 That's the halls of Ivy, starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman. This is Ronald Coleman. And Benita Coleman. Inviting you to join us again on the campus of Ivy College. College, that is, in the town of Ivy, USA. As a highly competent administrator, a fast, clearer upper of disposable details and a disciple of the clean desk, the president of Ivy College is not one to linger unnecessarily in his administration building sanctum when his work is done, whether it be noon, three o'clock, or midnight. It's now 2.30 in the afternoon, and he's signing a last letter of the day's correspondence with his faithful secretary, Miss Goodson, standing by. Blot her in her right hand of the presidential fedora and the other, as he says. Good heavens, Miss Goodson, why do I dictate such long letters? What's this one about before I sign it with blind faith in your efficiency? It's a review of the year's work of the Student Cooperative Association, Dr. Hall. Suggestions for improvements and a pat on the back for scholastic achievements and their social program. But it did take me three pages to do that. It took you five. I cut it to three. And you didn't consider presumptuous to take such liberties with my personal correspondence? With your blind faith in my efficiency and my pride in your reputation as someone who gets to the point of things? No, sir. Thank you for keeping my reputation unsullied. As one who takes five pages to write a three-page letter, I am lucky to have you on my side. Um, is this the last one? Yes, sir. Except the one you wrote to the music editor of the Ivy Courier. I didn't transcribe that one. Oh, why? Because after you'd read it over, you wouldn't have sent it. His criticism of the Glee Club concert was unfair, but your reply was hasty and unworthy of you. Yes, we presidents don't seem to learn, do we, about sending letters to music critics. Well, thank you again, Miss Goodson. You are indispensable. No one is indispensable, Dr. Hall, but a good secretary finds it indispensable to give the illusion of it. It's a very acute observation. Did you learn that in secretarial school? I learned it from you. The first week I worked for you. Now, if you'll sign this letter, Dr. Hall. Thank you. Your theatre tickets for Friday evening are in your overcoat pocket. Your railroad reservations to the state capital on Saturday will be confirmed in the morning. And one of the buttons on your left sleeve is a little loose. What is the temperature outside and who won the World Series in 1934? 44 degrees and a St. Louis Cardinals. Will that be all, sir? You mean for the Cardinals? No, sir. For me, for you, for today. Yes, that's all, Miss Goodson. Oh, please phone Mrs. Hall, will you? And tell her I'm on my way home and to have a smile burning in the window for me. Thank you. Good afternoon. I'm so glad you got away early, darling. And I did have a smile burning in the window for you. You mean Miss Goodson gave you my message literally and verbatim? Absolutely, deadpan. Her pan may sometimes appear to be defunct, my love, but it is my good fortune that her mental pallbearers will be unemployed for some time. It is due to her speed and competence that I so often manage to get home earlier. For that I love her dearly. Yes, I see no reason for staying in my office arranging paper clips into mobiles when the real work of the day has been completed. Have there been any phone calls? Only some woman who was very indignant because she had two heads. Because what? Because she had two heads. She was trying to get the grocery and got this number by mistake and she'd ordered one head of lettuce and they'd sent her two. Well, there are times when I'm tempted to ask for an unlisted number, but in my position it'd be like the fired apartment making a similar request. My availability is one of these. Yes, you better answer it, Tony. You have a knack for coping with two-headed people. Oh, it's not a knack, my love. It's a proficiency acquired only after years of application and research. The manipulation of bicephalic individuals will have to be discussed at another time. Dr. Hors speaking, who? Oh, yes. How are you, Professor Rubin? I'm happy to hear from you. Oh, why, yes, just a moment, please. He wants to talk to you, Vicky. Really? Hello, Professor Rubin. Well, of course, I'd be very happy to. But tomorrow at 10? Well, good. I look forward to it. Goodbye. And what happens tomorrow at 10? Professor Rubin wants me to help him pick out a birthday present for his wife. It seems he's so nervous in women's shops, he always winds up at the hardware store. His wife, when I suggested hoes for his wife, he said he'd got a 50 feet of it last year. With an adjustable nozzle, I suppose. Well, Professor Rubin is a gentleman of the old school. A school which had no classes in sales resistance to feminine fripperies. It must be that in these days of jet transportation, the world is so casually girdled that the informality has taken root. And we are the hapless victims of those corset and hosiery ads which smite us hip and thigh. Well, you're not so bashful, darling. Oh, how did you happen to buy me those lovely things for Christmas in exactly the right shades