 Ladies and gentlemen, on Tuesday, November 16th, the radio and television networks and the newspapers of this nation made the following announcement. Lionel Barrymore, one of America's most revered and distinguished actors, the dean of the Royal Family of the American Theater, died last night at the age of 76. Tonight, the makers of Hallmark Cards, whose Hallmark Hall of Fame was Mr. Barrymore as their host, as usually heard at this time, present a special broadcast transcribed in memory of Lionel Barrymore. Who and loved him? And by us, I mean you and I and how many millions of others across this great land of ours. To us, Lionel Barrymore was more than a great actor, a great personality. He represented an era in American life. A few of Lionel's friends are here with me tonight. Some people who loved him deeply. Helen Hayes, James Stewart, Bing Crosby, Gene Fowler, Dr. Norman Vincent Peel, Dory Sherry, Louis Calhoun, JC Hall and Frank Goss. Or we're not here to mourn, you could be sure of that. Lionel would never stand for it. We're not here to make speeches. We're here to reminisce. To recall some of the warm, the humorous episodes that were part of the life and times of Lionel Barrymore. So, could we have a little reminiscing music, please? Now, who on earth knew the fabulous Barrymore family better than Gene Fowler? Not only did he write Good Night's Sweet Prince, the biography of John Barrymore, but he was a great and good friend of Lionel's. You know, I sometimes think you could measure your friendship with Lionel Barrymore by the size of the insults you would hurl it through. And the insults Lionel and I exchanged were sometimes gigantic. You see, to him an insult was a kind of personal challenge. He was throwing the ball at you. If you could catch it, then you were all right. But if you could hurl it back and harder, then you were his friend. That's all that business of the old Kermutch and the modern too. It was Lionel's way of testing, to see if you had spunk, to see what kind of person you were. And every time Lionel Barrymore threw the ball, he hoped secretly, you'd be able to catch it. Because, in spite of himself, in spite of the cantankerous role he liked to play, he loved people. Speaking of the role he played, the actor's role, I have something here I know you'll enjoy. I got it from Ashton Stevens, the late great drama critic and friend of all the Barrymores when I was preparing notes for my book on Jack, Good Night's Sweet Prince. It's an interview given by Lionel Barrymore in 1904. He was only 26 years old at the time. Asked what makes an actor, he said, and I'll read to you. The great actor always must act. He must make a ceremony of waking up in the morning. He must sit in his room and act so that his whole body vibrates to the thrill of it. Forever, he must be a poseur. He must be such a poseur as to be blinded against all rational points of view. He must live in his roles and love them. He must be another fellow. Ridicule must pass him by. If, by any chance, it grazes him, the great actor must view it with pitying kindness. His last week's failure must be more than forgot. It never happened. Above all, the great actor must have no sense of humor. When he looks at himself in the mirror, he must do so through a telescope. And everything admirable that he reads or sees or hears must be his. But let the most profound, the most classic line fall from his lips. He must be unconscious of the fact that he is not the author of it. How did it begin, this career that spanned over a half-century of performing? Lionel wrote a beautiful description of his first performance in his book, We Barry Morris. James Stewart, you have a copy of the book here with you, I believe. Well, let me read you Lionel's own description of his first appearance on the stage. The play was Sheridan's The Rivals. But my grandmother, Mrs. Drew, and my uncle, Sidney Drew, forgot that the part they had assigned me, that of Thomas, was in the front scene and would tax the abilities of both Collie Gibber and David Garrick. The horrible afternoon of my debut finally arrived and I was a wretched and frightened boy. I crept on stage in an apathy of embarrassment and muttered my words like an automaton that needed a beoil can. The scene was too much for me, as indeed any scene would have been too much for me at that time. I repeated my fiasco in the evening and was even worse, conscious as I was of my hopeless performance at Manet. My grandmother was heartbroken. She averted her eyes as I stumbled over the ropes and flats backstage to seek out the corner that passed for my dressing room. I scraped off my disgraced makeup as fast as I could and then I trudged home and went quietly to my room to hide my embarrassment under the covers. And propped on my bureau was a letter in a well-known handwriting in purple ink. I fingered it for several minutes before opening it, but after a while I concluded that it was a great kindness of mum-mums to send me a note rather than to scold me in person. I opened my letter and read, My dear Lionel, you must forgive your Uncle Sidney and me for not realizing that when Sheridan wrote the part of Thomas he had a much older actor in mind. We feel that we were remiss in not taking cognizance of this, although we are both happy that you are not at the advanced age you would have to be in order to be good in this art. We think, therefore, that the play as a whole would be bettered by the elimination of the front scenes and we have decided to do without it after this evening's performance. Sincerely and with deep affection, your grandmother, Mrs. Drew. Thank you, Helen Hayes, for being Mrs. John Drew and Jimmy Stewart for reading Lionel's delightful description of his start as an actor. A flick of the courage it must have taken to continue his acting career after a lot or like that. And what's wonderful about Lionel is that this letter meant so much