 First DA Victor, world leader in radio, first in recorded music, first in television, proudly present. Screen Directors Playhouse star Joseph Cotton, production, portrait of Jenny, director William Dieterly. The Hollywood Screen Directors present a story, a fantasy, on the edge of time. The motion picture drama Portrait of Jenny, starring Joseph Cotton in his original role of Evan Adams. To you who believe in your own immortality, I give this story the Portrait of Jenny. It was colder than usual for me that winter in New York in 1934. I was a struggling and starving artist. No one would buy my paintings. No one, in fact, would even bother with me, except to distinguish and spin to Art Dealer on Fifth Avenue near Central Park, Miss Spinney. And Miss Spinney it was who told me the first great truth about my painting. Do you want me to tell you what's wrong with your work, Adam? Please do. There isn't a drop of love in any of your painting. Love. You'll have to shed that bitterness. Learn to care for something very deeply before you'll be much of an artist. That's going to take some doing, life being what it is. Meanwhile, I'll give you $12 for that flower painting. You will. Not a penny more. Sold, sold. I practically floated out into Central Park in the Winfrey Twilight. I was a success, $12. I was a little lightheaded from exhilaration and for not having had enough to eat. Perhaps that made it happen the first day there in Central Park. On the gloomy walk I suddenly had an awareness of something extraordinary. The sounds from Fifth Avenue seemed muted and far away like sounds from another time. I felt faint. I groped for a bench and sat down. My hand touched a silk scarf lying there. I heard a voice. A pretty little child was coming toward me. A girl with great dark eyes and a delicate oval face and dark hair down her back and dressed quaintly in a style that people used to call Buster Brown, I think. Hello. I mean, I have my scarf. Oh, thank you. Isn't anybody here with you? No. Why should there be? It's getting pretty dark where are your parents? Well, they're not home yet. Anyway, you're with me now. I'm Jenny, Jenny Appleton. What's your name? Evan Adams. Your parents aren't home? Well, father and mother are tightrope act. The Appleton. Oh, really? They're working down at Hammerstein's Victoria. Hammerstein's Victoria? Well, Hammerstein's Victoria was torn down years ago when I was a boy. Oh, you must be thinking of some other place because I was there yesterday. May I look at your pictures? Well, how did you know this portfolio contained pictures? Well, father and mother were painted ones and the artist had a big portfolio just like yours. I see. It's a rather famous painting. Appleton's in air, it's called. Well, how do you like my work, this one, say? Oh, those are awful little windows for such a big church. Well, they have to be little. There's so much wind at Cape Cod. I don't like it. It scares me. The black water. Why does it? There should be a lighthouse out there in the ocean. Well, yes, there should, but how did you know that? I just know. I wish I liked your pictures, but I don't. Well, that's what everybody says. Why don't you paint people? Cecily Brown's home is full of pictures of people. Who's Cecily Brown? Oh, she's my best friend. Her father knows the Kaiser, the king of Germany. Oh, he was the king of Germany years and years ago. I know a song. Would you like to hear it? Very much. Where I come from, nobody knows. And where I am go, everything goes the sea. What a strange song. Who taught you that? Nobody. It's just a song. Do you know what I wish most? What? I wish that you would wait for me to grow up so that we could always be together. That's very flattering, Jenny. Well, I can't talk to you anymore now. I've got to call her mother and father. Goodbye, Mr. Adams. Goodbye, Jenny. She was gone in the gathering darkness, taking the loveliness and innocence and wistfulness of memories of things once loved along with her. And I felt lonely of them and ever in my life. This is a sketch of a little girl you met in the park, Adams. Two days ago. You like it? I'll give you $25 for it. $25 just for a sketch? You've got something here, Adams. Who is this little girl? What do you know about her? Very little. She's an imaginative thing. Fancy herself the daughter of a high-wire act, the Appletons. Oh, you know, there was a very interesting painting by Lopresty of the Appletons. Oh, was there? Yes. He specialized in circus stuff. He grew temporarily famous with his Appletons in air. I think he even went to their funeral when they were killed a few years later. Killed? The Appletons were killed? High-wire broke with them or something. Oh, too bad. Adams, why don't you do portraits? I think you could be very good at it. Very good indeed. With $25 in my pocket and a strange bewilderment in my brain, I took the afternoon off and went skating in Central Park. A cold, feeble sun slanted weirdly on the ice. The sounds of traffic grew remote and muffled. Hello, Mr. Adams. Hello. I'm