like me? What does that mean?”
“Just that you’re different; you complement me. My weakness is your strength.”
“So you want to help me move the equipment?”
“No, give me a couple of days.”
“Devin . . .”
“He’s not changing the locks until the end of the week, right? Give me a chance to get the money. If it doesn’t come in, I’ll personally carry everything in here over to your mother’s house and put it in her spare bedroom. And I’ll do it from the heart, with passion.”
Jonah took a breath and shook his head. “End of the week. That’s it.”
Streams from Desert Gardens
scene 4
Wide shot of medical certificates on wall. Tight shot of Dr. Crenshaw’s name and his accreditation as an ob-gyn.
Crenshaw voice-over:
The year was 1937 —toward the end of the Depression, but there were still heavy pockets of despair and hopelessness.
Picture of a young Crenshaw in hat and gloves.
Just surviving was the most anyone could hope for. Many children were sent to live with family members. Aunts and uncles who had means.
Wide shot of Crenshaw in his leather chair by the window. Early morning light.
My mother had begun to cry, days on end. I was very young. Too young to understand. But it’s here, in my memory. My mother stayed home that day with the other children and my father walked with me into town —he had sold the car. We got a ride from someone passing and they let us off in front of an ice cream shop. We couldn’t afford ice cream. We couldn’t afford food . But as a child you don’t understand that.
My father took me inside and ordered an ice cream cone and handed it to me. Then he had me sit down in a booth across from a man and woman I had never seen. And while I ate my ice cream, he walked out the door.
I never saw him again. I never saw my mother. Or my siblings.
Tight shot of Crenshaw’s pictures with his adoptive mother and father.
My adoptive parents couldn’t have children. They made an agreement with my mother and father that there would be no contact after the ice cream shop. Years later I asked them about what had happened. I suppose they thought I would forget. Everything was hush-hush; you didn’t talk about such things back then. You didn’t bring it up because it meant you were ungrateful or you were trying to cause trouble.
My biological parents knew they couldn’t take care of all of us children. I was the youngest of three. And they saw something in me, or so my adoptive mother said. They thought I had some intellect, a promise of something greater. My adoptive father was a medical doctor. My parents simply felt this would be better for me. So they gave me away.
Tight shot of Dr. Crenshaw’s face, eyes moist.
I’ve helped many people through the years. I like to think I’ve saved some lives. I don’t know if that’s true. I like to think their sacrifice led to my success in medicine. But I often think of what it must have taken for them to make that choice. What led to that decision? Did they argue? Were there tears?Struggle? I have no idea if they knew I became a doctor. Were they proud of me? Those questions have haunted me all my life.
Cutaway to Crenshaw’s bare feet, his empty slippers beside them.
Cut to picture of adoptive father, mother, and Crenshaw at medical school graduation.
I’ve often wondered if I would have made that kind of sacrifice. Or what would have happened if they had kept me. Would I still have become a doctor? In God’s providence or fate, would I have found a way into the medical profession, or would I have learned a trade, perhaps? Carpentry? Plumbing?
Tight shot of Crenshaw’s face as a tear escapes.
Is life worth living if the children are hungry? If it doesn’t improve, would it be better to stay together or separate? . . . A life hangs on these questions.
Fade to black.
CHAPTER 8
BEFORE LEAVING each evening —and most nights she didn’t leave until dark —Treha would visit Dr.
“Just that you’re different; you complement me. My weakness is your strength.”
“So you want to help me move the equipment?”
“No, give me a couple of days.”
“Devin . . .”
“He’s not changing the locks until the end of the week, right? Give me a chance to get the money. If it doesn’t come in, I’ll personally carry everything in here over to your mother’s house and put it in her spare bedroom. And I’ll do it from the heart, with passion.”
Jonah took a breath and shook his head. “End of the week. That’s it.”
Streams from Desert Gardens
scene 4
Wide shot of medical certificates on wall. Tight shot of Dr. Crenshaw’s name and his accreditation as an ob-gyn.
Crenshaw voice-over:
The year was 1937 —toward the end of the Depression, but there were still heavy pockets of despair and hopelessness.
Picture of a young Crenshaw in hat and gloves.
Just surviving was the most anyone could hope for. Many children were sent to live with family members. Aunts and uncles who had means.
Wide shot of Crenshaw in his leather chair by the window. Early morning light.
My mother had begun to cry, days on end. I was very young. Too young to understand. But it’s here, in my memory. My mother stayed home that day with the other children and my father walked with me into town —he had sold the car. We got a ride from someone passing and they let us off in front of an ice cream shop. We couldn’t afford ice cream. We couldn’t afford food . But as a child you don’t understand that.
My father took me inside and ordered an ice cream cone and handed it to me. Then he had me sit down in a booth across from a man and woman I had never seen. And while I ate my ice cream, he walked out the door.
I never saw him again. I never saw my mother. Or my siblings.
Tight shot of Crenshaw’s pictures with his adoptive mother and father.
My adoptive parents couldn’t have children. They made an agreement with my mother and father that there would be no contact after the ice cream shop. Years later I asked them about what had happened. I suppose they thought I would forget. Everything was hush-hush; you didn’t talk about such things back then. You didn’t bring it up because it meant you were ungrateful or you were trying to cause trouble.
My biological parents knew they couldn’t take care of all of us children. I was the youngest of three. And they saw something in me, or so my adoptive mother said. They thought I had some intellect, a promise of something greater. My adoptive father was a medical doctor. My parents simply felt this would be better for me. So they gave me away.
Tight shot of Dr. Crenshaw’s face, eyes moist.
I’ve helped many people through the years. I like to think I’ve saved some lives. I don’t know if that’s true. I like to think their sacrifice led to my success in medicine. But I often think of what it must have taken for them to make that choice. What led to that decision? Did they argue? Were there tears?Struggle? I have no idea if they knew I became a doctor. Were they proud of me? Those questions have haunted me all my life.
Cutaway to Crenshaw’s bare feet, his empty slippers beside them.
Cut to picture of adoptive father, mother, and Crenshaw at medical school graduation.
I’ve often wondered if I would have made that kind of sacrifice. Or what would have happened if they had kept me. Would I still have become a doctor? In God’s providence or fate, would I have found a way into the medical profession, or would I have learned a trade, perhaps? Carpentry? Plumbing?
Tight shot of Crenshaw’s face as a tear escapes.
Is life worth living if the children are hungry? If it doesn’t improve, would it be better to stay together or separate? . . . A life hangs on these questions.
Fade to black.
CHAPTER 8
BEFORE LEAVING each evening —and most nights she didn’t leave until dark —Treha would visit Dr.
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