which was ironic because he was a widower and not much of a ladies man.

MR. HOSIER: (nodding) Kudos to you.

AUTHOR: (grinning) I had a good teacher.

(a beat. The AUTHOR goes back to typing his quiz)

AUTHOR: (after a sigh) I’ve got to say, I always hoped we’d work together, but I never quite pictured it this way.

MR. HOSIER: That’s life. (he points to the screen) Armistead has an “a” there.

AUTHOR: Oh, right! Duh!

(a beat. He fixes the error)

MR. HOSIER: So, Gettysburg…


MR. HOSIER: Whatcha got?

AUTHOR: Oh, the usual: lecture, visual aids, a few letters…oh! And this…

(he reaches into the lower drawer of the desk and pulls out a shoebox, placing it on the top of the desk. MR. HOSIER eyes it quizzically)

MR. HOSIER: …a shoebox?

AUTHOR: (grinning) Guess what’s in it!

MR. HOSIER: I’m going to go ahead and say “shoes…”

AUTHOR: Not just any shoes! (he pulls out two mud-caked sneakers) Recognize these?!

MR. HOSIER: (shrugs) Not really…

AUTHOR: (mock sincerity) Oh, I’m crushed. (nostalgic bliss) No, seriously, I wore these shoes at Gettysburg. Remember how nasty it was that day, all muddy and rainy? Well, I brought my old work shoes just for the occasion, and they got messed up all to hell. Instead of chuckin’ em or cleaning them off, I decided to save ’em for when I started teaching. Gives a bit of a personal edge to the lesson, ya know? Like that old French bolt-action your uncle took off a dead Viet Cong!

MR. HOSIER: I guess that was pretty powerful, wasn’t it?

AUTHOR: Not as much as that Japanese war flag. I swear, that one took my breath away!

MR. HOSIER: You know what? Me too.

(they both smile. a beat.)

AUTHOR: How come you never let me in on any of your stash?


AUTHOR: Your stash of historical goodies. Rifles, outfits, hardtack recipies. When you…when you went out of the game…stopped teaching, I was never even thought of.

MR. HOSIER: Well, everything just got so messed up then…

AUTHOR: Well, it probably didn’t help that I went incommunicado for so long…

(a beat.)

AUTHOR: I really am sorry about that.

MR. HOSIER: Don’t worry about it.

AUTHOR: No, I mean it. Here I was, off gallivanting in college, and I just kinda…left you behind. You were my mentor, my inspiration, then I just…forgot about you.

MR. HOSIER: You were busy, starting a new life, you didn’t wanna get bogged down in the old dead-end town with your old teacher.

AUTHOR: (becoming agitated) I thought that too, and I figured you’d always be here to come back to. I figured I could be teaching some day, trying to do what you did for me, and if I was ever really stuck somewhere, I could call you and you could help me out! I was looking forward to create the best damn History classes the world had ever seen, we could have revolutionized it all… but then you quit!

MR. HOSIER: I didn’t quit, I–

AUTHOR: YES YOU DID! YOU QUIT! You were the best teacher I ever had, you were going to make me the best teacher some other kid ever had…then you quit…why?



(he stands up suddenly and whirls on MR. HOSIER who, despite being three inches taller, backs away.)

AUTHOR: Why did you have to die?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.