Benjamin Opipari

Howrey LLP

Shhhhhhame: Silencing the Family Secret in

Sam Shepard’s Buried Child

Few families in American drama are as dysfunctional as the unnamed family in

Sam Shepard’s Buried Child (referred throughout as the Shepard family). The
play is about a family of misfits and outcasts who has tried unsuccessfully for
years to cope with the emotional destruction inflicted upon them by the horrible
acts of incest committed between the mother Halie and son Tilden, as well as
the ensuing murder of the newborn child by Halie’s husband Dodge. Halie and
Dodge’s other son, Bradley, does not live with them but visits occasionally and is
prone to fits of violence because of how poorly he perceives his family treats him.
The family tries desperately to establish some sense of normalcy by suppressing
the horrible events in hopes that they will disappear from the family’s collective
memory. However, the arrival of Tilden’s forgotten son Vince and his girlfriend
Shelley forces the family to confront the incest and murder once Shelley senses
that something is amiss in the family. This family systems analysis focuses not
on how the event itself affects family functioning but instead on the subsequent
reaction to the event: the overwhelming sense of shame felt by all members. It is
this shame that cripples the family.
Buried Child premiered on 27 June 1978 at the Magic Theatre in San Francisco.
It moved to the Off-Broadway Theatre for the New City in October 1978, winning
the Pulitzer Prize in 1979. As Shepard’s first true commercial success, Buried Child
is the second in his trilogy of family plays, bookended by Curse of the Starving
Class in 1977 and True West in 1980. With its themes of infanticide and incest,
it has understandably undergone considerable psychoanalytic criticism. Matthew
Roudane, for instance, writes, “One need not be a devout follower of Freud to
respond to the Oedipal dimensions in the play . . . the buried child and the buried
truths of the past, repressed through years of denial, rejection, and indifference,
are the greatest sources of disconnection in the family” (219). However, other
critics have also spoken of the family dynamic in the play and the dysfunctional
interactions among the members. Christopher Bigsby, for example, writes that
“Shepard is concerned with the failure of the relationship, the space between those

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124 Benjamin Opipari

who should be physically and emotionally close” (182). In addition, DeRose notes,
“The family is a black hole that holds its offspring in a deadly grip, eventually sucking
them back into its vortex” (99). Both critics discuss the effect of the secret on the
family’s functioning. More specifically, Bigsby’s “space” is the distance among
the members, whose interpersonal relationships and emotional closeness have all
but evaporated because of one long-standing secret. The “vortex” in Day’s work
can be seen as a reference to the circular causality in the family as the members
are unable to extract themselves from the dysfunctional behavior loops. Many
literary critics focus on the play’s thematic discussion of the American West and
its frontier imagery, but even this can be fraught with Freudian language: “Faced
with an alienating, spiritually bankrupt and repressive society, the individual rebels
by turning inward in a desperate belief in and nostalgic longing for some inner,
essential truth” (Grace 184).
The family members in Buried Child suffer from a host of disabilities, both
physical and emotional. Tilden is a slow-witted man in his forties with the emotional
age of a young adolescent. He exhibits a degree of anti-social behavior: we learn
from the backstory that while away from home he committed a violent crime. His
brother Bradley has an amputated leg. The frail father Dodge’s heavy reliance on
alcohol further debilitates his already weak body. Collectively, these traits would
present a problem to any family, but in fact they are only a minor sideshow to
the primary systemic dysfunction engendered by the single traumatic event—the
incest—that has changed the family unalterably. This experience, understandably,
shatters the cohesion of the family and disrupts its original homeostasis. What was
once a happy family has become a family full of deceit and anger. More importantly,
though, the incest and resulting birth of the child creates shame so powerful that
the system almost completely shuts down, devoid of meaningful communication.
Fossum and Mason (1986) call this “rippling effect” of the shaming event “the
pervasive shame that affects all members and the loyalty to the secret” (40). The
family indignity is engendered by the dark secret that they keep from the outside,
an unspoken secret that they all know but pretend not to know, according to Dodge,
who says, “Everyone around us knew. Everyone. All our boys knew. Tilden knew”
(124; 3). Their insistence on keeping the secret informs their behavior throughout
the play, from their communication patterns to their attempt to close the system,
while pretending that nothing ever happened. However, the specter of the event
is never far from the family’s thoughts, and while they try mightily to ignore its
presence, it creates an underlying tension that fills the members with angst.
Shhhhhhame: Silencing the Family Secret 125

