(eerie music plays)
CHORUS SINGS: ♪ The Simpsons ♪
(tires screeching)
D'oh!
(tires screeching)
(grunts)
♪♪
(gunshot)
(all breathing heavily)
(annoyed grunt)
♪♪
(humming tune)
Ach, that stump is really eating into my tractor budget.
I'll have to use me explosives.
Explosives? Great.
If we put charges on the load-bearing walls,
we can blow up detention hall
while leaving the art room unharmed.
-Hmm? -Hey, I like art, okay?
I'm blowing up the stump, not the school.
Right, right.
You never saw that.
(chuckling)
Sweeeet!
Well done, boy.
Wait, here comes the "mykeeyah."
What's a mykeeyah?
My Kia!
(both laughing)
I'm laughing to fit in, but I still don't get it.
Miss Hoover, what's our lesson today?
Is it school?
Oh, I don't know. Let's see.
Family trees.
Who here knows what a family tree is?
Oh, family trees--
the charts representing genealogical relationships
in a branching structure.
Very good, Lisa.
Class, your assignment over the weekend will be
to make your own family tree,
emphasizing any notable or distinguished ancestors.
I can't wait to see what noble branches lie
in the Simpson family foliage.
(exclaims)
No, this can't be right.
Yech, they're all horrible.
Yeah, the Simpson family is a long line of horse thieves,
deadbeats, horse beats, dead thieves, and even a few...
(whispering): ...alcoholics.
There must have been some good ancestors.
Grampa, don't you know any?
Not a one.
Maybe the nicest was Abigail Simpson,
who you know as the Pittsburgh Poisoner.
Listen, Lisa, you're gonna find
more than you bargained for.
If I were you, I wouldn't dig into the past.
I lived in some of that past, and I got out for a reason.
I won't give up. I have to know that somewhere
in the muck and the mire and the Pittsburgh Poisoners,
this family had a noble spark,
and I will find it, even if I have to go back to Adam and Eve.
Oh, you mean
Adam and Eve Simpson,
or as you may know them, Julius and Ethel Rosenberg.
(groans)
(grunting)
Ooh! Whoa!
Well, are you gonna help me or what?
(slurps)
(cracking)
Thank you.
So, what are you looking for?
Family records for a school project on genealogical...
Hey, that's great.
♪♪
Hmm. Dad's idea pad.
Bicentennial issue of Reader's Digest.
Old ad for Buzz Cola.
(gasps)
So dusty.
The "Diary of Eliza Simpson"?
This entry is dated April 14, 1860.
I warn you: I don't know what's in there,
but if it's about a Simpson, you ain't gonna be proud.
Our ancestors were kicked out of Australia.
Oh, stop.
It's the journal of a sweet little girl.
Keep reading, honey.
"Dearest diary,
today I am the happiest girl in Springfield..."
See, all good.
"...because tomorrow I shall get my very first slave."
(all gasp)
I can't believe we're descended from slave owners.
Me neither.
For once, the Simpsons were in management.
Homer.
Oh, read a little more, honey.
"Saturday, April 14, 1860.
Dear Diary, I must be brief,
for tonight is the grand ball
at Colonel Burns's plantation."
I shall dress myself in finery,
like a well-to-do Southern belle.
What's for dinner?
-Possum. -Oh, can't we have opossum?
Not on your salary.
I can't believe I buttoned my britches for this.
In my elegant gown, no one will suspect
that I'm actually on a mission to help
my very first slave escape to freedom.
Yes! She wasn't a slave owner.
Our family was on the Underground Railroad.
We ran a subway station?
No, the Underground Railroad
was a bunch of people who helped slaves escape to Canada.
There were no actual trains and it wasn't under ground.
Then they should've called it the Aboveground Normal-Road.
-Good point, Bart. -Absolutely right.
-Hadn't thought of that before. -Very good, Bart.
That's a great story, Lisa!
And you should stop reading right there.
(gasps)
Wh-What are you doing?
I want to know what happens next.
Well, I don't.
The motto of the Simpsons is:
"Quit while you're ahead."
I made it into a sampler.
It's like when your father and I left
the movie Carrie right after she was crowned prom queen.
She was so happy.
She'd had a lot of problems, but they were all behind her.
But, but, but-but-but...
Time for bed, sweetie.
(grunts in protest)
ELIZA: Lisa. Lisa, it's me.
Eliza, the one good Simpson.
I've got so much more to tell you.
I must know.
(panting)
(humming)
You still reading that thing?
I'm warning you: When something goes into that vent,
it shouldn't come out...
ever.
Well, I am reading it, and when I'm finished,
I'm gonna use Eliza's diary
for my "Black History Month" presentation.
Ooh, good idea.
Bart, what are you doing for Black History Month?
I got an idea: You can march to Selma,
and tell her she's ugly!
(laughs)
(gags)
Listen. "April 20, 1860.
A week ago, I had no idea what the future would bring,
which, I guess, is always true of everyone all the time.
Anyway, last Saturday night,
I went to Colonel Burns's ball."
("Blue Danube Waltz" playing)
I don't like this new Viennese dance craze, "the waltz."
