 Lux presents Hollywood. The Lux Radio Theatre brings you Bryan Ahern, Madeline Carroll, Lewis Hayward, and Josephine Hutchinson in My Son, My Son. Ladies and gentlemen, your producer, Mr. Cecil B. DeMille. Greetings from Hollywood, ladies and gentlemen. Not long ago, a novel by Howard Spring called My Son, My Son rolled up an impressive record at the bookseller's box office. It was a powerful book, a dual love story with characters so real and sharp that the public itself began to cast the motion picture that was sure to be made, and it was made by producer Edward Small. The picture will be released nationally by United Artists within a few weeks. And tonight we invite you to hear our radio adaptation of My Son, My Son with the same stars you'll see on the screen. Bryan Ahern, Madeline Carroll, Lewis Hayward, and Josephine Hutchinson. It's a real thrill to me, week after week, to invite you who use Lux Toilet Soap to the radio premiere of Plays Like My Son, My Son. But the women in our audience know that every week and every day there's another invitation from Lux Toilet Soap, an invitation to beauty. Two of our stars covered some thousands of miles in reaching this stage tonight. Madeline Carroll, who came back from Europe to star for me with Gary Cooper in Northwest Mounted Police, arrived just in time to do double duty by recreating her original role in tonight's play. Bryan Ahern, after many consecutive months before the camera, had gone to New York on an actor's holiday. He was vacationing on Broadway, seeing Plays. With the assistance of the telephone, we persuaded Bryan that he was on the wrong side of the footlights. So we saw one more matinee and flew back to Hollywood Post-Haste to rehearse for tonight's production. Fortunately, Lewis Hayward and Josephine Hutchinson were right here in town. So we were able to corral all four stars of the picture for tonight's performance. My Son, My Son is a drama of a father and son and their conflict over one woman. Bryan Ahern and Lewis Hayward are the father and son, and Madeline Carroll the girl, the innocent they comes between them. We give you now a drama of strong wills and the equally strong emotions of people you won't soon forget. The house lights go down and the curtain goes up on the first act of My Son, My Son, starring Bryan Ahern as William Essex, Madeline Carroll as Livia Vainall, Lewis Hayward as Oliver Essex, and Josephine Hutchinson as Nellie. Manchester, England, 1889. A murky dawn hovers over the smoke encrusted chimneys of cotton mills and rooming houses and steals slowly through the grimy window of a dreary attic room. There in the yellow glow of a kerosene lamp, a young man sits writing at a desk. On the cover of the ruled book in which he writes, is the neatly printed legend, personal journal of William Essex. His pen moves slowly across the page and stops. At last he blows out the lamp and in the gray light of the window studies what he has written. November the 2nd, 1889. Somehow it seems proper that I start my journal on this day for leaving this drab old lodging house a surely marker milestone in my life. It has been so symbolic of a discouraging past. I have lived or rather existed here in these quarters for almost three years. I and my old friend, Dermot O'Riordan. During this time I have chosen to call myself a writer, though the first of my manuscripts has yet to see the glory of print. While Dermot has forged ahead with his usual energy and is well on the road to becoming the finest young cabinet maker in England. Today, however, our ways must part. For today, Dermot O'Riordan is to be married. It is almost five o'clock and I must wake himself. Seven of all the days they cut me self-shaven. Beyond wedding day. Will, Milad, have you a piece of paper to stick me in? Yes, yes, of course. Here you are, Dermot. That? I can't use. That is part of your new book. I use it. It's all it's good for. There you go now. Let an old man discourage me to write your shoulders. Will, you've got talent and imagination and heart. Why, man, the whole world is open for you to write about. It's easy for you to talk, Dermot. You work in wood and you get paid for what you do. You pay me to write. I had to take a job in a bakery shop so that I can write on the side. But you've got it in you. Look, Will, a spider spins its web out of its own insides. Now you've got to dig down and pull it out of your heart and your body. The things you know and you will. Holy heaven, will you heart at the time it is? Are we all packed? Yes, all but the trunk to be closed. That is a wonderful thing I'm doing today. And a sad thing, too. Leave a new all alone, Will Essex. But I'll make up for it, I swear. I'll name my second son after you. Your second son? Oh, the first is after me, Father Rory. Which is the best I can do for you, Will. Ah, that's the thing, eh, Will? A son. A son to teach the beautiful ways of life to. Ah, if ever I have a son, he'll not live a life like mine. I'll get him out of here, out of the slums. Oh, it's not me son's body I'm thinking of, but his spirit. No, what chance is any one's spirit in a stinking, starving place like this? My son will have something worth living for. And so will mine, but it won't be money. Well, that's a fine thing to be getting in the rage about. The future of our unborn sons. Isn't it now? I'm ashamed of myself. Ah, we won't quarrel, Dermot. And if ever we do, we'll never part without a handshake. It's a bargain, Will. Well, you better be away now. As soon as I bring Sheila back from Liverpool, I'll come to see you. Oh, of course. Here's a coat. Now, mind you, find a good place for yourself to live. Oh, I'll be all right. Sure, you'll be all right. Both of us will be all right. Remember the lad with a banner, excelsior. Onward and upward. That's it. Onward and upward. Me with my hands and you with your head. Goodbye, Will. Goodbye, Dermot. Good luck. May the third, 1890. Another important milestone for my journal. The most important since Dermot and Sheila were married. For this time, it's another marriage that I write of. My own. Nelly Muscrop and I were married today. It's strange, in a way, how it all came about. Working in her father's bakery shop and seeing her every day. Never dreaming