True to Family Systems Theory (FST), it is not the inciting event itself,
such as a secret or traumatic stressor, that determines the family’s inability to
function. Rather, it is the family’s reaction to an event, or their ability to cope
in an emotionally stable manner. Open families who talk about the precipitating
event are likely to see the event in less shameful terms because they are able to
express their emotions in an open forum. On the other hand, individuals in closed
systems who shut themselves off both from the outside and from other members
in the system, who refuse to acknowledge that anything bad even happened, are
doomed to dysfunction because their silence only reinforces their shame. Closed
systems are prone to disorder because they are resistant to change in spite of the
dysfunction surrounding them. These families, according to the family therapist
Evan Imber-Black (1993), are “loyal to the ‘don’t talk, don’t trust, don’t feel’ rules
and often create family myths or dishonest stories to hide secrets” (31). In other
words, incest does not guarantee dysfunction, though it often does. It is usually
dealt with poorly because affected family members (including extended family)
are devastated by shame and humiliation. As a result, families frequently do their
best to suppress any memory of the incident.
Throughout Buried Child, the Shepard family is crippled by the traumatic
event. In going to great lengths to keep what happened between Tilden and Halie
out of public view, the family creates family myths (lies, really) and dysfunctional
conversational styles in an ill-conceived attempt to keep the family functioning. This
creates an aura of mistrust that infects all members. Furthermore, from secrecy come
anxiety and guilt: those who know the secret become anxious as they fear disclosure
and must remain vigilant of any mention of the event. Anxiety is manifested in
poor social interactions in that the family members are openly contemptuous of
each other throughout the play.
The Shepard family’s suppression of the secret has a deleterious impact on
all interpersonal interactions in the play, even those interactions unrelated to the
secret. Naturally, the incest is a source of embarrassment and humiliation. As a
result, the family members are unable to develop relationships because they isolate
themselves from society to avoid the shame. They see no way out, either physically
from the house (the stairs onstage lead to nowhere, and the outside is filled with
darkness), or symbolically from their predicament, so like caged animals they tear
each other apart. Their urgency to maintain the secret reflects a feeling among the
members that once the secret is made public the family will fall apart, so the men
shut off contact with the outside world. They are outcasts and deeply suspicious of
everyone (family included), which further reinforces their isolation.
126 Benjamin Opipari

FS theorists point out that a lingering family secret, one that everyone in the
family knows, can have devastating effects on the system’s health. Imber-Black
uses the term “toxic secret” to describe those secrets that “engender debilitating
symptoms and erosion of relationship reliability. [They] are frequently long-
standing” (11). When toxic secrets invade a family, feelings affecting one member
are often transmitted to other members. In the case of the Shepard family, the incest
has fostered feelings of exploitation. As a result, the men view themselves as failures.
They have little control over the direction of their lives and are resigned to lives of
disgrace. The setting that Shepard describes in the opening symbolizes their despair.
They live in a dilapidated house with “frayed carpet . . . a sofa with the stuffing
sticking out . . . and a faded yellow lampshade” (63; 1). The shapes of dark elm
trees and the rain outside give a sense of foreboding and gloom. The darkness that
hangs over and pervades the family is, in Dodge’s eyes, a literal construct, but it
also represents their emotional state when he tells Halie and Tilden, “It’s not raining
in California or Florida or the race track. Only in Illinois. This is the only place it’s
raining. All over the rest of the world it’s bright golden sunshine” (75; 1).
His position as patriarch long since taken from him, Dodge is a broken man,
resigned to living with the family’s curse. Much of Dodge’s humiliation is related
to the emasculation that he feels at the hands of Tilden after Halie has committed
adultery with him, Dodge’s own son. According to Carla McDonough, Dodge’s
manhood is questioned throughout the play. She writes, “He is clearly no longer able
to control his wife’s actions, much less the actions of his sons, due to his physical
frailty—aggravated if not created by drink—which has confined him to the couch.
The family patriarch’s failings as a ‘man’ are reflected in the dissolution of his
family and the failings of his sons” (53). His emasculation is best symbolized by
Tilden’s ability to create an abundantly fertile plot of land in the backyard—only
after it had been barren for years and Dodge was unable to farm it. Tilden can
produce corn, but Dodge cannot, and he says, “There hasn’t been corn out there
since about nineteen thirty-five! That’s the last time I planted corn out there!”
(69; 1). Once, of course, Dodge was as virile as his son; Shelly comments on the
picture upstairs of “A big farm. A bull. Wheat. Corn. All the kids standing out in
the corn” (111; 3). The family’s dishonesty has devastated Dodge, and his mistrust
is reflected in his paranoia. Still smarting from the emotional wounds that Halie
inflicted, Dodge fears that she will further ridicule him, just as she does when she
dresses him up as the corpse “for company” (68;1). But it is not just Halie who
conspires against Dodge. He is afraid to fall asleep thinking that some harm will
befall him when he does:
Shhhhhhame: Silencing the Family Secret 127

I don’t wanna lay down for a while! Every time I lay down something happens! (whips
off his cap, points at his head) Look what happens! That’s what happens! (pulls his cap
back on) You go lie down and see what happens to you! See how you like it. They’ll steal
your bottle! They’ll cut your hair! They’ll murder your children! That’s what’ll happen.
(93; 2)

