 That's the theme from the Sears Radio Theatre. Tonight, a program of love and hate with Cicely Tyson as your hostess. Here's a preview. Thirty-nine states, thirty-nine states. Transfer report for surface lines. Watch this stuff to partner Tran, please. They didn't depart. They stayed on. Because by then, the L train was where they lived. The Sears Radio Theatre will begin after this message from your local station. Cicely Tyson. Listen to a familiar urban sound. Sears, they turn. Cottage growl. Get stopped. Northern South service late. Watch and stop. If you leave the train. Mrs. Mahalia Black woke up feeling slightly grouchy. He looked across the aisle at her husband sprawled out on his seat and yawned. A touch of guilt in the gesture because she had slept through her watch period. Friday night on the B train had been rough as usual with the herds of party goers, confusion makers and others crowding on. She visually marked their place as being a few stops from the end of the line and asked herself if it would be better to stay on the train or get off for coffee. Her husband Calvin Black, a late sleeper, yawned himself for weight. An automatic reaction now after a month of going back and forth, back and forth. He clicked off a macho wink to his wife. Come on. Sit over here with me. You come on over here. He smiled. Unable to resist the flirtatious number they played with each other from time to time and moved to her side. Well, what do you want to do? Turn around? I'll go have some breakfast. Well, let's get off and have breakfast. She dipped into her oversized ditty bag for the mason jaw containing their dentures, uppers for him and a bridgework section for her. The other passengers, a partied out Saturday morning bunch, ignored them. The blacks, their teeth in place, moved to the collapsible exit doors. The motorman, one of their favorites, gave them a shy smile as they waited for the L to come to a complete stop. They had worked out a great system for the motorman. The A's didn't care how long they rode the train. The B's didn't care and sometimes smiled. The C's were almost oblivious, either from lack of sleep, booze, drugs or boredom. And the D's were on the wrong side of the other three. Did you see this? Yeah, I saw it. They don't want to see now a couple of meaningless accents in three degrees each or they want somebody who doesn't speak English at all. Mrs. Black sighed and started at the top of the wand as column again. There had to be something there for them. She felt it in her palms. Squinting at the paper, she asked herself once more, how does it happen? That weird series of events that pull the rug from under their feet that made them tenants on the B train. And that's only the beginning of our story. Radio Theatre, a new adventure in radio listening. Five nights of exceptional entertainment every week brought to you in Elliott Lewis production of The C's Radio Theatre. Our story, A Sense of Pride by Odie Hawkins. Our stars, Nick Latour, Helen Martin and Jim Mapp. The C's Radio Theatre is brought to you by C's Robuck & Company. Sears, where America shops for value. Life is not easy. We can't quarrel with that. For some of us it's more difficult than for others. But how did Mr. and Mrs. Calvin Black find themselves in the terrible predicament that they're in? Fifty-first straight, fifty-first. Roger, Stephanie, we're on the train. That's report for express service line sixty-first, next stop. One problem after another. One right behind the other. Calvin Black losing his auxiliary janitor's job. A job he felt he'd be able to hang on to until his retirement. We'll miss you around here, Black. Every day we have to let a fellow go who hasn't missed a day's work in eight years. Heavy medical bills for an operation each of them had to have. Savings almost eaten up by the inflation monster. Evicted. But Mrs. Davis, we don't... I'm sorry, Mrs. Black, my taxes are due. I gotta stock on my own bills and your rent is three and a half months overdue. You've been served the papers and you have to pay me by the first of the month or move out. I'm sorry, that's the way it is. Evicted, furniture and storage in debt. Too proud to appeal for help. She sighed again, losing chronological track of their misfortunes. Why try to keep them in order? What difference would it make? The train was a means to save money. Came about so gradually that they had not fully realized they were living on the train until it happened. They had promised themselves that it would only be a temporary situation. After the brackish coffee and hard rolls and nem rods, one of their regular paw spots, they strolled across the street to the park, arm in arm. He looked down on his wife's softly chiseled Cleopatra profile, at the orderly streaks of grace swirling in a no-nonsense bun at the back of her head. Funny, he thought, how much better we get along now compared to the way we used to augur all the time. The two of us with two grown daughters in Africa. Africa? Who in the world y'all know in Africa? Students from school mostly and a whole bunch of ancestral spirits, Daddy. I mean, just think, Daddy, about the psychological comfort of knowing that you are helping, doing something that will eventually benefit mankind. Don't you think you're a bit too young to save mankind? Well, somebody has to start somewhere sometime. But you all are so young. 