The Uncle Binky Show

CHARACTERS 
BILL
UNCLE BINKY, the voice of his alter ego
DARLA, his niece

SETTING 
Bill’s living room

(At rise, a humming Bill, in his Uncle Binky persona, is sitting by a table with a telephone and a lamp on it, next to a suitcase and a ventriloquist’s dummy on the floor.)

Uncle Binky
Hello again everybody! How are my favorite boys and girls this morning? I hope you are doing well be-cau-ause . . . (sings)
“I like you, just the way you are.
You’re my star.
I like you, it’s simple as can be.
I wouldn’t trade you—not even for me.”

Bill
(in his own voice) Gotta work on that a little bit this morning.

Darla
(Off)
Uncle Bill, are you about ready?

Bill
Did they call, Darla?

(Darla enters, carrying a cardboard box and small personal items, which she putters with, putting them in the box.)

Darla
Did who call?

Bill
WXBH—Channel Seven.

Darla
Oh, are you expecting a call?

Bill
They could call any time.

Darla
Nope. Nobody called. Did you pack your slippers?

Bill
I don’t know. I don’t need slippers to do my little soft-shoe.

Darla
I’ll check your closet.

(She exits.)

Uncle Binky
You know, kids—you don’t have to be lonely. You know why? Because you can always find a friend if you use your imagination. And a colored marker. Do you have one? Well, you better go on a treasure hunt right now and find it!

(He pulls a marker from his shirt sleeve with a look of surprise.)

Well, what have we here? Did you find yours? Good! Then we’re ready to go! All you have to do is roll your hand into a little ball like this (making a hand puppet) and put two eyes on your pointy finger—see? And before you can say “Alakazam” you’ve got a little friend to talk to all day long, one who can help you sing . . . a . . . song!

(He takes out a pitch pipe, blows into it and begins to sing a duet with his hand puppet.)

“You make me feel so young . . .

The Puppet
“You make me feel that spring has sprung.”

Uncle Binky
“And every time I look at you, I’m—

The Puppet
(Interrupting) “such a whacky indawwidual!”

Bill
The station didn’t like that routine. Got a lot of complaints. Parents said their kids took markers and wrote all over themselves, on the rugs, blah, blah, blah. Hey—I’m not responsible for what some little brat does out there in television land.

I was just trying to give the kids a little history. The Big Band Era, fer chrissake! The real hot stuff—Don Redman, Jimmie Lunceford. (singing) “Rhythm is our business, rhythm is what we sell.” (speaking), You know, the kind of music you used to hear on the old cartoons. (singing) “Rhythm is our business, business sure is swell!”

(Darla enters with a pair of slippers.)

Darla
Found ’em.

Bill
Thanks. Was my bathrobe in there?

Darla
No.

Bill
It may be in the bathroom.

Darla
I can always bring it over next weekend, after you’re settled in.

Bill
Yeah, you do that.

(Darla exits.)

Not gonna be a next weekend—cause I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay right here until the call comes. (Confidentially) My audition went very well. They liked my songs. I’m great with kids. I don’t know what it is. There’s just something magical about the way they light up when they see me. Lemme tell you—Channel 5 will be sorry they ever let me go over that hand puppet thing.

(Darla returns.)

Darla
Didn’t see your bathrobe.

Bill
No? Okay. Say, whadda ya hear from my boy Tommy these days?

Darla
(As she packs) Nothing much.

Bill
How are my little grandkids doing?

Darla
Fine.

Bill
They’re adorable. Tommy sent me a Christmas card. Wish he’d let me come visit him.

Darla
Don’t think that’s gonna happen, Uncle Bill.

Bill
I’d like to know why the hell not!

Darla
Oh, I think you know.

Bill
I just don’t understand.

Darla
Well, it’s not every son whose father holds him hostage . . .

Bill
That?

Darla
 . . . at gunpoint.

Bill
It was a toy!

Darla
Tommy was probably the only kid on his block who ever had to crawl out an upstairs window to go get help for his mother.

Bill
Everybody knew it was a toy. I was just play-acting.

Darla
You certainly fooled your family.

Bill
Geez, was Tommy’s mom mad at me over that one! So long ago.

Darla
(Folding clothes) Can’t say as I blame her.

Bill
Okay—so I snapped. You would too if you had to listen to the music on that goddamn ice cream truck all day. (sings)
“Ding, ding, ding—the ice cream man!
Ding, ding, ding—the ice cream man!
Ding, ding, ding—the ice cream man!
Comin’ ’round the corner!”

Darla
I agree—it could drive you crazy.

Bill
If she hadn’t filed charges, I could’ve been something. I coulda worked with kids as a . . . a guidance counselor!

Darla
Um . . . I’m not so sure about that.

Bill
I’d have my pension by now, retiring to a nice place in Florida. Instead of the Soldiers Home in Chelsea.

Darla
Maybe—maybe not. Should I throw out all those old magazines?

Bill
No—those are valuable.

Darla
Well, I have to do something with them.

Bill
Put them in your garage.

Darla
For the time being.

(She exits.)

Bill
I was just trying to get my family to respect me a little. My son Tommy starting to develop a smart mouth. My wife always a nag. I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody.

Anyway, so I ended up driving an ice cream truck, after the little . . . ah . . . incident with the gun. “Ding, ding, ding, the ice cream man!” Eight frigging hours a day. You know, if I didn’t love kids, I really would’ve gone crazy from that damn music.