To preserve the system, family members stifle talk of their terrible past. No one
wants to be reminded of the event. Dodge tells Tilden, for example, “I don’t want
to talk about anything. I don’t want to talk about troubles or what happened or fifty
years ago or thirty years ago or the race track or Florida or the last time I seeded
the corn. I don’t want to talk!” (78; 1). He wants to keep the event buried deep in
the past so that the family can live a normal life. When Tilden tells Shelly that he
had a son once, Dodge screams, “You shut up about that! You don’t know anything
about that!” (92; 2). We expect, then, that the strongest attempts to hide the family
secret come from Dodge, whose shame and indignity are compounded by his
wife’s infidelity. He is briefly relieved when Vince arrives and claims not to know
any of the family history. Dodge tells him, “It’s much better not to know anything.
Much, much better” (88; 2). However, this relief is short-lived once Tilden hints to
Vince and Shelly that he has a terrible secret; Dodge yells at Tilden to leave Shelly
alone, in a succession of lines: “Tilden, you leave that girl alone . . . Don’t tell
her anything! Don’t tell her” (104; 2). Later, when Shelly questions Dodge about
the pictures in the bedroom, he becomes concerned that Shelly knows the family
secret. He says, “That’s about enough outa’ you! You got some funny ideas. Some
damn funny ideas. You think just because people propagate they have to love their
offspring? You never seen a bitch eat her puppies?” (112; 3). Years of deceit have
given him reason to believe they have conspired against him.
To hide their glaring dysfunction and relieve their anxiety, the Shepard family
creates dishonest stories so routinely that all truth becomes subjective. These
stories take the form of myths. Typical of families who hide a shameful secret,
they perpetuate a myth of happiness and perfection to mask their disgrace and to
make them appear functional to the outside. It is a myth that succeeds among those
who do not know the family. Shelly comments, for example, that the outside of the
house “is like a Norman Rockwell painting or something” (83; 2). But to Dodge,
the family’s greatness is found in his virility. He tells Shelly, “You know how many
grandkids I’ve spawned? Not to mention Grand kids and Great Grand kids and Great
Great Grand kids after them” (112; 3). Halie, on the other hand, wants to convey an
image of familial grandiosity to gloss over her role in the family’s dysfunction. Her
backstory advances the myth. Not only was Tilden an All-American football player,
but Ansel “was a hero. A genuine hero. Brave. Strong. And very intelligent. Ansel
128 Benjamin Opipari

could have been a great man. One of the greatest . . . He could have won a medal.
He could have been decorated for valor” (73; 1). Given the discrepancy among
family members over Ansel’s legacy, we cannot be sure of Halie’s truthfulness: in
the final act, when she announces plans for the commemorative statue of Ansel,
Bradley insists that Ansel never even played basketball. Halie’s last lines in the
play incorporate Vince into the system, and he becomes part of her myth: “Vincent
was an angel. A guardian angel. He’d watch over us. He’s watched over all of us”
(128; 3). In these words, even as the system crumbles, Halie tries desperately to
perpetuate the myth of a healthy family.
Furthermore, a central shame-filled secret in a family has other ramifications
within the entire communication process, often distorting or confusing other
unrelated messages within the system (Imber-Black 13). A close reading of the
play’s communication patterns reveals that most conversations never reach a logical
ending because questions are never answered. The Shepard family members all
know the secret, but it is an unspoken rule that it will remain hidden. As a result,
communication becomes so rigid that the family keeps secrets from each other
that have nothing in common with the original secret. They are accustomed to
hiding one secret, so hiding other pieces of information becomes second nature.
As a result, trust is absent. The Shepard family’s style of conversation adheres to
these patterns; communication is vague so little definitive meaning is established
in conversation. Tilden’s past is a secret that the family hides from outsiders. We
know that he has gotten into trouble and that he cannot be left alone for too long,
but the family never explains why. Dodge explains to Shelly that “he got himself
into trouble. He doesn’t know his way around here anymore . . . He went out West
and got himself into trouble. Got himself into bad trouble” (113; 3).
This withholding of information contributes to the erosion of trust among all
family members. Dodge keeps his drinking hidden. When he complains that Tilden
cannot be counted on because he has “lost his marbles,” he introduces the idea of
mistrust: “Now, between the two of us, who do you think is more trustworthy?
Him or me? Can you trust a man who keeps bringing in vegetables from out of
nowhere?” (98; 2). Even when Halie asks him what he is watching on television,
Dodge’s response is evasive:
HALIE’S VOICE. Dodge, are you watching baseball?
DODGE. No.
HALIE’S VOICE. What’re you watching? You shouldn’t be watching anything that’ll get
you excited! No horse racing.
DODGE. They don’t race on Sundays. (65; 1)
Shhhhhhame: Silencing the Family Secret 129

