Alfred Uhry - Driving Miss Daisy Read online

  DAISY: I’m not crying.

  HOKE: Yassum.

  DAISY: The idea! Why did you tell me that?

  HOKE: I doan’ know. Seem like disheah mess put me in mind of it.

  DAISY: Ridiculous! The temple has nothing to do with that!

  HOKE: So you say.

  DAISY: We don’t even know what happened. How do you know that policeman was telling the truth?

  HOKE: Now why would that policeman go and lie ’bout a thing like that?

  DAISY: You never get things right anyway.

  HOKE: Miz Daisy, somebody done bomb that place and you know it too.

  DAISY: Go on. Just go on now. I don’t want to hear any more about it.

  HOKE: I see if I can get us outta here and take you home. You feel better at home.

  DAISY: I don’t feel bad.

  HOKE: You de boss.

  DAISY: Stop talking to me!

  Lights fade on them. We hear the sound of applause. Boolie enters in a fine three-piece suit, holding a large silver bowl. He is very distinguished, in his late fifties.

  BOOLIE: Thank you, Red. And thank you all. I am deeply grateful to be chosen man of the year by the Atlanta Business Council, an honor I’ve seen bestowed on some mighty fine fellas and which I certainly never expected to come to me. I’m afraid the loss here, (He touches his hair) and the gain here, (He touches his belly) have given me an air of competence I don’t possess. But I’ll tell you, I sure wish my father and my grandfather could see this. Seventy-two years ago they opened a little hole-in-the-wall shop on Whitehall Street with one printing press. They managed to grow with Atlanta and to this day, the Werthan Company believes we want what Atlanta wants. This award proves we must be right. Thank you. (Applause) One more thing. If the Jackets whup the Dawgs up in Athens Saturday afternoon, I’ll be a completely happy man.

  Light out on him. Daisy enters her living room and dials the phone. She dials with some difficulty. Things have become harder for her to do.

  DAISY: Hidey, Miss McClatchey. You always recognize my voice. What a shame a wonderful girl like you never married. Miss McClatchey? Is my son in? Oh no. Please don’t call him out of a sales meeting. Just give him a message. Tell him I bought the tickets for the UJA banquet. Yes, UJA banquet honoring Martin Luther King on the seventeenth. Well, you’re a sweet thing to say so. And don’t you worry. My cousin Tillie in Chattanooga married for the first time at fifty-seven.

  Light dims and comes right back. Boolie has joined Daisy.

  BOOLIE: How do you feel, Mama?

  DAISY: Not a good question to ask somebody nearly ninety.

  BOOLIE: Well you look fine.

  DAISY: It’s my ageless appeal.

  BOOLIE: Miss McClatchey gave me your message.

  DAISY: Florine is invited too.

  BOOLIE: Thank you very much.

  DAISY: I guess Hoke should drive us. There’ll be a crowd.

  BOOLIE: Mama, we have to talk about this.

  DAISY: Talk about what?

  BOOLIE: The feasibility of all this.

  DAISY: Fine. You drive. I thought I was being helpful.

  BOOLIE: You know I believe Martin Luther King has done some mighty fine things.

  DAISY: Boolie, if you don’t want to go, why don’t you just come right out and say so?

  BOOLIE: I want to go. You know how I feel about him.

  DAISY: Of course, but Florine—

  BOOLIE: Florine has nothing to do with it. I still have to conduct business in this town.

  DAISY: I see. The Werthan Company will go out of business if you attend the King dinner?

  BOOLIE: Not exactly. But a lot of the men I do business with wouldn’t like it. They wouldn’t come right out and say so. They’d just snicker and call me Martin Luther Werthan behind my back—something like that. And I’d begin to notice that my banking business wasn’t being handled by the top dogs. Maybe I’d start to miss out on a few special favors, a few tips. I wouldn’t hear about certain lunch meetings at the Commerce Club. Little things you can’t quite put your finger on. And Jack Raphael over at Ideal Press, he’s a New York Jew instead of a Georgia Jew and as long as you got to deal with Jews, the really smart ones come from New York, don’t they? So some of the boys might start throwing business to Jack instead of ole Martin Luther Werthan. I don’t know. Maybe it wouldn’t happen, but that’s the way it works. If we don’t use those seats, somebody else will and the good Doctor King will never know the difference, will he?