Jenny. Don't you remember? Jenny? Isn't it fun? The ice is wonderful. Jenny, I... I can't believe it's you. You've grown, sir. I'm hurrying to catch up with you. But only a few days ago you were just a little girl. Let's skate arm in arm, shall we? All right. You know what? What? I did a sketch of you and sold it. Oh, I'm so glad. The people at the gallery said I ought to paint portraits. Who would you paint? Well, I haven't decided. Baby, would you paint me? Oh, well. Oh, I'm going to have my picture painted. I'm going to have my picture painted. Oh, won't Dolores be mad, though? Dolores? She's had her picture painted. Dolores is my best friend. I heard you said Cecily was your best friend. Cecily? Yeah. Oh, oh, you mean Cecily Brown. She moved to Boston three years ago. Three years ago? But just the other evening, we'd better skate. Arm in arm, then silently smiling at each other. We parted once more. Many times in the next weeks, I looked for Jenny. Almost every evening, I walked in the park, hoping to hear her voice calling to me. And then again, one evening in the park, I was approaching her bench. I felt a hush upon the world again. I felt all alone in an emotionless, soundless world. Soundless except for the weeping, I heard the heartbroken sobbing and I looked toward the bench and I saw... Jenny! Jenny, what's the matter? What's happened? Tell me. Father and mother... There's been an accident. The wire broke. When did it happen? Tonight. Tonight? I always knew it would happen. Now they're gone. Jenny. Jenny, isn't it true they... they wouldn't want you to be unhappy even grieving for them? Jenny? Suppose I'm just crying for myself because they're gone and I'll be lonely. You won't be lonely, Jenny. No. No, I won't, will I? Because I'm hurrying, Evan. I'm hurrying very fast now. Yes, you are. You're a young lady already. My aunt's sending me to a convent. And when I graduate, I'll be grown up. You'll wait for me, Evan. Yes, Jenny. I'll wait for you. I'll wait for you. Now, production of Portrait of Jenny, starring Joseph Cotton and presented by RCA Victor. What the English language needs these days is some new words for new objects. Well, RCA Victor has provided one at least. Tell Ensemble. That's the word for a unique 12-and-a-half inch television set which is one of 14 superb new 1950 eye-witness models. The Tell Ensemble is deluxe 12-and-a-half inch RCA Victor television in a handsome maroon metal cabinet. As the name implies, the Tell Ensemble is complete furniture. The cabinet rests on legs of matching wood. The Tell Ensemble has a built-in antenna. Big, bright, clear, and steady pictures. And the RCA Victor Tell Ensemble is a marvelous dollar value. Its suggested list price, slightly higher in some locations, is only $229.95, plus a small federal tax. Here's wishing for your family the endless delight of RCA Victor Television. America's first. America's finest. America's favorite. Now back to the screen director's playhouse fantasy, Portrait of Jenny, starring Joseph Cotton in his original role of Evan Adams, with Barbara Eiler as Jenny. Where I come from, nobody knows, and where I'm going, everything goes. In the weeks and months that followed, I was haunted by that song and by memory so poignant that nothing was real for me except Jenny. The days lengthened, spring broke through. That one evening I came home from searching and hoping vainly for Jenny in the park. My studio door was ajar. I pushed it open, sitting on the floor in a frost of crisp white dress was Jenny. Evan. I can't be your Jenny, but it is, it is. I tried to get here sooner, but I couldn't. No, you're beautiful. You're a young lady. I know, I'm hurrying. I'm in my first year of college at the convent. What convent, Jenny? Mother of Mercy on the Hudson. Mother of Mercy. Oh, Evan, I've thought of you so much. I've thought of nothing except you. Look there, I've even prepared a canvas for you making it ready for the portrait of Jenny. Oh, Evan, you're really going to do it. Yes, really. Evan. Yes, Jenny. I'm so glad you're waiting for me. I didn't feel very lonely. Jenny came off a noun. I painted. I painted, carried along on a wave of exultation and inspiration. I worked intently to finish the portrait. The magical face framed in dark, dark hair, brown eyes tenderly dreaming. I was caught in an enchantment beyond time and change, and through it all I knew. I knew that love itself was endless and that today's small happiness and this desperately sought for was only part of it. And the portrait was almost finished. Jenny, by that miracle I had been witnessing since I first saw her, was a woman. I had not seen her for a week and when she came to my studio again, it was Jenny, the woman, beautiful, loving, strangely unhappy. Evan, I won't be seeing you again for a while. Why, Jenny? It's nothing really. My aunt ill and she wants me to take her away for the summer. I'll be lost without you. No, don't say that, Evan. We can't both obviously lost. When do we have to go? Tomorrow. Tomorrow? It'll only be for a few months and