Dodge is not watching baseball or racing, just a snowy screen. In his evasiveness,
Dodge will only tell her what he is not watching.
Even Halie contributes to this dysfunctional pattern. Dodge asks her if the
man who took her to California “ever laid a finger” on her (66; 1). His question is
met with a long silence. Her response—“are you going out today?”—has nothing
to do with his question; she changes the subject to avoid the truth. These elusive
responses continue when Tilden enters. His answers to Dodge’s questions are
devoid of meaning:
DODGE. Where’d you get that?
TILDEN. Picked it.
DODGE. Where’d you pick it from?
TILDEN. Right out back
DODGE. Out back where?
TILDEN. Right out in back. (69; 1)

Vague responses like these negatively affect the relationships within the family
because members come to know each other only on a superficial level and do not
trust each other. The outcome is classic family systems circular causality: because
family members know little about each other, each one distances as if living among
strangers, a cycle that perpetuates even more distance. Even Tilden’s whereabouts
turn into an opportunity to withhold information from Halie. When she asks Dodge
where Tilden has gone, the answer is another secret. He will only tell Halie under
one condition. “Gimme a drink and I’ll tell ya’,” he says (119; 3).
This breakdown in dialogue contributes to the members’ inability to sustain
interpersonal relationships. A deep sense of distrust is reinforced among members
because they have been conditioned to accept dishonesty as a normal part of
conversation. For instance, when Tilden and Dodge discuss what happened to
Tilden out west, Tilden tells Dodge that Dodge should have worried about him in
New Mexico. Dodge asks him three times why he should have worried about him,
and each time time Tilden avoids the question:
TILDEN. You shoulda worried about me then
DODGE. Why’s that? You didn’t do anything down there, did you?
TILDEN. I didn’t do anything.
DODGE. Then why should I have worried about you?
TILDEN. Because I was lonely . . . more lonely that I’ve ever been.
DODGE. Why was that?
TILDEN. (pause) Could I have some of that whiskey you got? (71; 1)

Other secrets within the family create dyads and alliances throughout the
play. Dodge and Tilden often keep secrets from Halie to form such an alliance.
130 Benjamin Opipari

When Tilden wants to tell Halie, who is upstairs, that he is downstairs with Dodge,
Dodge tells Tilden twice not to answer her. It is an alliance that Halie senses when
she accuses Dodge and Tilden of putting corn all around the house. She threatens
to kick Tilden out of the house if he does not tell her where it came from. Dodge,
however, sides with Tilden:
DODGE. Why’d you have to tell him that? Who cares where he got that corn? Why’d you
have to go and tell him that? Who cares where he got that corn?
HALIE. It’s your fault you know! You’re the one that’s behind all this! I suppose you
thought it’d be funny! Some joke! Cover the house with corn husks. You better get this
cleaned up before Bradley sees this. (76; 1)

This “joke” is their secret because the men refuse to share where Tilden found
the corn.
But a family-wide alliance against the outside is critical if the family is to survive.
To create such a coalition, the Shepard family attempts to secure the boundary around
them by closing the system in a display of solidarity. They succeed until the end of
the play, when the system collapses once the secret is revealed. The presence of the
family secret has an oddly cohesive, though dysfunctional, outcome. It unifies the
family, whose members recognize that they are part of a shared endeavor. But the
closing of the system also has a negative effect, making them even more reclusive
in their suspicion of outsiders. As Karpel (1980) notes, “When all members know
the secret and know they all know, the secret serves to strengthen the boundary
between the family and the outside world. In extreme cases, it may make alliances
between family members and persons outside the family virtually impossible” (297-
8). The secret, then, closes the system to everyone except the immediate family,
including Vince. As Imber-Black writes,
A secret may be located within the boundaries of the nuclear family as something that
everybody knows, but extended family and the outside world are kept out. Such secrets
may shape a family’s entire identity vis-à-vis the outside world and may contribute to a
sense of unity. At the same time, the requirement to keep such a secret within the family
boundaries may cut the family or individuals off from needed resources. (22)

Because Vince has been away from the family for a time and does not know the
secret, the Shepard family maintains a boundary around the system to preserve
their guarded nature. At first, they are effective at closing the system. Tilden tells
Shelley, “There’s certain things I can’t tell you . . . Nobody’s supposed to hear it”
(101; 2), keeping her outside the system. Moreover, when Shelly asks Dodge if
Tilden had been telling the truth about the baby, Dodge ignores her question by
looking around and asking, “Where is Tilden? . . . What’s happened to Tilden? . .
. Why isn’t Tilden here?” (112; 3).
Shhhhhhame: Silencing the Family Secret 131

