 ...dedicated to the strength of the nation. We hail, starring Virginia Gray in the Outward Voyage, the United States Army and United States Air Force presentation. And now here is our producer, the well-known Hollywood showman, C. P. McGregor. Thank you, thank you very much, and greetings from Hollywood, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to your Theatre of Stars, where all the outstanding names in the motion picture world come to join us in plays we know you'll enjoy. Our star is Virginia Gray, and the title of our dramatic story, The Outward Voyage. In just a moment we'll have the curtain for Act 1, but first, here's your announcer. Choose the career that offers all five. The U.S. Army offers you these five keys to a successful future. One, a career of service to country. Two, the right job for you. Three, continuous training for planned advancement. Four, lifetime security. Five, travel and recreation. Yes, men, choose the career that offers all five. Find out about the five keys to a successful future at your nearest U.S. Army and U.S. Air Force recruiting station. Now once again, our producer. The curtain rises on Act 1 of the Outward Voyage, starring Virginia Gray as Catherine Standish. In the shattered room of Dr. Joseph, a thread of light, like a steel probe cuts deep, searching the secret corners of the darkening pools that are the eyes of a girl. It is the searching light of truth, born in prisms of the impartial and animate robot, the mighty ophthalmoscope. Well, Dr. Joseph, you're going to tell me the truth, aren't you? I'm not afraid. I know you're not, Catherine. In a way, I rather wish you were. I'd have to have an alibi to light to you. This is another classic case of the truth being very painful. I'm going blind. Yes, Catherine, you're going blind. You don't know how sorry I am to say that, but there's nothing else I can say. Oh, don't feel sorry, Dr. Joseph. It doesn't come as a very great shock. I've been quite sure of it. How soon will it be? Six months, possibly a year. It won't be sudden, Catherine. It will come gradually like a sunset. And then the long night. Never again tomorrow morning. That's right, Catherine, but at least you'll have the compensation of mornings to remember. Oh, yes, Dr. Joseph, yes. So many of them. Beautiful mornings setting fire to clouds. Mornings on the ocean making the water molten silver. No two mornings ever alike. Oh, no, Doctor. One can't forget. And I shall have newer mornings to remember, the ones I have left. What are your plans, Catherine? What do you intend doing? I'm going to spend my time looking, Dr. Joseph. Looking at all the things I've never seen. The veins of leaves, the night dew on a rosebud, rain on a window pane, birds riding the wind. All the things we look at and yet never really see. And I think I'll travel. I'll go to all the strange places of the world, places with wonderful queer names that we see in books. Oh, I'm going to look and look and look, Dr. Joseph. I'm going to fill my mind of the brim with pictures, and I'm going to hoard them like a miser. Catherine, my dear, you have so much of what so few of us have. In a courage. No, it isn't courageous to be selfish, Dr. Joseph. And I am selfish, you know. I want to steal all the beautiful sights of the world and hide them away where only I can look at them. I have much time, have I? Six months, you said. Maybe a year. But I shall see. And I'll remember the things I'll see by day. I'll dream about at night. Oh, it'll be a wonderful, exciting journey. My outward voyage. And so to the docks went Catherine Standish in the dimming light of an afternoon when winter's dusk filled the air with gray feathers, but not to the piers of majestic ships, the keys of great proud liners, but to the rotting wharves of tramps, rusty and cankered, ships of wanderers and wandering ships. Straight to the arthritic gangway of the Dundee, she walked a squat, disruptible trader of many oceans. But to Catherine, she was a beautiful ship. She had lived, she had seen. She had loved and been loved. She was Neptune's friend. She was Catherine's friend, a dowdy old woman of the sea. Pardon me, miss. What would you be wanting about this vessel? We ain't expecting no female visitors. Oh, well, you see, I'm not a visitor exactly. Are you Captain McClane? Captain Mc... Indeed I'm not. I'm the mate. The old man's ashore if that's who you've come to