Richard Durham's Destination Freedom

Scripts From Radio's Black Legacy, 1948-1950

 (originally broadcast July 17, 1949)

Listen

[This was the first of two consecutive dramatizations drawn by Richard Durham from Afro-American folktales—the other being "The Story of John Henry." Stackalee sometimes known as Stagger Lee or Stack OLee—is a curious amalgam of cultural influences. He is primarily a black American character, wiser and tougher than the society at large, yet still a victim of racial peculiarities in the United States. In Durham's words, moreover, Stackalee is "the mythical Paul Bunyan of the outlaws," possessing those exaggerated traits of strength and innocence widely associated with the legendary American lumberjack. Obviously, too, Stackalee is a black Faust, an Afro-American version of that vulnerable Germanic soul whose compact with the devil became the basis for a life of dissipation, but ultimate redemption.]

ANNOUNCER: Destination Freedom! (MUSIC: Theme up and under for)

ANNOUNCER: Destination Freedom—dramatizations of the great democratic traditions of the Negro people—brought to you by station WMAQ as a part of the pageant of history and of America's own—DESTINATION FREEDOM!

(MUSIC: Theme finish and out for)

ANNOUNCER: The storytellers say an old city without a legend is like a cow without a cud. And if so, the city of Memphis, Tennessee, would have plenty to chew on even if the legend of "Stackalee" were its only one. In this chapter Destination Freedom brings you an account of the mythical Paul Bunyan of the outlaws around whom grew these "Tales of Stackalee"!

(GUITAR: Stackalee blues in and under)

SINGER: Stackalee, Stackalee, oh, Stackalee.

TELLER: Nobody knows where Stackalee got started. But I got it straight from folks who saw him and lived to tell about it. Stackalee's a tale strayin' like an alley cat from house to house, fragments flying from lip to lip. Jaybird gossip and mockingbird tales from housemaids, butlers, gamblers, barten­ders, and sharpies who tied together the shreds and shards of Stackalee­and this is the story they tell.

SINGER: Stackalee didn't wear no shoes;
Couldn't tell his track from horse or mule. Stackalee
Stackalee (going off) Stackalee

TELLER: (Over fade down) They say the night Stackalee was born, there was a thunderstorm that bounced the earth back and forth like a cue ball on a billiard table.

(SOUND: Crack of thunder)

TELLER: And it rained fire for five straight hours. In the gambling houses along the muddy Mississippi all the cards turned to aces and the dice rolled nothing but sevens to announce his cornin'—

SINGER: (Fade him up) Stackaleeeeeeeeee frum Tennesseeeeeeeee, (fade) Stack­aleeeeeee, oh Stackaleeeeeeeeee.

(SOUND: Crack of thunder and roll off)

TELLER: The storm was so terrible that six planets resigned from the solar system and plunged into the milky way

(SOUND: Crack of thunder)

TELLER: The dead stuck their heads above the graves and held a conference and voted to boycott anybody born on this terrible night even if it was

SINGER: (Fade up) Stackaleeeeeeeeeee, (fade off) oh Stackaleeeeeeeeee.

TELLER: Things were so disarranged that a frantic flea bit an elephant and paralyzed him. Simon Legree joined the NAACP. One apple dropped into the Mississippi and made it run pure cider for a solid week.

(SOUND: Extra loud clap of thunder)

TELLER: In hell, the devil's fire went out like a light and Satan nearly caught pneumonia and swore on a ton of coal to get the soul of

SINGER: (Fade up) Stackaleeeceeeeeeeeee, (fade) Stackaleeeeeeeeee, 0000000 Stackaleeeeeeeeee.

(SOUND: Crack of thunder and roll it offin distance)

TELLER: (Very low and as though he's somewhat afraid himself) But in the cool blue morning the earth was still intact. And somehow old Josiah Lee quit work in the cafe, slung his twelve-string guitar over his shoulder, and went home to see what the weird night had brought him.

