Meet John Doe Page #6

ANN:

(screams right back)

The one we hire for the job, you

lunkhead!

There is silence for a moment.

CONNELL:

(breaking

silence—speaks

with a controlled

patience)

Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Lemme

get this through this lame brain

of mine. Are you suggesting we go

out and hire someone to say he's

gonna commit suicide on Christmas

Eve? Is that it?

ANN:

(nodding)

Well, you're catching on.

CONNELL:

Who, for instance?

ANN:

Anybody! Er, er—Beany'll do!

CLOSE-UP:
BEANY. He is petrified.

BEANY:

Why sure—Who? Me? Jump off a—Oh,

no! Any time but Christmas. I'm

superstitious.

FULL SHOT:
BEANY backs away from them—and when he gets to

the door—makes a dash for it.

INT. OUTER OFFICE

MED. SHOT:
At door. As BEANY comes dashing out, he almost

upsets the painter from the stool. When the door is shut,

the name of "Connell" which he has been printing is all

smudged over. The painter stares at it, helplessly for a

second, and then—unable to stand it any more, rises, throws

his brush violently to the floor—after completely smearing

the sign himself.

FULL SHOT:

CONNELL:

(sighing)

Miss Mitchell, do me a favor, will

you? Go on out and get married and

have a lot o' babies—but stay out

o' newspaper business!

POP:

Better get that story in, Hank,

it's getting late.

ANN:

(to CONNELL)

You're supposed to be a smart guy!

If it was raining hundred dollar

bills, you'd be out looking for a

dime you lost some place.

CONNELL:

Holy smokes! Wasting my time

listening to this mad woman.

He crosses to his desk just as NED enters from the back

door.

NED:

Look, Chief! Look what the Chronicle

is running on John Doe. They say

it's a fake!

CONNELL turns sharply.

CLOSE-UP:
Of ANN. She was just about giving up, when she

hears this—and her eyes brighten alertly.

MED. SHOT:
At CONNELL's desk. CONNELL—reading the

paper—becomes incensed.

CONNELL:

Why, the no-good—low-down—

(reading)

"John Doe story amateur journalism.

It's palpably phoney. It's a wonder

anyone is taking it seriously."

What do yuh think of those guys!

ANN has walked into scene while CONNELL is reading.

ANN:

That's fine! That's fine! Now

fall right into their laps. Go

ahead. Say John Doe walked in and

called the whole thing off. You

know what that's going to sound

like on top of this!

CONNELL:

(doesn't like Ned

hearing all this)

That's all, Ned. Thank you.

NED:

All right.

NED, puzzled, exits. CONNELL comes away from his desk and

walks around.

CONNELL:

(fighting spirit)

"Amateur journalism", huh? Why,

the bunch of sophomores! I can

teach them more about—

But he is interrupted by the front door being flung open.

On the threshold stands BEANY.

BEANY:

Hey, boss. Get a load of this.

CONNELL:

(joins him in the

doorway)

What?

BEANY:

Look!

MED. SHOT:
- OVER THEIR SHOULDERS. In the outer office

are a large group of derelict-looking men. Some

standing—some sitting—some leaning. It looks like the lobby

of a flophouse had been transplanted.

CLOSE SHOT:
Beany and Connell.

CONNELL:

What do they want?

BEANY:

They all say they wrote the John

Doe letter.

MED. SHOT:
POP and ANN have walked over and also peer out.

CONNELL:

(amused, turns)

Oh, they all wrote the letter?

ANN pushes CONNELL aside—talks to BEANY.

ANN:

Tell them all to wait.

She shuts the door and turns to CONNELL.

ANN:

Look, Mr. Connell—one of those men

is your John Doe. They're desperate

and will do anything for a cup of

coffee. Pick one out and you can

make the Chronicle eat their words.

CLOSE-UP:
Of CONNELL. A broad smile slowly spreads over

his face.

CONNELL:

I'm beginning to like this.

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