 Ladies and gentlemen, the Colgate Palm Oli Pete Company, makers of Colgate Dental Cream, take this opportunity to wish you a merry Christmas. And now, Colgate Dental Cream presents the Dennis Day Show, written by Frank Galen, with Sharon Douglas, Dink Trout, Paula Winslow, Charles Dent in the orchestra, yours truly, Vern Smith, and starring our popular young singer, in A Day in the Life of Dennis Day. Here's Dennis to sing, A Gal in Calico. First Sunday, boo, till I roll, gonna settle down. By this time, but those of you who'll be making his acquaintance for the first time on these Wednesday nights would probably like to know just what sort of person he is. Well, let's ask the folks who know him best. First, there's his landlady, Mrs. Anderson, who runs the boarding house in Weaverville where Dennis rooms. Mrs. Anderson, what's your honest opinion of Dennis Day? My opinion of Dennis Day is that he's a 22-year-old boy. Well, yes, of course, but what sort of 22-year-old boy? Well, I'm sorry, but that's as far as I care to go on Christmas. Well, it's a fact that Dennis has never managed to get into Mrs. Anderson's good graces. Now, Mr. Anderson, on the other hand, kind of likes him, although he's never come right out and admitted it. And just why haven't you, Mr. Anderson? Well, it all goes back to when I first married my dear wife. Or, as I like to call her, the big woman. Go on, Mr. Anderson. You see, when we were married, we made a pact. Poopsie and I. We decided we'd always think and act as one person. Of course, I didn't know then that the one person would turn out to be Poopsie. Oh, I see. Well, there's one member of the Anderson family who likes Dennis and makes no bones about it. That's their daughter, Mildred, our young hero's girlfriend. Right now, on this fine Christmas morning, she's carefully planted herself under the mistletoe in the Anderson living room as Dennis comes down for breakfast. Morning, Mildred. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, Dennis. Boy, I'm sure I'm hungry this morning. See you after breakfast, huh? Well, Dennis, wait. What's the matter? Don't you notice I'm standing someplace? Well, that happens very often when you're not sitting down. I don't mean that silly. Now, look around carefully. Don't you see anything different? You're wearing a new dress? No, higher. You washed your face? Dennis, what's over my head? Hair. I mean on the chandelier. Don't you see what's tied to it? A piece of mistletoe. Oh, I see now. Pretty, isn't it? Dennis, I'm standing right under it. Well, don't worry. A little thing like that couldn't hurt you if it did fall off. Didn't you ever hear of mistletoe, Dennis? If a man happens to find a girl standing under it, he can kiss her. Gosh, really? Yes. And you happen to find me standing under it. Well... Oh, I couldn't take advantage of an accident. It wasn't an accident, Dennis. I stood here on purpose. Mildred. I did it so you'd kiss me. I want you to kiss me. You women are all alike. No one wants my brains, only my kisses. I want you to kiss me. No, Mildred. I know how desirable I am, but you should fight it. I'm tired of arguing about it. Come here, Dennis Day. Please, Mildred. You're messing my hair. I don't care. Now stand still. This is the sort of thing that goes on in my house. Mother. Hello, Mrs. Anderson. What's new? Put on any act with me. I saw you kissing my daughter. Give me one reason why I should walk in and find such a thing going on. We didn't expect you. It was all my fault, mother. Really, it was. You see, it's Christmas and there was mistletoe and I was standing under it. And, well, anyway, it was only a little peck on the cheek. That's true, Mrs. Anderson. And I promise it won't happen again until we've been married for years. Married? Married, indeed. Young man, you've been nothing but trouble to me since you began boarding here. I suggest that you look for another place to live as soon as you can. But, Mrs. Anderson. That's my last word on the subject. Gee, now I'm in a fine mess. Golly, I'm sorry, Dennis. You wouldn't have gotten in trouble if only I hadn't insisted on kissing you. Oh, that's all right. As a matter of fact, I kind of like being kissed. Oh, did you, Dennis? Yeah. I see now why so many people speak so well of it. I hope mother doesn't really make you move. No, it wouldn't be much of a Christmas if she did. Oh, dear, I nearly forgot with so many things going on. What? There's a little present for you