one day she would be my wife. But since her father died, Nelly has been very lonely. And I hope that I may bring her happiness and be worthy of the trust she has put in me. We shall continue to manage the bakery shop, of course. And at night, and in my spare time, I hope to continue with my writing. Although I'm afraid Nelly shows little enthusiasm for my new novel. But I feel it's my best effort to date. I pray it may be as good as I think. And the start of a new existence for me and for my wife. Come for you. All right, I'm coming. I think the baking's about done, Nelly. Hello, hello, what's this? A parcel from Jordan and company, whoever they may be. Oh, they're my publishers. Oh, oh, it's my book. Oh, why didn't you tell me sooner? It only just came, William. Quick, quick, hand me a knife. Look, Nelly, look. One, two, three, six copies. Oh, oh, it's not real. I can't believe it. I'm dreaming. A Lancashire Lad by William Essex. Oh, look at it. Look at it. Feel it. Oh, smell it, smell it. Printer's Ink, the perfume of the gods. William, please don't make fun of the scriptures. You know I don't like it. Oh, Nelly, Nelly. Let's go and see Dermot and Sheila tonight and celebrate. Not tonight, William. Why not? You know I have chapel tonight. Oh, Nelly, can't you miss it? Just this once. But I haven't missed chapel since I was 14. Oh. Oh, well, all right, Nelly. Anyway, I don't believe they'd want us over tonight. It's enough to get along without visitors with a new baby in the house. Oh, yes, of course, young Rory. I don't suppose my book could create much of a stir against that kind of competition anyway. Well, I have my book, and Dermot has his son. He's a lucky man, Dermot. William, do you envy Dermot? Oh, no, I don't think so. Why? I didn't mean to tell you so soon, but you needn't envy him. Nelly, Nelly, do you mean it? I was really going to have a child. I've prayed for one. I knew how much it would mean to you. Oh, Nelly. Oh, Nelly. William, please. What if someone came in and saw you kissing? Oh, what does it matter? I think a man might do anything the night he learns he's going to have a son. A son? It might not be a son. Oh, it must be a son. It must be. April the 14th, 1892. My son was born today. The fight for the son learned to play when he was young, the only tune that he could play was over the infant part. All right, all right, all right. All right, all right, all right, all right, all right. All right. Do you mind the day we were at each other's throats over our unborn sons? And now here they are, visible with the most natural thing in the world, the most natural and the most wonderful. You know, Dermot, they talk about the miracle of motherhood, but no one ever writes songs or poems about the miracle of fatherhood. A man sees bits of knitting about the house, socks and things which look as if they might fit a canary and then one day he's kicked out like a homeless cat. And after a century or two, somebody shows him a bundle that might be Mrs. Flanagan's wash. Well, he takes it, he takes it fearfully in his arms at first, but immediately he touches it, something happens to him. His heart melts and his bones turn to water and he's a slave to it for the rest of his life. Look, Dermot. Look, the wonder of it. This little hand of Oliver's and this little hand of which I shall pour the world, I'll work my fingers to the bone to give him everything he asks for. I'll write book after book and they'll be rungs of a ladder for him to climb on. He shall have everything, everything. July the 20th, 1901. I suppose I should be a very happy man today, for my tenth book has just been delivered in galley proofs and I daresay it's my best to date. But things have not been going too well at home. Nelly is convinced that I am spoiling Oliver and calls to witness all his minor indiscretions of the last two years, which I'm sure are nothing but schoolboy pranks. Oliver's a spirited lad and thus at times get out of hand. But I know this is natural with all healthy young animals. Oliver stole Rory's book. Stole it. Nelly, Nelly, please, let me handle this. Oliver, Oliver, come here. Now, did you steal Rory's book? Steal it? No father. Oliver, don't lie to your father. I saw the whole thing myself. But Oliver, the book was in your bookcase. You must have put it there. Oh yes, I put it there, but I didn't steal it. I took it because it was Rory's. I don't understand, Oliver. Don't you see? I love Rory. And I wanted to have something belonging to him. Something that he loved. William, can't you see that he's lying? Nelly, please. I didn't mean to do wrong. You do believe me, don't you, father? Yes, yes. I believe you, Oliver. Oh, father. Oliver, go into your bedroom. Yes, mother. What are you going to do about this, William? There's nothing to do. It's all settled. Whether I'm anything to you or not, I am the child's mother. It matters to me if he grows up to be a cheat and a liar. Oh, it's not that bad as that. Oliver has his sense of right and wrong a bit muddled as all. These things are easily straightened out with understanding and love. You love the child so much, you can't see what's going on under your eyes, I suppose. I've found Oliver lying and thieving before, and I've said nothing about it. I've left everything to you, but now, when he commits this crime... I call love. Bringing up a child to think he can do what he likes. Giving him everything. More money in a week than I saw in a year at his age. More clothes than any child needs. Everything he fancies or dreams of. Give it to him. Give it to him. That's your idea of love. Well, it isn't mine. Whom the Lord loveth, he chaseneth. Oliver's mine as well as yours, and I have a right to have some say about it. Very well. What do you think should be done? I think he should be thrashed. You haven't the strength to do your duty, but I have. Nellie! Nellie, what are you doing? I'm doing your work. Give me that cane. I'll not have this. Oliver, I wasn't going to... Get out of here! Oliver, go to sleep now. Yes, Mother. William, I'm sorry for... for what's happened, but we've got to have an understanding about Oliver. You've made his upbringing your business. It's always your son. Your son. Oh, I know it's hard for you to