The Bonus Army
1918—1945
The Bonus Army
1918—1945
Tiananmen Square Massacre? It happened in Washington, D.C., too.
It cost them an arm, a leg, an eye, a lung, trench foot, shell shock, mustard gas burns, shrapnel to the spine, half a face—plus change.
EXT. CITY STREET—1932—DAY
Six tanks.
Steel. Still. Lined up like they’re waiting for a parade.
But it wasn’t.
The lead tank lowers its turret point-blank at an armless veteran in a homemade wheelchair.
He doesn’t flinch.
Holds a protest sign with his teeth:
TANKS FOR NOTHING.
We pull wide.
It’s not Tiananmen.
It’s Washington, D.C.
The Capitol dome looms behind coal smog—pretending it has nothing to do with this.
Silence.
PRESIDENT HERBERT HOOVER (V.O., reedy and defensive)
Okay okay—
Let’s not be overly dramatic.
(Paper shuffling. A sip of water.)
HOOVER (V.O.)
Look. Context matters.
Let me walk you through it.
Pause.
HOOVER (V.O.)
Well—not walk.
Poor choice of words.
⸻
FLASH TO: WESTERN FRONT—FRANCE— 1918— DAY
Mud. Rats. Barbed wire.
Men screaming in seven accents.
A trench explodes.
Limbs arc into the sky.
⸻
FIELD HOSPITAL
Jackson Pollock walls made with tools from a garage sale.
A YOUNG SOLDIER lies on a cot.
His left arm is hanging like a guilt trip.
A MEDIC pulls out a saw, deadpan:
You’ll get compensated for this in 1945.
He wedges the blade over the limb.
YOUNG SOLDIER (biting down on a wooden spoon)
But it’s 1918?
HOOVER (V.O.)
It’s in the contract—page seven, under “Thanks for Your Service.”
Deferred compensation.
SFX: SAWING.
The SOLDIER screams in Belgian.
⸻
MAN (OFF-SCREEN)
That’s horseshit!
⸻
EXT. BONUS ARMY CAMP—WASHINGTON, D.C.— 1932— NIGHT
Tents flap.
Smoke drifts from a dozen trash fires.
A one-eyed SOUP KITCHEN VOLUNTEER rolls his remaining eye.
Fine. One and a half scoops, he mutters.
He ladles another scoop of beige, formless glop—using a wooden leg as a makeshift spoon.
Steam rises.
No one asks what it is.
Somewhere in the dark, someone plays a harmonica with half a lung.
⸻
INT. OVAL OFFICE—WASHINGTON, D.C.— 1933— LATER
The torch was passed— to keep the trash fires lit.
PRESIDENT FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT hides his wheelchair—and his hypocrisy—behind the Resolute Desk. Calm. Smiling.
HOOVER slouches across from him.
FDR
Well, Herb—you flattened them with tanks.
I’m going to try something different.
I’m sending my wife to smooth things over.
⸻
EXT. BONUS ARMY CAMP—WASHINGTON, D.C.
FIRST LADY ELEANOR ROOSEVELT steps into frame.
Carrying a clipboard holding the full weight of social reform, racial equity—and absolutely no bonus checks.
She starts reading from the clipboard.
The camp is gone, except for some litter and an abandoned crutch.
⸻
EPILOGUE—VOICEOVER
The checks were in the mail in 1945.
For those who survived the paperwork…
And another world war.
The Bonus Army
1918—1945
Tiananmen Square Massacre? It happened in Washington, D.C., too.
It cost them an arm, a leg, an eye, a lung, trench foot, shell shock, mustard gas burns, shrapnel to the spine, half a face—plus change.
EXT. CITY STREET—1932—DAY
Six tanks.
Steel. Still. Lined up like they’re waiting for a parade.
But it wasn’t.
The lead tank lowers its turret point-blank at an armless veteran in a homemade wheelchair.
He doesn’t flinch.
Holds a protest sign with his teeth:
TANKS FOR NOTHING.
We pull wide.
It’s not Tiananmen.
It’s Washington, D.C.
The Capitol dome looms behind coal smog—pretending it has nothing to do with this.
Silence.
PRESIDENT HERBERT HOOVER (V.O., reedy and defensive)
Okay okay—
Let’s not be overly dramatic.
(Paper shuffling. A sip of water.)
HOOVER (V.O.)
Look. Context matters.
Let me walk you through it.
Pause.
HOOVER (V.O.)
Well—not walk.
Poor choice of words.
⸻
FLASH TO: WESTERN FRONT—FRANCE— 1918— DAY
Mud. Rats. Barbed wire.
Men screaming in seven accents.
A trench explodes.
Limbs arc into the sky.
⸻
FIELD HOSPITAL
Jackson Pollock walls made with tools from a garage sale.
A YOUNG SOLDIER lies on a cot.
His left arm is hanging like a guilt trip.
A MEDIC pulls out a saw, deadpan:
You’ll get compensated for this in 1945.
He wedges the blade over the limb.
YOUNG SOLDIER (biting down on a wooden spoon)
But it’s 1918?
HOOVER (V.O.)
It’s in the contract—page seven, under “Thanks for Your Service.”
Deferred compensation.
SFX: SAWING.
