The floor creaks,

The door squeaks,

There’s a field mouse

A-nibblin’ on a broom

And I sit by myself

Like a cobweb on a shelf,

By myself in a lonely room.

Now, half a century later, I am watching a modern, London-based version of this Rogers and Hammerstein landmark, and I am waiting for Jud Fry. Will this new actor, arouse my sympathy like Rod Steiger? Will Jud emerge as a tragic hero just as he did in 1954? Of course, I am aware that most moviegoers didn’t react as I did. They shared Curley’s contempt for Jud. Indeed, the entire cast seemed to have a repugnance for unwashed, humorless Jud, a man who was not only unkempt ... he couldn’t dance or make witty repartee. Even his ignominious death seemed to provoke relief from most of the cast. Why did I persist in seeing him as a cowboy version of Caliban, Quasimodo and Shylock?

Well, the wisdom gained by the passage of time may be of dubious merit, but suddenly I found myself asking a half-dozen questions about Jud Fry. Why was he living in that tool shed? Why did he persist in staying on Laurey’s ranch as her work hand? Obviously, he is hopelessly in love with his vibrant, virginal employer, and although she finds his presence repulsive, he stubbornly persists. It is that persistence that brings him to disaster. After Laurey fires him, his life is suddenly without meaning. When he enters Curley and Laurey’s wedding celebration, he has decided to strike back at a world filled with graceful, clean and clever people — a world that has rejected him.

Now, I understand why I responded to Jud’s lonely anguish. In 1954, I was a day student — the leper of the academic world. Each day when I attended classes, I watched the campus Curleys and Laureys move with confidence through the halls — athletes, cheerleaders and former valedictorians. As I listened to their witty chatter in the post office and the student union and read about their activities in The Western Carolinian, I envied their poise, clothes and sophistication. In my denim pants and Fruit of the Loom tee-shirts, I was a serviceable duplicate of Jud Fry, a man who was “outside, looking in.” Like Jud, I was inept, self-conscious and I wanted desperately “to belong.”

Most importantly, I wonder why Rogers and Hammerstein put lonely Jud Fry in “Oklahoma!” at all. Was he originally meant to be a sympathetic character? If his sole purpose is to serve as the “dramatic foil” to the handsome, irrepressible Curley, why give him that poignant song, “Lonely Room”? Why not make him an unrepentant villain with a black heart and a wicked laugh, the kind of antagonist that meets death with a sneer and a wink? Instead, he is a lonely misfit in a cast filled with wholesomeness and charm.

As for the “new” Jud Fry, well, he is magnificent. He is an English actor named Shuler Hensley, and he gave the role a simmering hostility that conveyed a fierce defiance of a world controlled by “the pretty people.” His lonely room is bleak and shoddy, the walls papered with French “postcards” and scantily clad women, a décor that offends Laurey and amuses Curley. When Jud notes their reaction, he appears contrite. When a peddler offers him a new stock of erotica, Jud declines, saying, “No, I’m through with pictures.”

So, when Jud provokes a fight with Curley, he dies of a self-inflicted knife wound and is quickly transported off-stage so that a bogus trial can be conducted and Curley and Laurey can exit to the accompaniment of a thunderous finale. For me, even after 50 years, I feel a strange reluctance to accept the triumph of “prettiness.” It is possible that for some of us, the unsung hero of Oklahoma has been shuffled off to an obscure grave, and the villains of this musical are actually the king and queen of the prom. Long live Jud Fry, the man who challenged the status quo.

(Gary Carden is a writer and storyteller who lives in Sylva. He can be reached at gcarden498@aol.com)