not so far. Jenny, Jenny, I know now that there are distances, cruel distances that can't be fathomed or spanned, the distances in time, the distance between you and me, the distance between yesterday and the day and that frightens me. Oh, Jenny, I mustn't lose you. Evan, darling, always remember this. Among all the people who have lived from world end to world end, there's just one you must love, one you must seek until you find. As I found him, you Evan, you my darling. Jenny, the wind blows, the sea flows. God knows. Neither the world nor time itself can tear us apart, Evan. Whatever happened, remember that. I'll remember. Evan, you must finish my portrait now. The evening and the portrait of Jenny was done. I think, Evan, I think it will make you famous. Someone once told me my work lacked love. This does not. Oh, Jenny, what is it that makes a man and a woman know that of all the other men and the women in the world, they belong to each other. One you must seek until you find him. One you must wait for until she finds you, even across time. The night wind, Evan, I must go. Oh, another few minutes. I'll close the window here. I'll get my things. There. Now, Jenny, before you go, I... Jenny. Jenny. There was a jar. Jenny was gone, yet I heard no one on the steps. Well, the window was closed. A soft wind stirred in the room and charged with a gentle dying fragrance as of old remembered springtime as long ago. All spring, all summer, I waited for Jenny and heard nothing. Summer darkened into autumn. No, Jenny, where was she? What word? Then I remembered mother of mercy, convent of me, mother of superior man. Jenny Appleton? Yes, Mr. Adams, I remember her very well. A lovely girl with a strange spiritual beauty and a gentle sadness that always troubled me. Have you any idea where I can find her? Jenny died. No. Yes. No, no, no. Jenny? Her aunt brought her here shortly after her parents' tragic death. They were crappies to follow. Yes, I know, but... She stayed here until she graduated. Then her aunt took her up to New England for the summer. She wrote me from there often. I remember her very last death, although it's been so long ago. Long ago? She had a dreadful feeling that life would never be complete for her. That she would never find someone who would love her. I must love and be loved. She wrote me. She must have sent me in. Jenny? That was the year that terrible tidal wave stopped the New England coast. October 5th, 1934. Her little boat found me in an abandoned lighthouse. Lands and light. No wonder she feared it, even in my painting. October 5th. Today is the first. Lands and light. That's where I'll find her. I arrived at Cape Cod with time to spare. I hired a boat. Waited. October 4th. Fog. Not a breath of wind, no sign of hurricane. October 5th. That dawn I shipped anchor. And pulled for land's end. Not a breath of wind, only fog. Fog. And then suddenly out of the fog, out of nowhere, for wind. And then I knew. I knew that the whole pattern of Jenny's life was to be relived to the very end. The fierce, commented end. Somehow I weathered the savage wind, the thunderous barrage of rain, the howling surf and black rocks, pulling the tiller in both hands. I guided the boat into land's end and covered my face as a wave lifted me high and blowed the boat hard against the slippery rocks. It's gunning and bleeding like I struggled after screaming rocks. Jenny! Jenny! Jenny, I put him! Jenny, I put him! Jenny, I put him! Jenny! No, Jenny! Who ever done it? Jenny, I was afraid I was too late. Oh, my God. No, forever, darling. Let me look. A long, long look. No, Jenny, the wave will be here and you can't stay here. The lighthouse. Heaven, don't you understand? I can't. I died. Jenny, look. We'll have a currency together. The wave. It's too late. You'll die again. There is no death. Here it comes. Remember, Heaven. Here it comes. There is no death. Jenny! Goodbye, Heaven. Jenny! Doctors shake their heads over me today. Well, let them. I've painted my last canvas. Land's end and the biblical wave of years behind me now. I died leaving my work to mark me thanks to the inspiration and the love of Jenny. Die. Oh, no. For to die is but to live again. Remember what Jenny said upon the rocks those years ago. There is no death. There is. In Winter's Day, 1950. Evan Adams, one of the most brilliant and magically inspired young painters America has ever produced, passed away. Leaving a host of immortal canvases as his monument. And foremost among these was the painting of unearthly, ethereal beauty. The portrait of Jenny. The dawn came through the bare trees in Central Park. That timeless morning that Evan Adams died. It was winter in the park. That spring where Evan Adams sat on a searching familiar bench. A young woman came running down the path. Her dark hair flying. And Evan Adams rose and took her hand in his. Hello, Jenny. You're here sooner than I thought, Evan. Yes, Jenny. I hurried too. Joseph Cotton and our guest screen director, William Dieterle, will be with us in just a moment. Next Friday