understand, Nellie, but Oliver is more than my son. He's a symbol of all the things I wanted and had to go without. He must be better than I am. He must be me going on from the point where I live on. But Oliver isn't only you. He's me as well, and I mean to have my say about him from now on. Nellie, Nellie, why did you ever marry me? I... I thought you must be a good man, and I thought we'd be happy together. But you fought me every inch of the way. You fought against selling the shop when your father died. You fought against my hopes of moving to London. You fought me in everything for 10 years. Oh, I... I don't mind for myself, but I mind for Oliver. Oliver! That's the root of it. Everything! Why not? What else has our marriage brought me? November 1912. This is the first entry in this journal in many a month, and I smiled to myself as I wrote the date line. For last week, my 40th birthday passed unnoticed by all, including myself. No, no, I must mend that statement. For I received a belated greeting from Dermott's daughter, Maver, this morning a post-crypt reminding me that I have promised to write a play for her budding talents as an actress. Am I really 40 years old? A son old enough to be at Cambridge seems to make this truth so evident. Well, I must face the fact that I am nearing middle age. But now, however, tomorrow muting matters. I have been spending these past few weeks in Yorkshire working in the coal mines. I have an idea for a new novel, my 22nd, and I knew that working in the mines was going to be closer to my subject. This afternoon, as I came up with the morning shift covered with coal dust and stepping out of the elevator, I was surprised to see a girl sitting, sketching at the head of the pit shaft. She was young and very pretty. As I passed by, she evidently mistook me for a minor. Before she called out. Do you mean me, Miss? Yes, come here, please. Would you like to make a shilling? A bob? I might. What do I have to do for it? Well, just stand over there by the wall and let me make a sketch of you. Not all of me? You mean full length, yes. That would be worth two bob. Well, two bob then. Now don't pose, stand naturally. Oh, like this? That's it. It'll only take a few minutes. What do you do in the mine? Dig. Oh. Do you like your work? Do you mean to keep on asking questions? It'll cost you another bob if you do. I'm not that interested. Turn your profile, please. Now, don't look at me. Look at that shack over there. I beg your pardon, Miss. Do you do this drawing for a living or just to amuse yourself? If I answer, it'll cost you a bob. Even up. You've very got me that time, Miss. Yes, I do it for a living. But I was passing through here with some type. You're a type, you know. Well, that's kind of you, Miss. There. That'll do for a rough sketch. Would you like to have a look at it? Ah, I would, that. It's a champion bit of drawing, is that it? Thank you. Here's your two bob. I only took money from a woman once before. When I worked in her father's bake shop. But it changed my whole life. Well, you're quite safe in taking this. I hired you and I'm paying you. Here. Thank you, Miss. It rings true. I imagine it's a good one. Thank you. Go on, go on. You're fired. That was this afternoon. Tonight I keep thinking of her. Who is she? What is her life? Well, I shall never know, of course, since I must leave here in the morning. Perhaps I shall write more of this later. When I return from my evening walk. Oh, yes, yes, certainly. I'll just follow this road to the bend. Oh, oh, oh. It's you. You fraud, you miserable fraud. Oh, madam, my head is in the dust. Give me back my two shillings. Oh, I earned them. Not honestly, I thought I was sketching a minor. Oh, so you were. But you see, I'm a writer, too. Oh, a writer. Your servant, madam. I am that humblest of creatures. A man who... Very interesting. I'm sure, but I have a train to catch. Oh, uh, carry a bug for a shilling, Miss? Isn't there a man I've ever met? Don't you do anything unless you get a shilling for it? Well, sometimes I get too shillings, Miss. He did. The best thing was to come up here and spend a few days actually working in a coal mine, too. To get the feel of it, you know? I know. It's the same with my work. If I can capture with my eye that the body rhythm of a workman at his job, the way he walks, the way he swings his pick, when I come to paint or draw, I find I've got it in my fingers somehow. That's what makes my work so exciting. I never knew that talking to a... to a woman could be like this. Why, what do you mean? Well, I didn't know that a woman could be, uh, beautiful and intelligent. All at the same time. I'm glad you put the beautiful first. Why, are you vain? A little. Oh, I'm glad. Why? I wouldn't have you too perfect. You don't know very much about women, do you? Well, I managed to write about them. Oh, lots of men do. There's a dismal failure of it. They call a creature Gertie. Stick a green hat on her head. And there's your heroine. Well, I read a book coming up on the train, um, every street. Oh, by, uh, by Willie Messick. Yes, you know his books? Uh, yes, yes. He must admit he's pretty fine. He's got great power. A sort of Manchester Dickens. Oh, I wouldn't say he was that good. One thing, however, his women aren't Gerties in green hat. What's that? It's a man's one glaring weakness. Oh, I, uh, I thought he did him rather well. Oh, did you ever meet a woman like one of his heroines? Well, I, I don't meet many women. No, but you write about them. The critics seem to like his love scenes. The critics are men. Now, don't stand there and tell me that you'd make love like Willie Messick's. I, uh, I might have once. I wouldn't now. Not, uh, not after tonight. I'd say... I'd say, uh... Oh, my darling. My darling. No, I shouldn't have done that. I had no right. I'm married. I'm not a free man. But I shall love you forever and ever. I knew it from the moment I heard your voice. From the first moment I saw your face. No, no, don't speak. Don't, don't tell me anything about yourself. I don't want to know your name or who you are or where you live. It, it isn't safe for me to know. I, I must never see you again. Never. Oh, please, please, not tears. I, I couldn't bear that. I shall be in tears