22 and 23? That's not young anymore. It may have been young in your day. Well, what about those lions and all the rest of those mamas? That's old. I heard that. And so Africa it was. For the past ten years now, X Peace Corps members with five Afro-Nigerian, Ghanaian, American grandchildren between them. He smiled, thinking of all the times different people had asked, where's Madeline and Jackie still in school? Oh, they're still in Africa. Madeline's in Lagos, Nigeria, working on a newscaster, and Jackie's teaching school in some little funny name place in Ghana. Tamale, that's the name. It's north of Kumasi. Some people were skeptical until he made a proud grandfather's draw on the wallet-sized pictures of his two daughters, their husbands and the children. Three for Jackie and two for Madeline. Calvin, you know, honey, I've been thinking, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea. No, no, no, baby, not now anyway. Not to save enough money to get a place to get on our feet. I just can't stand the idea of people prying all through your life, leafing through like you were a mayor or a catalog or something before they decide whether or not you really need some help. You know the way they do. Like I said, I was just thinking. As usual, she eased away from the subject, content to allow her man the full measure of his sense of pride. Between the two of them picking up our jobs, they had managed to save $300 during the past month. She was the official budgeteer. They practically lived in the warheads looking for anything regular and Union Calvin insisted. We ain't going to be scared for nobody, nobody. I wouldn't care if I had to shove or snow with a splinter. It better be a Union backing me up. Mrs. Mahalia Black glanced up at her husband's bristlin' gray flecked mustache. The humor lines had never left the corner of his eyes, the power in his jawline and nodded her head with exasperation and a deep sense of love. Calvin Black, his name meaning to her that you shouldn't beg, borrow what you can't repay, steal or give up. She leaned her head affectionately against his shoulder for a few steps. Paul Mann ain't got nothing but his word and his dignity. And if you don't keep both of them, he ain't worth a pitch or warm spit. Story of the Strange Odyssey continues. Somehow, despite the treacherous nature of their present lifestyle, things seem to work out after a fashion. Most of the strange things happened at night, on any given night. Weirdos molesting people are making an attempt. Strange folks who popped onto the train from psychological boxes that had no labels on them. Sick people. The Blights had established a centric system, one staying awake until the end of the line going one way, the other taking up the watch for the return trip. But to offset the bad vibes put in motion by the weirdies, there were a baker's dozen they had become friendly with. Familiar strangers in a manner of speaking. Some were young, a few their age. Black, white, yellow. An Indian chief or so he hinted. Good-hearted people. Rediscovering that they could use one fare to crisscross the city if they changed trains at the proper points. They became sightseers in a city that they had lived all of their adult lives in. Look at that. What's the name of that building? I've seen it in a book somewhere. That building, my dear, is called... Well, it used to be called... Somehow, unbelievably, they had developed a lifestyle within this mobile frame of reference. Calvin, should we get the clothes out today or wait till the middle of the week? I'd say let's wait till the middle of the week. Too wrinkled to me. Looking not too wrinkled had become their criteria for respectability, as well as a super private joke between a man 62 years old and his wife, a woman 58 years young. From being a pair of early morning risers and walkers, they became afternoon strollers. Just a couple of middle-aged, park-benched son-lovers. After catching 40 winks on a sun-warmed park bench, lazily watching the innocent play of children, they strolled five blocks to the community library and read for a few hours. Twilight and the developing winds of the evening informed them that it was time to head towards home, the L train. After a month, they knew what to expect on Saturday night and they tried to avoid it for as long as possible. Where station you want to go to, honey? Don't matter. 63rd Street, I guess. It makes just as much sense to call the end of the line the beginning as it does to call it the end. They maintained purposeful strides, keeping enough of a pace to inform would-be muggers that they weren't a couple of seniles plodding along. They paused in front of a furniture store window to watch color television with a small circle of people. Smiled at the silent antics of an old Blood Abbot and Lou Costello movie. 2 a.m., Mrs. Black maintaining the return to the South Side watch felt tempted to nudge her husband awake, but thought better of it. What sense would it make to have his rest disturbed to look at two people kissing? She stuttered the couple across the aisles from them. It was so beautiful to see people in love. They seemed to have such a glow about them. She subconsciously draped her arm across the back of her husband's seat. People in love were her favorite sights on the train. She mentally blocked out most of the ugly pictures that flickered through from time to time. The vicious arguments that people stamped onto the train with, the mad people speaking and gesturing to ghost, the crying... Hey, shut up and stop that guy. He just stole my pocketbook. The hundreds of ways people casually demonstrated their lack of concern, consideration, and respect for each other. People in love were her favorite