The SOLDIER screams in Belgian.
⸻
MAN (OFF-SCREEN)
That’s horseshit!
⸻
EXT. BONUS ARMY CAMP—WASHINGTON, D.C.— 1932— NIGHT
Tents flap.
Smoke drifts from a dozen trash fires.
A one-eyed SOUP KITCHEN VOLUNTEER rolls his remaining eye.
Fine. One and a half scoops, he mutters.
He ladles another scoop of beige, formless glop—using a wooden leg as a makeshift spoon.
Steam rises.
No one asks what it is.
Somewhere in the dark, someone plays a harmonica with half a lung.
⸻
INT. OVAL OFFICE—WASHINGTON, D.C.— 1933— LATER
The torch was passed— to keep the trash fires lit.
PRESIDENT FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT hides his wheelchair—and his hypocrisy—behind the Resolute Desk. Calm. Smiling.
HOOVER slouches across from him.
FDR
Well, Herb—you flattened them with tanks.
I’m going to try something different.
I’m sending my wife to smooth things over.
⸻
EXT. BONUS ARMY CAMP—WASHINGTON, D.C.
FIRST LADY ELEANOR ROOSEVELT steps into frame.
Carrying a clipboard holding the full weight of social reform, racial equity—and absolutely no bonus checks.
She starts reading from the clipboard.
The camp is gone, except for some litter and an abandoned crutch.
⸻
EPILOGUE—VOICEOVER
The checks were in the mail in 1945.
For those who survived the paperwork…
And another world war.
The Bonus Army
1918—1945
Tiananmen Square Massacre? It happened in Washington, D.C., too.
It cost them an arm, a leg, an eye, a lung, trench foot, shell shock, mustard gas burns, shrapnel to the spine, half a face—plus change.
EXT. CITY STREET—1932—DAY
Six tanks.
Steel. Still. Lined up like they’re waiting for a parade.
But it wasn’t.
The lead tank lowers its turret point-blank at an armless veteran in a homemade wheelchair.
He doesn’t flinch.
Holds a protest sign with his teeth:
TANKS FOR NOTHING.
We pull wide.
It’s not Tiananmen.
It’s Washington, D.C.
The Capitol dome looms behind coal smog—pretending it has nothing to do with this.
Silence.
PRESIDENT HERBERT HOOVER (V.O., reedy and defensive)
Okay okay—
Let’s not be overly dramatic.
(Paper shuffling. A sip of water.)
HOOVER (V.O.)
Look. Context matters.
Let me walk you through it.
Pause.
HOOVER (V.O.)
Well—not walk.
Poor choice of words.
⸻
FLASH TO: WESTERN FRONT—FRANCE— 1918— DAY
Mud. Rats. Barbed wire.
Men screaming in seven accents.
A trench explodes.
Limbs arc into the sky.
⸻
FIELD HOSPITAL
Jackson Pollock walls made with tools from a garage sale.
A YOUNG SOLDIER lies on a cot.
His left arm is hanging like a guilt trip.
A MEDIC pulls out a saw, deadpan:
You’ll get compensated for this in 1945.
He wedges the blade over the limb.
YOUNG SOLDIER (biting down on a wooden spoon)
But it’s 1918?
HOOVER (V.O.)
It’s in the contract—page seven, under “Thanks for Your Service.”
Deferred compensation.
SFX: SAWING.
The SOLDIER screams in Belgian.
⸻
MAN (OFF-SCREEN)
That’s horseshit!
⸻
EXT. BONUS ARMY CAMP—WASHINGTON, D.C.— 1932— NIGHT
Tents flap.
Smoke drifts from a dozen trash fires.
A one-eyed SOUP KITCHEN VOLUNTEER rolls his remaining eye.
Fine. One and a half scoops, he mutters.
He ladles another scoop of beige, formless glop—using a wooden leg as a makeshift spoon.
Steam rises.
No one asks what it is.
Somewhere in the dark, someone plays a harmonica with half a lung.
⸻
INT. OVAL OFFICE—WASHINGTON, D.C.— 1933— LATER
The torch was passed— to keep the trash fires lit.
PRESIDENT FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT hides his wheelchair—and his hypocrisy—behind the Resolute Desk. Calm. Smiling.
HOOVER slouches across from him.
FDR
Well, Herb—you flattened them with tanks.
I’m going to try something different.
I’m sending my wife to smooth things over.
⸻
EXT. BONUS ARMY CAMP—WASHINGTON, D.C.
FIRST LADY ELEANOR ROOSEVELT steps into frame.
Carrying a clipboard holding the full weight of social reform, racial equity—and absolutely no bonus checks.
She starts reading from the clipboard.
The camp is gone, except for some litter and an abandoned crutch.
⸻
EPILOGUE—VOICEOVER
The checks were in the mail in 1945.
For those who survived the paperwork…
And another world war.
Accessibility is the
innovation engine.
Build for edge cases first; the mainstream will follow.
Meet my partners who are part of making the future inclusive.
Accessibility is the
innovation engine.
Build for edge cases first; the mainstream will follow.
Meet my partners who are part of making the future inclusive.
Accessibility is the
innovation engine.
Build for edge cases first;
the mainstream will follow.
Meet my partners who are part of making the future inclusive.
