SCHOOL BOARD MEETING, SMALLTOWN, USA – NIGHT

The small town meeting room is packed with concerned citizens. At the front of the room, Mrs. Rudolph, the middle-aged and professional-looking Superintendent, bangs her gavel.

Jim, an angry parent, jumps up from his seat.

JIM: This is an outrage!

Supportive murmurs emit from Jim’s Buddies in the crowd.

BUDDY: You tell her Jim.

Some other Spectators roll their eyes.

MRS. RUDOLPH: Jim, everyone, please. We’ve been over this a hundred times. I’m sorry we have to cut your sons’ lacrosse team, but my hands are tied with this athletic budget. Perhaps he could just play on one of the other…

JIM: My new lawyer won’t stand for this.

MRS. RUDOLPH: Well, where is he?

Sam Ferguson bursts through the door. He’s in his late 30’s, but he looks much older. He wears a 1940’s style suit – complete with matching trench coat and fedora. He talks tough and he talks fast.

FERGUSON: The name’s Ferguson. Sam Ferguson. And I’ve got a good mind to belt you in the mouth for starting this thing without me.

Superintendent Rudolph is speechless.

Editor’s note: Sam Ferguson was a hard workin’, hard drinkin’, hard livin’ man of the 1940’s. One night after a few pops, he passed out in the back of an ice truck. The driver, also a bit tipsy, careened off a bridge, plunging the truck into the depths of the Atlantic where it went into a deep freeze. Sixty years later, it thawed and rose to the surface, enabling Sam to swim to shore (I’m sure you’ve read about it – it was all quite remarkable). This modern world is strange and different to Sam, but he was always a tough guy, and tough guys don’t complain or ask questions. They get on with their lives.

Ferguson hands his hat and coat to a confused female Spectator as he joins Jim.

FERGUSON: Sorry I’m late fella. Some wiseguy tried to tell me I had to pay two dollars to ride on the bus. But we compromised: I popped him in the nose.

MRS. RUDOLPH: Excuse me sir…

FERGUSON: No coffee for me doll. Just get your boss out here and we can get down to brass tacks.

JIM: Um, that’s the Superintendent.

FERGUSON: Sure. And I’m Artie Shaw.

Jim’s Buddies look at each other skeptically.

MRS. RUDOLPH: Mr., uh, Ferguson, is it? We have a very busy schedule, so if you have something to…

FERGUSON: Let me get right down to it sweetheart, and then you can pass word along to the old man. This fella puts his hard earned scratch down for these school taxes and he oughtta get his money’s worth.

MRS. RUDOLPH: Yes, but there is only so much money to go around. And a proportionate amount of it needs to be put towards girls’ athletic teams.

FERGUSON: Girls in sports? Did you just fly in from the looney bin? Next you’ll be telling me you want ‘em to learn how to drive.

SPECTATOR: What did he say?

Jim nervously surveys the ever more hostile room.

JIM: It’s not that I have a problem with girls playing sports…

Ferguson smirks at him.

JIM: It’s just…uh, I just don’t think we should punish my boys.

MRS. RUDOLPH: No one is out to punish anyone. I wish we could fund every team under the sun. But we can’t, and it’s just not fair if boys have disproportionately greater access than girls.

FERGUSON: What about math and science? They’re just for boys and you’re not cutting that.

The Spectators’ mouths are agape. Two of Jim’s Buddies quietly back out of the room. Jim is nervous.

MRS. RUDOLPH: In exactly what area of law do you specialize anyway?

Ferguson pulls out a cigarette from his silver case as he talks.

FERGUSON: I do it all. Divorce. Puttin’ people in the nuthouse. Insurance fraud. You name it. I once got a dame off who was accused of killin’ her husband. Turns out she did it after all. Good kid, though.

He lights up.

MRS. RUDOLPH: There’s no smoking in here.

FERGUSON: What are you, kiddin’?

JIM: Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

FERGUSON: Of course it is. Every boy needs to grow up playing football.

JIM: Lacrosse.

FERGUSON: Lacrosse? What are you, part Cherokee?

One of Jim’s Buddies grits his teeth.

MRS. RUDOLPH: Alright, that is unacceptable.

FERGUSON: You’re about five seconds from me bending you over my knee missy.

The Spectators gasp. The last of Jim’s Buddies back out the door.

JIM: Sam, I think I can take it from here.

FERGUSON: Are you welchin’ on our deal?

JIM: No, of course not. It’s just…uh…

FERGUSON: Come on, cough it up or I’ll pop you in the nose. A full day’s work – that’s a double sawbuck pallie.

Jim awkwardly hands over the twenty dollar bill as the remaining Spectators arch their eyebrows. Ferguson grins at his wages.

FERGUSON: I’ve done it all in my day, but law has got to be the richest racket of them all.

MRS. RUDOLPH: I’ll be notifying the state bar of your behavior.

FERGUSON: Yeah, you call those pencil necks. Tell ‘em Sam Ferguson says hello. They know where to find me.

With that, Ferguson struts out and slams the door.

Jim looks around sheepishly.

JIM: Go Lady Eagles!

FADE OUT:

You may remember Sam Ferguson from his brush with college basketball a few months ago...