  DAISY: If we don’t use the seats? I’m not supposed to go either?

  BOOLIE: Mama, you can do whatever you want.

  DAISY: Thanks for your permission.

  BOOLIE: Can I ask you something? When did you get so fired up about Martin Luther King? Time was, I’d have heard a different story.

  DAISY: Why, Boolie! I’ve never been prejudiced and you know it!

  BOOLIE: Okay. Why don’t you ask Hoke to go to the dinner with you?

  DAISY: Hoke? Don’t be ridiculous. He wouldn’t go.

  BOOLIE: Ask him and see.

  Boolie exits. Daisy puts on an evening wrap and a chiffon scarf over her hair. This is not done quickly. She moves slowly. When she is ready, Hoke enters and helps her into the car. They ride in silence for a moment.

  DAISY: I don’t know why you still drive. You can’t see.

  HOKE: Yassum I can.

  DAISY: You didn’t see that mailbox.

  HOKE: How you know what I didn’t see?

  DAISY: It nearly poked through my window. This car is all scratched up.

  HOKE: Ain’ no sucha thing.

  DAISY: How would you know? You can’t see. What a shame. It’s a bran’ new car, too.

  HOKE: You got this car two years come March.

  DAISY: You forgot to turn.

  HOKE: Ain’ this dinner at the Biltmo’?

  DAISY: You know it is.

  HOKE: Biltmo’ straight thissaway.

  DAISY: You know so much.

  HOKE: Yassum. I do.

  DAISY: I’ve lived in Atlanta all my life.

  HOKE: And ain’ run a car in onto twenty years.

  A beat.

  DAISY: Boolie said the silliest thing the other day.

  HOKE: Tha’ right?

  DAISY: He’s too old to be so foolish.

  HOKE: Yassum. What did he say?

  DAISY: Oh, he was talking about Martin Luther King.

  (A beat) I guess you know him, don’t you?

  HOKE: Martin Luther King? Nome.

  DAISY: I was sure you did. But you’ve heard him preach?

  HOKE: Same way as you—over the TV.

  DAISY: I think he’s wonderful.

  HOKE: Yassum.

  DAISY: You know, you could go see him in person anytime you wanted. (No response) All you’d have to do is go over there to the—what is it?

  HOKE: Ebeneezer.

  DAISY: Ebeneezer Baptist Church some Sunday and there he’ll be.

  HOKE: What you gettin’ at, Miz Daisy?

  DAISY: Well, it’s so silly. Boolie said you wanted to go to this dinner with me tonight. Did you tell him that?

  HOKE: Nome.

  DAISY: I didn’t think so. What would be the point? You can hear him anytime—whenever you want.

  HOKE: You want the front do’ or the side do’ to the Biltmore?

  DAISY: I think the side. Isn’t it wonderful the way things are changing?

  HOKE: What you think I am, Miz Daisy?

  DAISY: What do you mean?

  HOKE: You think I some somethin’ sittin’ up here doan’ know nothin’ ’bout how to do?

  DAISY: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  HOKE: Invitation to disheah dinner come in the mail a mont’ ago. Did be you want me to go wid you, how come you wait till we in the car on the way to ask me?

  DAISY: What? All I said was that Boolie said you wanted to go.

  HOKE (Sulking): Mmm-hmmm.

  DAISY: You know you’re welcome to com
e, Hoke.

  HOKE: Mmmm-hmmm.

  DAISY: Oh my stars. Well, aren’t you a great big baby!

  HOKE: Nevermind baby, next time you ask me someplace, ask me regular.

  DAISY: You don’t have to carry on so much!

  HOKE: Das all. Less drop it.

  DAISY: Honestly!

  HOKE: Things changin’, but they ain’t change all dat much. (They are at the door) I hep you to the do’.

  DAISY: Thank you, Hoke. I can help myself.

  Daisy gets herself out of the car, which takes some effort. Hoke sits still in his seat. Daisy looks at him when she is out of the car, but thinks better of what she was going to say and walks slowly towards the door. Lights out on them and up on Boolie at his house.