One, two, three, one, two, three...
Where's the "four"? All music needs a four!
I'll have the orchestra adjust its time signature, sir.
See that you do.
♪♪
(whispering)
(music switches to four-four time)
(all clamoring)
ELIZA: In the confusion, I slipped out of the ball
and made my way to the stables,
where I was to meet Mr. Burns's slave, Virgil.
But when I got to the stables, he was nowhere to be seen.
Virgil?
Virgil, let's go.
(screeching)
(screaming)
(grunts)
You look like you could use a little help.
Actually, I'm here to help you.
-Follow me north to freedom. -I don't think so.
Why? Because I'm young and I'm a woman?
No, because you're pointing south.
(sheepish chuckle)
Oh, right, right. Sorry.
It's my first time.
That's all right. It's my 14th.
As we made our way northward,
a couple of patrollers spotted us.
Well, well, well.
Where do you think you're going?
-(gasps) -(gasps) Run!
-After them! -Obviously.
Well, you didn't say it.
(horses neighing)
Hearts pounding, we fled into the woods,
but their horses were fast.
(horses neighing)
♪♪
Escape seemed impossible.
(neighing)
(crumbling)
MARGE: What happened next?
Uh, bu... That's all there is.
The rest of the diary has turned to dust.
(sniffs, sneezes)
(snapping)
Oh! I'll never know if Eliza got Virgil safely to freedom.
Cheer up, sweetie.
Maybe we can find the answer in the library.
To the reference desk!
The library?
Bart, can you believe we're married to those nerds?
(both laugh)
LIBRARIAN: There are no books
about an Eliza Simpson, but I did find this.
MARGE: Ooh, a cookbook.
(Marge gasps)
That's Eliza's mother!
Martha, you are the best!
MARGE: "Pork Butt In Cream," "Snout-Fried Neck"
"Frog-Haunch," "Hooves Au Jus,"
"Possum Pouch Pie..."
Please don't make those recipes.
This one doesn't sound roadkill-y.
And it comes with a story.
"Many years ago, my daughter, Eliza,
brought a runaway slave, Virgil, to the house."
(gasps) They made it back to the house? How?
MARGE: The patrollers were too fast for Eliza and Virgil.
(owl hooting)
Luckily, they chanced upon a traveling circus...
...where they were helped by a crusty, old clown.
A little schmutz, a little schmear, and presto!
You're part of the under-clown railroad.
So, you got any talent?
Well, I am a bit musical.
♪ The sun shines bright ♪
♪ On my old Kentucky home. ♪
Rule number one: never be better than me.
And I'm pretty bad.
Nothing to see here--
just a couple of clowns, and the world's youngest bearded lady.
That I is.
-(spits) -(dings)
Look at her any longer, you're gonna have to pay a nickel.
Why do I always ask for a nickel?
That's like 20 bucks in 2010 money.
Wait! All that was in the recipe?
It was a footnote. See?
"Anyway, I was very proud of Eliza, but my husband Hiram
had not quite caught abolition fever."
Uh-uh, no way.
He'll get me in trouble.
Maybe you'll change your mind about me
after you try some of my wheel cakes.
Wheel cakes?
They're just honey-sweetened batter...
Go on.
...deep-fried in hog lard.
Lard, you say.
Then dusted with powdered sugar.
(muffled): You can stay.
You swear you'll help him?
(gulps)
I give you my word as a Southern gentleman.
Whoo! (gulps)
So they did the right thing.
My quest is fulfilled.
Our family has heroes!
Shh.
(softly): Our family has heroes.
(quiet chuckle)
Martin Luther King had a dream.
Dreams are where Elmo and Toy Story
had a party and I went there.
Yay. My turn is over.
One of your best, Ralph.
Next up, we have Simpson, L.
My Black History Month presentation is called
"The Simpsons: The First Family of Freedom."
No, no, no, not now! Quit, quit!
No, don't quit the program, just the update, you stupid...
(awkward chuckle)
Computers, right?
Our story begins with a spunky little spitfire
named Eliza Simpson.
The year was 1860, and the Underground Railroad was...
("The Battle Hymn of the Republic" playing)
...though Hiram, Mabel, and Eliza
are no longer among us, their truth goes marching on.
-(applause) -Thank you.
-(applause stops) -(one person clapping slowly)
Bravo, Lisa.
Very entertaining, but then again, fairy tales always are.
(all gasping)
What are you talking about?
I hold in my hand another diary.
That of my great-great-great...
(takes hit from inhaler)
...great-great grandfafa, Milford van Houten.
(audience murmurs)
"April 22nd, 1860..."
(strong Southern accent): I was reclining beneath a sarsaparilla tree,
reading about one
of Mr. Thomas Jefferson's marvelous inventions.
when suddenly I heard quite a commotion
coming from the Simpson residence.
BURNS: You're lying!
HOMER: Leave me alone! I have shares to crop.
That's one of Virgil's sugar-sprinkled cake rings.
Now, where is he?
I don't have to answer to some weak old man
with a walking stick.
Ahh! A beating stick!
Brigand.
-(screams) -Dastard.
Renegade.
Mooncalf.
