Final Draft!

Oceans Apart
Music and Stories from              
The Battlefront to The Homefront

By Kevin P. Kern
Based in part on “Under Fire” by Michael J. Arndt
Music selected by Dr. Grant William Cook III










A few notes on the characters, style, and music of the play:
The ensemble has been assigned letters “A” – “H”, which correspond to the lines of the show.  Each actor has a “base character” to which they return several times during the play.

A:   A male soldier, of indeterminate age, in an unspecified time.  We should think of this character as “everyman” or perhaps “everysoldier”
B:   A young woman deployed in the present day to Afghanistan
C: A young soldier from rural Oklahoma, deployed to Europe during the 2nd World War
D: A young man from San Diego, California, deployed to Vietnam during the mid-1960’s
E: The female counterpart to “character A”, a woman who remains at home, with a loved one in an indeterminate war.  Again, an “everyman”
F: The husband of “character B”, staying stateside to raise a small child, while his wife is deployed to Afghanistan
G: The older mother of “character C”, also from rural Oklahoma during the 2nd World War.  She is in her 50’s, but appears older than her years.
H:   The sister of “character D”, a young high school girl in San Diego, California in 1965.
When they step out of these “base” characters, it may be only for a line or two, so there really isn’t time for a significant change.
The action is more or less seamless, and easily flows through the vignettes with very little change.  Perhaps a stool might get moved on or off, perhaps a performer may remove an article of clothing to suggest a new character, but they should not undergo a lengthy change of clothing, nor should the set undergo a significant change of scenery.
The only time the action should stop is when the choir sings.  Some characters will move into the choir formation, while others may remain, but the actors who sing with the choir will do so without a change of costume.

From offstage, we hear “Over There” played on a single trumpet.  The choir enters the playing area, brightly, almost as a march.