(GUITAR: Out)

SOUND: Key in lock, door opens and closes)

LEE: (Humming blues, speaks with surprise) Well—Bertha! You—you up a'ready. BERTHA: (Low, stoney, stoic, and stunned) You see me up don't you, Josiah.

LEE: (Appeasing) Sure, sure—but—(catches, afraid). Everything's all right—ain't it? I mean—the baby?

BERTHA: (A concession) He was born.

LEE: Well—praise the Lord!

(SOUND: A sudden terrible crack of thunder, as before)

LEE: (Looks up) Great day—what was that?

BERTHA: (Still stoic) You praised the wrong one—this was the devil's doin'.

LEE: Now Bertha, you're just upset. Can't say I blame you—after the night we've had. Can I—see my baby? What's he been doin'?

BERTHA: Growin.

LEE: Of course—they all do.

BERTHA: This one's been growin' a foot an hour.

LEE: (Chides) Now, Bertha, you shouldn't

STACK: (Off mike, bawling and in bad humor) Heeeeeeey Maw! LEE: Great guns! Who's that?

BERTHA: (Hushed) It's him!

STACK: Will you two stop gabbin' and get me outta this two-by-four crib! I've outgrowed it! Maaaaaaaaw! Maawwwwwww!

(SOUND: Off mike the crib is torn up under) (GUITAR: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: (Quiet as if reporting the scene) They say Stack tore up his crib before he'd been christened. Kicked through the slats and stood up with a full set of milk-white teeth, and stalked into the livin' room and stood arms akimbo.

LEE: (Long whistle of pure wonder) Good Lord!

(SOUND: Terrible crack of thunder)

LEE: (Apologetic) I'm sorry, Lord. I meant—the devil.

STACK: So—you my paw?

LEE: (Hates to admit it) Well—er—well—theorctically speaking—

STACK: Then what's my name?

LEE: We had thought of naming you after cousin Jacob—but­

BERTHA: (Advises him) Lee—name the boy before the devil does!

LEE: (Thinking of something, whistles again) You—you're sure stacked! I'll name you Stack —cause you're built like steel. (Polite) Does—er that suit you?

STACK: (Doesn't bother too long with trifles) It'll do. Now paw—maw

­BERTHA: (Painful) Yes er—son.

LEE: (Equally so) Yes, er—son?

STACK: You musta had some plans for my future, before I was born.

LEE: Yea—we did ... sorta.

STACK: What kinda job didja have in mind for me to grow into? (Aside) I want to be a dutiful son—if possible.

LEE: (Fumbles around) Well—all our plans are sorta—well sorta‑

BERTHA: (Nudges him) Lee—tell him before the devil does!

LEE: Well, Stack, to tell you the truth—we were going to sort of let you choose.

STACK: That's good.

BERTHA: (Her first conciliatory move) Of course, we didn't know you'd be so precocious

LEE: Yea—lemme have this chair here 'n' figger this thing out.

(SOUND: Chair strains and breaks)

LEE: Er, I think you better sit on the floor, son.

LEE AND BERTHA: (They ad-lib as they assist him to a comfortable position.)

STACK: Now th' ver' minute I was bawn—first thing struck my mind was that maybe my maw and paw had planned on me bein' governor of Tennessee—(eyes up) that right?

BOTH: (Confused) Well—no Stack, you see—that ain't allowed.

STACK: (In gentle) Well never mind. Then I thought yawl justa planned on me bein' a senator.

BOTH: (Confused ad-lib) Well—no Stack, you see—not that either.

STACK: (Slightly less gentle) Never mind then. I guess you musta wanted me to manage one of them big buildin's over on Beale street. One of them the stork tripped over when he flew me in.

BOTH: Well—Stack—not exactly ... you see ...

STACK: (Less gentle) Ummm huh. Well maybe I didn't figger out what you had planned for my future. (Chuckle) But I sure know where you wanted me to live ...