  BOOLIE (On the phone): Hello, Hoke? How are you?

  HOKE: I’m tolerable, Mist’ Werthan.

  BOOLIE: What can I do for you this morning?

  HOKE: It yo’ mama.

  BOOLIE: What’s the matter?

  HOKE: She worked up.

  BOOLIE: Why should today be different from any other day?

  HOKE: No, this ain’ the same.

  DAISY (Offstage): Hoke?

  HOKE: Yassum? (Back to phone) She think she teachin’ school. I’m real worried ’bout her. She ain’ makin’ sense.

  BOOLIE: I’ll be right there.

  Lights out on Boolie. He exits. Daisy enters. She is in disarray. Her hair is not combed and her housecoat is open, the slip showing underneath.

  DAISY: Hoke? Hoke?

  HOKE: Yassum?

  DAISY: Where did you put my papers?

  HOKE: Ain’ no papers, Miz Daisy.

  DAISY: My papers! I had them all corrected last night and I put them in the front so I wouldn’t forget them on my way to school. What did you do with them?

  HOKE: You talkin’ outta yo’ head.

  DAISY: The children will be so disappointed if I don’t give them their homework back. I always give it back the next day. That’s why they like me. Why aren’t you helping me?

  HOKE: What you want me to do, Miz Daisy?

  DAISY: Give me the papers. I told you. It’s all right if you moved them. I won’t be mad with you. But I’ve got to get to school now. I’ll be late and who will take care of my class? They’ll be all alone. Oh God! Oh Goddy! I do everything wrong.

  HOKE: Set down. You about to fall and hurt yo’seff.

  DAISY: It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I didn’t do right. It’s so awful! Oh God!

  HOKE: Now you lissen heah. Ain’ nothin’ awful ‘cep the way you carryin’ on.

  DAISY: I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I can’t find the papers and the children are waiting.

  HOKE: No they ain’. You ain’ no teacher no mo’.

  DAISY: It doesn’t make any difference.

  HOKE: Miz Daisy, ain’ nothin’ the matter wit’ you.

  DAISY: You don’t know. You don’t know. What’s the difference?

  HOKE: Your mind done took a turn this mornin’ thass all.

  DAISY: Go on. Just go on now.

  HOKE: You snap right back if you jes’ let yo’seff.

  DAISY: I can’t! I can’t!

  HOKE: You a lucky ole woman, you know dat?

  DAISY: No! No! It’s all a mess now. And I can’t do anything about it!

  HOKE: You rich, you well for your time and you got people care about what happen to you.

  DAISY: I’m being trouble. Oh God, I don’t want to be trouble to anybody.

  HOKE: You want something to cry about, I take you to the state home, show you what layin’ out dere in de halls.

  DAISY: Oh my God!

  HOKE: An’ I bet none of them take on bad as you doin’.

  DAISY: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Those poor children in my class.

  HOKE: You keep dis up, I promise, Mist’ Werthan call the doctor on you and just as sho’ as you born, that doctor gon have you in de insane asylum fore you know what hit you. Dat de way you want it to be?

  Daisy looks at him. She speaks in her normal voice.

  DAISY: Hoke, do you still have that Oldsmobile?

  HOKE: From when I firs’ come here? Go on, Miz Daisy, that thing been in the junkyard fifteen years or more. I drivin’ yo’ next-to-las’ car now, ‘63 Cadillac, runnin’ fine as wine.

  DAISY: You ought not to be driving anything, the way you see.

  HOKE: How you know the way I see, ‘less you lookin’ outta my eyes?

  DAISY: Hoke?

  HOKE Yassum?

  DAISY: You’re my best friend.

  HOKE: Come on, Miz Daisy. You jes’—

  DAISY: No. Really. You are. You are. (She takes his hand)

  HOKE: Yassum.

  The light fades on them. Boolie enters. He is sixty-five now. He walks slowly around Daisy’s living room, picking up a book here and there, examining an ashtray. He leafs through his mother’s little leather phone book and puts it in his pocket. Hoke enters. He is eighty-five. He shuffles a bit and his glasses are very thick.

  HOKE: Mornin’ Mist’ Werthan.

  BOOLIE: Well Hoke, good to see you. You didn’t drive yourself out here?