see him. And he won't be back before sailing time. Too bad, miss, but the skippers like that invites girls aboard and then forgets he's done it. Oh, but he didn't invite me aboard. I don't even know him. Oh, then who did you want to see? If it's one of the Romeo's in the crew, he's got work to do. He ain't got no time to be entertaining. No, I'm not here to see anyone in particular, unless it be the steward. Steward? Blimey, Ducky, you've got this tub mixed up with the Queen Mary. The Dundeen don't carry no blinking suet. And look here, the audible chow he eats is slung up by a bad cook who ought to have signed on to scrape the bilge, for that's what he does fed enough. You've got the wrong ship, miss. Oh, no. No, this is the right ship, the Dundeen. You see, I'm a passenger. Oh, I... You know what? A passenger. I'm sailing with you. Oh, Fummo, Ducky, one of us is bombing. These iron kettles don't carry no passengers. Why, she has a ramgo even keeping a crew. Ah, but your owner sold me a ticket only three hours ago. I'm afraid you've got a passenger, whether you like it or not. Do you mean, well, start me pink? You mean to say you paid money, good money to ride on this floating junkie? Of course. And I think it's a very nice ship. Ha! Nice ship. Man and boy, I've sailed the sea for 42 years and I never see no worse tub of rusted tin. Lady, you've made a mistake and the owners have gone stock raving men. This ship ain't got no passengers. Lady passengers in particular. She's a stinking trader with her old full of eyes, the smell of which is raising the edges. But you do have a spare stateroom. That's what they told me. Stateroom me blinking eyes. A crummy cabin not fits our pigs, it ain't. Well, not being a pig, I won't mind. You see, I'm not looking for luxury. I don't even want it. That's why I chose the Dundee to go where she goes and see what she sees. Now then, would you be kind enough to show me to my cabin? But look here, lady, this ship is a tramp. She ain't fit company for nice girls. Well, maybe she's just misunderstood. I think we'll be friends. Friends. 42 years, man and boy. Wait till the old man is of this. He'll be raging. He'll stomp the bridge down. Look, it is bad enough putting up with this fickle old woman all over the ocean. But putting up with another female is asking just too much. Please, please don't worry about me. I really won't be a bother. I don't eat very much. I'm not at all fussy. And I like to be alone. All right, lady. Have it your own way. But it's an even bet which happens first. The skipper going bombing or this tub cracking a cylinder. Well, look here. Get your gear on by midnight, miss. We sail on the flood tide, the Lord willing. And on that night when the mystic pull of the moon brought the flooding surge of tides raging in from the sea, the great hemp cables that held the rusty old lady's snug and safe to the land were hurled off for and after. And she was free to wander her way through the moving green field of the sea once more. The land dissolved into the mist. Her stacks belched steam. The old girl cackled her brassy song, goodbye to the land, hello to the sea. And Catherine Standy stood at the rail, her face wet with tears. Or was it spin drift? Black is the proverbial pit out there, isn't it? What? Hello, forgive my lack of formality. I hope you don't mind. Not at all. It's rather strange, isn't it? Perfect strangers can speak to each other and shipboard while I'm landed. Well, it just isn't done, is it? I've really never thought of it. I've never been at sea before. Haven't you? I'm very fortunate. So many of us spend most of our lives at sea. And not always in boats either. Poor sort of joke, isn't it? I really couldn't say. I'm not very good at jokes tonight. Neither am I, in fact. Not a humorous combination of sea and an old tramp ship in the night. Incidentally, if you don't mind, my name is Sterling. David Sterling. You're Miss Standish. Catherine, isn't it? Yes. Captain McClain told me about you. Exclamation points. Well, I can imagine. The captain isn't very joyful about a woman on his ship. Are you one of the crew? Nothing quite so useful, Miss Standish. I'm one of those non-entities defined by ship owners as super cargo. Sort of a passenger without portfolio. I occupy the doubtful position of playing watchdog on the cargo. Uh-huh. The cargo is hives. Oh, yes, I know. Where are they going, Mr. Sterling? To