inside, underneath the tree. For me. Gosh, thanks, Mildred. I hope you won't be too disappointed, but I didn't have enough money to buy you an expensive present this year. Oh, that's all right, Dennis. I'll be every bit as happy with a present that costs practically nothing. I didn't have enough to buy you one of those, either. Oh, well, don't feel bad, me. I understand. Next year I'll be able to give you something real nice to make up for it after my invention is put on the market. Your invention? Yeah. I haven't told you because I wanted it to be a surprise. You see, one day last week Mrs. Courtney came into the drugstore to get something for a terrible headache. So I made up a wet pack out of some stuff I found and she put it on her head. And it cured her headache? No, it made her headache worse, but it curled her hair. I haven't told a soul yet, but I think I've invented a permanent wave solution. It should be worth millions. I should say so. Have you tried it on anyone besides Mrs. Courtney? No, but Mr. Willoughby's police dog sat in some the other day. And what happened? Well, the part that barks is still police dog, but the part that wags is pure French poodle. That's marvelous. I'm improving it all the time. Yesterday I put some powder from France I found in the place. Oh, Gali, I just had the most wonderful idea. What? My mother's got to know about this. Why, when she sees what you've got hold of, she'll never let you move out. Oh, she won't believe it's any good if I invented it. Oh, but that's just it. She's got to try some herself. But how are we going to get it to do that? Oh, look, she's in the next room. You go in and hint in a subtle way that she doesn't look quite as attractive for Christmas as she might. Her hair looks a little stringy. And then you show her your invention and ask her to try some on her head. Gali, I'll do it. I've got a jar of it right here in my pocket. Good. Oh, but you've got to be very diplomatic about telling her she could look more attractive. Oh, I will. Well, here goes. Mrs. Anderson. Yes? You know, I was just thinking, you're pretty ugly today. Oh, I don't mean all over, just above your neck. How dare you talk to me like that? Mrs. Anderson, wait, you don't understand. What I meant is, you're beautiful. Your hair kind of spoils it. Uh, my hair? Yeah, it's so straight. Why, if you had curly hair, you could look just like Lana Turner all over instead of just locally. Oh, that's very sweet of you, Dennis. But my hair's always been straight. Even a permanent doesn't curl it. Well, I have some stuff right here that will, Mrs. Anderson. If you'll just put some on your head in two or three minutes, you'll be amazed. Well, if it's as good as all that, I certainly will try it. That's well. Come out and show Mildred when you're finished. Oh, I will. Well, she... Oh, good morning, Mr. Anderson. Good morning, Dennis. Uh, my lover girl in there. Yes, but don't go in, Mr. Anderson. You're gonna get a surprise in a minute. I am? Yeah. How would you like it if your wife suddenly became Lana Turner? Outside of Lana Turner suddenly becoming my wife. I can't think of anything nicer. Well, you just wait. You really think it'll work, Dennis? Oh, sure. And with that French powder I put in yesterday to make it smell nice, she'll just love it. What kind of French powder was it? Oh, I don't know. Only the name of the maker was on the box. Some fellow named Plaster of Paris. Plaster of Paris? Oh, Dennis, no. I did something. Did something? We're finished forever. Mildred, what do you mean? Yes, what are you two talking about? Well, my head feels awfully peculiar. Really, Mother? Yes. How do you like it, Herbert? Oh, very nice books, eh? That's the first sensible hat I've ever seen you wear. That? I'm not wearing a hat. You mean that's you? Well, certainly. This is my new hairdo. Don't you think you over-duded? What do you mean? Get out of the way so I can see myself in the mirror. Why, I don't... I must have made a slight mistake in the formula. Why? Well, there's nothing to worry about, Mrs. Anderson. I'll have you head in fine shape as soon as I get hold of a hammer. A hammer? Yeah, that's the only way I can get that shiny white crust off your head. Fine thing. It was supposed to be Lana Turner and me, and now it's the egg and I. Use this, Dennis, the firetongue. Okay, hold still, Mrs. Anderson. There, see? Dennis Day, I told you once today to leave this house as soon as you can. Well, I can't wait. You're leaving this instant. Mrs. Anderson, I was only trying to help. Get out of my sight. That's final. Come, Herbert. Gee, didn't turn out to be a very merry Christmas, did it, Mildred? No, I'm afraid not. Oh, but don't worry, Dennis. We'll find some way to see each other. Gee, I hope so. Oh, well, Dennis, listen. Yeah, a bunch of kids singing carols. It'd be kind of nice to have them in, wouldn't it? Yes, it would. Open the door, Dennis. Let's have them in. Okay. Hey, fellas, come on in. Mrs. Anderson may have something for you. Okay, come on, guys. Try to shake the snow off your shoes. Mrs. Anderson is very particular about her rugs. Come on in, boys. Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. Hey, what about that little fellow out there on the snow? Isn't he coming in? No, he don't sing well. He just follows us around. Yeah, everywhere we go, he tags along. We can't get rid of him. He's a pest. Hey, fellas, why don't you come up here on the porch? You'll catch cold out there. Come on up. Don't be afraid. What's your name? Cecil. Oh, your name is Cecil, huh? Yes, sir. Cecil. Well, come on up, Cecil. Yes, sir. See, you are catching cold. I'm not cold. You're not crying, are you? Yes, sir. You are? But this is Christmas. You shouldn't be crying on Christmas. Yes, sir. What are you crying about, Cecil? They won't let you sing with them. Why not? I got braces on my teeth. They say I don't sing good. Well, I don't believe it. I'll just bet that you're a real good singer. You don't? No, but I like to sing anyway. I like to sing more than anything in the whole world. Sure you do. And that's what makes singing really important. To want to sing from the bottom of your heart, whether you can really sing or not. It is? It certainly is. You know, once upon a time there was a little boy just like you. Well, this little boy wanted to sing more than anything else in the whole world. Honest? And one night he had a vision. And the vision told him never to stop singing because someday he would sing for the king. What's the vision? A vision? Oh, a vision is something like a dream, I think. Well, this little boy... What was his name? His name? Oh, I don't know what his name was. You see, it was a very long time ago. How long ago? Oh, a long, long time ago. Did he sing over the radio? No, this was long before radios and phonographs and moving pictures. Poor Jack Benny? Yes, even before that. It was a long, long time ago in a land far, far away. The little boy came from a very poor family but his father and mother worked hard they could barely buy enough bread to eat. The boy had no shoes to wear and his clothes were ragged and torn. But he didn't care for he was happy. He had a song in his heart. Life is fair on a summer's day sweet the western wind. One day his father called the boy to his side and said, Why is it my son that you always sing? We are poor and have little for you to sing and be happy about. And the boy answered, I am happy, father, for some day I know I shall sing for the king. And his father said, That foolish vision of yours, you must forget such nonsense for a poor ragged boy like you will never sing for the king. And the boy said, But I shall, father, my vision told me so. It was so clear to me, father. A voice spoke to me and said that I had been chosen to sing for the king. The boy's father was sorely troubled. He shook his head sadly inside. My son, you must put such idle dreams out of your head for tomorrow you shall start to work for the rich landowner who lives on the hill. Gladly, father, and I shall sing as I work for some day my song will be heard by the king. The boy's father returned to his work knowing that his words could not shake his son's faith and his vision. The boy went down the road, his tattered clothes flapping in the breeze and his shoeless feet kicking up the dust. The dust rose and danced with the sunbeams leaving a happy trail behind the boy as he sang. Life is fair on a summer's day sweet the western wind is blowing. And so the boy went to work for the rich landowner. He tended to the flocks of sheep and to the goats. At dusk when the boy would drive the flocks home from the meadows the hooves of the animals would make a gentle sound on the road and with this his music the boy would sing. Life is fair on a summer's day sweet the western wind is blowing. One day not long after the landowner called the boy to him and said Harken to me, boy! I pay you to care for my flocks