people. They were so nice to each other and the people around them. Thirty-nine states, thirty-nine states. Transfer points for surface lines. Watch yourself to park in the train, please. They didn't depart. They stayed on. Because by then the L train was where they lived. It had become their home. The team had its own special kind of passenger. Youngsters going to dances or movies. Late night workers coming and going. And, of course, the Saturday night revelers. Well, let's get back to that. How about joining the celebration, huh? Have a good day. What are you celebrating? What am I celebrating, Dayton? What am I celebrating? What are you celebrating? I'm celebrating the history of all the celebrations I've ever celebrated. Yeah, let's celebrate. Oh, come on now, honey. I just took a couple of sips to humor that guy. I know. She slipped her hand into his amused by his slight discomfort. Absorbed by the good vibes she felt emanating from the two couples. Obviously winding up a double date in the seats in front of them. Sunday exploded on them with strong sunshine and humid heat. Calvin paced back and forth in front of the latest room at the edge of the park. Well, it's about time. I was beginning to think you were making yourself a new face in there. I would have to be dissatisfied with the face I have in order to feel a need for a new one. I can assure you, Mr. Black, I am well pleased with the one I have. And that goes double for me, honey. Oh, Calvin. He lays a strong right arm around her trim waist as they stroll through the streets church bound. Normally they were Baptist, attending the first trinitive Baptist church. But they found it impossible to continue their attendance and the social life connected to it under the stress of their problems. This Sunday they were attending another kind of church. A response to a couple of flyers placed in their hands by a gentle face with iron-rimmed Mickey Mouse glasses and a great spur-on of a beard. Come, the flyer said, give praise to the great whatever. Share fellowship and other goodies. Refreshments served after services. The gracious fellowship group. Refreshments served after services was the lure that prompted my earlier black to chorus her husband to attend. This indicated that it was a few blocks from the University of Chicago. High Park. You know, this really ought to be fun. I can just see it in my mind's eye. The gracious fellowship. A bunch of beds and haunt rooms sitting around in a daze. I'm sure that refreshments were made more than a bowl of punch. Probably they'll have sandwiches too. At any rate, it'll keep us from spending money for dinner at Nimrod's tonight. Remember that vegetarian dinner we went to? This place. 52-01, yeah, yeah, this is it. Ooh, and a beautiful place. Oh, beautiful, isn't it? Most homes look beautiful to me these days. Welcome, welcome to the gracious fellowship. Please come in and make yourselves at home. My name is Marvin, and I'm glad you could make it. Well, I'm Calvin. This is my wife, Mahalia. We met on the train if I remember correctly. Yes, on the air when you invited us to... Well, yes. Refreshments are over there. The formal segment of the gracious fellowship will commence in a few minutes. And once again, welcome. The group of men, women and children, white, black, yellow, and a few shades in between, mark their entrance with friendly glances and open smiles. What do you make of it? I would like to open our gracious fellowship group meeting as usual by giving thanks to the great whatever for allowing us to be here, clothed, fed, coming from homes filled with peace and love. From the puzzled expressions on the faces of some of our guests, I feel I should explain why we of the gracious fellowship refer to the great whatever as the great whatever. Because we realized when the fellowship was formed ten years ago that different names for the great whatever has often been responsible for creating hostility, divisions between people, and that by any name the great whatever is still whatever it is. We feel that whatever we called it, it would still be whatever it was. Now then, having spoken my little speech, I open the floor to whatever. A succession of members stood to talk for a few minutes about whatever they felt strongly about. There was no rhetoric, no egotistical ranting, no propagandist. The language was calm, logical, idealistic, and warm. Adrawing Nebraska who came to the gracious fellowship meetings to be surrounded by the nicest folks he had met since migrating from Wolf Knees, Nebraska, whatever. A young man who had rediscovered the depths of his feeling for Judaism in meetings with the gracious fellowship, whatever. An Indian student from Benardis who testified to the effect that America was a great and gracious country, whatever. An alcoholic who used the meetings to strengthen his resolve not to return to the demon realm, whatever. A young black couple, the woman glowing with her first pregnancy spoke of the closest spiritual relationship that had developed between them as a result of being a part of the gracious fellowship. Whatever. Well, you know, when we first walked in here, I have to say I had a few doubts about taking care of the Lord's business like this, calling him the great whatever at all. I had the feeling that me and my wife had stumbled into one of those therapy things. You know where people are addicted to sitting around in a circle feeling sorry for each other. But that's not what I found. No confusion. No crybabies. Just a bunch of good folks being gracious. Coming