"The Thespians Come to Town" by E.D. "Shinbone" Smith, Bomar, Oklahoma, formerly, Indian Territory of "IT"

You young people won't have known this, but way back before the War and in the worst part of the Depression, they used to be these traveling actors that would come into county seat towns and put on plays. Sometimes they'd come of a Friday and put on shows on Friday and a couple of shows on the Saturday following, but sometimes they'd just come and do two or three shows on a Saturday. Of course, Saturdays was the day when we all come to town, to get groceries and feed, go to the picture show, and just visit and catch up on the news.

Well, this traveling troupe of "Thespians" as they called theirselves come to Marietta and set up to put on a play in the courthouse there. Word had got around in the weeks before and they was a mess of people in town on the day of the play. They was all over the place. The courthouse square was covered with people and the streets were lined with cars, wagons, and horses. It was like a county fair. Folks was selling popcorn and boiled peanuts and fried pies. This preacher was holding forth on the corner in front of the First National Bank. He had a little group of people with him to sing and a fat lady to play this little pump organ; she was twice the size of that little pump organ, and that was a funny sight. The old men were sitting in front of Sprouse's hardware store, whittling, and talking, and chewing tobacco, and watching the good looking women- and some that wadn't so good looking. The cafes and saloons was making a killing. And everbody excited about this play, which was called, "Murder at Midnight." Everthang was set to start at one o'clock.

Now by twelve noon they had opened up the main court room, turned on them big ceiling fans, and opened up the tall windows on on either side to get any breeze they could. People had rushed in to get the closest seats on the main floor and in the balcony. It was hot as Dick's hatband and the ladies was fanning themselves with Dodson Funeral Home fans with pictures of the Good Shepherd on them. The men was jist sweating through their overalls and shirts, tugging at their collars buttoned up to the top. They young'ns was restless and whiny like they was in church, saying out loud ever once in while, "How much longer, Mama?" They had shifted the judge's bench and witness stand and other furniture to the side of the main floor and set up their props and furniture for the play. You could almost smell the excitement over the sweat and cheap perfume and pomade.

Well, unbeknownst to the paying crowd there in the main court room of the Love County courthouse, they was this crisis going on down at the Excelsior Hotel. The second main actress had come down with laryngitis and could barely make a squeak. She wadn't the main actress, but she was important to the story of the play, so the troupe was in a state of pure anxiousness- and I do mean anxiousness. They was thinking about all them dimes and quarters they was going to have to refund these people. They was three or four civic leaders with them and they was worried about that bunch of hot, excited folks in the courthouse and what they might do even if their money was refunded.

Finally, (and it was getting on toward 12:30) the head Thespian says, "Is there a woman here in town that could stand in for Eugenie? Somebody with her looks and maybe with a little sassiness that wouldn't mind being in front of a crowd? We could cut the script so she wouldn't have to say but a few lines."

Well, the city fathers got their heads together and finally said, "How much would you be willing to pay?"

"Three dollars. A dollar for each of the three presentations."

Well, that nearly took all the air out of the room as most of them men in the courthouse was working in the fields for a sight less than a dollar a day.

So somebody says, "Go see if you can find Ruthie Fulks."

Well, before long they come back with Ruthie. Now Ruthie was a character and her looks showed it. Lots of makeup, Marcel wave hair do that was a little out of style, and a slinky shift of a dress that covered a fine, if kindly plump, figure. She had a bought cigarette in her hand and the nails were fire engine red. She also had a way about her that kindly made everbody set up and take notice when she came into a room.

So they made her the proposition and she asked, "How much?" When they told her, her eyes got big and she nearly tripped over her own tongue accepting. So the main Thespian starts to tell her what few lines she had to say and when to say them and what else she had to do. The civic leaders left the Hotel and went and got their seats in the courthouse that their wives had been saving up on the front row of the main floor. They set there wiping sweat from their worried brows with starched linen handkerchiefs.

Directly, jist after one o'clock, the main Thespian comes out of the Judge's Chambers behind the stage and the people started to clap and hoot like they was at a New York opera house. He raised his hand and silenced the crowd and explained the emergency that they had jist resolved and told em about Ruthie Fulks and her gracious willingness to help out. Now, at the mention of Ruthie, the crowd sorta sighed and began whispering to each other and the wives of the City Leaders cast some dark looks out of the sides of their eyes at their husbands setting there. But after a short spell and the assurance of the main Thespian that "The Show Must Go On!" they all settled down for the first act, fanning and fidgeting, but trying to behave like the upper crust down at the front.

Now, the first act, went well, and the second. Ruthie made a brief appearance in the second act and had an even briefer set of lines. The third act was where it got interesting.

The scene is a hotel room with a bed and a davenport and such. (They had to move thangs around between acts with the people watching, because that's the best they could do.) The main Thespian is sitting on the davenport with his head hung down, sighing and muttering to himself. Then, in comes Ruthie in a robe and slippers.

"You have wronged me, " says the main Thespian.

"I have not. I have been true," says Ruthie. (The people was quite impressed because she seemed to be a natural actress.)

"I don't believe you anymore. I cannot trust you!" says the main Thespian. Then, he pulls a revolver out of his jacket. The crowd gasps. The women clap their hands over their mouths. The men scoot out on the edge of the pews they are setting on. Several of the smaller children cover their eyes with sweaty, grubby hands.

"Oh, John, no! Please! No! No! No!" says Ruthie, with such conviction that the women have tears in their eyes and some of the men have to swallow down hard.

The main Thespian aims and fires. The shock of the gunfire and the smell of the smoke jist ratchets up the tension. Ruthie slaps her ample bosom and blood starts to come out through her spread fingers, blood the color of them little pretty fingernails of hers. The crowd gasps- I swear you could of hear it out on the courthouse lawn. One old lady began to sob and somebody, a male, was heard to mutter, "Well, I'll be damned." You could cut the tension in that big room with a knife.

The main Thespian drops the revolver as Ruthie drops to the floor and begins to tear at his long, fine hair with both hands, all the while pacing back and forth across the stage. He is saying, over and over again, and each time with greater dramatic effect

"What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?"

By now, they's lots of the women weeping, even some of those grand dames down on the front row. Everybody is tense and kinda cut up. They have forgot that this is a play and have been carried away by the story and the acting. They've even forgot that that is Ruthie Fulks layin' down on the floor there in a pool of blood. The main Thespian continues to pace and to cry out

"What have I done?"

Well, between one of them "What have I dones?" old Grover Daugherty, who has been sucking on his second half pint of Bourbon since his drinking day began earlier that morning, stands up in the balcony. He is not steady on his feet by a long shot, and he is not only drunk, he's tore up and cryin'. Grover wipes his runny nose on his sleeve and hollers out,

"I'll tell ye what ye've done, you Thespian son-of-a-bitch! Ye've done killed the only whore in this town, that's what ye've done!"