Ida Tarbell Page #19

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Rockefeller stands with his back to all of them, gazing out

the window.

SELZ is a very distinguished-looking lawyer from New York. He

looks over several legal documents spread before them.

SELZ:

The holding company we will move to New

Jersey, which we incorporate under a

different name. Better tax laws, better

protection from the courts.

98.

SELZ (CONT'D)

Once that’s in place, we will name John

Junior as the “new” acting chairman of

Standard Oil.

ROCKEFELLER:

(quietly, not turning)

That’s very convenient.

SELZ:

Meanwhile, you will become the chairman of

a new private enterprise, which we will

call the “Rockefeller Foundation.” Now the

Foundation affords you very significant tax

advantages...

MR. GATES

Not to mention, some good publicity. For a

change!

Selz silences this idiot with a glance.

SELZ:

You control all philanthropic activities as

you see fit. You can choose your interests

for charitable or educational purposes.

A long pause. Rockefeller finally turns around to face them.

ROCKEFELLER:

You want to banish me from my own company,

put me out to pasture. The company I spent

40 years of my life building.

SELZ:

(pause)

It’s a minor bit of restructuring, that’s

all. But it will protect you personally,

protect the family’s assets, and hopefully,

ensure the continuation of your good name.

Rockefeller looks accusingly at his son. Junior meets his

father’s gaze confidently this time. We sense a “shift” in

the balance of power between father and son.

ROCKEFELLER:

Is this what you wanted, John?

JUNIOR:

I think it’s best for everyone. Yes.

SELZ:

Of course, this is entirely your decision,

Mr. Rockefeller.

Rockefeller looks contemptuously at the lawyer.

99.

ROCKEFELLER:

Is it?

Rockefeller glances briefly over the legal documents spread

before him. Then he picks up a pen, quickly signs his name.

He leaves the room without saying another word.

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Ida hurries along the street to her apartment. Approaching

the mailbox, she notices her name still pasted on there. This

annoys her. She rips it off.

ANGLE TO REVEAL:
A man (his face obscured) watching her.

Ida is being followed. As she goes to open up the front door,

the man looms behind her.

BEN LUDLOW:

You’re Ida Tarbell, aren’t you?

She looks around at him. We recognize him as the man in the

shabby raincoat ejected earlier from McClure’s lobby.

IDA:

(frightened)

I don’t think so.

BEN LUDLOW:

Sure you are. You’re the one writes all

them articles about Standard Oil.

Ida fumbles for her keys, tries to unlock the door.

IDA:

I think you have the wrong person.

Ida hurries inside, slamming the door abruptly on him. She

leans inside the door, breathing heavily. Heart racing.

BEN LUDLOW (O.C.)

Would it interest you to know that I spent

14 years working at the Standard Oil plant

in Toledo? You can even check it with my

supervisor. He’s the one showed me your ad

in the magazine.

(beat)

I’d sure be glad to talk to you about it

sometime, if you’re not too busy.

A long moment passes between them. He begins to walk away.

100.

IDA:

Wait!

(opening the door)

What did you say your name was?

BEN LUDLOW:

My name is Ben. Ben Ludlow.

IDA:

How did you find me here?

BEN LUDLOW:

I followed you off the tram. I went to your

office but they wouldn’t let me up.

(apologetic)

I’m awful sorry if I scared you.

Ida looks at him again, weighing it carefully...

INT. IDA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

They sit together at the kitchen table. Ida taking notes,

Ludlow sipping from a hot cup of tea.

Ludlow has a long hangdog look, and a flat mid-western

accent. He avoids looking directly at Ida as he speaks.

BEN LUDLOW:

I worked in the boiler room, near the

incinerator. End of every month, we’d get

us a big shipment of boxes come in from the

Cleveland plant. Documents and such. We

didn’t know what they were, we were just

told to get rid of ‘em. High priority.

IDA:

And you put them in the incinerator?

BEN LUDLOW:

(nods)

I didn’t think nothing of it. Until one

day, I look inside and I seen my brother-inlaw’s

name all over some of them documents.

IDA:

Your brother-in-law?

BEN LUDLOW:

Yes, m’am. He worked as a railway clerk on

the Erie Line, up near Meadville. Anyhow,

when I looked, I seen they had his whole

shipping schedule in there, shipping rates

for all the other refineries. Hell, they

even knew what he ate for breakfast. I

couldn’t believe it.

101.

A beat. Ida is stunned.

IDA:

And you destroyed all of these documents?

For Standard Oil?

BEN LUDLOW:

Well, not all of ‘em. When they let me go,

I decided I might need some type of

insurance for my claim. Right about now,

there’s a whole bunch of ‘em sitting in the

basement of my sister’s place in Queens.

If he weren’t so damn ugly, she might just kiss him.

INT. IDA’S APARTMENT - DAY

TWO DELIVERYMEN enter carrying boxes of dusty files, which

they deposit in the living room. Ida pays them off.

JUMP CUTS -- OVER SEVERAL DAYS

The clatter of her typewriter is heard as we see Ida at work.

She’s been at it for days now. Her face set in concentration.

She crosses out sections of her manuscript, tosses away

entire pages...

The typewriter continues to clack as day turns to night, and

back again.

Finally, she pulls out the last page, stares at it.

EXT. PARK AVENUE - DAY

Ida walks down the street, checking for an address against a

scrap of paper in her hand. She finds the one she wants.

Enters a tall apartment building.

INT. THE MCCLURE’S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY

Ida knocks at the door. After a moment, McClure peers out.

He appears unshaven and red-eyed, like he’s been on a bender

for a week. And he’s not thrilled to see Ida.

IDA:

Can I come in?

After a moment’s hesitation, he relents. Leaving the door

open for her.

102.

INT. MCCLURE’S STUDY - SOME TIME LATER

Sam pours himself another drink. Ida stands.

IDA:

I know how they were doing it.

SAM MCCLURE:

Doing what?

IDA:

The price fixing. The preferential shipping

rates. It’s all in there.

Ida places a manuscript on his desk. He doesn’t look at it.

IDA:

There’s a whole army of spies at every

level of the organization feeding

information directly to Cleveland. They

control everything because they know

everything. The Standard Oil Company is

actually 49 corporations, all operating

independently of each other. The holding

company is run by 9 trustees of which

Rockefeller is one. But he owns 90% of the

stock. It’s the perfect trust.

SAM MCCLURE:

Where did you get all this?

IDA:

Doesn’t matter where. The point is, we now

have proof that what they were doing is

illegal. John Rockefeller belongs in jail.

A pause.

SAM MCCLURE:

My wife is leaving me.

IDA:

Oh Sam...

SAM MCCLURE:

(a sad smile)

Can’t say I blame her. I’m a delinquent

father, a lousy husband and a miserable

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