 The Mutual Broadcasting System, in cooperation with Family Theater Incorporated, presents Home for Thanksgiving, starring Paul Henryd and Joan Leslie. Charles Boyer is your host. More things are wrought by prayer on these world dreams of. Across the country tonight, in millions of hearts and homes, there is a spirit of happiness and thanksgiving. It is more than thanks for turkey dinners, more than our happiness in the reunion of family and friends. It is a renewal of our faith and trust in God, for thanksgiving day is meaningless without our prayers of thanks to Him whose goodness comes to us each day. We are thankful for the gifts we have in material things, in a world where there is hunger and privation. We are thankful for our freedom to life, liberty and happiness, in a world where there is hatred and oppression. Thankful for our spiritual treasures of faith in God and the brotherhood of men. Thankful for our homes where in peace we can gather together as a family to pray. This is the spirit of thanksgiving and prayers go up from millions of homes where families gather together tonight to offer this simple prayer. Thanks be to God. Carl's Boyet will return later in the program. Now tonight's family theater stars Joan Leslie and Paul Henry in true boardman's home for thanksgiving. The time this day, the place, a town in Austria not far from the German border. The people, Stefan Branick and Mary his wife. Here then is home for thanksgiving. Yes, Stefan? You were not asleep? No, I was waiting for you. I finished. Read it to me. Oh, I don't know it. It says it all badly, but perhaps somehow behind the words is what I feel for this day. I hope so. I'm sure it is. Read it dear. Very well. 27th November 1947, dear and beloved child to be, tonight your father records in this journal the doings of a single day, a day of which you must have full knowledge in the years of your own understanding. Your father writes it in deep affection and with great humility of spirit. He writes it with a prayer, the prayer that in your life there may come to be at least one such day as this has been for me. Here then, dear child, here for you with your mother's love in my own is the journal of this day, the day of your parents homecoming to the land of your fathers. Oh, Stefan, and you were afraid that what you felt was not in your words. It's beautiful. Go on. Sunrise of this day, my child, found your mother and me already on our way from our last overnight stop in Germany. As the sun made gold the sky of dawn, we rode eagerly along the main highway from Passau to Linz. Of our vehicle, we were very proud. It was a truck, a two-and-a-half-ton truck, and I, at its wheel, felt like a conquering hero returning from the wars. Stefan. Yes? Take it easy, darling. You said yourself it was only a hundred kilometers and we have all day. Was I going too fast? I'm sorry. I don't mind, but you look so intent. Watching you drive, I could only think of Ben Hur and the chariot. I am flattered, but Brunhilde is not. She's far superior to any chariot. You know, sometimes I think that if you ever really had to choose between this truck and me, I'd be the one to lose out. It would be a difficult decision. To me, you are both beautiful, and Brunhilde does not have the habit of looking at me out of the corner of her headlights and laughing at me. Maybe she doesn't love you enough to laugh at you. She loves me to the bottom of her carburetor. And besides, I wasn't laughing. Not really. I was just happy for you. You're like a ten-year-old. You're so excited. And why not? In any moment now, we shall arrive at the border after nearly ten years. Would you expect me to be calm? On the contrary, the moment we cross into Austria, I fully expect you to stop Brunhilde, get out and kiss the ground. That's what a lot of our GIs did when they got home. Well, I shall vary the procedure. Instead, I shall stop Brunhilde and kiss my American wife. Oh, darling, I am so happy for you, for both of us, but mostly for you. We should make a kind of family holiday of this date. The day the Brannick family came home. It's a good idea. Let's see what's today, Thursday, November the 27th. Stefan, I didn't realize. Thursday, the last Thursday in November? It's Thanksgiving! Yes, of course. This is a holiday in America. Yes! A wonderful one. Tell me, what would you do this day if you were home? Well, the family would go to church, all of us together. Then Jim, my brother and I, would go with dad to a football game. Then they'd be the family Thanksgiving dinner. A real feast, eh? Oh, I'll say. Turkey with a wonderful chestnut