and sizes? For that, my darling, I fortified myself with five cups of coffee, gave myself a stern talking to, made out a list, walked firmly out of the house, stopped at the office, and deputized Miss Goodson. Did she flash when you gave her the list? Oh, no, no, dear. One of the priceless qualities she possesses is an ability to accept any assignment with cool detachment. I am sure that when she learned about the birds and bees, it was from an elderly ornithologist in a business like Apeyris. Nope. No, my darling, in this case I... She's a busy little beaver, isn't she? Hello? Oh, well, hello, Matthew. Yes, yes, he is. It's young Matthew Walden, Toddy Professor Walden's son. No. Yes, Matthew. Oh, I certainly come right over. Good. I'll be expecting you. I wonder what that means. He said he was phoning from right around the corner. And when a young man who lives at home calls from right around the corner, it could mean that... That the phone at his house is out of order. Well, no, no. Knowing Professor Jeremy Walden, I would say that he wouldn't tolerate anything being out of order in his household. Not because he's a relentless taskmaster, but because he's a sharply functional mind and an extraordinarily high set of standards. He's a very enviable reputation in his field, Vicki. Whenever the students speak of him, they always seem to lure their voices unconsciously. Is that out of fear or awe? Or... or what, Liam? Or awe. Oh, awe! Well, no. Now, his course in Renaissance literature is one of the best-liked and most feared courses that I've ever seen. Matthew must be a sophomore by now, isn't he? Yes, and a very promising young student. When I was a child, I deeply envied a little girl whose mother was the teacher of our school. I imagined that it was lots of fun having a direct pipeline to the inside dope. And I'm not referring to the teacher. But now I can see that it must have its own difficulties. Oh, it does indeed. As Ben Johnson observed, greatness of name and the father often overwhelms the son. They stand too near one another. The shadow kills the growth. You come right in, won't you? Thank you, Mrs. Hall. And Dr. Hall's expecting you in the study. I'm sorry to barge in on you like this. Oh, not at all, not at all. We haven't seen half enough of you lately. I'm sorry, Mrs. Hall. I've been working very hard and I guess I just wasn't... I don't know. Well, don't have a breakdown. It's just an expression of regret. Come along in. Yes, all right. Ah, Matthew, come in. Delighted to see you. Thank you, Dr. Hall. Now is my esteemed colleague your father. As a matter of fact, Dr. Hall, it's about my father that I... Or maybe I should say it's about myself that I came to... You see, father and I... I'm not making a very good beginning, am I? Oh, but you are, Matthew. You've already given us a glimpse of the situation. And my husband's like a camera. I give him a glimpse and he has the picture. Yes, but it sometimes requires a little extra development. Well, I wouldn't have come to you unless I'd tried to work this thing out myself. But I just can't, Dr. Hall. I'm a literature major, and I've always planned to work in the same field as my father. Well, I have a particular interest in that field myself. In my own teaching days, I was set out to pasture there. Let's see now. As a sophomore, you are eligible for your father. What's in Renaissance literature? Did you register for it, Matt? Yes, sir. Look, Harvey, I've worked very hard, Dr. Hall, and believe me, it's not just because father teaches. It's not. I thought I was doing pretty well, but you know how correct and impersonal father is about work. Oh, I do indeed. Well, in trying to be completely fair, father's been leaning over backwards in his attitude toward me. His standards for me are even higher than for the rest of the class. He's been making it, well, I just can't tell you how tough. He's gonna flunk me, Dr. Hall. He can't help himself. Well, what do you mean he can't help himself, Matt? Well, he's put us both on the spot. I've got to be good, but I can't be good enough for him. And if I flunk, well, I'll get over it, but father won't. I'll either have to change my major or go someplace other than Ivy. It's an awful mess. And something that would be rather uncomfortable to discuss with your father, eh? Yes, sir. He'd consider it taking advantage of our relationship on a matter relating to the classroom. And now, Dante is coming up in the course. That's father's specialty. He knows more about Dante than Dante did. In fact, sometimes he manages to look more like Dante than Dante. Well, dear likeness of Dante, I've seen which a big bust and your father couldn't qualify for that. Well, that's the whole story. I feel better now that I've told somebody. Well, I know you love your father, Matt, and undoubtedly he loves you. And that's where the trouble is. He's afraid he'll put the heart before the course. Well, now let me give the matter some thought, Matthew. And perhaps I'll be able to suggest a course of action. In the meantime, be patient and keep on working. Yes, sir. Thank you very much, Dr. Hall and Mrs. Hall. Goodbye, Matt. Goodbye, Matt. Matt seems to be in quite a spot. Is