Bradley is more forceful and deliberate in his effort to keep the system closed.
Whereas Dodge simply ignores Shelly’s questions, Bradley is confrontational. He
insists, “We don’t have to tell you anything, girl. Not a thing. You’re not the police
are you? You’re not the government. You’re just some prostitute that Tilden brought
in here” (120; 3). His use of “we” reinforces the cohesion. He maintains that they
cannot reveal the secret because of the family pact, a shared venture. He screams,
“We made a pact! We made a pact between us. You can’t break that now” (123; 3).
It is a desperate attempt to unify the family in the face of a destabilizing event. The
word “pact” indicates that there is a deliberate effort to collectively keep the secret
from outsiders. Their effort is similarly illustrated when Tilden tells Dodge “we all
know” about the secret (77; 1). Moreover, Tilden earlier told Shelly that he could
not share the secret because “Dodge won’t let me” (103; 2), proof that the family
has been attempting for years to keep the secret from emerging.
Whether they like it or not, the act of incest ties the family together in their
quest to maintain secrecy. This solidarity, however, is at the expense of member
individuality, especially to the two sons, whose development has been slowed.
Tilden, for one, is an overgrown child. He speaks slowly and haltingly, with an
astonishingly simple vocabulary for a man in his late forties. His family treats him
simultaneously as two opposite personas: as the head of the household and as a
little child requires constant monitoring. He is a child in an adult’s body, with a
conflicted identity and little sense of purpose. For instance, before Halie leaves the
house, she assures Dodge that Tilden will be able to “watch over” and “protect”
him because Tilden is the oldest son (68; 1). Yet only a few minutes later, Halie
suddenly deems Tilden incapable of looking after anyone, even himself: “You’ve
gotta watch out for him? It’s our responsibility. He can’t look after himself anymore,
so we have to do it . . . I always thought he’d be the one to take responsibility. I
had no idea in the world that Tilden would be so much trouble” (72; 1). Moreover,
as Halie exits to meet with Father Dewis, she tells Dodge, “If you need anything,
ask Tilden. He’s the oldest.” Yet seconds later, she contradicts herself, reminding
Dodge, “We have to watch him just like we used to now. Just like we always have.
He’s still a child” (77; 1).
But Tilden’s actions are often truly infantile. Even something as simple as
asking permission from Dodge to bring his chair into the kitchen (85; 2) indicates
his emotional immaturity. It is a request that surprises Dodge. Their exchange
shows Tilden’s inability to launch from the family and the degree to which he still
relies on his parents:
132 Benjamin Opipari

DODGE. You’re a grown man. You shouldn’t be needing your parents at your age. It’s
unnatural. There’s nothing we can do for you now anyway. Couldn’t you make a living
down there? Couldn’t you find some way to make a living? Support yourself? What’d’ya
come back here for? You expect us to feed you forever?
TILDEN. I didn’t know where else to go.
DODGE. I never went back to my parents. Never. Never even had the urge. I was inde-
pendent. Always independent. Always found a way. (78; 1)

Tilden’s response that “I didn’t know what to do” proves that he cannot function
independently outside the system’s boundaries. Part of Tilden’s confusion stems
from his parents’ mixed messages. Dodge, for example, tells him, “You’re supposed
to watch out for me. Get me things when I need them” (79; 1). This command is
a confusing paradox: he controls Tilden by asking his son to control him. Tilden
is simultaneously asked to be both caretaker and caretakee; he is told not to go
outside because he must always be supervised, but then he is told to stay inside
so that he can watch after his father. Dodge reinforces this dynamic by begging
Tilden to stay inside so that Tilden can protect him from Bradley. This confusing
message is also echoed by Halie. She has told Tilden to watch over Dodge, but
when she comes home and finds that Tilden is missing, she tells Dewis, “He’s not
in control of his faculties. Dodge knew that. I told him when I left here. I told him
specifically to watch out for Tilden” (119; 3).
Despite the family’s best intentions to secure the boundary around them, they
are not successful. Leaks in the boundary cause the family to falter, foreshadowed
by Shelly’s first act upon entering the house when she puts on Dodge’s baseball
cap. As matriarch, Halie watches over the house and the men who are incapable of
taking care of themselves. Once she leaves, however, disorder soon befalls the open
system. Upon her return, she remarks that she “can’t leave this house for a second
without the Devil blowing in through the front door” (114; 3). The family’s desire
to seal its borders is reflected in its suspicion of outside agencies. For example:
SHELLY. What’s happened to this family anyway?

DODGE. You’re in no position to ask! What do you care? You some kinda’ social
worker?
(112; 3)

Their mistrust of outsiders and organized groups is further demonstrated when

Shelly demands to know what the family is hiding. Once the family’s collective
anxiety reaches a level where they sense that the secret might be revealed, they
move to expel her:
BRADLEY. We don’t have to tell you anything, girl. Not a thing. You’re not the police are
you? You’re not the government . . .
Shhhhhhame: Silencing the Family Secret 133

HALIE. I think we’ve had about enough of you, young lady. Just about enough. I don’t
know where you came from or what you are doing here but you’re no longer welcome in
this house. (120; 3)

