J Long: Neighborhood wives

"I sure do," Vicky Hummer said in a twirpy, sugary voice, winking at the camera again. "Thank you Rachel for being so cooperative… and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Rachel laughed – like the script told her to do.

"And here's another happy looking couple. Your names please?"

As Orson Marple got ready to answer, he was cut off by that nightingale voice again: "Please, sir, you know the good old American custom – ladies first. Hi, sweet gal. What's your name?"

"I'm Ethel Orson, and this is my husband Orson. We love each other very much."

Orson gave Ethel a peck on the check, then Ethel returned the peck.

"And what do you two loving persons do for a living?" Vicky asked, smiling bigger than life.

Orson gulped. "I'm a… a meteorologist for ICY." Gulp.

Ethel grimaced. "I'm a… a fashion coordinator." Grimace.

Vicky stepped between them to hide their expressions and looked directly into the camera. "Yessirreeee, Sophocles Street, here in bright and beautiful Waco, Texas, has all kinds and all types of Americans. Why, just look at this elderly gentleman here. I bet you're a poet, sir… am I right?"

Professor Ivan Wellington got very close to Vicky Hummer, almost tripping over the microphone cord. "Well, not exactly, Miss Hummer. I'm a professor of poetry at Waco State."

"Well, good for you, Professor. And three cheers for Waco State, one of America's finest educational institutions. And are you married?"

"Yes, I am."

"Is your missus around anywhere?" Professor Ivan Wellington knew Betty Ann wasn't around because Cooper Morton had told her to get lost – he didn't want any young pussy married to an elderly gentleman. Shit, that rang of perversity, the dirty old man image. So he had rewritten the script as follows: "No, Miss Hummer. My wife's at the hospital. She's having a baby."

"Why, congratulations! Don't forget to buy lots of cigars in case it's twins. Ha, ha, ha."

Professor Wellington couldn't say ha, ha, ha, because the birth of twins would give him two sets – which is still one set mote than most American couples have.

"And here," Vicky Hummer said, spinning to her right, "we have a pretty American wife who certainly has a lot of sex appeal. And what's your name, pretty darling?"

"Connie… Mrs. Connie Balakian."

"Well, Mrs. Balakian, your husband must be a very lucky man to be married to someone like you – you're just absolutely gorgeous. By the way, where is your husband?"

"Oh, he's busy watching the football game." Which was a lie – the truth being that Cooper Morton wouldn't anyone like an Armenian ruin his All-American show. Haskell had said that he could make him look more white – but Cooper had nixed that because Marvin Balakian definitely had a Mediterranean type nose, crooked and too big.

Vicky placed her hand on Connie Balakian, gave her a friendly pat. "Stay beautiful, Connie. Boy, your husband sure is a lucky guy. And speaking of being lucky, look what we have here."

What they had there was Alma Figger blushing before the cameras with her husband Emory, clad in bowling shirt, hugging her hips.

"Your lucky names, please."

Emory spoke. "The Figgers. Emory and Alma Figger. I'm Emory and that's Alma. Ha, ha, ha."

Vicky said: "H-ha, ha, ha," too. Then she smiled at Alma. "My but you look so squeaky clean and neat. I bet you keep a swell house, Mrs. Figger."

Alma was going to answer, but Emory cut in.

"Well, she sure tries her best, but sometimes it can get pretty darn sloppy. Ha, ha, ha."

"The both of you look like you're very happily married."

"Always been," Emory said confidentially. "Always will." Then he kissed the blushing Alma on her red cheek.

"Well, thank you very much, Mr. and Mrs. Figger." Then to the camera: "Just another typical American couple on a typical American street. Isn't America a great place to live. All these people that I've just talked to are no different than yourselves. Where would America be without people like the Marples, the Lindsays, the Marcuses? There is no bigotry here, there aren't any mucous scandals, hatreds, dope or prostitution. We here at Okay Oil Company are proud of the people who live on Sophocles Street. And we are doubly proud that we can show all of you, out there in television land, a true reflection of your own happiness, your own loves, your own homes. This is Vicky Hummer saying good-bye from Sophocles Street and from the people who produce more oil than all of Arabia – the Okay Oil Company."