when I'm alone. Oh, my darling. Go quickly. Get your train. Get out of my life while I can still send you. Yes, yes. I've been, I've been looking all over for you, sir. There's a message at the infarier from Manchester. Manchester? What is it? I don't know, sir, but they want you there at once. It was something, something about your wife, sir. I got here as soon as I could. What's happened, don't you? What is it? Well, it's Nelly. She's gone, Will. You mean, you mean she's dead? She was run over, Will, by a motor car on her way home from Chapel. Poor Nelly. On her way from Chapel. God's ways are strange, Will. Strange indeed. In just a moment, we'll hear act two of My Son, My Son, starring Brianna Hearn, Madeline Carroll and Lewis Hayward. Now we want you to listen in on a tiny New York apartment where a visitor from Hollywood was welcomed today. Oh, that's heavy. Everything's under control, darling. I'm just looking for something in my big bag. Look out, I help you, Sue. You ought to be in bed. You can use anything of mine you like. I just wanted to find... I can lend you anything you need. You must be dead tired, Sue. You ought to get to bed. Well, to tell you the truth, Anne, to tell you the truth, I don't like that soap you've got in the bathroom. You don't? Oh, well, never mind. I'll get you any kind you like tomorrow. There, there's what I've been looking for. My six precious cases... Oh, it's luck soap you just must have, eh? Yes, ma'am. You see, luck's toilet soap has active lather. And that's why it's always... And now Anne is going to learn something from her Hollywood visitor. She's going to learn how to take an active lather facial. The beauty care, the famous Hollywood screen stars recommend. As a matter of fact, Anne's complexion hasn't been all it might be lately. She's noticed one or two unattractive little blemishes. Her pores look coarser than they used to. She doesn't know it, but because she hasn't been removing dust, dirt, and stale cosmetics thoroughly, she's letting cosmetic skin develop. The unattractive skin condition that results from choked pores. Luck's toilet soap's active lather does a thorough job helps skin to stay smooth and lovely. Use cosmetics all you like, but use this gentle white soap regularly. When you use luck's toilet soap every night at bedtime, you give your skin protection it needs for beauty. Now, our producer, Mr. DeMille, act two. Of my son, my son. Starring Brian Ahern as William Essex, Madeleine Carroll as Livia, and Lewis Hayward as Oliver. More than 20 years have gone by since the first entry in the personal journal of William Essex. The old ledger is filled to overflowing with the events of his past and his hopes for the future of his son. Now on the streets of London, a billboard proclaims the opening of a new play, Every Street by William Essex. In his richly furnished library, Essex hurriedly writes a new entry. Despite my haste, I wish to make a prophecy for my journal. It is this. By this time tomorrow, the name of Maverick O'Riordan will be on the lips of every London theatregoer. For within the hour, the curtain will rise on the first showing of the play I wrote for her. For Dermott O'Riordan's daughter. To make my evening complete, Oliver has come down from Cambridge for the opening performance. And this reunion makes me doubly. Is this my son or some Piccadilla Johnny? Turn around, let's have a good look at you. Yes, I thought my tailor did rather well. So he should at the prices you pay. Oh, here are your seats for tonight, Oliver. Thanks. Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you, I'm taking a girl. A girl? Well, yes, I suppose it is about time you were beginning to think about girls. Anyone I know? I don't think so. I met her in London the last time I was down. What's her name? Olivia, I suppose. Well, what's she like? I'll wait until you see her. Pretty hard hit, eh? Rather. You bringing her back to the party after? Well, I thought I would, but maybe I shouldn't. Oh, why not? Pretty stiff competition. Competition? Take a look in that mirror. Would you introduce your best girl to a distinguished-looking bloke like that? Oh, Oliver, what is all this flattery leading to? Like your part? Well, in other words, how much is it going to cost me? Oh, Father, you don't think I've stooped to compliments for any ulterior motive, do you? Thank you, Wood. My dear boy, I know you, Wood. Well, come on now, what have you been up to? How much is it this time? Well, it was a card debt. I was a bit too optimistic about filling straights and flushes. It's a little matter of a hundred pounds. A hundred pounds? My boy, that was a year's wages when I was your age. Ah, but you see, I'm having a good time for both of us. That's why it costs you double. Remember how you always said, Oliver must have all the things I missed. Well, I've taken on the job, and I'm not doing it by halves. When I'm offered a drink, I say, one for me and one for the governor. You get to be a bit of a strain once in a while, but I'm burying up and over. You young scoundrel. Well, I'll send you a check in the morning. Now, come along. We'll be late for the theater. Neighbour's done rather well, too. I'm proud of her. She's a very lovely girl and a great actress. You know, your father must understand women to write as he did for her. The governor? Well, you can judge for yourself, Olivia. You'll meet Maeve, Maeve, my darling. Oh, Uncle Will, wasn't it wonderful tonight? Oh, weren't you wonderful, Maeve? But how could I help it with such words to say? And didn't the love scenes play beautifully? I didn't know you could write them. Well, I couldn't once, but I learned. For me? You learned to write them for me, Uncle Will? Yes, yes, Maeve, for you. Oh, I love you so. I love you, too, my dear. Congratulations, Uncle Will. Congratulations, Maeve. Rory, Rory, darling, wasn't it marvelous? Oh, are you, Rory? Very proud of my sister, sir. Oh, you should be. Oh, you should be. She was... What's the matter, Uncle Will? That girl over there. Who is she? I don't know. Excuse me, Maeve, I must see her. It isn't true. I haven't found you. You're not my lady of the two-shilling piece. Yes, I am. There can't be this much happiness in one night for any man. If I don't