any port that'll have them. They're on consignment. Something like ourselves. What do you mean? Like ourselves? Well, aren't we? And we're all drifting about more or less looking for someone who'll have us? I don't think I'm just drifting around on consignment. What are you doing, Miss Standish, if you don't mind? A person like yourself coming aboard a rusty old seahag like the Dundeen. A ship bound for nowhere in particular just moping around as the fancy takes her. Your being on board is like finding a... a gardenia in an ash heap. Oh, I'm not trying to be personal, really. I'm just puzzled. You really needn't be. I'm just a person with a strong aversion to guided tours. I dislike following the crowds. But the Dundeen, Miss Standish, a battered old hulk full of hides waddling along at seven knots. Do you see very much moving fast, Mr. Sterling? There isn't much to see out here. But the sea, is there? There's a great deal for me to see out here. Do you mind me asking what it is? Of course not. They're the stars in a perfect bowl. The greens in grays of water. The infinite power of the surge and the swell. Our wake, like frothy milk. Or that stormy petrol out there skimming the waves. Yes. There's a great deal to see. You know, hearing you put things that way... suddenly occurs to me that maybe I'm blind. It needs good eyes to see the things you see, Miss Standish. Oh, no, Mr. Sterling. Not good eyes. It just takes seeing, looking at things. Not just for them. Why, the world is brimming with beautiful things to see. And ugly things. Oh, sure. Look for the ugly. It's always there. Sometimes it obscures our vision. Then we are blind. You see, I don't want to be blind. That's what I'm learning to see for the first time. Beyond and beyond. And this is my journey of vision. My first outward voyage. We pause briefly from our story, the Outward Voyage, starring Virginia Gray, to bring you an important message from our government. Choose the career that offers all five. The U.S. Army offers you these five keys to a successful future. One, a career of service. In the Army, you'll be on a team with a tradition of patriotic service to the nation. Two, the right job for you. Scientific aptitude tests determine the job you're best suited for. Three, continuous training for planned advancement. Specialized training in educational courses prepare you for advancement. Then the Army's career plan assures you periodic promotions based on your skill and efficiency. Four, lifetime security. You, as an Army man, are guaranteed regular pay and liberal retirement benefits. In sickness, your medical care is provided without cost, and your regular pay continues. Five, travel and recreation. In the Army, you'll enjoy the finest recreational facilities and opportunities for worldwide travel. And remember, you have 30 days vacation with pay each year. Yes, choose the career that offers all five. Get full details at your nearest U.S. Army and U.S. Air Force Recruiting Station. The curtain rises on Act 2 of the Outward Voyage, starring Virginia Gray as Catherine Standish. The golden days pass, the lighted markers of time, and the dundee, frowsy old woman of the sea, plods her unhurried way to the east. High in the peak of the focusle head, Catherine stands alone at the rail, watching the whitecaps racing like sheep over the moving green meadows of the sea. Ah, good morning, Miss Standish. Good morning, Captain. Ah, it is not. The weather is as sweet as a bell. Getting the feel of the roll, Miss Standish? You finding your sea legs? Ah, yes. Yes, thank you. No trouble at all. You know, I don't think you're a mate, Mr. McElbee. He has the proper respect for this old ship. Why, he told me she rolled about like a... I think he said a maudlin drunk. Oh, oh, oh. Don't let the old girl fool you, Miss Standish. She's a mean one. She is when she gets one of her moods. Devil himself lacks none of her temper. Aye, aye, she's wicked, she is. Ah, the way you talk, Captain, one would think that this ship is really alive. And she is that. All ships are alive, Misses. Any man of the sea will tell you. As alive as any one of us. And a darn sight more than some. Now, you take Mr. Sterling for a lad. Mr. Sterling? Why, poor lad, Captain McClane. Did she know? Know what? I've only known him a few days. He wouldn't be telling you, I don't suppose. Dave is not a one to be shift in his cargo and he springs a