 Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman. Ronald Coleman. Benita Coleman. Inviting you to join us again on the campus of Ivy College. Good executive, just how much authority to delegate. A top-ranking official must constantly walk the tightrope of decisions strung between the posts of authority and delegation. Dr. William Todd Hunter-Hall has solved the situation rather neatly. Executive and academic matters are disposed of at his office in the administration building as they come up. Student and personal problems he prefers to deal with in the quiet of his own home at number one faculty role. Where at the present moment he and his lovely wife Victoria are talking with Charles Berryweather, a member of the governing board. Dr. Hall is saying... And I'm glad you're back in town, Charles. Our social life always suffers from your absence due to a certain cheerfulness you impart and to your uncomplicated attitude toward everything. And if I may interrupt, thank you for your Christmas present. It's a very nice one and very thoughtful. Well, I'm very glad you liked it. What was it? Diogenes, put down your lantern. Here he is. Most people would have hinted around as they found out. But you probably told your secretary to see what he might like and gave her carte blanche to fill out the order and then left town. That's exactly what I did, ma'am. Only I amplified the instructions a bit. I said, Peggy, use your own judgment on a Christmas gift for Charles remembering that the best is none too good for them and price is no object. But don't be an idiot. Peggy, I might add, is quite beautiful and I pay her twice what any other secretary would get only because she's my wife's niece and not because she ever knows what day it is. What did I give you for Christmas? A lifetime subscription to the Literary Census. We thank you and recommend another raise for Peggy. One more raise and she'll be making more than I am. I'm all for happy employee relationships but I never could see why an employer can't have a little happiness too. Peggy gets a hundred a week and earns all but eighty-five of it. Where did you go on your trip, Mr. Merryweather? And was it golf or business? Well, it was golf on the agenda and business on my income tax. That is, it was supposed to be golf on the agenda. But the further south I went the colder it got and I hate to play with the earmuffs on. I can't hear the caddies' dirty comments. So I swapped a couple of oil fields to make the trip legitimate tax-wise and came home to see you. Not you, Bill, particularly, just Mrs. Hall. She's prettier. I find her rather nice to come home to myself. I would treat you too. I won't dare leave the house. I'll have to stand just inside the front door with my lipstick in my hand. Ma'am, as one of your more outspoken admirers... Oh, heavens, I've forgotten completely. Young Thurber told me he was coming over. This must be he. Well, we shall let him in. Is that Dawson Thurber, the ROTC captain? Yes, darling, it is. Well, if this is a personal interview, Bill, I'd better be on it. Hello, Dr. Hall. Hello, Mr. Thurber. I'm a little early, but your husky would tell me to come right in. Well, that's quite all right, Mr. Thurber. I'm Mrs. Hall. Hello, Mrs. Hall. And Mr. Merryweather, this is the one commander of IVA's ROTC, Captain Dawson Thurber. Mr. Merryweather is a member of our Board of Governors. How do you do, sir? I'm glad to meet you, son. You have a very snappy unit. How's it shaping up for the review tomorrow? All in order, sir. You're reviewing as large as Dr. Hall? Oh, I am indeed. It's a great honor dedicating the new war memorial to the men of IVA who finished their courses with the highest possible honors on foreign soil. But, um, did you come here to consult me about tomorrow's arrangements, Captain? Uh, no, sir. We're pretty well organized on that. This is more of a personal matter. It's about my girl. Well, I was going to excuse myself, Captain, but if this is about an affair of the heart, I'll just stay here and throw in some advice, which I'm sure you're much too intelligent to take. I'd welcome an outside opinion, Mr. Merryweather. Well, what's the difficulty, Thurber? And who's the girl? Well, first, you know the hot dog wagon on the campus. Oh, the one the students call the a la carte? Well, certainly, certainly. Philip puts real butter on his popcorn. Not melted laundry soap. The arrival of yours, Thurber, seems too old. No, sir, not arrival. Just a disturbing influence. He's my girl's father, Fred Sherman. His daughter is Penny Sherman. Oh, yes. Penny Sherman. She's a lovely girl, Captain. I