I can't tell you where he is-- I swore an oath.
I see.
You know, Simpson, every man has his price.
No one is better at determining said price than yours truly.
-Hmm. -(mumbling)
-Hmm. -(grunts)
Hmm.
-(hollow knocking) -(grunts)
(gnawing)
I would say your price is...
a pleasant surprise.
That's exactly my price.
Your man Virgil is...
in...
Father, no!
Eliza, hold your tongue!
Don't worry, I'll handle this one.
Young lady, in this day and age,
women only express their opinions in diaries
to be found long after they're gone.
From the day you were born, you were brought up
to crave the approval of a man.
And I know you really want to be a good girl,
and good girls are seen and not heard.
(stifled protest)
Yes, sir.
That-a-girl.
Now, where's my man?
In the turnip shed.
Now, what's my surprise?
Your surprise is a new pair of shoes.
Oh, my God, that surprise is so pleasant.
(sobbing)
MILFORD (with Southern accent): After that fateful day,
(normal voice): "I could never even look at Eliza again."
It didn't help that the next day,
he drank bad well water and went blind.
No! You lie!
Eliza Simpson can't be a coward.
(voice breaking): She's the only decent ancestor I have.
Ach. Take it outside, lassie.
We've still got three "Jackie Robinsons"
and a "Tuskegee Airmen" to go.
-(crying) -And so many Obamas.
-(all impersonating Obama) -Yes, we can.
-Audacity of hope. -Let me be clear.
As I told you, we don't have any books
pertaining to Eliza Simpson.
But I need to prove that my ancestor
couldn't have backed down to Colonel Burns.
Colonel Burns?
Why, I haven't heard my father's name in years.
(sobbing)
You know, you could try our film vault.
Huh?
We have a film vault?
It's where we hooked up during the Christmas party.
Oh.
INTERVIEWER (on film): So, Miss Eliza, I understand
you just turned 100.
It's been quite a life.
Any regrets?
Just one.
When I was a girl, I witnessed a grave injustice,
but I held my tongue.
That pat on my head from a wicked man
has haunted me to this day.
(sobbing)
There's no noble Simpson.
Oh, you were right, Dad.
I should have quit while I was ahead
instead of learning the horrible truth
about our family and Virgil.
Aw, don't cry, meat pie.
Things worked out pretty well for Virgil in the end.
What are you talking about?
Is there something you know about Virgil
that you haven't told us?
I'll take that secret to my grave--
or urn, or medical school dissecting table,
or wherever you're dumping me.
Listen, Wrinkles,
if you know something that'll cheer up my little girl,
you'd better spill it.
Or I can make things very uncomfortable for you.
That enough?
Ah! Okay, I'll talk.
D-day is June 6th. Repeat: June 6th.
Allied forces will land on the beaches of Normandy
in the following order-- Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno.
Are you writing this down, Fritz?
About Virgil.
Oh, right.
Well, Lisa, Mabel knew her husband well,
so she had cooked up a little payback pie.
(gasps)
Get off my property, Colonel Burns.
And if I ever see you in these parts again...
(shotgun cocking)
...you're gonna be a Memphis belle.
Very well. You may have won this round,
but someday my history will be told
by my descendants Ken and Ric Burns.
I knew you'd break your promise.
Now I'm taking Virgil to freedom.
You defied your husband for me?
Man, this is the '60s.
Now let's take you to a place
where a black man can blend in-- Canada.
GRAMPA: So, with those words,
Mabel and Virgil headed north,
but their journey was fraught with peril.
(gasps)
Hmm...
Mabel, why don't I go on alone, and you go back to Hiram?
No.
There's no life for me with him.
I just need to disguise my hair.
But how?
May I be of assistance?
Abraham Lincoln? (gasps)
Perhaps this hat will help disguise your hair.
Thank you.
How's it look?
-It makes you look like a potbellied stove. -(annoyed grunt)
Hey, hey, "Honest Abe."
(laughs) Oh, I'm a riot.
GRAMPA: As the border drew close, so did Virgil and Mabel.
After you.
By the time they crossed into Canada, things had changed.
(theme from Ken Burns's The Civil War playing)
Mabel divorced Hiram
and got one of his shoes in the settlement.
Mabel and Virgil lived out the rest of their days in peace.
They got married, and since Virgil had no last name,
they both took the name Simpson
so that Mabel could keep
all her monogrammed table linens.
And their son, Abraham Simpson,
was my great-grandfather.
So you're actually descended from Virgil, not Hiram.
Are ya happy?
Yes. I'm thrilled.
We've regained our family honor,
and we're 1/64th black.
So that's why I'm so cool.
That's why my jazz is so smooth.
And that's why I earn less than my white co-workers.
Grampa, why'd you try to
keep us from finding this out?
Well, it's hard to explain this to a young person,
but people of my generation are, you know...
-Racists? -That's it.
I don't know what the big deal is.
I mean, it never bothered any of you that my father's French.
You know, Bouvier?
So that's why I love drinking so much.
I'm French, not you.
C'est la vie, baby.
("La Marseillaise" playing)
(guzzling)
♪♪
(murmuring)
Shh!
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