BOTH: (Not sure) Well—we didn't.

STACK: (Point through window) Right over there on Confederate Street ... a­right next to Lily-White Boulevard!

BOTH: (Confused) Well—no—Stack—not that either ...

STACK: (All the gentleness gone) Then—just what did yawl have in mind for me?

LEE: (Timid) Well—you see Stack—none of them things you mention—

STACK: Why none?

LEE: (Fumbles) Well—you—see—l—well‑

BERTHA: (Nudges) Lee, before the devil does!

LEE: You see—all them jobs you named's for white folks only.

STACK: (Never heard of them) White folks?

LEE: Yes ... Stack.

STACK: What color am I?

LEE: You ain't "white."

STACK: So?

LEE: So—ain't too many jobs 'round here for you. Ain't too many streets you can live on 'ceps those they got set aside, you see?

STACK: (Straightens up) I see.

BERTHA: (Curious, watching him) You gettin' up to go someplace, son? STACK: (Stretching) I'm just stretchin'. . Just stretchin'.

(SOUND: Wood creaks and breaks, eagle screech)

(GUITAR: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: They say when Stackalee stood up to stretch, his fist punched holes in the rooftops and knocked out a forty-pound buzzard fying overhead, and when he'd settled, he said

STACK: Paw! LEE: Son?

STACK: I outgrew my crib. I know I've outgrown th' Jim Crow system—I don't intend bein' hemmed in ...

BERTHA: Stack—nothin' you can do, son. You're only a baby—just a day old. STACK: (Stretching) Paw—get me something to scratch my back.

LEE: Won't my hairbrush do?

STACK: Naw—it won't. Gimme that there forty-five pistol. You got one ain't you?

LEE: (Worried) Sure—but I ain't never had no use for it. STACK: Well, I got a use for it. Thanks.

(SOUND: Shots)

(GUITAR: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: (Quiet and awed by it all) Stackalee started by scratchin' his back with sixteen shots skimmin' along the spine. They tickled him. He straightened up and looked out the window and saw a Jim Crow sign hanging in front of' the drinkin' fountain.

(SOUND: Three rapid shotsfromthef6rtyfive)

TELLER: He shot the sign down, and when his ol' man asked—

LEE: Son—just what do you intend to be?

STACK: I guess I'm goin' to be the baddest baby ever born.

(GUITAR: Stackalee blues for)

SINGER: Stackalee, Stackalee, oh, Stackalee‑

TELLER: Then he picked up his ol' man's twelve-string guitar for company and sauntered out on Beale Street, where the blues and Stackalee had been born. He saw Jim Crow signs everywhere sayin' "colored folks keep out" and "white folks only" and shook his head and said

STACK: I wish whoever put up those signs would go right straight to

(SOUND: Crack of thunder)

DEVIL: (Face on in fairly good humor. A capable, shrewd, and aggressive character. Impression of a successful business man. Has a consistent chuckle, which never leaves him for long) Well, well, well! If it ain't my ol' pal Stackalee just down here a-wishin' and a-wishin' ... (chuckles).

STACK: (Suspicious) I ain't a day old yet, and I ain't your pal. In fact

DEVIL: (Cut in) Right! I'm just a little ahead of myself. I always get just a little ahead of myself. It's the devil in me (guffaws).

STACK: Well, I ain't gonna let you get ahead of me. (Fade) Good-bye, Mr. Devil, but I'm lookin' for work...

(SOUND: Heavy-footed steps go off.)

DEVIL: (Off, going off further) Hey! Hey! Wait I got a proposition for ya! Wait! (Guitar: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: Stack wouldn't wait but went job huntin' with the devil doggie' his heels. (Over the ad-libs as if reporting the scene) He walked until his feet were lead, and the devil caught up with him

DEVIL: (Catching up, not used to exerting himself) Boy, I got a proposition better'n anything you ever dreamed up, and you runnin' from it!