dressing mom makes, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and giblet gravy, two or three vegetables, salad, and minced pie or plum pudding with brandy sauce. Then after dinner, when the dishes were all done, we'd all gather in the living room before a fire, and I'd play while the whole family sang songs. My dad always felt that too many people forgot the real meaning of Thanksgiving, and he didn't want us to. So we'd always sing, a hymn or two at first, and then old songs that we all knew and loved. We were good too. Mom's Contralto, my sister Carl Soprano, and dad's deep, deep bass, and Jim trying to hold Melody with a shaky baritone. I can hear them now. I hope... I'm sure you can. Oh, Stefan, stop the truck. Please, please now. Well? Darling, listen, I know how that must have sounded, but all of that belongs to Mary Connors, a girl who doesn't exist anymore. I'm Mrs. Mary Branick, and there's no place in the world I'd rather be at this moment than here with my husband, the man I love, the man whose child I'm going to be proud to bear. That's true, Stefan. I give you my word it is. Yes, darling. I believe it is. Mary Branick, I love you very much. Oh, darling, hold me. We go on. See, the place you choose to stop, just ahead. The border. There will be a delay here while our papers are checked and our goods examined. You at best wait in the customs house. All right. Perhaps there'll be coffee. Look. Oh, God, of course. We should have expected it. There is an American MP in addition to the Austrian border guard. Alt! Stefan, don't say anything. Let's see if he can tell. Alt, border inspection. Good morning, inspector. My name is Stefan Branick. My wife and I go to Nürnhofen. All the papers are in order. I'll read the papers. But the American border guard has to examine them as well. Oh, oh, hello. Good day, Sergeant. My name is Branick. Oh, good morning. Glad you speak English. My name's Jensen. The truck you're on? Yes. War surplus purchased from under. I have the bill of sales right here. Okay. We'll check it. See, this may take a little while. Maybe your wife would like to wait inside where it's warm. Maybe she would. Oh, she speaks English too? Well, a little, you know. Ahem. Genetic frau. Inside. Warm. Rest. Thanks, Sergeant. It sounds like a great idea. You see, Stefan, I'm a success. Oh, you're an American. Check. Where from? San Francisco. San Francisco. Hey, the captain's from Seattle. Oh, that's a great idea. Oh, that's a great idea. Oh, that's a great idea. Oh, that's a great idea. Oh, that's a great idea. Oh, that's a great idea. Oh, that's a great idea. San Francisco. Hey, the captain's from Seattle, and his wife's from Portland, Oregon. Oh, we're practically neighbors. Oh, look, miss, I mean, ma'am, you stay right inside, and I'll call the captain. He'll want you to stop in and see his wife. They've billeted just a little ways from here, and Mrs. Davis is crazy for news from home. Well, Sergeant, I'm sure Mrs. Brannick would be delighted to meet your captain's wife. Make your call, by all means, Mary. And here are two New York Times, three Portland Oregonians, and last month's readers' digest, and the September Superman comic. That was my husband's. Oh, thank you, Mrs. Davis. You're a goldmine, and I'm sorry I'm a disappointment. I wish for your sake I'd stepped off a plane from New York three days ago instead of three years. I'd be a much better news source. Oh, that doesn't matter. You're from home. That's the thing. You say you came over with unlaw? Yes, in 44. My father and brothers were all in service, and I was just out of college and... And you were tired of studying about the world? You wanted to do something about it. I guess that's it. I was in England till after V.E. Day, then I was transferred to Paris. That's where I met Stefan. He worked for Anrat, too, after his release from Germany. He was a prisoner? For four years. He left Austria in 38 when Hitler came in. Then, when the war started, he joined the French army. He was captured at the Sedan breakthrough. More coffee? Thanks. It's good. So you're going to live in Derhoffen? Yes. Stefan's family has lived there for 200 years. Oh. Then they're there, expecting you? No. There's just the house. Stefan's entire family... Well, I'm his family now. Oh, I see. He hasn't been back before, since the war. No. Derhoffen. Phil and I drove through there this summer. I don't mean to discourage you, but I hope you realize that... Is it badly damaged? I do. We both do. Stefan says it's the penalty his birthplace paid for being a crossroads of transportation. It was an important target