didn't know her father owned the a la carte. May I ask why he's a disturbing influence? Well, Dr. Hall, everybody likes Fred. He's a great guy. But Penny thinks it's kind of degrading for her father to be selling weenies. I'm afraid she's just a little bit of a snob. Well, I wouldn't be too severe with her, Captain. Perhaps she hasn't reached the age or acquired the perspective to understand that social status means very little to a man of character and independence. The a la carte is a good, honest, ivy institution, and I respect it. And it's proprietor. Besides, he was around this college long before his daughter was, so she can't say he went into business just to embarrass her. So, maybe I'm unsympathetic because it's been so long since I've been embarrassed. How does she show us, Norbury, Captain? Just what does she do or not do? Well, she always tries to steer the gang away from the dog wagon, and I believe it cuts deeper with her father than he'd have us think. I enjoy talking to him. Penny thinks I'm just trying to show how democratic I am. Well, what cause of action did you think I might take to alleviate the situation, Captain? Call her in and give her a brief lecture on the energy value of between-class nutrition and why she shouldn't bark at the dogs which are sending her through college? I didn't expect you to take any action yourself, sir. I just thought maybe you could give me some advice on how to cope with the matter. It may seem a little trivial to you, but frankly, if something isn't done pretty quick, I'm afraid a certain beautiful campus romance is out the window. Well, I'm sorry I have no large, economy-sized package of wisdom in my pocket at the moment to give you, but I'll certainly give it some thought. And when my husband says he'll think about it, Captain, that's a pretty firm commitment, roughly equivalent to a notarized contract. Yeah, that's the trouble with having a sense of responsibility polished around like a busted garter. Well, I'll appreciate anything you can suggest, Dr. Hall. I didn't want to bother you with it, but you can imagine the kind of advice I get for my own crowd. Thank you for listening to me, sir, not at all. Good night, Mrs. Hall. Good night, Mr. Meriwether. Good night. Good night. If all this is really true, somebody should give Penny Sherman a good spanking. Or if you'll remember, Bill, at a recent board meeting, our friend Clarence Wellman had a suggestion. He said the alicot was a disgrace and was this a college campus or an amusement park, and how could we continue to tolerate such a flagrant nuisance, etc., etc., etc. I didn't hear all of it because I was busy making a paper dart and was having a little trouble with the tail assembly. In the first place, and although Vicki's suggestion has some merit, protocol rules out the spanking. We can't give a captain's girl corporal punishment. I have a suggestion with drawn hairbrush back on the dressing table. Well, can't fire the hot dog wagon off the campus either, unless we want to renege on a promise. And while I may be no monument to morality, I haven't welched on a bargain since the age of five when I traded a new jackknife for a water pistol that leaked. It cost me a black eye and three front teeth to learn that a deal is a deal and a handshake is a contract, even if you have to count your fingers afterwards. Well, do I understand that Ivy College made some sort of a promise to Mr. Sherman? Oh, Ivy College did indeed, Vicki. Frederick Sherman was a student here. He was at Chateau Thierry in World War I, and came home in pretty bad shape. The nature of his wounds demanded outdoor work, and this college granted his request to operate a refreshment stand on the campus. No time limit? No, ma'am, no. At least no time limit was discussed at the time, maybe because the idea of his living another 30 years was rather fantastic. They tell me he's still got enough shell fragments in him to short out a radio. So how do you convince Penny that blood is thicker than mustard? Oh, I think I shall pursue my usual policy when dealing with personality problems. I'll investigate the principal personalities. Charles, how late does Mr. Sherman keep the ala cart open? At 10.30 on Wednesday evenings, athletic association meets until 10, and when they come out of Wellman Hall, they'll eat the comb off your radiator. Why, Bill, are you hungry? I hunger for information. Would you two care to join me in a hot dog? No, no, I thank you, Toddy. I never learned to handle him without eating half the paper napkin. When they start wrapping them in crepes de zet, I'll try again. Well, I'm