Next year

Due to scheduling conflicts, Rico has to reluctantly put off until next Remembrance Day the shooting of his video based on Ray Bradbury's splendid story Downwind from Gettysburg.
Rico says he's not going to do the whole story, which is far too modern and technological, he's just going to do the little snippet within the story that drives the premise:

Phipps, holding up a cocktail glass one night, like a lens that simultaneously proportions out the light of the past and the illumination of the future:
“I have always wanted to do a film on Gettysburg and the vast crowd there and far way out at the edge of the sun-drowsed impatient lost thick crowd, a farmer and his son trying so hard to hear, not hearing, trying to catch the wind-blown words from the tall speaker there on the distant stand, that gaunt man in the stovepipe hat who now takes off his hat, looks in it as to his soul rummaged there on scribbled letterbacks and begins to speak.
“And this farmer, in order to get his son up out of the crush, why, he hefts the boy up to sit upon his shoulders. There the boy, nine years old, a frail emcumbrance, becomes ears to the man, for the man indeed cannot hear nor see but only guess what the President is speaking far across a sea of people there at Gettysburg and the President’s voice is high and drifts now clear, now gone, seized and dispersed by contesting breeze and wind. And there have been too many speakers before him and the crowd all crumpled wool and sweat, all mindless stockyard squirm and jostled elbow, and the farmer talks up to his son on his shoulders in a yearning whisper: What? What’s he say? And the boy, tilting his head, leaning his peach-fuzz ear to the wind, replies:

“ ‘Fourscore and seven years…’ ”

“Yes?”

“ ‘…ago, our fathers brought forth…’ ”

“Yes, yes!?”

“ ‘…on this continent…’ ”

“Eh?”

“Continent! ‘A new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are…’ ”

“And so it goes, the wind leaning against the frail words, the far man uttering, the farmer never tiring of his sweet burden of son and the son obedient cupping and catching and telling it al down in a fierce good whisper and the father hearing the broken bits and some parts missing and some whole but all fine somehow to the end…

“ ‘…of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.’ ”

“The boy stops whispering.
“It is done.
“And the crowd disperses to the four directions. And Gettysburg is history.
“And for a long time the father cannot bring himself to ease his translator of the wind down to set him on the earth, but the boy, changed, comes down at last…”
Bayes sat looking at Phipps.
Phipps slugged down his drink, suddenly chagrined at his own expansiveness, then snorted: “I’ll never make that film…”

Rico says ah, but he will...