his father really that grim? No, but Professor Walden's a very exacting teacher. He believes in the value of repetition in education, familiarity through reiteration like water, wearing away stones, little drops of Socrates, little drops of Dante, little drops of Pope. Drop, Neymar. It looks as though Abraham is about to sacrifice Isaac. You'd better get out the burning bush. I hesitate to intervene in anything so delicately balanced as a relationship between father and son. I'm inclined to agree with Oscar Wiles' observation that children begin by loving their parents as they go older, they judge them, and sometimes they forgive them. Voice of America is bringing you this presentation of the Halls of Ivy, starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman. We return to the Halls of Ivy. Dr. Hall has been in his study a good part of the morning when his wife Victoria brings in the mail. Here you are, Toddy. Thank you, darling. Anything of interest? Well, there's a letter from the Ivy Exterior Decorating Company. They'd like to paint our house with their new non-fading insect-repellent vitamin-enriched house paint. It starts up by saying, don't be a shabby neighbor. Shall I read the rest of it? No, no, no, dear. Please don't. No, any letter which starts off with such an insulting premise consigns itself to the file and forget basket. If they don't like our premises, I don't like theirs. Besides, a vitamin-enriched house paint is not good enough in these days of super science. Of course it isn't. They don't even have chlorophyll in it. Obviously, an outmoded product. We must have paint containing chlorophyll, B1 complex, penicillin, sulphur and a sorted antibiotic. Oh, and six delicious flavors, too. Does that constitute the morning's mail? Well, no, not quite. The Committee on Buildings and Maintenance, headed by Professor Bronson, sends a plaintive little note. It seems that the research laboratory is overcrowding. It's a perennial complaint. The students say a degree of BSC means Bronson's sardine can. There's too much sympathy wasted on sardines anyway. Why do they need elbow room? They don't have any elbows. Well, Vicki, what are we going to do about the Walden's father and son? Oh, I don't know. What is done, I suppose, will have to be done in such a way that the dignity of both Walden's is preserved. I can't appeal to Professor Walden because that will put Matthew in the position of a plaintiff. And I can't counsel Matthew to bear it as best he can because that would imply a criticism of his father. Well, it might not preserve their dignity, but I'd just knock both their heads together. He'd probably end up weaving copiously on both their shoulders. Oh, you're underestimating yourself, Vicki. You'd probably handle the situation beautifully. I shall never forget watching a performance in London of a play in which you briefly appeared. Or perhaps I should say a play which appeared briefly with you in it. Which play was that, Tony? I remember nothing about it except that there was a horse in the third act which kept nibbling at your long-blonde wig. Without missing a line, you calmly took off the wig and gave it to the horse to eat and gunk. I remember that wig. The line down the middle of it was the best part in the play. And except for you, the horse was the best actor. Let's say we were the best actresses, dear. She was a mare. Horse or mare, I notice she got a fine round of applause from the stalls. What was the name of the production? Madness at Noon. I never did figure out what that had to do with the play itself. Oh, well, the title was all that was left of the original after the rewriting was finished. Yeah, they should have left the play and rewritten the title. Critics had such a jolly time with it, you know, Madness at Noon's stupor at midnight. They'll hate themselves in the morning and things like that. The titles are bad plays of a morbid fascination for critics. I remember a dreadful piece called, This too shall pass away, to which one critic responded, Let it not stand on the order of its going. The play was closing the next day, so it didn't matter. And Walden and Son will close too, Toddy, if you don't do something about them soon. Unfortunately, if Professor Walden flunks his son, I'm afraid he will feel compelled to justify his action by even greater severity toward his students. And Matthew would never forgive him. If I could find some way to prove to Professor Walden how intelligent his son really is and give him an opportunity to commend the boy's work publicly, then perhaps... I know the signs, Toddy, your way beyond perhaps you've hatched a big fat plot. Well, I had thought of visiting Professor Walden's classroom on some conveniently routine matter in preparation for which I've been renewing my acquaintance with Dante. I've got to make sure that I make the right mistakes about him. That is, I will try to be wrong in the right way. Dr. Hall, it's a privilege to have you back in the department again. Well, thank you, Professor Walden. I hope you can stay and join our discussion. If the smell of gunpowder has an effect on an old soldier, a former teacher like yourself should respond to the equally dynamic