Awake in the Dark: The Best of Roger Ebert Read Online Free PDF Page A

read about Alvin Karpis, up in Canada? They finally let him out after forty years or something. Son of a bitch walks outside, and the guy who put him in is still sitting there. J. Edgar. Son of a bitch does forty years, the least we could do for him is not have J. Edgar still sitting there when he gets out a lifetime later."
    "Karpis?" Tim said.
    "I guess he was a real mean mother at one time," Mitchum said.
    The wipers beat back and forth against the windshield, and on the sidewalks people put their heads down and made short dashes between dry places. We were in Pittsburgh, now, and the smoke and fog brought visibility down to maybe a couple of blocks.
    "I'm glad we're shooting inside today," Tim said.
    Mitchum whistled under his breath, and then began to sing softly to himself: "Seventy-six trombones led the big parade ..."
    "With a hundred-and-ten cornets in the rear," Tim sang, banging time against the steering wheel.
    "A hundred and ten? Is that right?" Tim said after awhile.
    "All I know is the seventy-six trombones," Mitchum said. "I don't have time to keep pace with all the latest developments."
    So how long you been in Pittsburgh? I asked.
    "I was born here," Mitchum said, "and I intend to make it my home long after U.S. Steel has died and been forgotten. I intend to remain after steel itself has been forgotten. I shall remain, here on the banks of the Yakahoopee River, a grayed eminence ... I used to come through here during the Depression. I don't think the place has ever really and truly recovered."
    He reached in his pocket for a pipe, filled it carefully and lit up. "I find myself talking to the kids," he said. "And they say ..."
    He broke off as a Mustang with two girls in it pulled up next to the Mercury at a stoplight. Through the window at his side, he mouthed a warm suggestion. "Hey, baby, you want to ..."
    The Mustang pulled away.

    "They don't have lip-readers worth a damn in this town," Mitchum said.
    "But the kids. I was talking about the kids. They say they figure they owe the community about two more years, and then they're pulling out before they're flung headlong into despair."
    "I don't think we went through a tunnel yesterday," Tim said.
    "Well, we're going through a tunnel now," Mitchum said.
    "Are you sure we're supposed to be on 79 and not 76?" Tim said.
    "I think I'm sure," Mitchum said. "We were either supposed to sing `Seventy-six Trombones' to remind us to take 76 or to remind us not to. I'm not sure w is .
    "You're not leading me down the garden path, are you, Bob?" Tim said.
    "Route 79," Mitchum said. "Maybe it was 76. Or ... Route 30?"
    "This is the goddamn airport road," Tim said. "Look there."
    "Steubenville, Ohio," Mitchum said. "Jesus Christ, Tim, we're going to Steubenville, Ohio. Maybe it's just as well. Make a left turn at Steubenville and come back in on the Pennsylvania Turnpike ..."
    "Ohio's around here somewhere," Tim said.
    "I've always wanted to make a picture in Ohio," Mitchum said. "Maybe I have. I was bitten by a rowboat once in Columbus."
    There were three lanes of traffic in both directions, and Tim held grimly to the wheel, trying to spot a sign or an exit or a clue.
    "The Vesuvius Crucible," Mitchum said. "Pull off here, and we'll ask at the Vesuvius Crucible. If anybody ought to know where they are, the Vesuvius Crucible ought to."
    Tim took the next exit and drove into the parking lot of the Vesuvius Crucible. Mitchum rolled down the window on his side and called to a man inside the office: "Hey, can you tell us how to get to the Allegheny County Workhouse?"
    "The what?" the man said.
    "The Allegheny County Workhouse," Mitchum said.
    "Hell, they closed that down back here six months ago," the man said. "It's empty now."
    "We just want to visit," Mitchum said. "Old times' sake."

    The man came out into the yard, scratching himself thoughtfully. "The Allegheny County Workhouse," he repeated. "Well, buster, you're real lost. You turn around here and go right back to