DONAHUE (eyes slightly rolled back, swings mike to Bill): How about it, Bill?
BILL: Yeah, right. But I still cruise Buena Vista.
DONAHUE (pensive, head to one side, strides backward, forward, then over to Allen): How about you, Allen?
ALLEN’S STORY: I’m a good person, I think. I work hard, am happily married, love my wife and family, also support United Way, served in the army. I drink very little, don’t do drugs, have never been to a porn movie. My idea of R & R — maybe I got it in the army — is to meet an attractive woman. What a delight it is, to see a handsome mature woman, maybe in the secretarial pool, maybe in a bar, restaurant, anywhere, exchange eye contact, speak to her in a nice way, respect her as a person, invite her to join me for lunch (no sexual harassment in the office — I hate that!), have a drink, two drinks, enjoy a nice meal, talk about matters of common interest — then simply ask her — by now, both of you know whether you like each other. What a joy to go with her up in the elevator of the downtown Holiday Inn, both of you silent, relaxed, smiling, anticipating — The door of the room closes behind you. You look at her, take her hand. There’s champagne already there. You stand at the window with her, touch glasses, talk — there’s nothing vulgar. No closed-circuit TV. Do you know what we did last time? We turned on La Bohème on the FM. She loves Puccini.
DONAHUE: C’mon, Allen. What are ya handing me? What d’ya mean you’re happily married? You mean you’re happy.
ALLEN: No, no. Vera’s happy, too.
AUDIENCE (mostly women, groaning): Nooooooo.
DONAHUE: Okay-okay, ladies, hold it a second. What do you mean, Vera’s happy? I mean, how do you manage — help me out, I’m about to get in trouble — hold the letters, folks—
ALLEN: Well, actually, Vera has a low sex drive. We’ve always been quite inactive, even at the beginnings—
AUDIENCE (groans, jumbled protests): Nooooo.
DONAHUE (backing away, holding up placating free hand, backing around to Dr. J.F.): It’s all yours, Doc.
DR. J.F.: Studies have shown that open marriages can be growth experiences for both partners. However—(groans from audience) — However: It seems to me that Vera may be getting the short end here. I mean, I don’t know Vera’s side of it. But could I ask you this? Have you and Vera thought about reenergizing your sex life?
ALLEN: Well, ah—
DR. J.F.: Studies have shown, for example, that more stale marriages have been revived by oral sex than any other technique—
DONAHUE: Now, Doc—
DR. J.F.: Other studies have shown that mutual masturbation—
DONAHUE (eyes rolled back): We’ve running long folks, we’ll be right back after this — don’t go away. Oh boy. (Lets mike slide to the hilt through his hand, closes eyes, as camera cuts away to a Maxithins commercial)
DONAHUE: We’re back. Thank the good Lord for good sponsors. (Turns to Penny, a thin, inattentive, moping teenager, even possibly a pre-teen): Penny?
PENNY (chewing something): Yeah?
DONAHUE (solicitous, quite effectively tender): What’s with you, sweetheart?
PENNY: Well, I liked this boy a lot and he told me there was one way I could prove it—
DONAHUE: Wait a minute, Penny. Now this, your being here, is okay with your parents, right? I mean let’s establish that.
PENNY: Oh, sure. They’re right over there — you can ask them. (Camera pans over audience, settling on a couple with mild, pleasant faces. It is evident that on the whole they are not displeased with being on TV)
DONAHUE: Okay. So you mean you didn’t know about taking precautions—
DR. J.F. (breaking in): Now, that’s what I mean, Phil.
DONAHUE: What’s that, Doc?
DR. J.F.: About the crying need for sex education in our schools. Now if this child—
PENNY: Oh, I had all that stuff at Ben Franklin.
DONAHUE: You mean you knew about the pill and the other, ah—
PENNY: I had been on the pill for a year.
DONAHUE (scratching head): I don’t get it. Oh, you mean you slipped up, got careless?
PENNY: NO, I did it on purpose.
DONAHUE: Did what on purpose? You mean—
PENNY: I mean I wanted to get pregnant.
DONAHUE: Why was that, Penny?
PENNY: My best friend was pregnant.
AUDIENCE: (Groans, laughter)
DR. J.F.: You see, Phil, that’s just what I mean. This girl is no more equipped with parenting skills than a child. She is a child. I hope she realizes she still has viable options.
DONAHUE: How about it, Penny?
PENNY: No, I want to have my baby.
DONAHUE: Why?
PENNY: I think babies are neat.
DONAHUE: Oh boy.
DR. J.F.: Studies have shown that unwanted babies suffer 85 percent more child abuse and 150 percent more neuroses later in life.
DONAHUE (striding): Okay, now what have we got here? Wait. What’s going on?
There is an interruption. Confusion at the rear of the studio. Heads turn. Three strangers, dressed outlandishly, stride down the aisle.
DONAHUE (smacks his forehead): What’s this? What’s this? Holy smoke!
Already the audience is smiling, reassured both by Donahue’s comic consternation and by the exoticness of the visitors. Clearly, the audience thinks, they are part of the act.
The three strangers are indeed outlandish.
One is a tall, thin, bearded man dressed like a sixteenth-century reformer. Indeed, he could be John Calvin, in his black cloak, black cap with short bill, and snug earflaps.
The second wears the full-dress uniform of a Confederate officer. Though he is a colonel, he is quite young, surely no more than twenty-five. Clean-shaven and extremely handsome, he looks for all the world like Colonel John Pelham, Jeb Stuart’s legendary artillerist. Renowned both for his gallantry in battle and for his chivalry toward women, the beau ideal of the South, he engaged in sixty artillery duels, won them all, lost not a single piece. With a single Napoleon, he held off three of Burnside’s divisions in front of Fredericksburg before being ordered by Stuart to retreat.
The third is at once the most ordinary-looking and yet the strangest of all. His dress is both modern and out-of-date. In his light-colored double-breasted suit and bow tie, his two-tone shoes of the sort known in the 1940s as “perforated wing-tips,” his neat above-the-ears haircut, he looks a bit like the clean old man in the Beatles movie A Hard Day’s Night, a bit like Lowell Thomas or perhaps Harry Truman. It is as if he were a visitor from the Cosmos, from a planet ten or so light-years distant, who had formed his notion of earthlings from belated transmissions of 1950 TV, from watching the Ed Sullivan Show, old Chester Morris movies, and Morey Amsterdam. Or, to judge from his speaking voice, he could have been an inveterate listener during the Golden Age of radio and modeled his speech on that of Harry Von Zell.
DONAHUE (backpedaling, smacking his head again): Holy smoke! Who are these guys? (Beseeching the audience with a slow comic pan around)
The audience laughs, not believing for a moment that these latecomers are not one of Donahue’s surprises. And yet—