Oregon Dream (a play)

ACT ONE

1/
(AT RISE: Inside a ramshackle cabin.
It's an under-furnished mess and clearly
hasn't been lived in for a long time.)

(At a table sits HANK, 60s. He is dressed
in outdoor gear, as if he planned to take
off on a hike somewhere.)

(Prominent on the table are a bottle of
whiskey and an outdoor vest from
which wires hang out. This was, in fact,
an attempt at making a bomb.)

(Someone is shouting at Hank from
outside. This is CHEYENNE, 30s, his
daughter.)

CHEYENNE (OS)
Dad, please let me in!

(Hank takes a swig from the bottle. No
response.)

CHEYENNE (OS)
I'm not going away ... so you might as well unlock the
door. ... Dad, for God's sake! Unlock the door!

HANK
(not loud)
It's not locked.

Read the play
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This is the last play I wrote. 2008. Probably the last I'll ever write. Never produced. Well, never marketed. This note says why:

Performance rights to Oregon Dream will not be

available until after the author’s death. At that time,

contact his widow, Harriet Levi, for information:

amelia693@yahoo.com.

This play illustrates what I mean when I say my work comes from "whole cloth": the autobiographical elements, the echoes from my short film Deconstructing Sally, my poem  I'm Not Fit Company, the work of Norman Brown and Bertrand Russell. One long continuing story. Variations on a theme.

LATER. Read it for first time in years. I own up to it. Very much so.