plate. Wouldn't do much good if he could, and he knows it. When he sinks, he goes down with his ship. Aye, I'm afraid I don't quite understand. Well, the lad's riding a gale, Miss. With no storm anchor and a busted engine. It's his heart and stash. Something that cannot be fixed. Got less than a year to live. Less than a year. Aye, it is a foul weather cruise for the lad. But if it's that serious, why did he come to sea? Is there any better place to die, Miss? When a sailor man dies, he doesn't want to be cooped up in a cage and then stuck in the ground with a stone in his head to hold him down. Oh, no, out in the open under the skies where you can see old Polaris and get a bearing. You see, last... old sailor men never die. Not really. Look, look up at the truck at John Byrd at Albatross. He was a sailor man once. A blue water sailor man. Well, that's the way it is with Davey. You see, Miss, he was born on the sea like his father and his father up before him. They were shipmates of mine. So this lad, he sails free berth with me, living clean, breathing clean. Aye. And he'll die clean and have his grave in a clean ocean. Only a year. I'm a last man. But, you see, there's no pity he needs. That's the way it is with sailor men. They go about seeing what there is to see, doing what there is to do, knowing each port like the back of their hands, living, playing. Yes, and dying in the only home a sailor man knows, the folks. Aye, we're wanderers like our ships to wander the sea while we live and to wander the air when we die. Like John Albatross. Thank you, Captain McClain. Thank you for telling me. I don't feel quite so alone now with a fellow passenger on the outward voyage. Blowsy old lady plows on, nodding her head to the crest of the waves. No hurry, the old can't be hurried, but she'll get where she's going, she's been there before. She waddles around to her old ports of call and leans her pet bulk on jetties and piers like a gossiping neighbor on the back fence. Catherine and David seeing the world slumming and looking, just knocking about. And then Bombay, the fabulous city as old as time itself. A candlelit table in the Kipling Hotel. Two thin glasses of frozen fire and Catherine and David drinking a toast to the last port of call on a long voyage out. This is a wonderful drink, David. What is it? It means tears of the gods. Whom do they weep for? Surely not for us. I shouldn't think so, unless they're tears of happiness. They have been happy days, haven't they, Catherine? Yes, David, yes. Wonderfully happy days. You know, Catherine, I've never realized just how much life can mean until you came aboard the old girl. I'd never known how to look at things until you taught me. Even love was something I'd never seen until I saw it in your eyes. David, what happened to the candle? I didn't feel a draft. How did it go out? It didn't go out. It's still burning. Can't you see it, Catherine? Of course I can. Just a little dizzy, I guess. You're not even looking at it. Catherine, can you see me? Oh, please, David, it's nothing really. I have these spells. You mean spells of going blind? I am going blind, David. You may as well know it. Yes. Another few months. Then the sunset. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say something? There's nothing to do. So there's really nothing to say. You said another few months. All right, they've given me just another few months too. But we don't have to believe them, do we? Maybe they've found something new, like we've found something new. We can't just give up, Catherine, we're going to find out. And so help us, God, Catherine, we'll both come back to Bombay and drink another toast to Bacchata Krishna. Tears of the gods, my darling. But tears of happiness. Toast, Catherine. Toast, David. In the narrow corridor of a great hospital, David Sterling walks the inlaid cork and waits and watches the gleaming white doors mark surgery, beyond which the glaring arcs illumine the tender hold of life over death. The thin pulse of the temple measuring the span like a clock and then the doors swing open, revealing the surgeon who looks with pity at David as he strips the tissue-thin gloves from his hands. Dr. Joseph, is it over? Yes, sir. It's over. And Catherine, the operation was a success? No, son, it wasn't. I'm sorry. Yes, of course you're sorry. Thank you very much, Dr. Joseph. And so once more, the dundee, the frumpy old