All day long I’d work on my routines, waiting for my big break—my chance to get back on TV. (suppressed excitement) And then it happened. One day, Flubbo the Clown got a little frisky with a kid who was sitting on his lap. All of a sudden Channel 7 is running cartoons in the three-to-four time slot in the afternoon while the police investigated him. I knew something was up, so I parked my ice cream truck in front of the studio, put my Uncle Binky outfit on and before you could say (mystical incantation) “Pasta-Bonka-Kalamazoo!”—those were my magic words—I had a parking lot full of kids—and an audition!

Oh man, was I ready! I did my Jimmy Durante shtick—“Ink—a dinka dee—a dinka doo—a dinka dee!” I brought Slappy—my dummy.

(He picks up the ventriloquist’s dummy, puts it on his lap.)

Dummy
Who you calling a dummy?

Uncle Binky
You, ya blockhead!

Dummy 
I’ll knock your block off! 

Bill
Great stuff—kids love it. They don’t get that kind of human entertainment anymore. It’s all video games, Japanese cartoons—cheap stuff. Me? I’ll admit it—I’m a showman.

(Darla returns.)

Darla
I’m just about ready.

Bill
Y’know, it was you who gave me the nickname Uncle Binky.

Darla
Me? I don’t think so.

Bill
Sure it was. You used to carry around that little blanket of yours everywhere you’d go. You called it your “binky.”

Darla
I called it my “blanky.”

Bill
And I was the nice uncle who always remembered where you left it.

Darla
(Closing the boxes) You would’ve been “Uncle Blanky” if that were true.

Bill
Sure it’s true, I . . .

Darla
You’re a little confused, Uncle Bill. Maybe that was Tommy. I’m going to go get our coats.

Bill
Okay.

(She exits.)

Bill
So anyway, like I say, I wowed ’em. There hasn’t been any real kids show on local TV for twenty years! I could tell they were interested. I know they’ve gotta run it up the corporate flag pole, some big muckety-muck has the final say so, but I can feel it. It’s gonna happen—I can tell.

(Darla returns, puts a coat on, holds Bill’s out to him.)

Darla
Okay—let’s get this show on the road.

Bill
My show? They called?

Darla
Who?

Bill
Channel Seven.

(Darla crouches down to his level.)

Darla
Uncle Billy—nobody’s going to call. It’s time to go.

Bill
(Defiant) I’m not going.

Darla
You have to go. You can’t take care of yourself any more.

Bill
Yes I can.

Darla
No you can’t. You can’t keep track of your pills, you fall down when you go to the bathroom. Somebody has to check on you every day.

Bill
Baloney. (He grumbles audibly, then brightens.) How’s your Aunt Sheila doing?

Darla
Okay.

Bill
You see her much?

Darla
Every now and then. I went up to her new husband’s place on Lake Winnipesaukee a few months ago.

Bill
Oh—a place on the lake, huh?

Darla
Yeah.

Bill
So—he’s an outdoorsy guy.

Darla
I guess.

Bill
Sheila was never the outdoors type when she was married to me.

Darla
Neither were you, right?

Bill
I liked to get out and toss a baseball around with Tommy . . . sometimes.

Darla
You liked to stay indoors and play with your puppets.

Bill
Hey—ventriloquism’s an art. You gotta work at it!

Darla
Well, everybody finds time for what they want to do.

Bill
What’s that supposed to mean?

Darla
Nothing. Maybe Aunt Sheila wanted to get outdoors more. You wanted to stay inside. Vive la différence—I guess.

(She finishes packing and putting things away.)

C’mon—let’s go.

Bill
You’re NOT going to put me in a home. I’m staying right here!

Darla
Uncle Billy—do I have to call my dad?

Bill
Aw, that pantywaist couldn’t carry my jock strap. I ain’t afraid of him!

Darla
Billy . . .

(She moves to take him by the hand.)

Bill
Don’t you touch me!

Darla
C’mon . . .

Bill
I said don’t touch me!

(He draws a gun from behind the chair cushion.)

Darla
(Startled, backing away.) We’re only trying to do what’s best for you.

Bill
Like hell you are. You’re just trying to get me out of the way.

Darla
Calm down . . .

Bill
You . . . you all want my estate!

Darla
Excuse me?

(She gestures with her arm at all the scattered memorabilia of his life.)

We’ll have to pay somebody to haul all this . . . stuff away.

Bill
This is all that’s left of me.

Darla
Bill—we have our own lives to lead. It’s not our fault you chased Tommy and Aunt Sheila away.

Bill
Like I said, it was just a toy.

(A pause.)

Darla
You know, Billy. I believe you.

Bill
You do?

Darla
Yes, I do.

(He relaxes a bit, but does not lower the gun.)

Bill
Really?

Darla
Yes. I didn’t at first—but now I do.

Bill
Oh. What made you change your mind?

Darla
(Pointing at the gun) It’s a toy, isn’t it?

(A pause. Bill looks at the gun, points it off to the side, and struggles for a moment to pull the trigger. It goes off. Darla jumps a little at the shot, then relaxes.)

Darla
C’mon, Uncle Bill—show’s over.

(He allows her to help him out of his chair. They each pick up a box or a suitcase, Bill carrying Slappy, and shuffle off together.)

(A few moments after they’re gone, the phone rings.)

(And the lights fade.)

CON CHAPMAN

Con Chapman is a Boston-area writer, author of Rabbit’s Blues: The Life and Music of Johnny Hodges (Oxford University Press) and Kansas City Jazz: A Little Evil Will Do You Good (Equinox Publishing). His plays have been performed in Boston and New York, among other cities.