from a strong, down-home Baptist tradition, I have to say I don't take too well to the idea of religious gatherings without having any music. But as I understand it, this is more spiritual than religious. I mean, it seems that everyone has already had a religion and you just came to... Calvin. Oh, yeah. Well, in conclusion, I'd just like to say it's nice to be among nice people and you can call God by whatever name you want to call him by and he's still God. Thank you. Thank you, Calvin. Now then, everyone, how about some refreshments? Easing away from the gracious fellowship Goodwill three hours later after mumbling sincere promises to return the following Sunday their stomachs and Mrs. Black's ditty bag full of glassy and wrapped sandwiches they strolled along in good spirits. Those were really nice people. Really nice. I second that. You know, it's a sin of shame. We become so used to the idea of people being mean and nasty to each other that we forget how sweet people can be. Now, who would believe that we have a group of people right here in this city who just need to share goodwill? Or whatever. Oh, Calvin. Oh, I feel so good. I know everything is going to work out for us. Soon, I hope. You know, I have a great idea. Now, since we've had such a nice time this afternoon why don't we continue it? Hold on to it a little longer. Wouldn't it be nice to go somewhere and take a long, hard bath and sleep between fresh, clean sheets and not listen to wheels all night? I'll be bugged by strangers. Honey, even my mind didn't want to agree with you, my aching backwood. Where do you want to go? A hotel. A hotel? A cheaper near here. I think we deserve to treat ourselves from time to time. Well, I guess we just have to call you a wild and crazy guest. Oh, whatever. Now, what can I do for you? Well, we're like a room. Short time? Well, is the rate much less for a short time than a longer time? Hell, depends, lady. Some people have been known to pay more for a short time and less for a long time. Look, let's skip the jive. Now, we want a room. What are you charged for an overnight stay? $10.50 with a buck key deposit, which you get back when you turn the key in. We'll take it. Payable in advance. Pay the man, honey. All right. I think this dinosaur's going to make it. I have my doubts until we reach the fourth floor. That thing must be older than black pepper. Oh, epsom sauce. Here it is. Thank God. I thought we were going to have the risk going down in that junkyard again. All right, sweet. Here. I'm beef. Will you look at this. An old-fashioned full poster. Now, that's what I call character. It's got dust though. That's what it's got. And a big bath tub with hot water. Mrs. Mahalia Black stood at the side of the bed, staring down onto her husband's face. The firm jawline relaxed by sleep. After 32 years of marriage, good and bad times, she felt closer to him than to any other person on earth. She loved him as much as she knew he loved her. And they were friends. She wandered away from the bedside and his deep sleep to stare at the flickering neon lights on the street below. There were so many people she knew they could turn to. Their daughters, a letter would do it. Relatives, friends, social agencies. But she knew they couldn't. Not yet. She turned from the window and smiled in his direction. Oh, Karen. You old stubborn you. A concluding act of a sense of pride. Proudly 7th Street next, ladies and gentlemen, transfer point for Eastern West Service Connections. Don't forget to validate your transfers over in us. Mrs. Black tried to guess from the expression on her husband's face what kind of day he had gone through as he hopped on the train to keep that 6 p.m. rendezvous. As usual, his face was set, determined, but unfathomable. Hi, honey. I thought I'd missed you. Well, how did it go for you? Well, I went to four places and got a good response from each one of them. This one lady at the office where I put in an application with Teacher's Aid seems to think I have a pretty good chance when school starts back. She'd talk about the need for mature people being used as a role model. I have to call her back next Friday. What happened with you? Well, I got a sore thumb. $42.86 for nailing half a house together. You know something? All we need is another $100 of soap. Enough to pay a month's rent to secure the feed and get our punish out of storage. Oh, one thing at a time. Now, let's not call my chickens before the eggs have been made. Well, I was just thinking ahead. That's all. Next stop, 51st Street. Next stop. Hang on, and away we go. Midnight on the beach train. She closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma swirling in through the open window. She had developed an authentic love hate for some of the moods, for some of the atmospheres that the train took them through, the heavy rich smell of cooking food, the postures she caught people in on their back porches in their back yards, the rank odor of burning garbage, the aromas of different kinds of perspiration. She had never been aware of how distinct each person's smell could be. Some people almost stifled her with a stale cigarette, sour alcohol smell. They were matched on another level by the ladies who reeked with popular brands of perfume that smelled like burning Magnolia blossoms or frankincense and boiling cabbage. Tonight her mood lifted by the possibilities ahead of them. She relaxed the tensions, creasoned her forehead and allowed the train to sway her into a light, untroubled sleep despite the fact that it was her