  HOKE: Nawsuh. I doan’ drive now. My granddaughter run me out.

  BOOLIE: My Lord, is she old enough to drive?

  HOKE: Michelle thirty-seven. Teach biology at Spelman College.

  BOOLIE: I never knew that.

  HOKE: Yassuh.

  BOOLIE: I’ve taken most of what I want out of the house. Is there anything you’d like before the Goodwill comes?

  HOKE: My place full to burstin’ now.

  BOOLIE: It feels funny to sell the house while Mama’s still alive.

  HOKE: I ’gree.

  BOOLIE: But she hasn’t even been inside the door for two years. I know I’m doing the right thing.

  HOKE: Doan’ get me into it.

  BOOLIE: I’m not going to say anything to her about it.

  HOKE: You right there.

  BOOLIE: By the way, Hoke, your check is going to keep coming every week—as long as you’re there to get it.

  HOKE: I ’preciate that, Mist’ Werthan.

  BOOLIE: You can rest easy about it. I suppose you don’t get out to see Mama very much.

  HOKE: It hard, not drivin’. Dat place ain’ on no bus line. I goes in a taxicab sometime.

  BOOLIE: I’m sure she appreciates it.

  HOKE: Some days she better than others. Who ain’t?

  BOOLIE: Well, we’d better get on out there. I guess you have a turkey dinner to get to and so do I. Why don’t we call your granddaughter and tell her I’ll run you home?

  They exit and the light comes up on Daisy, ninety-seven, slowly moving forward with a walker. She seems fragile and diminished, but still vital. A hospital chair and a table are nearby. Boolie and Hoke join her.

  Happy Thanksgiving, Mama. Look who I brought.

  Boolie helps Daisy from her walker into her chair.

  HOKE: Mornin’, Miz Daisy. (She nods) You keepin’ yo’seff busy?

  Silence.

  BOOLIE: She certainly is. She goes to jewelry making—how many times a week is it, Mama? She makes all kinds of things. Pins and bracelets. She’s a regular Tiffanys.

  HOKE: Ain’t that something.

  Daisy seems far away.

  BOOLIE (Keeping things going): Hoke, you know I thought of you the other morning on the Expressway. I saw an Avondale milk truck.

  HOKE: You doan’ say.

  BOOLIE: A big monster of a thing, must’ve had sixteen wheels. I wonder how you’d have liked driving that around.

  DAISY (Suddenly): Hoke came to see me, not you.

  HOKE: This one of her good days.

  BOOLIE: Florine says to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving. She’s in Washington, you know. (No response) You remember, Mama. She’s a Republican National Committeewoman now.

  DAISY: Good God! (Hoke laughs, Boolie grins) Boolie!

  BOOLIE: What is it, Mama?

  DA
ISY: Go charm the nurses.

  BOOLIE (To Hoke): She wants you all to herself. (To Daisy) You’re a doodle, Mama.

  Boolie exits. Daisy dozes for a minute in her chair. Then she looks at Hoke.

  DAISY: Boolie payin’ you still?

  HOKE: Every week.

  DAISY: How much?

  HOKE: That between me an’ him, Miz Daisy.

  DAISY: Highway robbery. (She closes her eyes again. Then opens them) How are you?

  HOKE: Doin’ the bes’ I can.

  DAISY: Me too.

  HOKE: Well, thass all there is to it, then.

  She nods, smiles. Silence. He sees the piece of pie on the table.

  Looka here. You ain’ eat yo’ Thanksgiving pie.

  She tries to pick up her fork. Hoke takes the plate and fork from her.

  Lemme hep you wid this.

  He cuts a small piece of pie with the fork and gently feeds it to her. Then another as the lights fade slowly out.

  END OF PLAY

  Copyright © 1986, 987 by Alfred Uhry

  Preface for the New Edition copyright © 2010 by Alfred Uhry

  Driving Miss Daisy is published by Theatre Communications Group, Inc.,

  520 Eighth Avenue, 24th Floor, New York, NY 10018-4156.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages in newspaper, magazine, radio or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that this material, being fully protected under the Copyright Laws of the United States of America and all other countries of the Berne and Universal Copyright Conventions, is subject to a royalty.