tempted, Bill, but if you consider my ulcers an immovable object, and hot dogs and pickle lily, the irresistible force, you can see what it might do to the laws of physics to say nothing of me. Besides, I've got to get home before my wife sews me for desertion. Well, perhaps it's just as well that I talk to Sherman alone. I have a haunting feeling that I know the answer to this situation and can't remember it. And if I'm too meddle in undergraduate love affairs... Hmm, meddle. Meddle? Yes. Yes, indeed. I knew it, Vicki. My hat and coat, please. Never mind. I have them up her back shortly, darling. Good night, Charles. Come again soon. Well, good night, Bill. Excuse me, won't you? I'll explain later. Right now I must fry havoc and let slip the dogs at war. The hot dogs at war. You think I'd better follow him, ma'am? Is he all right? Oh, I think so, Mr. Mayweather. Although you'll have to wear his overcoat home. He took yours. Dr. Hall had just come home from an interview with Fred Sherman, the proprietor of a hot dog wagon known on the campus as the a la carte. You weren't gone very long, dear. Did you enjoy the hot dog? I didn't have a hot dog, my sweet. Well, there was a little dab of mustard on your overcoat lapel. Don't tell me you had an ice cream cone with mustard on it. Very well. Very well what? I won't. You won't what? I'll tell you that I had an ice cream cone with mustard on it. In the first place, my love, it would be a falsehood. And I am one married man who finds his wife so understanding and so completely sympathetic that I deem it unnecessary to resort to prevarication. In the second place, the very thought of a mustard-topped ice cream cone is so aesthetically repugnant, so gastronomically fantastic, and so digestively frightening that I... Yes, my love? You are of age, William, and while it didn't say so specifically in our marriage vows that you could go anywhere you want and eat anything you like without having to explain to female busybodies how you got mustard on your overcoat... I had an ivy burger. Oh. But what did he say? And it was not my overcoat. I discovered I was wearing Mr. Maryweather's, which I shall return to him as soon as the reek of cleaning fluid subsides to a less stupefying degree. Yes. Not knowing exactly whether or not spilled mustard required a more powerful solvent than faucet water, I called the campus pharmacy and was informed after due research. Charlie! What did he say? He said that mustard, being usually prepared with an oil base, would undoubtedly cause a certain amount of... No, no, no, I mean Mr. Sherman. What did he say? Oh, oh yes. Sherman? Yes. Well, after we were past the amenities, he said, and what toothsome mossel would tempt your palate, master? The succulent canine or the fragrant ivy burger. Renowned in these hallowed precincts, he said, as a broiled benediction in a brown and crusty bun. Well, let's go back there. Now I'm hungry. So I said that my exalted position as president of this institution and the loyalties exacted of it impelled me to order an ivy burger. And he said, certainly, master, and in what state of cremation would taff this delectable titbit? Pink as a blushing dawn, he said, or charred like the soul of an unbeliever? I said, well done, thou good and faithful servant. I said, well done, it is, master. And I said... Excuse me. Yes, dear? Was your entire conversation conducted on the same level of sickening whimsy? Oh, I know, dear, you turned quite prosaic after that. Well, good. With what results? With the result that I have asked Mr. Fred Sherman and his daughter, Penny, to be our guests in the reviewing stand tomorrow. You see, as I had half remembered, Fred Sherman in World War I was a hero of no mean stature. He's a Medal of Honor man, which doesn't seem to impress his daughter. A Congressional Medal of Honor? Well, isn't that the highest award that's given? It is. It originated in the Civil War, and it's usually awarded at the order of Congress and by the President of the United States. It carries unusual prerogatives and entitles the holder to some such sum as six or eight dollars a month from a grateful government. Oh, well, it seems a little preposterous now, but I suppose during the Civil War it went a long way towards paying the rent. Oh, yes. And I think there's a bill about to be introduced in Congress to increase the allotment to a hundred per month. But the medal itself, for valour beyond the call of duty, is all today. Shall I answer it? No, darling, I'll get it. Well, that merits at least a campaign ribbon for courtesy. Good evening, Dr. Hall. I'm Penny Sherman. I