They also treat Vince the same way. When Vince appears on the porch, Bradley
responds in a similar fashion, yelling, “You get off our front porch you creep!
What’re you doing out there breaking bottles? Who are these foreigners anyway?
Where did they come from?” (123; 3).
Bradley’s threats typify another dysfunctional behavior in the family system.
While the family attempts to fortify their collective boundary, the boundaries around
individual members are collapsing, symbolized by incest, the most severe type of
boundary blurring. (It is noteworthy to point out, for example, that Tilden calls his
mother “Halie” several times instead of “mom” or “mother.”) Incest shatters the
boundaries surrounding those involved. In FST, the greater the family boundary
ambiguity (diffusion), the greater the individual and familial dysfunction, because
enmeshment leads to a lack of individuality among members. Overinvolvement in
each other’s lives occurs at the expense of member independence. In the Shepard
family, physical boundaries are regularly broken, contributing to the high level
of mistrust and paranoia among its members. As the weakest member, Dodge
is an easy target. For example, Tilden dumps a load of corn on him when he is
sleeping. Bradley shaves his head while he sleeps. Tilden takes his hat from his
head. But Dodge is not the only one whose boundaries are broken; Bradley’s are
as well, such as when others take his wooden leg and refuse to return it. Because
of actions like these, family members are deeply suspicious of one another. In a
family whose survival depends on unification to preserve a lie, boundary ambiguity
creates additional anxiety.
Dodge’s ambiguous boundaries make him especially anxious. He prefers rigid
boundaries that keep everyone, literally, at least an arm’s length away. He seals
himself off from the outside, content to waste away his days inside the house to
escape shame. He warns other family members that he wants to be left alone. He
admits, “I rarely go out in the bright sunshine, why would I go out in this [rain]?”
(67; 1). In the opening, he twice tells Halie, “Don’t come down” (64; 1) when she
threatens to come downstairs. He tells her, “You tell Bradley that if he shows up
here with those clippers, I’ll kill him” (67; 1). Dodge wants distance between him
and everyone else. When Vince and Shelly arrive, Dodge warns them not to cross
the system’s boundary, yelling, “Stay where you are! Keep your distance!” (89;
2). Like his father, Tilden also wants to isolate himself from public view and avoid
public humiliation. He says, “I’m not going down there. Into town” (92; 2).
134 Benjamin Opipari

Dodge also prefers rigid boundaries because boundary ambiguity leads to

enmeshment. He is aware of the control that others have over him, mentioning to
Halie at one point, “My appearance is out of [my domain]” (68; 1). According to
Fossum and Mason (1986):
Control is the cardinal rule of the shame-bound system. In some families the control
principle seems synonymous with a primitive drive for domination and submission. The
satisfaction is in experiencing the power to impose one’s will upon others. This meanest
form of overt control is usually . . . rigidly held by one or more family members over the
others in a tyrannical manner. (88)

Halie’s enmeshment is best represented, of course, by the act of incest with her son.
While critics refer to it as “incest,” it is a form of abuse and control, even if Tilden
was an adult when it occurred. As a parent, Halie wields power over her son. Her
domination over the slow-witted Tilden is a manipulative act, given the parent-child
hierarchical power structure. But Halie controls Dodge as well, through deception
and manipulation. By virtue of his disgrace at her hands, he is the weaker of the
two. Halie sees no sanctity in their marriage. She openly flirts with Father Dewis
in front of Dodge, knowing that her husband is powerless to stop her.
With the couple’s marital disintegration, a power struggle ensues in which
members wrestle for control, attempting to establish leadership to give the family
direction. But for every instance that a family member displays power over another,
the same member is similarly dominated by another at some point in the play. No
single character dominates the family. In the beginning, Halie controls Dodge
and Tilden. Her position offstage at the top of the stairs symbolizes her control.
She tells Dodge what to do during the day when she is not home. Halie also uses
her control in a more demonstrative and physical manner. Her command over the
men is physically reinforced when she comes downstairs and sees the husks. She
yells, “What’s this in my house!” and kicks the husks across the room in a bullying
manner. Scared, Dodge cowardly pulls his blankets over his head (74; 1). It is not
“our house” but “my house,” a reference that makes clear Halie’s position in the
family. In fact, in a further display of her control, she threatens to kick Tilden out
of the house if he does not tell her where he got the corn.
Curiously, though, Halie seems to be afraid of Bradley, worried that he will react
angrily to the mess in the house. She tells Tilden and Dodge, “You better get this
cleaned up before Bradley sees it . . . Bradley’s going to be very upset when he sees
this. He doesn’t like to see the house in disarray. He can’t stand it when one thing is
out of place. The slightest thing. You know how he gets” (76; 1). Bradley’s desire
for control is reflected in his wish for an orderly house and by his heavy-handed
Shhhhhhame: Silencing the Family Secret 135

techniques. In a house of chaos, Bradley tries to maintain the family’s equilibrium.