STACK: (Tired) What is it?

DEVIL: I need you

STACK: What for?

DEVIL: (Con man) Suppose we go over in my office—have a nice sociable drink—and get friendlylike.

STACK: (Pause) I—well—I guess

DEVIL: (Pops his fingers) Good! My office is located over in the graveyards. I'll stop by the drug store, pick up some soft drinks. Then you can (chuckles) get the deal of your life.

(GUITAR: Noodles in and out)

TELLER: The devil ducked into a pharmacist's and bought a half gallon of arsenic, a quart of strychnine, pint of cyanide of potassium, and prussic acid, mixed together with hemlock and nitroglycerin and returned to the graveyard—ready for a nice social afternoon while Stack sat waiting on a tombstone.

DEVIL: (Slapping him on the back) My boy—you sure look good a'sittin' there onmthat tombstone—only way you'd look better would be to lay under it—(chuckles).

STACK: (Not amused. Wants to get down to business. Cut into his speech) You said you had a proposition for me—?

DEVIL: Oh yes, yes, I do. It'll take an unusual man—someone whose soul I can't snatch so easy— (Complaint) You know, most souls come to me without a livin' struggle....

STACK: (Impatient) What's the proposition?

DEVIL: It's for an unusually strong soul. Someone hard to get. STACK: (Moody and brooding) Like mine?

DEVIL: Well, I don't know. Care for a drink?

STACK: I don't mind.

DEVIL: (Slaps him on the back) A soul after my own heart—I knew you belonged to me, Stack—I just knew it. Yes, I did. I just knew it.

(SOUND: Terrific gurgling as he nearly pours a gallon) DEVIL: (Pause) Man! Now I'm sure of it.

STACK: (Sighs) I'm mighty thirsty, Mr. Devil.

DEVIL: (Has finished) Now. Just drink some of this, and you'll never be thirsty anymore.

TELLER: (Close, and sotto) Stack turned up the gallon jug of nitroglycerin plus and downed it in one gulp.

STACK: (Gulps) That's mighty good. Don't tell me you on the wagon, Mr. Devil? DEVIL: (Confused) Well, sort of, that is, you know it's a little rich for—STACK: Then you won't mind if I drink the rest of this soda pop? Thanks. STACK: (Terrific gulp)

DEVIL: (Happy) You feelin' all right, Stack?

STACK: Never felt better in my life. Now about that proposition.

DEVIL: (Disappointment) Well ...I see you're going to be a hard soul to get a hold of. (Clears his throat, knows he has got to do business, pious) To put all my cards on the table and be perfectly honest—as I always am—I've noticed your trend. You're headed to be an outlaw....

STACK: I ain't surprised.

DEVIL: Well—in your line of work, you'll run into quite a few souls that are "overdue"—should be burnin' in my furnaces right now. I'd sort of like for you to "speed" them on.

STACK: I see. And what do I get?

DEVIL: (Chuckles) Oh, I'll fix it so the law can't lay a hand on you. I'll increase the powers you already got—and son, you got some. I'll teach you how to play that guitar you're holdin' (strum the guitar) in a magic way.—And 'course I'd sorta like to have your own soul

STACK: (Heads him off) Over my dead body!

DEVIL: (Unworried) Awww right, awwww right. To put all my cards on the table and be perfectly honest—as I always am—'long as you don't kill an innocent human—I couldn't collect your soul, nohow.

STACK: I ain't gonna harm an innocent soul....

DEVIL: (Thoughtfully) Maybe, maybe not; then, if you get married in a year's time, without harming an innocent one—you're free of me.

STACK: Well—not a bad deal, not a bad deal.

DEVIL: Nossir, it ain't.

STACK: How come you're doin' all this for me, Mr. Devil?

DEVIL: (A slow malicious chuckle) My boy—just remember—the devil does a good deed now and then—just to amuse himself (chuckles).