Once the choir is in place, players A, B, C, and D enter
C.  Army, 1st Cavalry  “Courageous And Faithful”
B.  Navy, VF 111 “Illigitimi non Carborundum”
A.  Air Force, 4th Fighter Interceptor Wing  “Fourth But  First”
D.  Marines, 3rd Battalion – “The Cutting Edge”
All.  We served our country.
C: From Ft. Campbell
A: From Ft. Ord
D: From Camp Dagget
B: From Ft. Lewis
All: We served our country.
C.  In all corners of the world, some famous, some infamous
B.  Some well known, and some obscure
D.  But none would be forgotten.
Voices from the choir
Kimpo
Khe Sahn
Rheims
Fallujah
Guadacanal
Bagram
PleKhu
Bastogne
Danang
Normandy
Kandahar
All: We served our country.
Voices from the choir:
From Crab Orchard Kentucky
From Proctor Minnesota
From San Bernadino California
From The Bronx, New York
From Valdosta, Georgia
From Akron Ohio
From Gulf Breeze Florida
From Chandler, Arizona
A:  We said goodbye to wives
B:  We said goodbye to parents
C:  We said goodbye to children
D: We said goodbye to husbands
All: We said goodbye. We served our country.
E:  But they also serve who only stand and wait.
F:  Husbands
G:  Mothers
H:  Sisters
E:  Wives
F:  We let them go
G:  What could we do?
H:  They took a piece of us with them when they left.
E.  They also serve who only stand and wait
G.  We waited for news
H.  We waited for letters
F.  Pictures, clippings
E.  We waited for them
F.  They also serve who only stand and wait.
G.  For those of us left behind, the feelings were similar.
E.  When you have someone over there, you have a different calendar than everyone else.  Most calendars look forward – Church picnic next Sunday, Easter is in 3 weeks, just two more months ‘til summer.  But our calendar only looks backward –  he went away one month ago, its been 5 weeks since he left, this is the 2nd Christmas he’s been gone.  We don’t know when he’ll be back.  All we know is what it says on the paper he signed, “Duration plus 6”.  The duration of the war, plus six months.
A.  Love reckons hours for months and days for years; and every little absence is an age.  John Dryden
G.  To fill the missing hours, we wrote letters.
A.  Long letters, short ones
B.  Scribbled quickly on postcards
C.  Typed thoughtfully on heavy bond
D.  Written in dainty longhand
E.  Or childlike scrawl
A.  The letters kept us connected.
F.  Happy Anniversary!  Not ours of course, this is your 6-month anniversary of being away.  Noah and I celebrated by drawing pictures, which we’ve enclosed.  In case you couldn’t quite tell, Noah drew a bear.  Mine started out as a bear, but we thought it looked more like a car, so now it's a car.  At church last Sunday Noah shared the peace with the new couple with the baby, and that made everyone laugh.
C.  Letters were the one tangible commodity, and they were   never thrown in the garbage.
D.  I guarded the letters with my life.
A.  A little piece of her from ten thousand miles away
DEAR SARAH
Major Sullivan Ballou             James Syler
A: My wife wrote religiously, I didn’t do quite as well. My wife kept every letter I wrote. Pretty stupid stuff I'd write about cause I'd try not to sound alarming and what the hell do you write about out in the middle of the field. There's not too much that you can write about but it was pretty. You could write about the beauty.
A and E “South Vietnam is absolutely gorgeous.”
D.  I would find myself apologizing a lot for things I’d done when I was younger.  As though these letters might be my… you know… last chance.
C: When I was a little kid we lived in the tiny town of Copan in northeastern Oklahoma. The closest city is Bartlesville; but even that was nothing more than a traffic light just off Highway 75.  When I enlisted, I had three older brothers. My mother made me promise that I'd finish high school. I went in in the Spring of 43, not quite 18; but if one of your parents could sign for you, you could go in at 17.  Some guys lied about their age and went in at 16, some 15.  A lot of my buddies dropped out of high school and went right in. My mom was a widow, and I knew she’s never sign.  So I lied.
G:  Of course I knew he lied.  I always knew when he lied.  I knew he lied the day he and Kenny Hoff spilled whitewash all over the front stoop and told me it was the Gunderson boy from across the road.  I knew he lied the night he told me that he didn’t sneak out to holler to Marianne Dutch out her bedroom window, and I knew he lied about this.  But in the spring of 1943 all anyone at the church could talk about was what happened in Warsaw, and the boys wanted to protect us.  So I looked the other way.
C.  I guess I fooled her.
G.  Heaven’s no he didn’t fool me.
C.  Momma, I have to go.  I’m sorry.
G. I know.
A brother and sister move out of the ensemble
D: I enlisted in San Diego, California. I went to high school at Kearney Mesa and was attending UCSD but I was really chasing girls and having a lot of fun. In April of 1963, President Kennedy ordered a helicopter company from Schofield Barracks to Vietnam. I was literally on the beach at La Jolla when five military helicopters buzzed overhead, low enough that it felt like we could touch them.  That’s the moment I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.  Fly helicopters.  That would be awesome.  Going to southeast Asia to fly helicopters.
He turns to her
H:  You did what?
D:  I enlisted in the Army.  I’m going to fly helicopters.
H:  You’ve never even driven a car.
D:  They’ll teach us, the recruiter said so.
H:  When do you leave?
D:  September 17.
H:  That’s Mom’s birthday.
D:  Crap.
H:  You haven’t told her yet have you?
D:  I’m waiting for the right time.
H:  When exactly is the right time to tell our Mother that you’re leaving on her birthday to go fly helicopters in Vietnam?
D:  (pause) After dinner.
H:  That’s going to be some dinner.
A young husband and wife move out of the ensemble
F:  My wife was in ROTC when we met at Mississippi State.  I was sketching the front of the Mitchell library, and saw her marching in formation on the drill field.  The smallest cadet carrying this big platoon flag.  I didn’t know anyone in ROTC, so every Monday and Wednesday at 11am I went to the field and waited for her platoon to march by.  Never noticed me.  Finally one Monday I followed the platoon back to the ROTC building.  When they were dismissed, I pretended I had a question about ROTC so I could talk to her..
F:  Hello
B:  Hi
F:  Hi
(pause)
F:  Warm
B:  It’s Mississippi
F:  Right.
(pause)
F:  Are those guns loaded?
B:  You walked all the way from the Drill Field just to ask me if these wooden guns painted white are loaded?
F:  You saw me?
B:  Of course I saw you.  And I saw you last Wednesday drop your pens all over the ground when we were marching near the statue.
F:  They’re colored pencils.
B:  Whatever
F:  I had fallen in love with a soldier.  Right away.
B.  I had fallen in love with a civilian.  But not right away.
F.  We lived under the shadow of deployment; it was always a possibility.
B.  When my unit got called up I told him I only needed one thing from him.
F.  Anything
B.  Write something to me every day.
As he packs a duffle
H.  You’re really going?
D.  What does it look like?
H. It looks like you’re really going.
D.  I’ll be fine.
H.  I know
D.  I’ll be fine.
H.  Mom’s gonna miss you.
D.  I know.  How about you?
H.  Maybe.
D.  Will you write me?
H.  Maybe
E.  Never do I receive a letter from thee, but immediately we are together. Seneca
She addresses the audience
H.   Papi had died in in Korea in 1953 and now it was just the three of us.  Mama worked at the El Cortez hotel as a chambermaid, and she loved her job.  I was 7 years old when they installed the glass elevator – the first of its kind in the word – and I got to ride all the way to the top.  You could see all the way to the water.  Then, just three years later they built a bridge with a moving walkway that connected the El Cortez and a motel across the street, and I got to ride that too.  Victor rode them with me but he was just interested in how the things were built.  “The Mechanics” of it he said.  But not me, I just liked being so high up in the air.  Now I wished I could go back there.
 G. The night before he left, we sat at the kitchen table and I looked him square in the eyes.  “Be of good courage”, I told him.  “Be honest. Be upbeat. Be of good cheer. No room for phonies. And the lowest thing of all is to become a thief.”