on Screen Director's Playhouse, a brilliant young actor brings to the dynamic performance which made him a star. Our story is champion. And recreating his original role will be Kirk Douglas with screen director Mark Rolston. And now, here again, it's the night star, Joseph Cotton. Well, Joe, that hurricane scene was wonderful. Almost too wonderful. You know that? They're feeling a little scared of old Mother Nature. If I'd like to go home where everything's cozy and safe. You surprised me, Jimmy. I was sure you were going to say you'd like to go home and curl up with some good RCA Victor 45 records. Well, I would like to, Joe. An evening at home listening to the music you love best and which you hear at its best on an RCA Victor 45 phonograph. Can you think of anything more pleasant? What? Well, I always enjoy an evening with my 45 and especially at this time of year when the weather's so dismal everywhere. Except California, of course. Oh, of course. But this year, March really did come in like a lion, didn't it? Well, more like a leopard. And then, too, there's always March 15. And RCA Victor is 15. I mean, the 15 new albums designed for dancing. Touché, Joe. Did you know that some doctors recommend music as a remedy for serious cases of income tax tempering businessmen? It's not as smooth as with a 45 instead of chump with a 45. That's right, Dr. Cotton. And the RCA Victor 45 is swell for dancing, too. I mean it's so small and light, but it's less than a foot square that you can easily carry it wherever you want to dance. And those 15 new RCA Victor dance albums are enough to top off any evening of editing. I like the length of time the 45 plays without attention so you really can concentrate on other things. It's up to 50 minutes. I think of it almost an hour of uninterrupted romance of two people dancing alone together. Oh, it's like having an orchestra right in the room. Well, it's time like I knew what's an orchestra in the room. You have a point there, Joe. RCA Victor's 45 phonograph is a rare aid to romance as well as to morale. And a rare aid to your bank account, too. The 45 phonograph costs as little as $29.95. The 45 record changer can be had for $12.95. And prices on the 45 record start as low as $0.46 plus tax. Friends, there's no wonder the 45 is sweeping the country. See and hear the 45 soon at your RCA Victor dealer. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, it was my pleasure to act again in one of the strangest love tales ever brought to the screen. Now it's fitting that you should meet the man who brought it to the screen. The director, for whom familiar idea has read nothing but respect for we've worked together in such other pictures as love letters and I'll be seeing you. Here, then, is my director, William Dieterley. Thank you, Joe. It really is more than that. It really happened. Oh, Dave, that you'll have to prove. Easily. First, the New England storm. You will admit, Joe, there is such a place as New England. Naturally, but... Second, Jenny's skating in Central Park. You will admit there is such a place as Central Park. Well, certainly there is. That doesn't mean... Please, Joe, and third, the final clue. Remember Jenny's scarf, the one she left on the park bench? Oh, you're not going to tell me this. Yes, here it is, Jenny's scarf in my hands. Oh, Dave, that's just an ordinary scarf. Why should I believe it was Jenny's? Joe, when another actor tells you it's Jenny's scarf, you don't have to believe it. When a director tells you you don't have to believe it. But when a poet tells you... I see what you mean. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a secret of believing an unbelievable movie. Good night, Dave. Good night, Joe. Good night, other women. Good night to you. Don't attack the women, Victor. Remember that Friday, Kirk Douglas in Champion with Green Director Mark Ropeson, brought to you by RCA Victor, world leader in radio, first in recorded music, first in television. Portrait of Jenny was presented through the courtesy of David O'Celtan. They're currently releasing Carol Reed's The Fallen Idol. Joe's of Cotton's most recent production is The Third Man. William D. D. Lee's forthcoming picture is the Hal Wallace production for Paramount Paid in Full, starring Robert Cummings, Elizabeth Cotton, Diana Lin. Included in tonight's cast were Barbara Eilers, Jenny, Lareen Tuttle, Eleanor Audley, Wilms Herbert, Ramsey Hill, Vic Farron, with G. Nielsen and Frank Barton. Portrait of Jenny from the novel by Robert Nathan was adapted for radio by Milton Geiger, and original music was composed and conducted by William Lava. Green Director's Playhouse is produced by Howard Wiley with Dramatic Direction by Bill Karn. Portions of the broadcast are transcribed. This is Jimmy Wallington speaking and inviting you to listen again next Friday when RCA Victor presents... Screen Director's Playhouse, star Kirk Douglas, production, champion, director Mark Ropeson. This is Jimmy Gallanti and Dominique Arnett. KFI Los Angeles, Earl C. Anthony, Incorporated.