woman of the scene pointed her nodding head to the surgeon's swell of the deep. Her old black coat red rusted. The blouse of her white work begrimed and frayed. A very bedraggled old lady who walks the back streets of the seven seas. And then somewhere between the Atholls and Tule Tuleys, the bridge telegraph rang out for stop engines and she turned and stopped. An old lady touched on the shoulder and on the starboard side heads bared to the sullen rain, the crew huddled about the body of David Sterling, shipmate, and Captain McClain spoke these words. Almighty God, we humbly consign this body to the deep and his soul into thy hands. He was a good man, Lord. He was a good shipmate. Carry on, Mr. Final song, final song from her throat, the dundee the tired old lady of the sea bade farewell to a shipmate, a deep water sailor man and nodded her head and turned and waddled once more into the night and amissed. Yes, Sahib. Your order, please. Tule Bahadur Krishna's, please. In thin glasses. Yes, Sahib. The Bahadur Krishna. Sahib, thank you. Toast, Catherine. Toast, David. It is hot. They drink their drink. They break, they disappear. They disappear. Krishna, the God's weep for the voyagers. Kismet. The curtain falls in the final act of the outward voyage. Our star, Virginia Gray, will return for a curtain call after this timely message from Wendell Niles. Valuable professional assignments in the Army Medical Department are now available to a limited number of young doctors. In these positions, doctors have a chance to work closely in the various fields of medicine, rest of the newest developments and the finest modern medical equipment. In addition to regular pay and allowances, they receive $100 per month professional pay for details right to the Surgeon General, Department of the Army, Washington, 25 D.C. Once again, our star, Virginia Gray and our producer. Ladies and gentlemen, is one of our very special favorites. I hear just saying that, CP, I'm a neighbor of yours in Encino. Not at all. I want our fine audience and listeners to know the real Virginia Gray. Well, I'd like to meet them, too. All right. This is it. Now, Virginia, ladies and gentlemen, as a ranch in Encino, she's a native of Hollywood, is a second generation in motion pictures and her first part was given her when she was nine. Oh, you're doing fine so far. You haven't embarrassed me. She's single and all of you know her as a glamour girl. Oh, no. She makes barbecue recipes. And is the world's worst cook. And that takes care of that. And if you haven't seen her latest RKO picture, the threat, well, you should. Tell us just a little bit about it, Virginia. Well, Charles McGraw and Michael O'Shea are in it and it's a very exciting movie. I'm a burlesque dancer and I'm supposed to have tipped off the police to arrest a murder. He escapes from prison, captures the DA, the prosecuting attorney, pulls us for hostage. I saw it and killer who threatens you every second. Oh, yes, it's really full of suspense. But that's all I'm going to tell you. I know and we won't expose the plot. You gave a grand performance, nevertheless. You know, I recall another great performance of yours in the West Coast Stage production of Dream Girl. Oh, thanks, CP. It really was a fine play. And you know, it was sort of a challenge to me. How's that? It's a side of one Shakespearean. I wanted to do it perfectly, if I do it perfectly, if I do it perfectly, if I do it perfectly, if I do it perfectly, if I could. You did and that, ladies and gentlemen, may give you some idea just why Virginia Gray is such a favorite here with us. Yes, so gracious, CP. Oh, but you haven't said a word about what you plan to do here in your theater next week. Well, next week, Virginia and, ladies and gentlemen, the very popular actor Barry Sullivan returns to our theater of stars in a romantic story, Dark Dwelling. Oh, that should be good. And I'll be listening. Goodbye, CP. Goodbye, Virginia. We should have joined us next week, ladies and gentlemen, when Barry Sullivan stars in Dark Dwelling. Until then, thanks for listening and cheerio from Hollywood. Virginia Gray appears with the courtesy of the Hollywood Coordinating Committee which arranges for the appearance of all stars in this program. The script was by Kimbal S. Sands, the music of Eddie Dunstetter. The program is transcribed in Hollywood for release at this time. Wendell Niles speaking.