(SOUND: Crack of thunder)

(Guitar: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: The devil disappeared, and Stack spied a stranger.

STACK: Say, stranger

STRANGER: (He's the devil) Yeah, son?

STACK: Which way I'll find the mos' desperate criminals in th' country?

STRANGER: (Scratches his chin) Well, I'll tell you—that ought to be down round where the Ku Klux Klan hides out

STACK: Where's that?

STRANGER: Come here. You see that long, long street there?

STACK: Un-huh.

STRANGER-. That street goes all the way down to Alabama and Florida.

STACK: Ummm, that's a bad lookin' street.

STRANGER: (Nods) And the further down you go—the badder it gets. Well—the grand dragon of the Klan—lives oil that street in the last block in the last house.

TELLER: (Over fade) Stack went down the long street, and the Grand Dragon heard him on his way—scratching his back

(SOUND: Series of scratching shots)

TELLER—with his forty-five. And as he took a shortcut through the Ozark mountains—the dragon sent a ten-foot rattlesnake to stop his Stackalee. The rattlesnake tock pity on day-old Stackalee—gave him a few warning rattles (sound) just to get his eye. And Stack laid down his forty-five—just to be fair—and gave the rattlesnake the first three bites.

(Music: Sting of first bite) STACK: (He winces.) O000.

TELLER: He did wince in pain at the first bite.

(MUSIC: Sting a little more)

STACK: (Takes it much better) Ahhh.

TELLER: Grinned at the second bite.

(MUSIC: Bite him again)

STACK: (Breaks into a huge guffau, as if'he has been tickled)

(GUITAR: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: (Over the guffaw) And fell down laughing at the third bite—it tickled him so. Then he waded into the reptile and flailed him until the old rattler yelled for mercy.

RATTLER: (He has a southern accent.) Please! Please Mistuh Stackalee! Have pity on po' me! Please!

STACK: Who's the baddest baby ever born?

RATTLER: (Convinced) Stackalee front Tennessee!

STACK: Awww right then. Let me go down the road in peace.

RATTLER: (Emphatic) Yes sir! Yes sir, Mistuh Stackalee.

TELLER: (Quiet) Stack wrapped the rattler 'round his pants for a belt, walked on down the long street until a mountain lion—sent by the grand dragon—jumped

(SOUND: Roar of lion)

TELLER: —from a tree and lit on Stack's neck. (Speed up description) The lion weighed more than three steers and a calf and had digested a platoon of men the day before. Stack laid down his forty-five—just to be fair—and in a minute had knocked the fight out of the lion and the lion hollered

(SOUND: Cat meowing)

LION: (Licked) Awwww I give up, Stack. Man, can't you take a joke. (Fade) You can't take a joke at all!

(SOUND: Furious wind in and under)

(GUITAR: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: Then Stack met a cyclone—the worst that ever hit the South—and being tired of walking, he toned the tornado down and got on its back.

TELLER: Rode the rest of the way down to the end of the street—slid down a streak of lightning and knocked on the door of the last house:

(SOUND: Knock breaks door)

GRAND DRAGON: (In bad humor, fade on) Who's that?

STACK: Big Stackalee from Tennessee!

DRAGON: (On) Move on back up the road while I still got my temper.

STACK: You run the Klan?

DRAGON: An' that ain't all.

STACK: You one of the men who keep up the Jim Crow signs?

DRAGON: Boy, I help invent 'em. What your business?

STACK: A little funeral business.

DRAGON: (Frowns) Now, boy, don't let me get mad 'cause I'm scared of my own self when I get mad.

STACK: And I ain't scared of nobody.

DRAGON: (Assured, call off) Hey, boys, stay back—he's all mine. I'll save you the trouble of lynchin' him later. (To Stack) Now I got a thirty-two special on a forty-four frame. (Aiming) And how can I miss when I got dead aim?

STACK: Aw right—you got your big gun, and I've got mine. just rap on the cartridge if you don't mind dyin'.

