Life Page #11

LONG-CHAIN CHARLIE, a white prison sergeant, sits behind the

wheel. A shot gun hangs within easy reach.

The CAMERA MOVES BACK past grim-faced PRISONERS with their

hands and feet shackled. We arrive at Ray and Claude sitting

in grim silence as the bus lurches along.

EXT. PRISON -- DAY

The bus veers off the country road and passes under a sign:

MISSISSIPPI STATE PENITENTIARY. Sgt. Dillard's voice PLAYS

OVER.

DILLARD (V.O.)

Welcome to the farm. Here you will

be provided with ample opportunity

to repay your debt to society through

the rigors of hard labor...

Ray and Claude stare out the window, getting their first

look at the harsh reality that awaits them. Cotton fields

stretch to the horizon in every direction. HOE-GANGS till

the earth under the watchful gaze of TRUSTY SHOOTERS...

DILLARD (V.O.)

In between harvest and planting season

we got fields need clearing, roads

need building and ditches need

digging. You will eat only what you

can grow. Your crop don't come in,

you'll go hungry. If you die, don't

worry 'bout us none. We'll find

somebody to replace you...

Along the road, CONVICTS cast hard looks at the new men as

the cart passes. A WHITE SERGEANT on horseback shifts his

rifle and casually spits tobacco juice in the dirt...

EXT. CAMP 8 -- DAY

A low-slung, single-story bunkhouse surrounded by a dirt

yard. Two shooter shacks sit at diagonal corners of the yard.

In each shack, two trusties with rifles keep vigilant watch

over the camp. SGT. FRED DILLARD paces down the line of new

men as HOPPIN' BOB, an uncommonly ugly trusty, unlocks their

leg irons.

DILLARD:

This here is Camp 8. Camp 8 is for

incorrigibles, so whatever you've

done to get here, believe me, we're

not impressed. You new men are

probably noticing that we have no

fences here at Camp 8. We don't need

no fences, we have the gun line. It

runs from shack to shack clear around

the yard. You are now inside the gun

line. If you step outside the gun

line without my permission, you will

be shot. If you trip and fall over

the gun line, you will be shot. If

you spit, if you pee, if you stick

your ass out and take a dump over

the gun line, you will be shot.

Dillard plucks a hat off one of the new prisoners and tosses

it over the gun line. SHOTS ring out from the nearest shack.

The hat is torn to shreds.

DILLARD:

One of my trusties puts a bullet in

you when you're trying to run, I'm

liable to give him a pardon for saving

me the trouble of tracking you down,

so you can bet their aim is true.

Dillard puts a cigarette in his mouth. Hoppin' Bob is right

there with the flame.

DILLARD:

My name is Sgt. Dillard. In the

unlikely event that you need to

address me, you call me boss. You

already met this handsome fella right

here. Hoppin' Bob's my ace boon coon.

You run afoul of Hoppin' Bob, you

run afoul of me.

Nodding to Bob, Dillard saunters off.

HOPPIN' BOB

New men, strip down!

Ray and Claude share a look. Self-consciously, the men begin

to undress.

INT. BUNKHOUSE -- DAY

Double bunks line the walls, with a footlocker for each

inmate. As usual, there's a poker game going on.

HOPPIN' BOB

Okay, ladies, got some fresh meat

for ya!

All activity comes to a halt as the new men shuffle into the

cage wearing their prison-issue "ring-arounds." Hoppin' Bob

slams the metal doors shut behind them.

HOPPIN' BOB

We ain't got no wallflowers at Camp

8. Everybody gotta dance eventually.

But don't worry, they won't try

nothing tonight. That would take all

of the fun outta the courtship.

The INCORRIGIBLES hungrily eye the new men in total silence.

Claude sticks close to Ray as they shuffle toward their

assigned bunks. The CAMERA SETTLES on a much younger WILLIE

LONG.

EXT. COUNTRY ROAD -- MORNING

The inmates jump down from the mule cart and grab hoes and

shovels. Because he can't count, Hoppin' Bob keeps track of

the men using a system all his own -- a PEBBLE in his pocket

for each man. Dillard stands by with his shotgun.

DILLARD:

Got three miles of ditch to clear

today. Let's keep it moving!

EXT. DITCH -- DAY

The men of Camp 8 labor under the brutal mid-day sun. JANGLE

LEG, a handsome, muscular man, sings a verse to set the work

tempo. Up and down the line, a mighty chorus responds. The

CAMERA FINDS Ray and Claude swinging pick axes, sweating

profusely.

CLAUDE:

I don't believe this before Abe jive.

I didn't go to night school to sing

in no Mississippi Boys Choir!

Claude stops to catch his breath and take off his shirt.

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