reach out and hold you, you'll vanish from my sight. What brought you here? No, no, don't tell me. Just let me think it was a miracle sent from heaven. Oh, my dear. You didn't forget, did you? Forget? Does the moon forget to rise? Do the stars forget to shine? Oh, if you only knew the things I've done to find you, I pursued helpless females up dark streets, peering under umbrellas and saying, I beg your pardon, madam, I thought you were... I never could say who I thought you were. You see, I don't even know your name. What is your name? Livia. Livia? Not... You can't be. Oh, there you are, darling. I've been looking everywhere for you. Hello, Father. You don't mind if we run away a little early, do you? Livia and I have a supper engagement. Aren't you asking me to be a little rude? I mean, willingly to lose, so charming, I guess. Livia, you have made a head. I'm glad you approve, sir. And if I hadn't, I don't believe I could picture my world without Livia. Could I, darling? Oh, Father hasn't forgotten what it's like to be in love. Oh, have you? No, Oliver. I haven't. Who is it? Oh, you're still here? I waited until the others had gone. Aren't you going to ask me in? I won't stay long. I promise. What are you doing here? I'm being melodramatic. At least I suppose I am. I wanted to speak to you. Why? Because I know the picture you've built up in your mind about Oliver and me, and you're so wrong. Oliver has absolutely no claim on me. After all, every woman meets men who are attracted to her who call her darling. But Oliver is my son. Oh, don't dramatize that. I've only known him for such a short while. True. He liked to take me about and say pretty things to me, flirt with me a little, but... but I never encouraged him. Never once led him to think that I was more than amused. I even told him about you. That I'd met a man I could never forget. And tonight I told him... you were that man. Will. Oh, why don't you go? Why don't you leave me in peace? Were you in peace before I came? No, no. How could I be? My poor darling. Don't, don't. After all, you... you can't expect me to compete with my own son. But I've told you Oliver means nothing to me. But you mean something to Oliver. I, I'm not going to take you away. Take me away? What am I? A chair, a table, a desk? Take it, my dear Oliver. It's yours. I give it to you. Why, you spent your whole life giving things to Oliver. He's my son. But you can't give him everything. Life has something to say about that. And you can't give me to Oliver because I won't be given. Go to Oliver. Tell him that we love each other. He's only a boy. He'll forget me. And if he doesn't? That's Oliver's business. Keep out of it. Oh, my darling. You sent me away once before. Are you going to send me away again? Yes. Listen. I'll go away. I'll go out of your life. I'll walk out of that door for good and never come back. If you'll do just one thing. Look into my eyes. And say, live your vein all I don't love you. Say that once and I'll go. Live here. Say it. I, I can't. Will. I love you, Olivia. I shall love you forever and ever and ever. Oh, will, my darling. Good morning, Oliver. Morning. Just paying my respects with these flowers to my future stepma ma. Your father's told you then. Oh, yes, we had quite a chat last night after you left. Heart to heart and all that. I gave you up like a gentleman, Olivia. Here, darling, roses. With my compliments, congratulations, and beautiful devotion. Oliver, listen. I know this nonsense is just your way of trying to be nice and, and to show me you don't intend to complicate things for, well, for any of us. And I appreciate it, particularly because of your father. As a matter of fact, I was very generous to the old boy when we talked. But I'm quite happy about the arrangement. Just think what a nice, cozy time we'll have together. The three of us. Three? Papa, Mama, and little Oliver. You, you intend to live with us? Of course. What else? Oliver. Ah, we'll be such a snug little family. Long winter evenings in town, long summer nights at the country house. And when father's busy with his books, you won't have to worry about being lonely, for I'll be there. And everyone will say, isn't it touching? Isn't it sweet how devoted Oliver is to his beautiful young stepma ma? You couldn't. You couldn't do it. Do what? You know, you intend to live in your father's house and make love to your father's wife, don't you? Livia, how can you have such thoughts? Aren't you afraid of putting ideas into my head? I didn't know anyone could be so vile. Get out. Get out! June, 1914. We are staying at the summer house, Sheila and Dermot and Oliver, and Livia and I. We've enjoyed our stay here, and I feel it is a happy prelude to our marriage in the autumn. Livia doesn't seem to get ahead with her painting though, and today was her worst day yet. She returned to the house verging on tears, with her canvas torn and wretchedly smeared. And this evening at dinner, Oliver ragged her mercilessly. I wondered a little that his rather vain and silly remarks to her. And I decided that I must speak to him at the first opportunity. I say you do look solemn. What have I done now? Oliver, I'd like you to explain your conduct at dinner this evening. I don't know what you mean. You're manner to Livia. I can't put my finger on it, but under every word you spoke, there was something malicious. Something almost, almost sinister. Sinister? Oh, I say aren't you going a bit too far? I hope I am. And yet why was Livia's behavior so strange all through dinner? Uh, you weren't with her this afternoon, were you, Oliver? I told you I was out sailing. So you were, yes. You didn't come ashore by any chance and join her? Of course not. Look here, Father, I don't want to be presumptuous and give you advice about women, but they do have moods, you know. Don't magnify them. If Livia is upset about something, I have nothing to do with it. You... you do believe me, don't you? Yes, yes, yes. I believe you, Oliver. If you didn't, if I thought for one moment that I was coming between you and Livia, I'd want to clear out now. Oh, my boy, I'm sorry if I hurt you. Well, well, it's all over now. Let's forget about it, shall we? There's nothing I'd like better. Oh, it's forgotten. Now, how