smell of powdered chalk. Well, I've been studying your notes on the blackboard. They are far more legible than any I ever put up there. We were discussing Dante and his beloved Beatrice. Yes, the best known today, I suppose, by their unreasonable facsimiles on calendars and cigar boxes. But I've always been fascinated by the complex relationship of Dante to Ladonna Gentile Beatrice. The gentle damsel Beatrice, of course, appears in the Divine Comedy, but it was in the earlier work, La Vita Nuova, that Dante paid such eloquent tribute to his beloved. But really, I didn't come to give you a lecture on what you already know. No, please go on, Dr. Hall. Well, then, Dante was only 26 when he wrote La Vita Nuova. That is, according to his first biographer. And incidentally, who was Dante's first biographer? Let me see. You, the other Mr. Walden. Matthew, can you tell me? Yes, sir. Boccaccio. Correct. Boccaccio. Who, as I'm sure Professor Walden has mentioned in passing, wrote other things besides the Decameron. And now that you are on your feet, Matthew, would you mind if I try another question on you? All right, sir. I would like you to identify the sonnet, which so lyrically describes the early death of Beatrice. Sonnet, Dr. Hall? Yes. The homage contains those simple and eloquent lines. Che fai non sai novella, morta e la donna tua, chi era si bella. Dead is your maiden who was so fair. Do you recall it now? Well, yes I do, sir, but did you say sonnet? That's right. But Dr. Hall, I'm sure it wasn't a sonnet. Not a sonnet? Well, if it's not a sonnet, what is it? It's a canzoni, sir. Canzoni? Oh, no, no. I'm sure it is not a canzoni. Dr. Hall, the lines you quoted were written by Dante before Beatrice died and were inspired by a vision of her death, weren't they? Yes, yes. That's quite right. They were in a sonnet. Well, but those lines are in a canzoni, Dr. Hall. I'm positive. You are? Well, now it's quite very simple. Why don't we appeal to the highest authority, Professor Walden? What was it, Professor? A sonnet or a canzoni? Well, Dr. Hall, I'm afraid I have to support my pupil. He is quite correct. It was a canzoni. It was? Well, thank you, Professor Walden, and thank you, Matthew. I think I'd better retire from the field one more such blunder, and I shall never be able to face either of the Walden's again. I congratulate you, Matthew. Your father has a reputation for being exacting, and you've just given us a fine demonstration of your own sense of exactitude. And thank you all for the privilege of being with you. That was perfectly splendid. Now, what was the reaction of the class? Well, they've been perfectly conscious of the emotional drama that has been taking place all semester, Vicki, so they were as delighted as I was with the outcome. Although, I must say, they were most unconcerned with the fact that my reputation became slightly darnished in the process. Oh, I'm sure it didn't, Toddy, not even with Professor Walden. Well, I don't know. Professor Walden is such a straightforward and direct man. My devious tactics may have escaped him. Well, I'm sure he's grateful to you in any case. I'll get it, darling. Hello, Matthew. Hello, Mrs. Hall. Is Dr. Hall busy? Come in. Come in. We were just talking about you. Oh, Matthew, I'm glad you came by. I wanted to thank you for helping me out of my difficulties this afternoon. You thanked me, Dr. Hall, for what? For picking up your cue so quickly. For being so distressingly accurate and correcting my blunder. About that, Dr. Hall, my father and I have discussed the matter. Oh, and he wanted to make absolutely sure that I was correct, so he looked up the very best authority on the subject. I have brought the reference with me to show to you. Oh, I'm perfectly ready to accept Professor Walden's own judgment. Well, he was particularly anxious for you to look at this. Oh, very well. Let me see it. We... Good heavens. Oh, so... So I am convicted by my own evidence. Well, well... What is it, Charlie? Let me see. Let me see. Let me see. It's something file I found in the files of the department. Oh, it's the... Can's only form as used by Dante. Term paper by William Todd Hunter Hall. Oh, and you've got an A-plus. I... I'd forgotten about that completely. I'm afraid I'd make a very poor criminal. I leave a trail which could be followed on a rainy day by a bloodhound with a cold in the head, a tight collar and a disinterest in the pursuit. I'm afraid I only deserve a C-minus in subterfuge. You rate a straight A in the Walden household, Dr. Hall. Well, as Dr. Hall's father used to say, Matt, it is not the grade which makes the man. It is the man who makes the grade. Isn't that what your father used to say, William? Your memory, my darling, is more than phenomenal. It is positively supernatural. To think of your remembering things said by my father whom you never met. But I'm sure that as a lover of beautiful things, he would have said them had he known you would repeat them. Tonight's script was written by Phillip Nelson and Don Quinn. Music was composed and conducted by Henry Russell. Ken Carpenter speaking. This production of The Halls of Ivy was broadcast with an actual audience present in the studio.