(SOUND: Two pistols go off together.)

(GUITAR: Stackalee blubs for)

SINGER: Stackalee—Stackalee, oh Stackalee.

TELLER: (Quiet) They say both guns went off together, and when the smoke cleared away, there was one man standing and one stretched out on the ground.

(SOUND: Crack of thunder)

DEVIL: (Fade on, in chuckling) Well, well, well, I see you're right on the job, Stack, keepin' your bargain.

STACK: I didn't 'ntend to shoot—only‑

DEVIL: (Waves airily) Never mind, I'll note this down in your account. One grand dragon of the KKK sent home ahead of schedule. (Finishes writing) Um huh. (Chuckles) Good, Stack. Like I said, you won't find no danger at 'tall till you decide to marry and find you can't. (Fade) So long, Stack.

(SOUND: Crack of thunder)

(GUITAR: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: And Stackalee went wandering around the wharfs and the levees of the Mississippi, met men he did in and men who wanted to do him in—and after each encounter the Devil checked.

(SOUND: Crack of thunder)

DEVIL: (Chuckling up a breeze) Sixteen, eighteen—twenty souls sent to my fur­nace. Nice work, Stack, nice work. (Fade) Very, very nice.

(GUITAR: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: And the news of the shootin' spread pretty fast, and thereafter sher­iffs from Savannah to Knoxville, Birmingham to New Orleans, tacked up signs advertisin'—

SINGER: (With guitar) Stackalee.

SIGN I: (Tennessee) If anybody see that bad man Stackalee—shoot him first; then bring him to me.

SINGER: (With guitar) Stackalee.

SIGN II: Shoot him on sight and collect the reward. But if he sees you first, send your soul to the Lawd.

SINGER: (With guitar) Oh Stackalee.

TELLER: And Stack, carousing around the riverboats and gambling houses of the Missouri, got to be the best blues man on the river. He sang while the bloodhounds and the sheriffs bayed at his heels, and he hid out so long in the Silver Moon Cafe on Market Street in St. Louis, the devil got impatient for his soul and caused a woman named Stack o' Dollars to come in the cafe one night

(SOUND: General stirring from cafe group in background)

TELLER: She split the men apart as she strode to the gamin' table...set down a sack of silver dollars

(SOUND: Huge sack dropped. Ad-libs from group)

TELLER: —and cried out.

STACK O'DOLLARS: Husky, almost masculine tone and approach. Will fight as quick as Stackalee) From Memphis to Macon they call me Stack o' Dollars 'Cause win, lose, break even, I ain't the one to holler. I pile my money mountain high  'Cause my only limit is the clear blue sky.

(Aside) Let'er roll, boys, let'er roll!

(SOUND: Spinning of the wheel)

TELLER: The wheelman spun the wheel—it stopped on Stack o' Dollars' num­ber. She had the house.

STACKO: (Delighted) Ladies' luck's brought me many a buck, shell out, mister, shell out‑

GROUP: (Surly) Shell out! Anybody ever told you, ladies not allowed to play in the Silver Moon—?

STACKO: Now you tell me! GROUP: Now you know!

STACKO: Pay off!

GROUP: Get out while the gettin's—(owwww)

(SOUND: Terrific sock and then some pretty rugged scuffling)

(GUITAR: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: (Like he's broadcasting a fight) Stack o' Dollars shot a right to the wheel man's jaw. He shot down to the holy ground like he'd been call to say a prayer—two bouncers edged in, and she drove one's nose so far down into his face, whenever he breathed he air-conditioned his spine. Then she stacked her dollars and strode towards the door where Stackalee stood with his Stetson hat in his hand and bowed.

STACK: Miss—I've been lookin' for you for a long, long time.

STACKO: (Slightly flirty) What's on your mind, honey-boy?

STACK: That right cross did it.

STACKO: What?

STACK: Made me love you on sight. I love a fightin' woman.

STACKO: I love a fightin' man. Goin' my way?