about that cigarette now, if you don't mind? Right. Why, I thought I had some. Well, Oliver, what is it? Oliver, what's that smear on the sleeve of your coat? Oh, uh, that... That's the coat you had on this afternoon, isn't it? Yes, I think so. I think it is, you know it is. And this paint, blue paint all over the sleeve. Oliver, you're a liar and a cheat. You were with Livia. That's how her canvas got smeared. That's why she came home unhappy and tormented. And that's what all your jibes meant at dinner. Well, what have you got to say? Nothing. Nothing? You hold all the cards. This isn't a poker game. No, the stakes are slightly higher. A liar and a cheat? Why, here in this very room, your mother told me that, and I didn't believe her. What a fool you must have thought. Well, of course. If you're going to let a quarrel over a woman... Livia has no other cause of this, Oliver. It goes deeper. You've degraded what was the finest thing in my life. My love for my son. How right your mother was. The first time I caught you in a lie, I should have thrashed you. Do you propose to do it now? I wouldn't trust myself to touch you. I suppose this is my cue to exit. Why? Well, I'm being chucked out, aren't I? Don't. But so of nothing at all. I'm still your father and you're still my son. Our problem now is to find a new basis on which to build a new kind of understanding. Noble, aren't you? I'm to be given a trial to be put on probation to see if I'm good enough to breathe the same air as you and Livia. No, thank you. I'm fed up with having my life arranged to fit into the picture you've made of us. You can give my place in that picture to Livia. Perhaps she considered your feet in worship without yawning. I can't. I'm clearing out now and for good. Oliver! Oliver! After a brief intermission, our stars, Brian Herne, Madeline Curl and Louis Hayward, will return in Act 3 of My Son, My Son. Now for just a moment, I want to ask Sally a few questions. Sally, who's your favorite movie star? Why, Mr. Rueck. Now, isn't that just like a man? Just like a man? What's wrong with asking who's your favorite movie star? Why, Mr. Rueck, you know perfectly well it wouldn't do for me to stand up here and tell your audience that any one star is my favorite. Uh-oh. Well, Sally, you're perfectly right. Why aren't women wonderful? Such tact. Well anyway, Sally, here's one you can answer. Do you know what top flight screen stars are taking care of their complexions with active lather facials? Active lather facials? Well, that means lux toilet soap. Of course I do, Mr. Rueck. There's Madeline Curl, and there's Anne Sheridan, and Olivia DeHavilland, and Loretta Young and Barbara Stanwick. That's good, Sally. You did pretty well on that question. But then it was easy, because after all, nine out of ten screen stars use lux toilet soap. Now I'll try you on one more question. Do you know how to take an active lather facial? You can just bet I do, Mr. Rueck. I take one myself every single night at bedtime. First of all, you work up a nice, rich, lux soap lather, and work it gently into your skin. Sort of a circular motion. Yes, Sally. And then? You rinse off all that nice, creamy, active lather with warm water, and then a dash of cool water to finish off. And then? And then you pat your skin dry. Quick, light little pat. And I know what then. Then you look in your mirror, and what you see makes you happy. And then you go to bed with a clear conscience, knowing you've protected your skin, given it care it needs for beauty, the gentle, thorough cleansing that lux toilet soaps active lather gives. The screen star's million-dollar complexions must look lovely always. And surely the beauty of your skin deserves the best care. So get three cakes of lux toilet soap tomorrow and try active lather facials for 30 days. See what this regular, gentle care can do for your skin. We pause now for station identification. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System. The curtain rises on Act 3 of My Son, My Son. August 1914. The first ominous rumble of a great conflict. Destined to plunge all Europe into chaos rolled across the channel from the battlefield of France. The personal journal of William Essex has been closed since the evening Oliver left home. But now a new page is turned. I have just returned from Victoria Station where a troop train was leaving for France. Although I have not seen Oliver for months, I had heard through Maver that he had joined up. Maver has been seeing a good deal of him, and she telephoned me tonight to tell me that he was being sent out at once. The train was almost ready to leave when I arrived. I could see Oliver through the gate. I called to him. He turned and saw me. And then, without a word, he disappeared into the crowd. Oh, Oliver. I know you meant to hurt me. You have succeeded, Oliver. Essex, I beg your pardon, but... Yes, Henry? You want it on the telephone, sir. It's urgent, sir. Who is it, Henry? It's Annie, sir. Miss Maver's maid. Miss Maver's maid? What's the trouble? I don't know, sir, but she seemed very excited. Hello, Annie. Yes, Annie, what's the matter? Miss Maver's ill? Well, have you called the doctor? Annie, what you're talking about? What's the trouble with her? Why? Why can't you say it? I'm sure of this. Of course we can't tell her father. But what does Oliver have to do with it? Yes, of course, I knew that Oliver was seeing Maver, but Annie, where is she at the theatre? All right, all right, I'll be there. I'll be there as soon as I can. I can't believe it, Maver. I can't believe it. This doesn't seem possible. But it's good there, isn't it? Young actress Rex Courier throws away all she's worked for, faces certain eclipses and scandals. But Oliver, how could he do this to you? How could he leave you to face this thing? He didn't know. You didn't tell him? No. But why, in Heaven's name, why? Because there was nothing I wanted him to do about it. You mustn't blame Oliver. It was my fault. Yours? Yes. Because when Oliver left you, I actually set out to keep an eye on him. I knew when he'd come to his senses, he'd make it up with you, and I wanted to be around. So I saw him often. Yes, I know, but... Wait. Then I imagined he came to think I'd fallen in love