Halie is afraid that husks all over the floor will send him into a rage. His physical
presence suggests power in almost Frankenstein-like description: “He moves with
an exaggerated, almost mechanical limp. The squeaking sounds of leather and
metal accompany his walk from the harness and hinges of the false leg. His arms
and shoulders are extremely powerful and muscular due to a lifetime dependency
on the upper torso” (81-2; 1). When Bradley enters the house, he is upset at the
disorder around him, and he attempts to establish control by cutting Dodge’s hair
with shears to the point of bloodshed.
This display of power resembles Bradley’s entrance in the second act, when
he commands attention. He sends Tilden running as Dodge lies crumpled on the
floor. He makes Shelly tremble with fear. To show his domination, he drops his
coat over Dodge’s head while cramming his fingers in Shelly’s mouth. His words
convey power and supremacy in their mockery: “No use leaving [Tilden] here.
Doesn’t do a lick of work. (to TILDEN) Do ya’? (to SHELLY) ‘Course he used
to be an All-American. Quarterback or Fullback or somethin’ . . . Yeah, he used to
be a big deal. Wore lettermen’s sweaters . . . Real purty. Big deal” (105; 2). In its
expression of superiority, Bradley’s disdainful tone shows what little respect he
has for his brother. He tells Shelly that the other two men of the house fear him
and that she too must respect his authority: “Don’t talk to me in that tone a’ voice.
There was a time when I had to take that tone a’ voice from pretty near everyone.
(motioning to DODGE) Him, for one! Him and that half brain that just ran outa’
here. They don’t talk to me like that now. Not any more. Everything’s’ turned
around now. Full circle” (106; 2).
Of course, the locus of control shifts quickly and arbitrarily in the house, and
Bradley’s control evaporates at the hands of Shelly, who gains access to the closed
system. It is at this key point when the family’s control over their secret begins to
crumble. Once inside, she becomes embroiled in the struggle. She symbolically
tosses Bradley and Dodge from the system, telling the men that it is now her house.
Talking to Dodge, she says, “You’re here, but it doesn’t seem like you’re supposed
to be. (pointing to BRADLEY). Doesn’t seem like he’s supposed to be here either.
I don’t know what it is. It’s the house or something. Something familiar. Like I
know my way around here. Did you ever get that feeling?” (110; 3). However, even
though Dodge has the least amount of power, he has one secret over the others in
what could be the ultimate form of control: try as they may, they cannot extract the
buried child’s location from him. Dodge knows that holding this secret over the
family’s collective head is his only way to gain any measure of authority. Tilden
136 Benjamin Opipari

says, “He’s the only one who knows where it’s buried. The only one. Like a secret
buried treasure. Won’t tell any of us. Won’t tell me or mother or even Bradley.
Especially Bradley. Bradley tries to force it out of him but he wouldn’t tell. Wouldn’t
even tell why he did it. One night he just did it” (104; 2).
At the end of the play, with the blurring of boundaries and a lack of unity among
its members, the family is crippled once an outsider enters the system. As a unit, the
family has little cohesion; as individuals, each has little independence. The stage
is set for the gradual unraveling of the family’s secret. Shelly secures permanent
access to the family once she sleeps upstairs among the family portraits, becoming a
member after (metaphorically) sleeping among them. The Shepard family attempts
a defense of the system once she passes through the boundary:
SHELLY. . . . Don’t you usually settle your affairs in private? Don’t you usually take them
out in the dark? Out in the back?
BRADLEY. You stay out of our lives! You have no business interfering! . . . You don’t
know what we’ve been through. You don’t know anything!
SHELLY. I know you’ve got a secret. You’ve all got a secret. It’s so secret in fact, you’re
all convinced it never happened.
HALIE. Oh, my God, Father!
DODGE. . . . She thinks she is going to uncover the truth of the matter. Like a detective
or something.
BRADLEY. I’m not telling her anything! Nothing’s wrong here. Nothing’s ever been
wrong! Everything’s the way it’s supposed to be! Nothing’s ever happened that’s bad!
Everything is all right here! We’re all good people! (122; 3)

Shelly’s threat elicits fear that the secret’s disclosure will ruin the family’s reputation.
Her words accurately foretell the family’s reaction: She claims that the family
ignores the secret in hopes that it will disappear from their consciousness. Once
she points this out, their reaction proves her point. The secret is the white elephant
in the room: the more they focus on avoiding discussion of it, the more it becomes
a part of their everyday lives because they talk about trying not to talk about it.
Bradley is the most vocal in his insistence that the secret must endure; his claim
that “Everything’s the way it’s supposed to be . . . Everything is all right here!” is
a futile plea for homeostasis, but also a lie.
The family’s collapse is also foreshadowed in their continued power struggle.
Halie appears to regain control of the house upon her return. She takes Dodge’s
blanket and gives it to Bradley, only to take it seconds later from Bradley to give
back to Dodge. She issues commands to everyone, telling Shelly to sit down and
Bradley and Dodge to shut up. Even though Shelly says that she does not drink
whiskey, Halie makes her take some. But control of the family begins to shift once
Shelly takes Bradley’s prosthetic leg. With physical possession of a part of the family,
Shhhhhhame: Silencing the Family Secret 137