(GUITAR: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: (Low, quiet) That's the way it went. The devil chuckled because he know what was comin'. When they got down to nifty-gritty—Stack o' Dollars had a weird tale to tell Stackalee:

STACKO: (In his arms) Stack

STACK: Um?

STACKO: You've got to convince my father before we can marry.

STACK: (Unworried) I convince most people.

STACKO: My old man wouldn't believe it was hot if he was in the devil's furnace. He's sick now. Convince him that he needs help and—we'll get married.

STACK: Leave it to me, honey. I'll make him feel he's so sick—he's dead.

SINGER: (With guitar) Stackalee. Stackalee. Oh Stackalee.

DOLLARS: (The most obstinate goat ever lived, takes a sort of delight in being stubborn) No such thing, I ain't a bit sick; I never was. Now, girl, don't come bringin' in no young man to tell me lies.

STACKO: Father, this is Stackalee.

DOLLARS: Stackalee th' bad man? No such thing! He ain't Stackalee.

STACK: But I am, Mr. Dollars, and I want to marry

DOLLARS: Naw you don't. Naw you don't. I don't believe a word of it. (Fade) Now get outta my sight while I'm still in a lovin' temper.

(GUITAR: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: (Take it before fade's through) And way down below, the devil chuckled when Stack brought in a doctor for Mr. Dollars:

STACK: (Polite) Mr. Dollars—the doctor's here.

DOLLARS: (Sits upright) Doctor! What for?

DOCTOR: (Polite) Now, now easy now, Mr. Dollars, you're very very sick.

DOLLARS: (Cut in) You crazy! Nothin' wrong with me, nothin' at all!

DOCTOR: (Loses patience a bit) Nothing—only that you're dying.

DOLLARS: Who's dying? I'm in better health than I ever been!

DOCTOR: In exactly twenty-four hours, Mr. Dollars, you'll be dead.

DOLLARS: I don't believe a word of it! (Catches breath) Not one word of truth to it (death sigh).

(MUSIC: Slow minor dirge)

TELLER: Mr. Dollars died. The undertaker came. They bore him to the graveyard and buried him. Stackalee drew a long breath, and he and Stack o' Dollars got ready to be wed, but Stack o' Dollars came into church.

STACKO: (Fade on, alarmed) Stack! Stack!

STACK: Yes, yes, what is it?

STACKO: It's father!

STACK: What's the matter?

STACKO: I went to the cemetery to put flowers on father's grave. He wasn't in it. He was sitting on the fence—he won't believe he's dead!

(MUSIC: Same tune but major)

TELLER: Stackalee went out to the cemetery to talk to his would-be father-in-law. Mr. Dollars sat on top of his own tombstone, dusting off his clothes.

STACK: Mr. Dollars, believe me—you're dead—completely dead. You can't get around it.

DOLLARS: (As cantankerous as ever) No such thing, young man. I never felt  better in my life.

STACK: But you've been buried

DOLLARS: 'Then why am I sittin' here feeling healthy and happy if I'm dead? I don't believe a word you say.

(MUSIC: Same tune, major and bright)

TELLER: And week after week, Mr. Dollars sat in the graveyard, swearing he was the healthiest man in Missouri. The undertakers refused to rebury him, and down below the devil grinned and waited for the evening to come when Stackalee would need his help. The evening came—when someone knocked late at night—at the Dollars house.

(SOUND: Knocking up a bit)

STACKO: (Off) Who is it?

DOLLARS: It's me, girl. Open the door and let me come into my own house.

(SOUND: Door opens and closes)

DOLLARS: Where's the fire, I got to warm my toes....

STACKO: Father! You

DOLLARS: (Cut in) Don't tell me I'm "dead" again. No such thing. No such thing. (Getting himself set) Let me put my feet by the fire to warm 'em. I ain't nowhere near dead.

