Ida Tarbell Page #13

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The irony of this comment strikes Ida as funny. She laughs.

SAM MCCLURE:

I’m glad you’re so amused. Maybe you’ll

also find these funny.

He hands Ida a bunch of threatening letters he has received.

Ida briefly scans them, totally unfazed.

IDA:

(joking)

He can’t even spell the word “strangle.”

How dangerous could he really be?

SAM MCCLURE:

(serious)

They’re a huge corporation, Ida. I’m just a

little guy, trying to sell a few extra

magazine subscriptions.

Ida points to the sacks of reader mail filling the office.

IDA:

And who do you think they are? They’re the

little guy, just like you. And they’ve had

to fight and scrap and starve for every

morsel that they get. But they’re also

tired of being pushed around by these

Robber Barons. They’re tired of playing

with a loaded dice in a rigged game that

they can never win.

SAM MCCLURE:

(pause)

This is insane. I can’t believe you ever

talked me into this.

IDA:

You’re the one who hired me!

SAM MCCLURE:

Jesus Christ. I didn’t want to start a

revolution. Just a better seat in a

restaurant and a couple of extra bucks.

IDA:

(calmly)

And we’ll get it, I promise you.

66.

IDA (CONT'D)

We can bring these people to their knees.

And then you can own the restaurant.

(beat)

You’re doing the right thing here, Mr.

McClure.

SAM MCCLURE:

Great. Remind me of that when I’m filing

for bankruptcy, will you?

(beat)

Haven’t you got some work to do?

He shoos her away like a fly.

SAM MCCLURE:

(re:
sacks of mail)

And take those bloody things with you!

(calling off)

PHILLIPS!

EXT. KYKUIT - DAY

A HORSE-DRAWN CARRIAGE pulls up at the front door of Kykuit.

A PORTER stands, waiting to receive HENRY ROGERS as he climbs

briskly out with his briefcase.

INT. KYKUIT - PRIVATE DEN - FOLLOWING

Rogers stands before Rockefeller. Weekly briefing session.

ROCKEFELLER:

You’re late.

ROGERS:

Driver lost a wheel on the way up here.

Couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid.

A beat.

ROCKEFELLER:

How many times have you met with that

woman, Miss Tar-barrel?

ROGERS:

(quickly)

We never discussed anything -

ROCKEFELLER:

That wasn’t the question. How many times

did you meet with her?

ROGERS:

A few times. I knew her father back in

Titusville. She wanted to learn about our

history, so I...humored her a little.

67.

ROCKEFELLER:

I’m told that on three separate occasions,

she came to see you at your office. What

did you discuss?

ROGERS:

This and that. Nothing very important.

Look, she was going to write about us

anyway, so I thought maybe I could help

steer the conversation a little.

ROCKEFELLER:

In order to steer, Mr. Rogers, one first

needs to be able to drive. The trouble with

you is, you’re much better at talking.

ROGERS:

I can assure you, I won’t be meeting with

her again.

ROCKEFELLER:

You know why I’m successful, Mr. Rogers?

Because I keep a low profile. I don’t seek

out attention, and I certainly don’t go

blowing my own trumpet in front of a

journalist just to make myself feel more

important.

ON ROGERS, embarrassed.

ROCKEFELLER:

This whole business with McClure’s, it’s

upsetting to my wife.

ROGERS:

Yes, sir. I understand.

ROCKEFELLER:

What would you do if someone was upsetting

your wife?

ROGERS:

Well, I...I’d want it stopped.

A beat.

ROCKEFELLER:

Then do it.

EXT. THE CENTURY CLUB - NIGHT

A discreet BRASS SIGN lit by two gaslights is all that

identifies the entrance to this elite all-male SOCIAL CLUB.

68.

INT. THE CENTURY CLUB - SMOKING ROOM - NIGHT

DISCOVER SAM MCCLURE - at a table, playing poker with a half-

dozen or so other young New York hotshots. He is looking

slightly the worse for drink and a poor run of cards.

SAM MCCLURE:

I’ll see your twenty, and I’ll raise you

fifty.

PLAYER #1

(uneasy)

Sam, come on, we’re playing for sport.

SAM MCCLURE:

Sport or not, if I’m going to be fleeced by

a bandit, I’d rather I see his face.

REVEAL:
three other gentlemen at another table paying very

close attention to the game. They are watching McClure.

The cards are dealt, and Sam takes his in hand. It’s a losing

hand, but still he bets more. Tension rising.

SAM MCCLURE:

Fifty.

Sam pushes out his chips, all in. Of the remaining three

players, all but one folds. Just him and Sam head to head.

DEALER:

Gentlemen, cards?

Sam reveals his hand: a weak two pairs. The other guy lays

down a house. Smiles. He reaches out to claim his winnings.

SAM MCCLURE:

(drunken smile)

Well, there we are then. If luck be a lady,

she can also be a vengeful whore.

(rising)

Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me...

McClure rises, staggers off in the direction of the toilets.

After a moment, we see the other men get up and follow.

INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT

McClure is at the urinal when three other “gentlemen” enter

the bathroom. One of them discreetly locks the door.

McClure zips up, goes to leave. Two men block his path.

GENTLEMAN #1

Where do you think you’re going?

69.

SAM MCCLURE:

Home. Excuse me.

GENTLEMAN #2

Not so fast, McClure.

In an instant, they’re upon him, pinning him roughly up

against the wall. The third man approaches, and grabs him

violently by the testicles. Squeezing.

GENTLEMAN #3

Think you’re a big man now, do you? Well,

you don’t seem so big to me.

SAM MCCLURE:

(terrified)

Hey! What is this? Get offa me! I pay my

debts.

GENTLEMAN #3

Yeah, but you’re not so good at minding

your own business, are you? You and that

nosy little b*tch would want to be a bit

more careful. Telling lies about people can

get you into a whole lot of trouble.

Suddenly, he is sucker punched in the gut. Another glancing

blow to the head, and he’s down on the floor.

GENTLEMAN #1

Stay away from Standard Oil, McClure. Or

the next time we might not be so friendly.

Before they go, one of them kicks him in the stomach for good

measure.

GENTLEMAN #1

That one’s for Ida.

EXT. CENTURY CLUB - NIGHT

Two beefy SECURITY GUARDS bodily carry McClure out the front

door of the club.

SAM MCCLURE:

Hey! I am a member of this club! I know my

rights!

And toss him unceremoniously into a fountain...

INT. IDA’S APARTMENT BUILDING - THAT SAME NIGHT

Ida stands in the stairwell of her third floor walk-up,

paying the LANDLADY her weekly rent.

70.

IDA:

The tap in my bathroom is leaking again.

LANDLADY:

I’ll send George up to have a look.

Probably just needs another washer.

The landlady turns to go, then stops, remembering something.

LANDLADY:

Oh. There was a gentleman called here for

you the other day.

IDA:

Did he leave a name?

LANDLADY:

No. No name. Tall fellow, skinny. I told

him you were at work.

IDA:

Thank you, Mrs. Hammond. If he shows up

here again, please let me know.

(beat)

Also, I specifically asked you not to put

my name on the mailbox outside. Please can

you take it down.

LANDLADY:

(not remotely interested)

Whatever you say. Good night, Miss Tarbell.

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