not to fill the air with your incessant song. I'm sorry, master. I meant to bother no one with my singing. The sheep and the goats don't mind. I am neither a sheep or a goat, so I mind. You see, master, I must sing. For some day my song will be heard by the king. Ah, you're mad, boy. Yeah, mad and also stupid. Sing for the king. Be gone with you. Be gone with you. But, master, I shall sing for the king. You will see. And so it came to pass that the boy, laughed at and ridiculed by all who knew him, left and went to the great city to sing for the king. Never had the boy seen such a city. Great buildings lined the streets and the greatest of all was the palace of the king. There were many steps that led up to the palace gates and the gates themselves were as tall as a tree. He felt very small and afraid as he ascended the steps. He would have run away, but he kept thinking of his vision. With this to give him strength, he was no longer afraid. He climbed and climbed and finally, tired and out of breath, he reached the uppermost step. Smoothing down his ragged garments, he approached the gates. And hesitantly, he knocked upon them. He waited breathlessly as the gates slowly opened. Who knocks at the palace of the king? The boy looked up at the tall garden and said, I, I, I did. Ragged beggar, what is it you want? I, I am not a beggar. Speak up! What is it you want? I have come because of a vision. I have come to sing for the king. You sing for the king? You, a ragged beggar boy, I have come to sing for the king. The guard laughed and laughed. The guards came and they too joined them the laughter. They laughed even more when the boy told them of his vision. Then, tiring of their laughter, they picked the boy up and cast him down the many steps to the street below. And slammed the gates shut. The boy picked himself up out of the dirt at the bottom of the steps. And sadly, with his head bent, he walked away from the palace. That night, weary from his journey and unable to travel further, the boy stopped to rest by the side of a hill. Sheep were grazing nearby. And as he fell asleep, the boy knew that he would never sing again. He was awakened that night by a strange light. A light that transformed everything about him. A light from a great star that shone above. There wasn't a sound. All was hushed. A hush, a quiet, a silence beyond words to describe. Even the sheep on the hillside and the doves in the trees seemed to sense the silence and paid on moving homage. Then the light seemed to become even brighter, bathing all in a glow that made them one. The boy, the hill, the earth, the grass, the animals all became one and one alone. The boy raised himself from the ground, not daring to breathe. Then he felt a song swelling in his throat. He could contain himself no longer. Something was compelling him to sing. He stood up straight and small on the hill. What if they had laughed at him? What if his song was unwanted? He felt he must sing now, here and now in this divine night. So he stood. His tattered clothes shimmering in the light of the star above were like the rainmen of angels. And he sang. Then he finished his song. The boy saw a man coming up the hill toward him. The man was a shepherd and he carried a crooked staff. The boy said, I thought I was alone here on the hill. And the shepherd said, You will never be alone again, boy. No man will ever be alone again. And then the shepherd turned and pointed down the hill. And the boy looked and saw a small stable nestled below. And the shepherd turning to the boy said, Tonight, my son, you sang for a king. Fairly, the king of kings. So you see, Cecil, if your heart is full of song, you must sing. Oh, I didn't know you folks were listening. It was a lovely story, Dennis. It was beautiful, Dennis. Yes, it was. Yes, it was a very nice story. And I'm sorry I got so angry with you. I hope you forgive me, Dennis. Oh, sure. That's all right, Mrs. Anderson. Cecil, would you like to sing with us? Can I? Oh, gosh, I'd love to sing with you. I'd love to sing with you. Will you let me? Sure. How about we all sing together? Oh. Bobby Driscoll, who played the part of Cecil, appeared through the courtesy of Walt Disney and can be seen in the Technicolor Picture Song of the Sound. All the other parts in the Christmas story were played by Dennis, of course. The special musical background was by Charles Dan. This is Wern Smith speaking. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.