from the air. But for that same reason, it will rebuild quickly and be important in the new Austria. Oh, of course it will. Mrs. Branick, there's just one other thing. This is none of my business, but... Well, it's about your baby. My baby will be born in Derhoffen. Both Stefan and I want that. Yes, I know. And I can understand how you feel, but... Well, honey, to be frank, some Europeans are often more concerned with tradition than with common sense. There's no hospital now in Derhoffen. There is, of course, at Linn's, and so when the time comes... Mrs. Davis, it just happens that my grandmother was born in a stagecoach between Tombstone and Phoenix. So I think that Derhoffen will do for Stefan's child. Thanks, though, for the advice. I like you, Mary Branick. I think you're an incurable romantic, but I like you. And what's more, I envy you. Thanks a lot, Captain. Oh, here are the menfolk. Well, that's how it goes. When I want to fill the hurry with an inspection, it takes forever. And then when I wish it'd be a little longer, you... Well, come in, Branick. If I know my wife, she's now qualified to write a detailed biography of your entire family. Oh, you would have to hurry, so I've missed three chapters. Are we already, Stefan? Yes, yes, already. Brunhilde is waiting impatiently. Oh, you sure you won't stay a while, Branick? Oh, yes. Look, it's Thanksgiving, and we have the turkey frozen. It came in this month's rations. Stay and share it with us and go on tomorrow. Thank you, Mrs. Davis, but we are expected. By an empty house and a ruined town? Clara? Oh, I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. It's just that I'd really like to have you stay very much. Clara's a little homesick, I'm afraid. Maybe it's just a day. Goodbye, Mrs. Davis. Come to see us when you can. It's only... how far from here, Stefan? Oh, about 60, 65 kilometers, a two-hour drive. You'll be most welcome. Oh, thank you. Thank you both. And good luck. Thank you. Goodbye, and goodbye, Captain. Goodbye, Branick. Goodbye, Mrs. Davis. Goodbye, Captain. Happy Thanksgiving. And such, dear child, to be, was the entrance of your mother and myself into Austria with words of welcome and words of warning. And we rode on through towns and valleys that grew more familiar to me with each kilometer. And then at last, at long, long last, a turn of the narrow highway and a sign, a shallow-ridden sign still faintly legible that read, Nurhofen. Slowly, we drove through the town, wordless. On every side, buildings I'd known since childhood were shattered and in ruins. And then we neared our street, the street where our house was waiting for its owners. And here it was. Our silence was broken. We're nearly there, Stefan. The next block, into the right. Oh, my darling. Mary, this is foolish, but I wish you to close your eyes now until I shall tell you, until the house is there before us. I want you to see just alone, apart from all the rest of this destruction. Of course. Now, go on. It will just be a moment. Ah, the trees still stand in the parkways before. Good. And now we turn here and... You've forgotten the wrong street. No, no, no. It's no mistake. You were sure. You'd written. The field man would've been here. He wrote that he'd seen the Brannick house with his own eyes. It was untouched. He was wrong, Mary, that is evident. Look, they're on the wall. Something's written. Yes, come. Let's see. What does it say? House von Karl Brannick durch ein Voltre verzerste. It says, House of Karl Brannick, destroyed in air raid 14th August 1944. Five family killed. Nearest possible living relative, Stefan Brannick. Last known address, Dachau 4, Germany. So we're home at last, Stefan. Home to the house of your fathers. Home for thanksgiving. Mary. Please, Stefan, let me be alone. Just for a little. I'm going to cry. I don't want to cry before you. My darling. Please, please, Stefan, I'm not blaming you. I just want to be alone. There are moments for which there are no words. When to love truly is to be silent. And so I watched as Mary quickly turned and moved back to the truck and inside. I saw her bend low on the heavy wheel. Her slender shoulders rising and falling in the convulsive rhythm of her deep despair. And in my heart, too, there was bitterness, no less than hers. So I turned away to seek a silence of my own. Walking, walking swiftly down familiar streets that were familiar no longer. And as I walked, a single thought kept pounding on my brain. A thought that I realized had become a prayer. How could I make up for this to her? Lord in heaven, how could I bring back to my wife her faith in