Stalag 17 Page #19

Joey doesn't move.

STOSH:

It's from your Dad, Joey.

He shoves the letter into Joey's pocket.

STOSH:

The next time we write to your folks,

Joey, you know what you're going to

say? You're going to say you don't

want to be a lawyer any more. You

want to be a musician -- like play

the flute, maybe -- eh, Joey?

There is a fleeting smile on Joey's face.

Triz, in his bunk, a crumpled letter in his hand, is mumbling

to himself.

TRIZ:

I believe it! I believe it!

G.I.

You believe what?

TRIZ:

My wife.

(Reading)

'Darling, you won't believe it, but

I found the most adorable baby on

our doorstep and I have decided to

keep it for our own. Now, you won't

believe it, but it's got exactly my

eyes and nose...' Why does she always

say I won't believe it? I believe

it!

Blondie is reading his letter, several G.I.s around him,

among them Duke.

BLONDIE:

This is from my mother.

(he reads)

'I saw a wonderful article on German

prison camps in one of the magazines.

They showed pictures of the tennis

courts and they also say that in the

winter they freeze them over so you

boys can ice skate...'

DUKE:

Anything about us grouse hunting in

the Vienna woods?

BLONDIE:

(continues to read)

'...In a way I'm glad you're not in

America right now -- with everything

rationed here, like gas and meat.'

DUKE:

Heart-rendering, ain't it? Why don't

we send them some food parcels?

Harry is busy with all his mail. He has opened six of his

letters and is now working on the last. Stosh comes into the

SHOT and peeks over his shoulder.

STOSH:

What do those broads say?

HARRY:

What do they always say?

STOSH:

That's what I wanna hear.

HARRY:

(hiding the letters)

It's not good for you, Animal.

Stosh grabs one of the letters from him.

STOSH:

Hey! This is with a typewriter! It's

from a finance company!

HARRY:

So it is from the finance company.

So it's better than no letter at

all. So they want the third payment

on the Plymouth.

(showing him five

more letters)

So they want the fourth, the fifth,

the sixth and the seventh. So they

want the Plymouth.

STOSH:

Sugar-lips Shapiro! Frightening,

ain't it?

HARRY:

(holding up the last

letter)

This is a good one!

(mounts a stool)

Shut up, everybody! Listen to this!

(he reads)

'The President of the United States

to Harry Shapiro. Greeting: Having

submitted yourself to a local board,

you are hereby notified to report...'

What do you know! So now I'm a draft

evader!

EXT. BARRACK 4 - (DAY)

Hoffy is walking across the muddy compound towards the

barrack, leading a couple of new prisoners: LIEUTENANT DUNBAR

and SERGEANT BAGRADIAN. They are exhausted but, by contrast

to the old P.O.W.s, remarkably clean. They are followed by a

P.O.W., carrying two barrack bags.

HOFFY:

(opening door to

barrack)

This is it, gentlemen. Don't bother

to scrape your shoes.

He leads them into the barrack.

INT. BARRACK

Hoffy leads in Dunbar, Bagradian and the P.O.W. with the

barrack bags. He snaps the line, the wash jiggles through

the barrack. Everybody turns.

HOFFY:

Okay, gang! Meet our new guests.

This is Lieutenant Dunbar and this

is Sergeant Bagradian.

DUNBAR AND BAGRADIAN

Hi.

STOSH:

Lieutenant?!

The whole barracks comes to its feet and salutes him with

mock reverence. Harry dashes up and polishes with his sleeve

the Lieutenant's bar.

DUNBAR:

Knock it off, boys. The pleasure's

all mine.

HOFFY:

The Lieutenant will be with us for a

week or so until the Krauts can ship

him to the officers' camp in Silesia.

Looks like all the railroad lines

out of Frankfurt are fouled up because

somebody blew up an ammunition train.

BAGRADIAN:

Somebody, my eye.

(indicating Dunbar)

The Lieutenant did it -- right in

the station -- with fifty German

guards around.

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