E. Usually we sent emails, but every once in a while he would write a letter, I loved those the best because it was something tangible.  His pen marks on the paper.  A tiny little piece of him.
H.  When one shoebox was filled, I started another, the  another.
E. I kept mine in the refrigerator because in case of a house  fire, everything inside it would be safe.
A.  You deserve a longer letter than this; but it is my unhappy fate seldom to treat people so well as they deserve.   Jane Austen
G.  His letters were never long enough; I always wanted to hear more.  I wanted to know what the country looked like, I wanted to know about the boys that he lived with.  Even when he wrote the simplest of letters, I wanted more.  Of course, I never told him that his letters were too short, I was thankful for every word.  Every thought.
F.  The emails and letters I wrote were purposefully unsubstantial – small talk really.  She didn’t need to be reminded that Noah was growing up without her.  Do you have any idea how much a 4 year old can change in 6 months?  Did she need to know she was missing him write his name for the first time, or sing all of Hey Jude by himself?  My stomach ties in knots when I have to drop him off at day care, and that’s when I know I’ll be back in 8 hours and won’t go through a war zone before I see him.
H.  Sometimes though, I wished he would leave things out   altogether.
C.  (writing a letter) Everyone is scared, really, really scared. See, fighting at night is scary because you can't tell who's where and who's doing what.   Combat is confusing, everybody wants to know what's going on--I had no clue.

A.  I saw our battalion doctor get killed.  He was treating a wounded soldier. Got a big red cross on his helmet, on his shoulder, on his back. He was treating a soldier. He got shot. I heard him groan. I left my gun jumped up and ran over to him. He was a big man. He was face down. I ran my hand under him and rolled him over. He groaned and I pulled my hand back out and it was just a pile of blood. They must've shot him through and through. He was dead within 2 minutes. He didn't know what hit him. I jumped up and ran back. The sniper took a shot at me and shot a shot through my backpack. He missed me though.