her tone changes, and Halie is now powerless. Shelly assumes an air of confidence,
laughing with disdain when Halie tells her that she is no longer welcome there.
Shelly tells them defiantly, “I’m not afraid . . . You’re the strangers here, not me.”
Defeated, Halie eventually retreats to the stairs.
Vince’s arrival hastens the family’s destruction that began once the secret was
revealed, and he joins in the power struggle. He tells them that he “devour[s] whole
families in a single gulp” and that he has returned to “usurp [their] territory” (126;
3), phrases that conjure images of control and domination. When Vince assumes the
identical position of his grandfather on the couch, his body “in the same relationship
as Dodge’s” (131; 3), we realize that the play will end exactly as it began, only with
a new man—Vince—assuming Dodge’s role in front of the television. Nothing has
changed in the family, reinforcing the play’s circular causality. In the words of Day,
“Vince is the last of the men in his family to return to his grandparents’ house, to
be drawn into the vortex of communal family secrets that has given birth to this
crippled brood and that seems to be a resting place for the family’s men” (100). His
place next to Dodge indicates, in FST language, that the cycle will endure because
the family has been unable to extricate itself from their negative feedback loops.
The cycle of dishonesty, strengthened by the deception associated with maintaining
the secret, results in an erosion of trust so severe that none of the family members
can stand each other, a harbinger of the family’s slim chances of survival. The men
are at each other’s throats for much of the play. When Bradley and Shelly watch
Dodge on the floor at the end of the second act and Shelly asks what they should
do with him, Bradley responds, “We could shoot him. We could drown him. What
about drowning him?” (106; 2). Bradley is jealous of the attention that Tilden and
Ansel receive from Halie, and he enjoys that others fear him. He tells Shelly that
Dodge is “all bony and wasted away” (2, 105). In turn, Dodge later refers to Bradley
as “dead wood” (115; 3). The “different brand of basketball” that Halie describes
is a metaphor for the men in the family. It is “much, much more vicious. They
smash into each other. They knock each other’s teeth out. There’s blood all over
the court. Savages” (117; 3). In the words of Matthew Roudane, “No wonder the
parents claim they do not even recognize their own living children. Love is absent
in [the play]. Isolation is the norm. Denial has become both a source of comfort
and anguish. A willed ignorance preserves this family” (219).
By murdering the infant, the family has collectively dealt with the shame in the
most horrific manner possible. In a twisted view, they believe their survival depends
on its death; otherwise, the baby would cause them endless disgrace, both public and
private. By killing the child, the family hopes to preserve the system. To Dodge the
138 Benjamin Opipari

murder of the child was a collective effort, not something he undertook by himself.
He tells Shelly, “We couldn’t let a thing like that continue. We couldn’t allow that
to grow up right in the middle of our lives. It made everything we’d accomplished
look like it was nothin’. Everything was cancelled out by this one mistake. This
one weakness” (124; 3). In other words, the family can continue only because they
killed the baby: The public ignominy would be too overwhelming otherwise. Even
more twisted, this act of solidarity is one of the few cohesive actions of the family.
It hastens their destruction, however, and the unearthing of the child in Tilden’s
final act onstage indicates that the secret cannot be buried forever, and they will
never live down their past transgressions. Halie’s final words, and the final words
of the play, describe the backyard: “It’s all hidden. It’s all unseen. You just gotta
wait til it pops out of the ground. Tiny little shoot. Tiny little white shoot. All hairy
and fragile. Strong though. Strong enough to break the earth even. It’s a miracle,
Dodge. I’ve never seen a crop like this in my whole life. Maybe it’s the sun. Maybe
that’s it. Maybe it’s the sun” (132; 3). While it could be the “sun” that grew the
corn, it is most likely the buried “son,” further proof of the interminable cycle.
And because Dodge hears “son” and not “sun,” Halie’s words further reinforce the
humiliation that Tilden and Halie have caused. In a play filled with myths, lies, and
half-truths, Dodge’s description of the downstairs, at the beginning of the play, as
“catastrophic” is eerily foreshadowing, and the truest line of all.

Works Cited
Derose, David J. Sam Shepard. New York: MacMillian, 1992.

Fossum, Marilyn, and Merle Mason. Facing Shame: Families in Recovery. New
York: W.W. Norton, 1986. Print.

Imber-Black, Evan. Secrets in Families and Family Therapy. New York: W.W.
Norton, 1993. Print.

Karpel, M.A. “Family Secrets.” Family Process 19 (1980): 295-306. Print.

Roudane, Matthew, ed. The Cambridge Companion to Sam Shepard. Cambridge:

Cambridge UP, 2002. Print.

Shepard, Sam. Buried Child. New York: Vintage, 2006. Print.