with him. Perhaps I had. Perhaps I'd been too wrapped up in my own unhappiness to know how I really felt toward him. You're unhappiness, darling. Oh, I forgot. You didn't know, did you? It goes back a long time. As far back as I remember. You see, I've been hopelessly desperately in love with someone who didn't love me, who looked on me as a child. Meva. Three minutes and a third at, Miss Rodden. Thank you. Meva, listen to me. Oh, darling, it's all too complicated. There isn't time. What a bad schemer I make. My part should always be written for me. How do I go on from here? You're a playwright, tell me. Yes, I'll tell you. Meva, you must marry me. Marry you? Oh, no. Oh, I don't offer it on any romantic basis, my dear. But I'd be very honored and very grateful if you would accept me as a shelter. But Livia. What about Livia? Livia. Oh, I mustn't think of her. You love her like that, and yet you'd marry me. Cut yourself off from every hope of happiness for me. Oh, Uncle Will, you make me so proud. You must marry me, my dear. We'll close the play tomorrow. I must have time. I must think. Your whole life depends on this, Meva. And yours. Mr. Robin, Cotton's going up. Oh, you can't go out there and face that audience, not now. Can't I, though? Don't you remember what you said when I was only a little girl? Any actress worth her salt could go right on in a play with her heart broken and the tears still wet on her face. Meva. Oh, Uncle Will, I love you so much. I mean, oh, well, I'm so happy to see you here. Let me take your coat. Oh, no, Livy, I'm not staying. Oh. I must go back to the theater at once. It's been a long time since I've been here. A very long time. There's been so much I wanted to tell you, to show you. Look, there's a charcoal drawing I made of a man once. A miner, an impudent fellow, but I thought his face had character. Character? I don't see it. I'm afraid you wasted your time. No, I didn't. I never forgot him, Will. Better if you had. Oh, no. I've never brought you anything but unhappiness, and I never will. So that's what you came to tell me. Yes. You want me to, to release you? Yes. I don't believe you. No, you must believe me. You must. Why should I? There's no reason. There's only one reason why I could ever leave you. It's Oliver. Oh, my darling, don't let that separate us. Don't let your love for Oliver put me out of your life. It's not Oliver. Then why? Why? Livy, Livy, darling, do you remember, you told me once that if I could look into your eyes and say, Livy, I don't love you, that you'd go out of my life. And you couldn't do it. You couldn't. I can't say no. Will. Oh, I'm sorry, Livy. I can't explain. I can't explain. Forgive me. Forgive me. Paper, sir. Evening paper, sir. Evening paper. No, no. Read about the suicide, sir. Actress commits suicide. Huh? What's that? Suicide, sir. Actress in a dressing room drank poison. Who? Who? What was her name? It's, uh, right here, sir. Miss, uh, Maverick or rioted. Maverick. Maverick is dead. For two whole months, I'd been unable to force myself to that thought. But now, dear Maverick, I can write of it at last. Now I can accept your death and your brave sacrifice, for I leave London tomorrow to write of even greater sorrows. To write of death upon death in the front line trenches of France. I shall leave this book behind me. Its page is closed, perhaps forever. For my life is overdue. Goodbye, my mate. Yes, way, sir. These are our field headquarters. Not much to look at, but we'll try to make you comfortable. Oh, thank you, Colonel. Uh... My junior officers, good soldiers all. Well, by the way, sir, did you say your name was Essex? Yes, that's right. Colonel William Essex. You're not related to Oliver, Essex, by any chance? Oliver. Uh, yes. Yes, I'm his father. Why? I'll show you why, sir. Captain Essex. Yes, sir? Uh, come here. Oliver. Good evening, Colonel. Did you... Oh. Little surprise, eh, Essex? Yes, quite a surprise. Well, Mr. Essex, how does he look to you? Has he changed much? Well, sir, what's your verdict? You know me pretty well. No? No, I don't think he's changed at all. I would take more than a war for that, wouldn't it, sir? Dinner, sir. Ah, dinner. Uh, sit down, Mr. Essex. Uh, sit down, gentlemen. I say, somebody's missing. Who is it? Mr. O'Riden, sir. He's been home on leave. But he's expected back tonight. Better be. We're short of officers as it is. I'm back now, sir. Oh, evening, O'Riden. Evening, sir. Oh, hello, Rory, my boy. Good will. I didn't expect to find you here. It's a little surprise, Rory. I'd like to see you, Oliver, upstairs. What, now? No. What about? I'll tell you, upstairs. All right. Excuse me, Colonel. Sit down, Mr. Essex. I'm sure they won't be long. Oh, thank you. I knew nothing about it. Nothing. I didn't even know that Maver was dead. You must believe that, Rory. It used to amuse me to watch you lie, Oliver. You did it so well. But you can't do it to me now. My sister's dead. My sister. And you're to blame. If you won't believe me, there's nothing more to be done about it. But there is. There is something to be done. Put that gun away. I'm going to kill you, Oliver. You're a fool if you do. You learn to be court-martialed. You think of everything, don't you? And if you're court-martialed, they'll find out why you killed me. That won't be very pleasant. The whole story told. Maver's name dragged through the papers. You swine. You'd even dig poor little Maver out of her grave to save yourself. Well, it won't save you. It won't. Rory, put down that gun. Keep out of it. You can't save him now. Get out of my way. I'm not trying to save Oliver. I'm not even sure that he's worth saving. It's you I'm trying to save, Rory. Why, you would be blasting your life to bits, my boy. What does that matter now? Not a great deal to you, perhaps. But it would to Dermot, to your father. Even if I've lost my son, I can't let your father lose his. No matter what Oliver's done, I won't let you disgrace your own name. Boy, it's the only way we have, Rory, of making up to your father for Maver. No, no. Give me the gun. Thank you, Rory. It's the company falling. Pardon, sir. Captain O'Reiden, Captain Essex. Company's falling in. We're moving up. Emergency order. Thank you, Sergeant. We'll be