Frances

*

No one ever came to me and said,

"You're a fool. There isn't such a thing as God.

"Somebody's just been stuffing you."

It wasn't murder. I think God just died of old age.

And when I realized that He wasn't any more,

it didn't shock me. It seemed natural and right.

Maybe it's because I was never

properly impressed with the religion.

I went to Sunday school, and I liked the stories

about Christ and the Christmas Star.

They were beautiful.

But I didn't believe them.

Religion was too vague.

God was different, though.

He was something real, something I could feel.

But there were only certain times that I could feel it.

I used to lie between cool, clean sheets at night,

after I'd had a bath, after I'd scrubbed my knuckles

and fingernails and teeth,

and talk to God.

"I'm clean now.

"I've never been this clean,

"and I'll never be cleaner."

And somehow, it was God. I wasn't sure that it was.

Just something cool and dark and clean.

That wasn't religion, though.

There was too much of the physical about it.

After a time, even at night,

the feeling of God didn't last.

I began to wonder what the minister meant

when he said, "God the father

"sees even the smallest sparrow fall.

"He watches over all His children."

That jumbled it all up for me.

If God were a father with children,

then that cleanness I'd been feeling wasn't God.

So at night, when I went to bed,

I would think, "I'm clean. I'm sleepy."

And then I went to sleep.

And it didn't keep me

from enjoying the cleanness any less.

I just knew that God wasn't there.

"Sometimes, I found Him useful to remember,

"especially when I lost things that were important.

"After slamming through the house,

"breathless and panicky from searching,

I could stop and--"

Good night, princess.

Lillian.

See you next weekend, Dad.

"I could stop in the middle of the room and shut my eyes.

"'Please, God, help me find my red hat with the blue trimmings'.

It usually worked."

"That satisfied me until I began to figure out

"that if God loved all His children equally,

"then why did he bother about my red hat,

"and let other people lose their fathers and mothers for always?

"I began to see that He didn't have much to do

"about people's dying, or hats, or anything.

"They happened whether he wanted them to or not.

And He stayed in Heaven and pretended not to notice." Outrageous.

"I wondered a little why God was such a useless thing."

Well!

"It seemed a waste of time to have him.

"I felt rather proud to think

"that I had found the truth myself

"without help from anyone.

"It puzzled me that others hadn't found out, too.

"God was gone. Why couldn't they see it?

It still puzzles me."

You're going straight to Hell, Frances Farmer!

Heathen! Blasphemer!

If this is what our schools are coming to, well--

As bread lines and unemployment rolls

get longer and longer,

violence is erupting around the nation,

and left-wing politicians are gaining strength.

In Seattle, congressional candidate Martoni Kaminski works the crowd.

No!

Is it radical for the wealth of this country

to be turned back to the people who built this country?

No!

Good! Because, brothers, that's you!

Yay!

Judging from the crowd reaction,

the U.S. Congress had better prepare

for men like Kaminski.

...want Kaminski!

We want Kaminski!

Seattle is in the news again,

as a high school junior wins a national competition

and the $100 prize, with an essay denying God.

This is exactly the sort of thing

Seattle does not need.

Now, I don't know who's responsible,

but the notion that God is dead

seems a very sinister one to me,

and far beyond the sophistication

of a mere high school girl.

No. I would not be at all surprised to learn

that this essay was written by some anarchist,

some agitator.

You know, Frances is not havin' a war with God.

Miss Frances Farmer was unavailable for comment,

but her mother, Lillian Farmer,

a well-known local dietician,

stepped to her daughter's defense.

Unlike in the dark countries to the East,

freedom of speech

is alive and well in America...

and in my home.

Hi, Emma.

Hey, there's that girl from the news. Who cares?

Hey, where ya goin'? Hey, York!

Hey, lover boy! Hey, hey, hey!

Think you can handle her?

Hey!

Come here! I wanna talk to you.

Uh, Mama told you not to talk to strangers, huh?

Hey!

Don't touch me.

I'm not gonna hurt ya. I just wanna talk.

All right, then.

You're causin' a lot of trouble, you know?

I'm causing trouble?

You're a pain in the butt.

You newshounds have been after me and my folks

ever since I won that dumb contest.

I'm only 16 years old.

Who the hell cares what I think?

Not me, but some people seem to.

Well, if you didn't put it in the papers--

Wait a second, sweetie. Do I look like a newshound to you?

No, you look more like a cop.

Well, that's rich. If I was a cop,

I'd be packin', wouldn't I?

You see a gun?

Go ahead. Search me.

Pat me down.

I'll take your word for it.

Well, so who are you, then?

Harry York.

I work for Martoni Kaminski.

He's running for Congress here.

Yeah, I saw that. I saw you in that newsreel.

Ah, yeah.

You know, my dad's done some work for Kaminski.

Yeah, now you're puttin' it together, see?

You don't wanna get your daddy in hot water, do ya?

What do you mean?

Well, the newspapers are tryin' to make us out to be pinkos, see?

Then you come along, the friendly neighborhood atheist.

Well, I'm not. It's just the newspapers-- Yeah, I know.

You're no more an atheist than my man's a Red,

but they're tryin' to put together

their version of your ideas as their version of ours.

Could look bad for your daddy.

Could look bad for you and Kaminski, too, I guess.

You're pretty smart for 16.

Well, aren't you the smoothie.

I suppose now you're gonna ask for my number?

No, I suppose not.

I've gotta ask you this, though.

It'd be better for all our sakes

if you kept your trap shut.

I'll give it a try, Mr. York.

Harry.

Harry.

Well...bye.

Sure don't walk like 16, either.

Frances stayed on my mind

for a long time, after that day.

I kept in touch with her off and on

over the next few years.

Then I heard she'd taken up acting.

So I took up seein' plays.

She got real big on three things:

Russian theatre, Broadway, and me.

Then out of the blue,

she wins this first prize trip to Moscow

from some Commie newspaper.

She was thrilled to death, 'cause the return trip

landed her off in New York City.

You sure had to admire this girl.

She had a whole lot of moxie.

Ooo!

She'd give you that big ol' smile,

and it seemed like she could do just about anything.

Anything at all.

Yeah, it's a gift.

You gotta do somethin' with it.

Oh...

If I win this trip, Ma would kill me.

She hates Russians.

But I do wanna go, you know.

Especially to New York.

But I just wanted to do it quietly.

You're not exactly the quiet type, are ya?

So you think I should go.