(GUITAR: Noodle in and out)

TELLER: (Quiet) Stackalee felt the devil's breath on his neck and knew he had to find some way of convincing the old man that he was dead. Sundown and sunup, Mr. Dollars sat warming his hands and feet by the fire. Stack's time was running short.

STACK: (Sigh) I wish the old man would go to—

(SOUND: Crack of thunder)

DEVIL: (Fade on) Well, well, well, you need my help, Stack? Now don't be stubborn—speak up. In fact, I sort of owe you something on our last con­tract, Stack!

STACK: Praise the Lord.

DEVIL: (Annoyed) I wish you wouldn't mention that name around me. Now about helping you—

STACK: What's your price?

DEVIL: (Shrewd) Ohh—I wouldn't worry about that. You'll be married before your year's up—it says here—and you won't kill an innocent soul. Ohh, I wouldn't worry about the price. I'll collect mine—somehow. I usually do.

STACK: Then help me!

DEVIL: Well—help lies in learnin' how to handle the guitar. Learn to play so well that whoever listens'll dance themselves to death. Gimme your fingers.

(GUITAR: Pick through with some complications a heavy rhythm blues or a boogie beat. First begin experimentally and hold in background as)

TELLER: The devil took Stackalee's fingers and taught him how to play the way no one had played before. And when he went callin' on Stack o' Dollars, he saw the old man warming his feet by the fireplace.

STACKO: What's the guitar for, Stack?

STACK: (Hushed) It's to send your father back where he belongs.

STACKO: How!

STACK: I've made a bargain‑

STACKO: With the devil?

STACK: Never you mind. When I play my guitar now, everyone who hears it's got to dance—even the dead. I'm going to see if it'll convince the old man.

(GUITAR: Build into good beat to justify the dancing. Hold under as)

TELLER: Stack just touched the strings and the way they played! The old man jumped up

DOLLARS: (Jumping to the music) Hey now, hey now! Play that thing, Stack, play that thing. (Begins to stomp foot and clap hands)

TELLER: (Over the action) Stack played like he'd never played before. Father-in-law jumped from his chair, took one step, and went into a jig, skipped, pranced, cakewalked, flipped, and flopped, his knees a-knocking, and soon his bones began flying about the room, a rib-rolled like a barrel hoop around the floor, and Stack played faster and faster and forgot about time ... until the last bone had been separated from the old man ... until he had convinced the old man that he was dead (long pause). Then he stopped and looked around

(MUSIC: Sting ominous hold)

TELLER: —and saw that Stack 0' Dollars, too, had danced herself to death.

MUSIC: Tumble down)

(SOUND: Thunder crack)

DEVIL: (Chuckling back) Didn't I tell you I'd get your soul? Didn't I tell you. You've killed an innocent human.... (Fade) Didn't I tell you, didn't I (guf­faws). Payment in full's what I call it!

(MUSIC: Sting and out)

TELLER: The court called it murder in the first degree! The judge said hangin' was the price he'd have to pay (pause).

(GUITAR: In under softly with Stackalee blues)

SINGER: Stackalee, Stackalee, oh, Stackalee.

TELLER: They gave Stack coffee, they gave Stack tea, they gave Stack all but the jailhouse key. The devil came saying

DEVIL: (Slight echo) Stack, you'd better hunt your hole; I've waited a long time to get your soul!

TELLER: But when they got into the scuffle, folks heard the devil shout:

DEVIL: (In agony) Come take back Stackalee before he puts my fire out!

TELLER: That's the tale of Stackalee. I got it straight from folks who saw him and lived to tell about it. Now it's just jaybird gossip and mockingbird lore—but that's the story of Stackalee.

SINGER: Stackalee, Stackalee, oh, Stackalee.

(GUITAR: Bring up full and close and finish)

(ORGAN: Take away for curtain)

ANNOUNCER: You have just heard Destination Freedom's dramatization of "Tales of Stackalee," based on material from the famous Onah L. Spencer collection.