G.  Of course, the letters that everyone feared weren’t even letters, but telegrams.

In a more formal tone, as if official letters

B.  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Louis and Katherine Walker

C.  Dear Mrs. Elsa Haines

D.  Dear Dr. Archie and Mrs. Florence Uhland

A.  It is my painful duty to inform you that a report has been received from the War Office, notifying the death of…

B.  We regret to inform you of the death of…

C.  It is with great sadness that we must report the death of…

D.  With deep sadness…

B.  With our eternal gratitude…

C.  With great sorrow…

E.  After World War Two the military stopped sending telegrams and delivered the news in person

G.  But after that dreaded visit from the chaplain, the letters would still come.

H.  If you need anything…

F.  Let us know how we can help…

D.  Do you need us to come out?

E.  You’re in our prayers tonight and always

GOOD NIGHT, DEAR HEART

H.  There was one unspoken rule about letters from home; we never questioned their reason for being over there.  Well, at least I didn’t.

E.  The politics of the war eclipsed what happened to the veterans.  Maya Lin

D.  The President had a reason for us being there, Congress had a reason; and we all had personal reasons.

B: The Geer family has a long history of military involvement. The two Geer brothers settled in Spottsylvania County in 1634; one of them got a congressional citation for his part in the Revolutionary War in Pendleton’s Virginia Regiment.  I had a great-great grandfather who was in the Civil War.  He enlisted for three times for a total of over 18 months – twice with the New York 21st and once with the “Irish Rifles”.  I had great uncles and all kinds of cousins who were in World War I.   My Grandfather was in the 157th Infantry that liberated Dachau in 1945, and my oldest brother had his picture taken with Stormin’ Norman Schwartzkopf in Kuwait City, so yeah; you could say it’s in my blood.
A:  You want a good laugh?  Search for the phrase “reasons to join the military” on the internet; you will not believe some of the responses.  First of all, it's a complete grammar and spelling meltdown.  But once you get past the advice from the 14 year old gang banger, the sermon from a pair of Canadian pot smokers, and the all capital letter screaming by some jackass who claims to be an ex-marine gunnery sergeant but misspelled gunnery sergeant, you may find some revealing information.  For me, the reason was my bloodline and that’s stronger than anything a recruitment poster could come up with.  (pause) As persuasive as those posters could be:
The ensemble calls out the wording from old recruitment posters.  Bright, energetic and over-the-top
E.  To all brave healthy and able bodied and well disposed     young men with an inclination to join General Washington
F.  One hundred good men wanted, no boys need apply
G.  Respond to your country’s call
H.  $154 Bounty Cash In Hand!
A.  Rally round the flag boys!
B.  Destroy the brutes…Enlist!
C.  Don’t read American History…make it!
D.  A lifetime education for free
E.  Remember last December, join today
H. Join the Coast Guard, see the world
G.  Maybe you can be one of us
F.  The few, the proud, the marines
E.  We’ll take you as far as you can go.
D.  The reasons for leaving were varied.  But once we were there, the feelings about our experiences were largely the same.
He begins to read a letter.  The Mother also looks at an identical letter as if reading it.
C.  Dear Momma, Yesterday was Thanksgiving although it doesn’t feel that way.  I’m sure you’re all bundled up in jackets and scarves but its 82 and humid here – has been for 3 weeks solid.  It feels just as though it’s always about to rain.  But I shouldn’t complain.  We all got a rest from J rations, which is good because I can’t swallow another dried apricot.  Instead we were given Turkey – not as good as yours, Cranberry relish, and mashed Potatoes which were really powdered.  Kreps kept most of us entertained while we waited in line by juggling anything we gave him.  At one point he had a cap, a pack of playing cards, and a spoon from the mess.  I’m thankful for the guys here, they’re good men.  I’m thankful for the hard candy you sent.  And I’m thankful for you.
H.  Ones that were addressed to Mom and I had to stay at home on her dresser, but the ones that were meant for only me lived in my bookbag.  During 4th period, I could sneak the letters between the pages of a Natural Science book and read them over and over.
D: Dear Nabby, To answer your last question – No, I haven’t met any girls that you would like.  This is not to say that I haven’t met any girls here, just none that you would like.  Not much development on the helicopter front since my last letter and that has me very frustrated.  Enlisted men just don’t get to fly helicopters.  There is something called OCS – Officer Candidate’s School which I may try to get into.  This could be my only chance to fly.  Meanwhile, I’m enjoying the weather (ha ha).  The humidity hasn’t been below 99% since I got here; it feels like I’m walking around in a giant armpit.
H.  His letters would come sporadically.  Sometimes we’d get 3 in a week and then we’d go 5 weeks without hearing anything.  Every afternoon I’d rush to the mailbox to see the envelopes marked “Nabby”; Victor was the only one allowed to call me that.  One thing that was constant was the news from VietNam on TV, it was always there and it was always bad.  We would hear stories about staggering body counts and see pictures of wounded soldiers and dead civilians.  Victor’s letters always ended with “doing good Nabby!” but we knew he wasn’t.
G.  But for as much as I treasured his letters, I knew he  needed to receive mine even more.
E.  I wrote constantly
G.  Every chance I could get, on any blank paper I had.
F.  Noah and I would send care packages.  Snacks, Pictures, Candy,  (pause) Deodorant.
A.  We loved to get the care packages.  A little bottle of hot sauce to spice up the K rations.
C.  Warm socks.
B.  Noah’s artwork
A. Mailcall! Sound-off when I call your name..
D.  Mom and Nabby would always put newspaper clippings in my care packages.  Sports scores.
E.  I sent him a can of beer in a care package once.  That didn’t work out so well.
G: The longest it would take for a letter to get home was about six weeks. Sometimes I would get a letter that was postmarked three weeks before and it's sometimes it gets there before a letter that was marked six weeks ago, depending where the ship went.
C.  When the mail was unloaded, it was strictly a lottery. At Rein Mein it always looked like the mail always came at night. We’d cover up the mail clerk with ponchos. Someone would hold the flashlight so he could call names. Then the wiseguys would come out. They’d call somebody's name and a joker would say
B: Who do you know that can write Joe?
C: Hey Mike, is your brother out of jail yet?
A: Hey Smitty! You got a letter from your draft board. They       want you to come for your physical.
D: I was keeping in touch with my mom, my brothers, some friends from high school. I would get a letter at least every week or two. Probably a letter every week from my mother. 2 a week from Nabby.
B: All letters had to go through the officers so you didn't identify where you were cause they’d have to scratch it out.  Emails passed through a filter that did the same thing.  So things sounded a bit vague.