along. You'll be needed below, Rory. Yes. I'll take my gun, Uncle Will. You don't need to worry about my using it at the wrong time. Goodbye, Rory. I imagine this is the big push we've been expecting. You know, I miss saying goodbye to you once when I left England. It may sound funny to you, but I don't want to miss it this time. All right. I suppose it's a little late to be saying things. A little? Too late? Perhaps. I don't know. Well, goodbye then. Goodbye. Oh, incidentally, that was a good idea of yours. Rory is the one worth saving. Do you mean that? I've always known it. One thing, though, about Maverick. She never told me. No, no, I know. Rory didn't believe that. All my lies came home to roost. Evidence, compliments, Captain Essex, and will your company form the rearguard? Very good, Sergeant. You know, I ought to be dead by rights. Rory's a good shot. Being alive now is, well, it's something that I'm not quite entitled to. Don't blame yourself too much for the way I've turned out. No matter what you've done, I couldn't have turned out any better. Wasn't in the cards. Oh, don't say that. It's the truth. I was never any good. You were too good. That's the story. Can't dismiss yourself like that. That's not true of anyone. I suppose you mean I must have some redeeming virtues. Yes, yes, of course. Well, now that I think of it, perhaps I do have one. I can see how decent you are. If that's a virtue, put it down on the credit side of the ledger. You won't be crowded. Oliver. Oliver. I wanted so much for you. Too much? Don't you see, I couldn't live up to you. I didn't know you wanted to. Neither did I until it was too late. Oh, it's not too late. It's not too late. You could change. It's not in me to change. No, but you could. You're young. Your whole life's before you. Is it? You can't pour a quart into a pint measure? One more thing. Whatever I may have done, I've never doubted you. I've always known that you were there. Goodbye, Father. Goodbye, Oliver. God bless you, my boy. Father. Father. My son, I have spent all the day within the pages of my journal. How priceless are the interests, what a wealth of memories they recall, of sorrow and joy, of happiness and tragedy, of Dermot and Rory and Maver, of Nellie and Livia and Oliver. Oliver. How much I've written of him. How troubled was his short life and how simple his epitaph. Oliver Essex killed in action. Yes, Livia? There's a letter come for you. It's from the Ministry of War. Shall I read it? Yes, please, please, darling. Mr. William Essex, I'm directed to inform you that approval has been given for the award of the Victoria Cross to your son, Captain Oliver Essex, for conspicuous bravery and demolishing a machine-gun post single-handed and under heavy fire, rescuing a comrade at the cost of his own life. A comrade? Will? Yes. Yes, it was Rory he rescued. Dermot told me. At the cost of his own life. He did make up for everything than Nellie and Livia. Yes, darling. Come outside with me to the sunshine. Yes, in any moment, I have another entry I want to make. Just one more. I am proud. I am very proud of my son. A curtain falls on my son, my son. Brianna Hearn, Madeleine Carroll, Lewis Hayward and Josephine Hutchinson are returning to the microphone. And a little lightning calculation reveals that they traveled about 9,000 miles to get here. Well, I think Madeleine takes top honors with 6,000 miles or so by land, sea and air. 3,000 by air for the flying Brian. That's 9,000 already. The rest of you must have come from somewhere. Best I can do is about 8 miles. It almost sounds like you didn't want to come, Josephine. I travel a full 15 myself. What's your mileage, Mr. DeMille? Well, it's a little embarrassing. About 2 miles, I think, but I walked. Well, you aren't much hope statistically, CV. But that makes our total combined mileage 9,025. The performance you four just gave was worth every mile of it. Thank you for all four of us, Mr. DeMille. I always enjoy appearing in the Lux Radio Theater. And I think women everywhere are grateful for the product behind it, Lux soap. It's a grand complexion care. I know that from my own experience because I've used it for years. I'm another Lux fan, Mr. DeMille. The thing I like about Lux soap is that it has such a gentle way of caring for your skin. Mr. DeMille, it's up to you to bow to both ladies at once. And after the bow, you can tell us about next week's play. I think we'll take a bow on next week's play, too, Louis. A week from tonight, we're going to do the Reigns' Game. Oh, that's one of my favorite stories, Mr. DeMille. Who's going to play in it? We'll have George Brent from the original cast of the 20th Century Fox picture and Kay Francis, Jean Parker and Jim Amici. Louis Bromfield wrote the novel and it soon became a fixture on the best-seller list. Later, the picture was one of the hits of the year. The Reigns' Game is the story of a group of very modern people in India and the way they react to sudden, violent disaster, a flood that sweeps aside their own petty troubles and unites them in a common purpose. It's a stormy, turbulent drama in both action and emotion, with Kay Francis, George Brent, Jim Amici and Jean Parker fighting a catastrophe on the edge of civilization. Oh, with that cast in play, you'll have a sure, far-hit CB. Good night. Good night. See you on the set tomorrow, Mr. DeMille. Good night. As critics will give four stars to you for any time. Our sponsors, the makers of Lux Toilets Hope, join me in inviting you to be with us again next Monday night when the Lux Radio Theatre presents George Brent, Kay Francis, Jean Parker and Jim Amici in The Reigns' Game. This is Cecil B. DeMille saying good night to you from Hollywood. Heard in tonight's play where Kathleen Fitz as Maver, Warren Ash as Dermott, Scotty Beckett as Oliver the Child, Ted Bliss as Rory, Eric Snowden as Colonel, Jack Lewis as Sergeant, and Lou Merrill, Barry Steele, Thomas Mills and Celeste Rush. The screenplay for My Son, My Son was written by Lenore Coffey. Josephine Hutchinson is now working in the RKO town and baker production, Tom Brown School Days. The music was directed by Lois Silvers and your announcer has been Melville Roy. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.