hope it's not too late. Well, not at all, Ms. Sherman. I'm very glad to see you. Come in. Thank you. Victoria, this is Penny Sherman. Hello, Mrs. Hall. Hello, Penny. It was nice to meet you. I'm sorry to call so late, Mrs. Hall, but Father just told me about tomorrow. I mean about being your guest in the revealing stand. I'm kind of stunned. Oh, don't be stunned, Ms. Sherman. Just accept it as the rightful due of the daughter of a Medal of Honor man. There's enough glamour attached to that decoration to shed quite a bit of reflected glory. But he said you said... Well, I mean, you told him that he was to be honoured at the review. Well, he's had that medal for maybe 30 years, since long before I was born. Old medals never die, Penny. They're just put away. And the Medal of Honor doesn't tarnish even after 30 years. We're quite apt to take our living heroes for granted. But isn't it nice to have a father who can stand with John Paul Jones and Paul Riviere and Marion Francis? Marion Francis, who was she, Mrs. Hall? She was a he, Ms. Sherman. And it was not Marion Francis, it was Francis Marion, the Swamp Fox of Virginia. Oh, yes, of course, yes. You'll excuse my wife's pardonable British misconceptions about the American Revolution, Ms. Sherman. It is probably rooted in embarrassment. Embarrassment is nothing. But we lost that war on purpose. We knew you'd eventually run out of beaver furs and go broke. Forgive this historical digression, Ms. Sherman. The point we started from was that there is no statute of limitations on heroism. Your father has brought honour to Ivy College. Tomorrow we shall endeavour to recompense slightly for our neglect in recognition. Yes, I understand that, Dr. Hall, but why me? I have no right on the reviewing stand. I'm not a hero, though I came over tonight to thank you for the invitation. The middle of honour man has certain rights, Pennine, and one of them is to share his great moments with his family. You'll be at the reviewing stand at 10 o'clock tomorrow morning, Ms. Sherman. You'll sit with Mrs. Hall and me and whatever visiting gold braid they can spare from the Pentagon building. And, Ms. Sherman. Yes, Dr. Hall? Wear your prettiest dress. The only girl on the campus whose father has the Congressional Medal of Honor and is living to wear it. To quote the historian Salastre, ancestral glory is, as it were, a lamp to posterity. So you shall be a daughter, lastress in the light of her illustrious father. Captain Sherman, may I present my wife, Victoria? This is our guest of honour, Frederick Sherman. I haven't had much practice saluting, Captain Sherman. So could I just shake hands? Yes, if mine will stop shaking long enough for me to... for you to grab it, Mrs. Hall. And never mind the captain. I'm just Fred Sherman, the hot dog man. You just ask my daughter. Well, if you'll notice her face right now, Mr. Sherman, I think she's beginning to realise that you have a special status of your own. Beyond that of dispensing very superior hamburgers. She's really wide-eyed, isn't she? Well, she ought to be, Mrs. Hall. I've been telling her for years what a great, big, wonderful hero I am. Well, maybe this will convince her the old man is at least a reputable citizen, and that I... Uh-oh. We'd better get organised, Dr. Hall. Here they come. Any honey, on your feet. This splendid ROTC unit it is in the nature of a double tribute with honours equally divided. It is my privilege to dedicate to the alumnus who has brought glory to himself and to this college. A recipient of the highest award for valor which this nation can offer. And a man whom I, the college, has the distinction of calling one of its own. We salute Captain Frederick Sherman, Rainbow Division, holder of the Congressional Medal of Honor. Even the generals, I know you're proud of him, Penny. But don't tell me. Tell him. Oh, I will. I will. The means of the memorial we dedicate today we wish to pay reverent respect to those of our students and faculty who have given their lives in combat to uphold the ideals of freedom and dignity which they taught and learned here at Ivy. The words of Mr. Valiant for Truth in Pilgrim's Progress may also be the words of each man we honour today. My sword, I give to him who shall succeed me in my pilgrimage and my courage and skill to him that can get it. My marks and scars I carry with me to be a witness that I have fought his battles who now shall be my rewarder so he passed over and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side. This script was written by Don Quinn and John de Grazio. Music was composed and conducted by Henry Russell.