C: Hi mom, I'm somewhere in Germany.

A: I'm doing alright.

D.  Greetings from sunny South Vietnam!

B: Hanging in there.

H.  Howdy from somewhere south of the Ben Hai River

F: See you soon.

E.  Hello from over here!

G.  Everything’s fine this side of the Rhine

E.  All letters however, weren’t necessarily sent to family.

D.  President Richard Nixon, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.  June 17, 1972

B.  Roy Roberts, Editor The Kansas City Star.  August 19. 1955

F.  Al Lerner, Owner, The Cleveland Browns.  December 1, 2004

D.  Dear Mr. President,

B.  Dear Sir,

F.  Dear Idiot,

D.  As a loyal Republican and good American I felt it was my duty to write to you from VietNam

B.  In regards to your story about the American Peace Crusade’s protest in Kansas City…

F.  What the hell is going on over there?!

D.  I  believe that you are correct in saying that there is a silent majority of real Americans who support our efforts for a Democratic VietNam

B.  I find it difficult to believe that in a free country such as ours, people engaging in the right to peacefully protest are being met with such violent opposition

F.  3 wins and 8 losses?!  

A.  Keep up the good work, and God bless America.

B.  Thank you for your thoughtful editorial.

C.  Get your head out of your butt and fire Butch Davis.

A.   A loyal American

B.  A proud Kansas Citian

F.  Your worst nightmare if you go 3 and 13

A: With the letters that went home, you always tried to cheer your mother up. Mother said that the hardest thing on her during the war having four sons in there. She thought all four of us would never make it back. But we all came back. The other three were seriously wounded. We were all in combat units. My brother, he was 10 years older, he had two tanks knocked out from under in the Anzio beachhead in Italy and one of them killed everybody in it except him.