the plans we had made? Plans for our life together? And suddenly, there before me in the things I saw with my own eyes was a possible answer. And only she could see them, too, if she could see and understand. I turned and ran back to the street where once my home had stood. There, still in the truck, sitting very straight, her tears gone. Her face a mask was Mary. And she spoke very quietly as I came to her. Stefan, I'm sorry. That never happened to me before. That won't again. What have you decided? Where do we go? Mary, my darling, come with me, please. Where? I know what you must feel at this moment. Our hopes, like our homes, seem shattered and destroyed. There seems nothing on which to build. But perhaps a... No, no, I won't say it. Instead, you shall see. Come, Mary. Come now with me. This you must see first. A house being rebuilt. Not just a house, Mary. Do you see the old man over there who supervises to work? Let us go and speak to him. You know him? Oh, very well. You shall see if he still knows me. Herr Pfarrer? Ja? Ja, was merken Sie? Oh, Herr Pfarrer Brunner. Erinnern Sie sich noch an mich. Ist das? Aber ja, Stefan. Stefan Brunner. Willkommen, mein Sohn. Herr Pfarrer, das ist meine Frau. Sie spricht nur wenig Deutsch. Sie ist ein Amerikanerin. Mary, this is Pastor Brunner. How do you do, Father Brunner? Welcome. Welcome, my child. So beautiful. Stefan, you were always the lucky one. The work here. It's the church you're rebuilding. Ja, ja. You see, for a tractor we use what was once a German tank. For materials, what we can find. For labour, hence all who can serve. It goes slow, but it goes sure. Stefan, you have returned to Lujowen to remain? I'm not sure yet, Herr Pfarrer. Oh, may it be so. On due, Frau Brunner, may the honour be mine to christen your child within the newly risen walls of this church, if God wills. Thank you, Herr Pastor. Well, come, Mary, one other place you must see. Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Pfarrer. Auf Wiedersehen, Stefan. Auf Wiedersehen. Gott sei mit euch. In this, this too, I wished you to see, Mary. Boy's playing soccer. But that's not a ball they're playing with. No, a bunch of rags bound with wire. With this they must do. But they play wonderfully. It was always so in your oven. Stefan, that boy over there, he's not playing. Why not? I don't know. Well, we'll ask him. Hello, du, Junge. Yeah, I'm in here. How about you, Mikko Rufen? Ja, sag, warum spielst du denn nicht? Das ist ein Meisterschaftspiel. Ich bin ein Saatspieler. Oh, I see. He says this is a championship. He's only second team. Oh, that explains it. Oh, you are English. I speak English. My name is Otto. You have chocolate? No, Otto, I'm sorry. I'm an American. I have American shoes. See? Oh, yes, they're fine. A little big, Otto, but fine. A friend of mine here was a corporal. He is home now. Do you know a corporal Feldstein in America? Otto, wir brauchen dich. Oh, I am in. I play. Oh, good. Sofort! Excuse me. I go to save the day for Nurhofen. Auf Wiedersehen. Auf Wiedersehen. Good luck, Otto. Shall we stay and watch, Stefan? No, Mary, let us go back. We must talk once and for all. We must decide. And so in the early dusk of the autumn day, Mary and I walked back toward Brunhilde. Arm in arm. And for a time that seemed forever, both of us were silent. And I suddenly felt forlorn and sad with a strange new sadness. Had then Mary not understood what by these things I tried to say. But if she did, there was no word of it. And like a sudden cloud of futility of all this was upon me. And when I spoke, it was sharply and in bitterness my decision already made. She was right. Who was? What do you mean? The wife of the captain at the border. We should have stayed there. I see that now. We'll go back. There is still time. Stefan, what are you saying? I'm saying what is true. I had no right to bring you to a dying town in a sick and ruined country. For my own pride I subjected you to this. And with this I endow our child. Well, it shall not be. We shall go back. Stefan, listen to me. Even if we were to go, it couldn't be denied. It's late. I'm tired. Tomorrow then, I'll find somehow a place for us to sleep in. Tomorrow we return the way we came. It shall be so. Shall it, Stefan? Please go back to the truck. I'll find Shelter and meet you there. Shelter for the night. In other days it would have been easily found. But in a town where each house still standing already had a family in every room, it was most difficult. But at last in the home of an old friend who remembered me, it was arranged. For one night only I assured them. And so