Raising Arizona

My name is H I McDunnough.

Call me Hi.

The first time I met Ed was in the county lockup in Tempe, Arizona.

Don't forget his profile, Ed!

Turn to the right!

A day I'll never forget.

Turn to the right!

What kind of name is that for a pretty thing like you?

Short for Edwina. Turn to the right!

You're a flower, you are. Just a little desert flower.

Let me know how those come out.

Now, prison life is very structured more than most people care for.

But a spirit of comradery exists between the men

like you find only in combat, maybe,

or on a pro ball club in the heat of the pennant drive.

In an effort to better ourselves,

we had to meet with a counsellor,

who tried to help us figure out why we were the way we were.

And all Pancho wanted was a hot roll and butter.

So why do you use the word "trapped"?

Huh?

Why do you say you feel "trapped"

in a man's body?

Well, sometimes I get the menstrual cramps real hard.

Have you learned anything, Hi?

Yes, sir. You bet.

You wouldn't lie to us, would you, Hi?

No, ma'am, hope to say.

OK, then.

I tried to stand up and fly straight,

but it wasn't easy with that son of a bitch Reagan in the White House.

I don't know. They say he's a decent man.

So maybe his advisors are confused.

Turn to the right.

What's the matter, Ed?

My fiance left me.

She said her fiancé had run off

with a student cosmetologist who knew how to ply her feminine wiles.

The son of a bitch.

Don't forget his phone call, Ed!

Tell him I think he's a damn fool, Ed.

You tell him I said so, H I McDunnough.

And if he wants to discuss it, he knows where to find me.

The Maricopa County maximum security correctional facility for men,

State Farm Road, No.31, Tempe, Arizona. I'll be waitin'!

I'll be waitin'.

I can't say I was happy to be back inside,

but the flood of familiar sights, sounds and faces

Almost made it feel like a homecomin'.

Most men your age are getting married and raising up a family.

Well, factually...

They wouldn't accept prison as a substitute.

Would any of you men care to comment?

Well, sometimes your career's gotta come before family.

Work's what's kept us happy.

I tried to sort through what Doc Schwartz had said,

but prison ain't the easiest place to think.

And when there was no meat, we ate fowl.

And when there was no fowl, we ate crawdad.

And when there was no crawdad to be found, we ate san'.

You ate what?

We ate san'.

You ate sand?

That's right.

Well, Hi, you done served your 20 months.

And seein' as how you never use live ammo,

we got no choice but to return you to society.

These doors are gonna swing wide.

I didn't wanna hurt anyone, sir.

Hi, we respect that.

But you're just hurting yourself

with this rambunctious behaviour.

I know that, sir.

OK, then.

I don't know how you come down on the incarceration question,

whether it's for rehabilitation or revenge,

but I was beginning to think revenge is the only argument makes any sense.

Show the tattoo!

Turn to the right!

Don't forget his fingers, Ed.

Hear about the paddy wagon collided with the cement mixer, Ed?

Twelve hardened criminals escaped.

I heard that one.

Got a new beau?

No, Hi, I sure don't.

Don't worry, I paid for it.

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

And, for once, they may be right.

You missed a spot.

More and more my thoughts turned to Ed

and I finally felt the pain of imprisonment.

Mama would throw the live crawdad in a pan of boilin' water.

Well, one day I decided to make my own crawdad.

And I threw it in a pot, without the water, you see?

And it was just like makin' popcorn, you see?

Yeah, the joint's a lonely place after lockup and lights out,

when the last of the cons has been swept away by the sandman.

But I couldn't help thinkin' that a brighter future lay ahead.

A future that was only eight to fourteen months away.

They got a name for people like you, Hi.

That name is called "recidivism."

Repeat offender!

Not a pretty name, is it, Hi?

No, sir. That's one bonehead name.

But that ain't me any more.

Are you just tellin' us what we wanna hear?

No, sir, no way.

Cos we just wanna hear the truth.

Well, then I guess I am tellin' you what you wanna hear.

Boy, didn't we just tell you not to do that?

Yes, sir.

OK, then.

Turn to the right!

I'm walkin' in here on my knees, Ed, a free man, proposin'.

Howdy, Curt.

And so it was.

Don't forget the bouquet, Ed!

I do.

You bet I do.

OK, then.

Ed's pa staked us to a starter home in suburban Tempe

and I got a job drillin' holes in sheet metal.

So we were doin' paramedical work with the state highway system.

Not actually practisin', you understand.

Me and Bill's patrollin' down Nine Mile...

Bill Roberts?

No, not that mother-scratcher. Bill Parker.

Anyway, we're approachin' the wreck

and there's this spherical object restin' in the highway.

And it's not a piece o' the car.

Most ways, the job was a lot like prison,

except Ed was waitin' at the end of every day

and a pay cheque at the end of every week.

Government do take a bite, don't she?

These were the happy days, the salad days, as they say,

and Ed felt that havin' a critter was the next logical step.

It was all she thought about.

Her point was that there was too much love and beauty for just the two of us.

Every day we kept a child out of the world

was a day he might later regret havin' missed.

That was beautiful.

So we worked at it on the days we calculated most likely to be fruitful.

And we worked at it most other days, just to be sure.

Ed rejoiced that my lawless years were behind me

and that our child-rearing years lay ahead.

And then the roof caved in.

Hi,

I'm barren!

At first I didn't believe it.

That this woman, who looked as fertile as the Tennessee valley,

could not bear children.

But the doctor explained that her insides were a rocky place

where my seed could find no purchase.

Ed was inconsolable.

We tried an adoption agency.

It's true that Hi has had a chequered past.

But Ed here is an officer of the law twice decorated,

so we figure it kinda evens out.

But biology and the prejudices of others conspired to keep us childless.

Our love for each other was stronger than ever.

But I preminisced no return of the salad days.

The pizzazz had gone out of our lives.

Ed lost all interest in both criminal justice and housekeepin'.

Soon after, she tendered her badge.

Even my job seemed as dry and bitter as a hot prairie wind.

So here's Bill, walkin' down Nine Mile.

That's Bill Parker, you understand.

He's got his sandwich in one hand

and a fuckin' head in the other!

I even caught myself drivin' by convenience stores

that weren't on the way home.

Then one day,

the biggest news hit the state since they built the Hoover Dam.

The Arizona quints was born.

By "Arizona quints"

I mean they was born to a woman named Florence Arizona.

As you probably guessed, Florence Arizona is the wife of Nathan Arizona.

And Nathan Arizona... Well, hell,

you know who he is.

So come on down to Unpainted Arizona

to get the finest selection in fixtures and appointments

for your bathroom, bedroom, boudoir.

And if you can find lower prices anywhere,

my name ain't Nathan Arizona!

Owner of the largest chain of unpainted furniture

and bathroom fixture outlets throughout the Southwest.

Yep, Florence had been takin' fertility pills

and she and Nathan had hit the jackpot.

Now, y'all without sin can cast the first stone.

We thought it was unfair some should have so many

while others should have so few.

With the benefit of hindsight,

maybe it wasn't such a hot idea.

But, at the time,

Ed's little plan seemed like the solution to all our problems

and the answer to all our prayers.

800 leaf tables and no chairs?

You can't sell leaf tables and no chairs.

Chairs, you got a dinette set. No chairs, you got dick!

I ask my wife, she got more sense.