G: Be of good courage –

C: You wanted to do the right thing at the right time. My
     mother taught us as a widowed woman to…

G.  …be honest. Be upbeat. Be of good cheer. No room for
      phonies. And the lowest thing of all is to become a thief.

B.  One thing my father didn’t have when he was in Vietnam was access to a satellite phone.

F.  It’s not as great as it sounds.

B.  It’s so nice to be able to hear his voice.

F.  When you can actually hear.  The signal cuts in and out…

B.  Connected through a phone from 10,000 miles;  remarkable!

F.  They’re the most awkward conversations you can imagine.  You have to hurry to get all the business out of the way first because at any minute you might lose the signal.

B.  (on the phone with a bad signal)  His immunization chart is in the hall closet in a box marked “records”

F.  (trying to understand through a terrible signal) Where?

B.  Hall closet.

F.  In the mall?

B.  Hall!  In the hall closet.

F.  The closet in the hall?

B.  Where else would the hall closet be?  The box is marked “records”

F.  The records we got from your parents?

B.  What?

F.  You said they’re with the records.

B.  No, not records like music.  Records like…you know… “records”.  Paperwork.

F.  Oh OK.  I think he needs a Tetanus booster.

B.  He can’t start back to preschool without it.

F.  (a bit snappy) I know that.  Sorry…  I love …  Hon?  Did you hear…?  Signal is gone.

H.  It wasn’t always easy to pretend I didn’t miss him so
      much my heart ached.

B.  It wasn’t always easy to admit I was homesick.

F.  It wasn’t always easy to ignore that it was hard without
      her here.

D.  It wasn’t always easy to ignore that it was hard not being    
     there.

C.  So sometimes I was honest.

A.  Sometimes I wrote what was in my heart.

B. Not what I knew he wanted to hear.

A.  I’m scared

C.  I miss the smell of wood burning in the fireplace.

B.  I need to hold you.

D.  I hurt.

C.  I’m very confused.

H.  I want you home.

D.  I need to be home.

A.  I wanted to be a poet; I wanted the words I wrote to be  
     like a song.

F.  But not everyone is a poet.

H.  Poetry is what gets lost in translation. Robert Frost

G.  I couldn’t write the tear that dripped onto his picture.

H.  I couldn’t write my stomachache when I saw the pictures
      on TV.

B.  I couldn’t write the fear of not knowing.

C.  Most of us aren’t poets.

A.  So we just wrote.

G.  Dear Mikey

H.  Dear Son

F.  Darling Kristine

B.  Daddy

C.  Sweet lips?

F.  We are so proud of you

A.  Always so proud

D.  With pride in my heart

E.  With all the pride a mother could have

A.  Knock ‘em dead

H.  Get one for me will ya’?

C.  Sweet lips?

B.  Be careful

H.  Keep your head down

C.  Don’t worry, I’ll be careful

D.  Come home to me

A.  Please come home soon

F.  Come home safe

G.  Come home

B.  I want to come home

A.  Come home

B.  Daddy, I miss you.  Come home.

E. Don’t forget me

C.  Remember me

REMEMBER
Christina Rossetti            Stephen Chatman

F: To know someone who, though distant, is close to us in       spirit, this makes the earth for us an inhabited garden.  Goethe
D: I’m proud that I was able to make it through.  And I was  
     proud of my family; they never let me go to sleep without
     a picture from home.

A.  Until there is no more reason for fighting…

E.  Until there is no need to send our sons and daughters into harm’s way…

F.  Until war is only something for the history books…

AB.  We send little pieces of ourselves

CD.  We bridge the miles with pen and paper

EF.  We stay connected

GH.  We stay together