for the last time this day I walked back and turned the corner of the street where Brunhilde had been parked before the ruins of my childhood home. The truck was gone. Unbelieving I ran on from the corner to where it had stood. And then I saw, there amid the debris, close against the shattered wall, back on the property where the house itself had stood was Brunhilde. As I approached, I saw on the tailboard of the truck scribbled in bad German script which I recognized at Marys these words. House the familiar Brannick. Willkommen. House of the Brannick family. Welter. As I stood staring, still unbelieving, the canvas curtain across the back of the truck bed was raised and there was Marys' face smiling at me in the pretense of impatience. Stefan, you're late. Don't you know a Thanksgiving dinner shouldn't be kept waiting? Still only half believing I entered the house the familiar Brannick. There, with a kind of magic, the truck had been made into a room. To one side, blankets and sleeping bags had become a bed. And just behind the cab, on packing boxes, a table was led with candles and a bottle of wine and garnished with cheese and biscuits from K-Ration, an open can of spam. Again I looked in wonder and Marys said, Stefan, will you please say grace so we can sit down and carve the turkey? I had trouble enough warming it on the engine. If we don't hurry, it'll be cold. Oh, and since I have my choice, I'll have a drumstick and a piece of breast. Mary. Mary Brannick. What is this? I just moved in, that's all. Incidentally, will you please teach me to drive Brunhilde? I had an awful time getting her started and up on the lot. I will also teach you to ride better German. So this is the house of the Brannick family. Stefan, did you really think I didn't know what you were trying to do? Give me my thanksgiving. The church with your pastor Brunner. The football game with the boys playing soccer on the ruin field. But one part of the day you couldn't give, the feast. That's a woman's job, Stefan. The wife's job, my job. My darling, what can I say? I love you. I love you more than you can know. We couldn't leave, Stefan. We have so much. Each other or child. Brunhilde, so many things. And darling, how will the world ever be made new if people like us are afraid? And so dear child to be, this day is past of which I've written this journal for your eyes to someday read. Written that you may know in the years to come of a truth I've learned this day from your own mother. The truth that the day of thanksgiving belongs to no one people and no one land, but is in the hearts of all people of all nations who love and understand and who face each today with courage and each tomorrow with unbounded faith. Written at Neurhofen this 27th day of November, 1947. The day your mother and I, in the goodness of God's blessing, came home for thanksgiving. Paul Henryd and Joan Leslie have starred in tonight's family theater presentation Home for Thanksgiving. Now our host for this evening, Charles Boyer. On this Thanksgiving day, accept our humble thanks. We pray for all thy gifts, for sunshine, rain, for fruitful trees and fields of grain, for food and shelter and kind friends, for every blessing heaven sends, for faith to see in all things, Lord, thy gracious gifts and great reward, for hope to rise from earthly care and find fulfillment in our prayer, for love to aid, for light to see, we give our thanks by charity, for work to do, for each success, for all good health and happiness, for home and loved ones gathered here, for love and laughter and good cheer, for mercy, courage, gladness, mirth, for all good things upon this earth, dear Lord, we offer thanks and pray with joyful hearts. Thanksgiving day. And in a reunion of many families gathered together tonight in homes all over America, there is another joy and happiness in this realization, a family that prays together, stays together. This is Charles Boyer saying good night, and God bless you. We'd like to thank Joan Leslie and Paul Henry for their performances this evening. Our thanks to True Boardman for writing tonight's play and to Max Tehr for his music. The production was directed by David Young. Next week the stars will be Barry Fitzgerald and Sardar Barkova in O Romeo, My Romeo. A series of the Family Theater broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who felt in need for this kind of program and by a friend of the New York Foundling Hospital which cares for homeless and motherless babies without distinction of race, creed, or color. Tony LaFranco speaking. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.