Mumford Page #22

SKIP:

I know it starts with a birth

certificate...

MUMFORD:

All new people start with that...

INT. ANONYMOUS WORK ROOM - DAY

ON A COMPUTER SCREEN an elaborate graphics program is creating

the filigreed border of a birth certificate that already

bears the official-looking designs of "Green County, State

of West Virginia".

MUMFORD (V.O.)

With desktop publishing, you don't

have to deal with printers, supply

houses, or pesky government agencies.

Eventually you do have to get your

hands on a typewriter. Ever seen one

of those, Skip?

As the border is completed, we PUSH IN and DISSOLVE THROUGH

TO:

SURFACE OF A DESK, with an electric Smith-Corona typewriter

(late '50's vintage). EXTREME CLOSE-UP of the keys hammering

out individual letters and numbers: date, hospital, attending

physician.

SKIP (V.O.)

(playing along)

Is that like a mimeograph?... What

about the name?

EXT. SECOND FLOOR PORCH, THE DUPLEX HOUSE - NIGHT

Mumford looks at Skip.

MUMFORD:

What about it?

SKIP:

"Mumford"... I mean, why pick the

name of the town you were going to?

MUMFORD:

Oh. You got it backwards. I already

had the name when I started looking

for somewhere to settle. When I saw

this town on a map, I thought maybe

it was a sign. See...

INT. ANONYMOUS WORK ROOM - DAY

The typewriter is just pounding out: MICHAEL OLIVER MUM-F-O-

R-D.

MUMFORD (V.O.)

...Mickey Mumford was in Miss Rice's

kindergarten class with me. He was

killed with his parents in a wreck

on their way back from a Steelers

game. He was only six years old,

which is a real plus, so there's a

birth certificate if anyone checks --

but not much else. They died in

Pennsylvania, so there's no death

certificate in West Virginia... that's

also good.

ON A KITCHEN TABLE, the new birth certificate, now filled

out for Michael Mumford, is carefully lifted from a shallow

bowl of light tea (the tea bags are nearby). The paper has

taken on an aged, sepia look. CUT TO:

A STACK OF BOOKS. The ones on top are lifted away. The bottom

book is opened to reveal the birth certificate. It has been

folded in an official way. Now Mumford unfolds it, then

refolds it differently -- with its smudges and creases, it's

starting to look old.

SKIP (V.O.)

And a birth certificate is enough?

MUMFORD (V.O.)

Everything flows from that, and what

doesn't... can be easily purchased.

SERIES OF SHOTS of Mumford's DOCUMENTATION PILING UP. A post

office box is emptied, official-looking correspondence is

opened, the bounty is laid out for perusal: Social Security

card, driver's license, college and graduate school diplomas,

license and accreditation to operate as a therapist.

MUMFORD (V.O.)

Of course, my IRS training made it

easier. Once you've done that, there's

not much data you can't access and

use any way you want.

EXT. SECOND FLOOR PORCH, THE DUPLEX HOUSE - NIGHT

MUMFORD:

In a free society, you are who you

say you are.

(smiling)

People should remember that before

they go around knocking this country.

(he gets up)

Skip, all this beer's got me sleepy.

Skip looks upset.

SKIP:

But you studied psychology, right?

You did the training and just never

got the degree?

MUMFORD:

No... no training.

SKIP:

(hopeful)

Psych major?

MUMFORD:

English Lit.

SKIP:

Jeez, man. But you're good at it!

MUMFORD:

I understand what it's like to want

to leave a problem behind. That's

all most people are looking to do.

(shrugs)

Mainly, I listen.

He heads inside.

SKIP:

Where ya going? I've got a million

questions.

MUMFORD:

See you Thursday... regular time.

Mumford goes inside. Skip nods, head spinning.

EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREET - SUNRISE

Mumford and Sofie are delivering newspapers in lovely first

light. Mumford has a canvas sack full of newspapers around

his neck. At each house, he consults the list in his hand,

then hands Sofie a rolled-up paper, which she throws -- with

varying success -- toward the front doors. The activity is

tiring for her, but she's committed.

SOFIE:

...so we get on this incredible steam

engine train that runs up into the

mountains...

(she tosses a paper,

grunting)

...and this trip is everything it's

cracked up to be... an open car,

great views, the mountain air blowing

through. We're sitting there, married

for six years, and he says how he

likes it better when I put my hair

back...

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