watch time. Hey, we just passed by. Stop. What's going on here? The blacks jolted awake by the outraged passenger. Exchange concerned it looks. The train was moving faster than normal and it had missed the station stop. Calvin pulled himself to his feet and started toward the motorman's booth three coaches away, swaying and lurching with the jerky motion of the train, his wife trailing by a few wobbly steps followed by the irate commuter. In the next coach, all of the passengers seasoned travelers hadn't reached their stations, cat-napped, twiddled their thumbs or glared at their newspapers. Oblivious to the fact that the train, for some reason, had become a runaway monster. Noticing the three people lurched through, others became aware of how much faster they were moving. What's happening? Why is this guy going so fast? There's nothing to worry about. He's probably just herned to complete his run to get home before dinner. She peered around her husband's shoulder at the motorman, slumped over the control panel. Recognizing the squat frame and cherubic face, he was one of their A people. Oh, my God. Looks like he's dead. How do we stop this thing? Calvin, do something. If we hit a cur, we'll fall off the track. If somebody do something, we'll stop it. Damn, somebody run out the track. Stop that! Help, pull him out so I can get to the control. Oh, how nice. See if he's doing well. As they pulled the man from his workspace, his fists unclenched the control switch, breaking electrical contact, and bringing the train to a tortuous-less slow stop in the middle of the 61st Street Curve. Ten minutes later, transit officials boarded the train, suspended as it was between stations, added their congratulations to those of the passengers, and eased the train into the next station. You just saved this run from a heck of a crack-up, Mr. Black. Calvin Black. This is my wife. I'm pleased to meet you both. The certain appearance of the local television station newscaster, radio interviewers, and news reporters crowded around them on the station platform, alerted the blacks to the idea that they had become instant celebrities. That was certainly a very courageous act, Mr. Black. May I ask you, sir, what overwhelming emotion forced you to take the action you took? Well, I don't know too much about all the well-being emotions, young lady, but at my age, you kind of hang on to your overwhelming emotions until the... Oh, Calvin. Calvin, honey. Oh, uh, what made me do it? I guess the thought of losing my, our happy home, our rails, made me do it. I beg your pardon, sir? By 7 a.m. the next morning, the city had been informed via the media, plus word of mouth, of how the blacks had been living for almost five weeks, and Mr. and Mrs. Black stood proudly in the center of the mayor's office, unwrinkled, having been taxed from one of the city's swankier hotels, courtesy of the Chicago Transit Authority. And we want you to know, Mr. and Mrs. Black, that as a reward for your courageous and timely actions, the Chicago Transit Authority has authorized me to present these gold medallions to you and your Mrs. And furthermore, to present you with two lifetime senior citizens' passes, allowing you to ride any form of public transportation in this city absolutely free. Congratulations, and our sincerest thanks. Oh, it's very, very nice. The assorted strangers in the mayor's office applauded dutifully and waited for Calvin Black, hero, to make the normal, modest hero's acceptance speech. Television cameras, microphones, reporters' pencils, and smiles edged in for close-ups. Now, I don't want anybody to misunderstand me. I really do appreciate receiving these medallions and passes. We really do, don't we, honey? Yes, we do, and thank you all very much. But that ain't really going to do very much to solve our basic problem, which is having a place to stay. Now, I'm sure a lot of people would say, look at this guy. All he did was prevent a runaway train from killing a few people, and the next thing you know, he wants the moon and a chair for doing it. Well, that's not exactly where I'm coming from, but I will be bold enough to say this. We have a tendency to take our so-called heroes too lightly these days, which, I guess, is the basic reason why lots of people don't want to go out of their way to do anything, especially for other people. Before the conclusion of Mr. Calvin Black's three-minute primetime human-interest speech, liberally laced with folkloricisms, psychasm, and truth, the mayor's switchboard was lit up with job offers for the blacks, and from the gracious fellowship, the promise of a furnished home, Mrs. Black dissolved into grateful tears when the information was relayed to them. Now, what will you crime for a woman? I told you one day last week you can't keep a good man down, especially if he's got a good woman by his side. Or whatever. And whatever you mean. This radio theater has been brought to you by Sears, Robuck & Company, where our policy is satisfaction guaranteed or your money back. Sears, where America shops for value. A sense of pride was written by Odie Hawkins, produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. Your hostess was Sicily Tyson. Our stars were Nick Floutour, Helen Martin, and Jim Mapp. Featured in the cast were Ray Tasko, Louise Heath, Jerry Hausner, Gay Nelson, Marvin Miller, and Dawes Butler. The music for Sears Radio Theater was composed and conducted by Nelson Riddle. This is Art Gilmore speaking. The Elliot Lewis production of Sears Radio Theater is a presentation of CVI.