more to him than the hundreds, even thousands of brave notices he was to receive in later years. Well, I've got a different kind of review, Helen. Bing Crosby will read it later on. Any other actor would have burned it, but Lionel cherished it. I remember hearing about that review. It was probably the worst panning an actor ever talked. Will we ever forget the way Lionel had of reacting to anything unpleasant? He'd shrug and mutter something completely unintelligible and then go wheeling off to something pleasant. He had no time for more of it of pessimistic people. To be dull in Lionel's eyes was to commit a terrible sin. He loved life. And for him there was a world of interesting things to do. Painting, writing music, books, acting, a world of adventure. Lionel wrote a novel once called Mr. Canton Wine. It wasn't the best seller, but it reflected the vitality, the spark of life that made Lionel Barrymore. So we've adapted a dramatic incident from that book. And we think the play you're about to hear, written by Lionel, gives a great deal of insight into his true beliefs. Incidentally, Louis Calhoun will play Mr. Canton Wine, and Gene Fowler will narrate. Gentlemen, the play. Canton Wine is the story of our country a century ago. Boomtowns, hectic cities, western expansion, Indian wars, and a house divided. And America had grown out of its britches and still growing fast. It's the story of an American hero, Martin Canton Wine, a moral tale by Lionel Barrymore. Canton Wine was a great tall man with a taller hat and a swallowtail coat. A lay preacher, a snake oil peddler, a man of great strength and strange powers who barnstormed around this country for many years, watching it grow up. As I say, all this was about a hundred years ago. Do you remember, sweet Betsy? Mr. Canton Wine was not alone. He traveled with two Indians, a pack of mules, a surly black bear, and a talkative raven named Mad Anthony Wayne. And when they arrived at the cottage bear, they found a pair of Indians and got a general store still open. If there's anything I need, it's a store. Getting to be suppertime. Most steady is Martin Canton Wine. My name's Randall. I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Canton Wine. What's your fellow, are you? Oh, you might say so. I was hopeful, sir, of negotiating the purchase of a dozen eggs. We can accommodate you, sir, come right in. Oh, you say. Dear, this gentleman wishes some eggs. I'm sorry, Mr. Canton Wine, I only have brown eggs. Brown very best. Yes, sir, I can see you're a man of discernment. Oh, I know my eggs. Here we are. Mr. Randall, I have a question. Yes, sir. Can you tell me the name of this, sir? Hamlet will do nicely, sir. Township will come later. You, sir, are in Concord, Illinois. Concord, Illinois. Yes, sir. Ten, twelve. Even dozens. And even change, ma'am. Yes, sir. Thank you. Thank you, sir. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. and Mrs. Randall. My pleasure, Mr. Canton Wine. I was going to ask you what brings you to Concord, but then you didn't even know you were here, so I guess I shouldn't. The lights from your store, for one thing, but then there's always a reason for being somewhere. Being something. Now, isn't there? Second. Man's life makes him an individual. Tree has leaves, that makes a tree individual. A rock is a rock, water, water, and every hamlet is distinguished for something. Another question, sir. What is Concord, Illinois, distinguished for? For its churchyard, Mr. Canton Wine. Indeed. Yes, sir. The nicest churchyard in the state of Illinois. The night after supper, Mr. Canton Wine stood out on the street of the little town and rocked a few times on his heels and toes. The light was out in Mr. Randall's general store. There were no lights visible in any of the houses along the street. Mr. Canton Wine, as Lionel told it, muttered something about the use of kerosene, put his hands behind his back, and began walking. And eventually, he walked to that place for which Concord was famous. Eh? What's that? Is somebody here? Come on, speak up. Over there somewhere. He thought he saw something move quite a way off. He stood still and watched, then decided to investigate. Without his sure move and slowly advanced, his eyes trying to penetrate the darkness, then he stopped. There it was. A man lying prone on a fresh grave. A tall, gaunt man with a boyish face. One of his arms covered the grave in an attitude of possession. The other, he held to his head, sobbing. I beg your pardon, sir. That's not for you, it's for myself. No, sir. Stand away. You've got that gun aimed at me. I'm at your mercy. Well, son, I didn't think the Lord would have proved what you were going to do. I don't think the Lord is much concerned about me. Oh, you're wrong, son. He's concerned about all of us. Well, she's buried there, sir. It's a torment to go on living without her. I've a cross to carry, son, that may cut you and hurt you. As you've lost, it's all in living. But he carried it, and he never fought it. Never see me again. Must have just a slide bar come here. Now, that's a strange question, son. I took my walk tonight, asking myself the same thing. Answer it? Yes, it's a very simple answer. I'm here because of you. He guided me. He must have something in mind for you. I hope I didn't hurt you, sir. Oh, no, no, no, no. Oh, my name is Canton Wine. I'm very grateful to you, Mr. Canton Wine. Maybe we'll meet again sometime. Maybe. Lincoln's my name, sir. Hey, Blinken. Well, you all right now? Yes, sir. Then good night, Mr. Lincoln. It was a product of Lionel's fertile imagination. He once said there's hardly a rider worth his salt who hasn't written a tale about Abe Lincoln, referring to Dora Sherry, head of MGM Studio where Lionel was under contract for almost 30 years. I can remember every Thursday afternoon when Lionel would drive into the studio to pick up his check. To see that battered, dusty old sedan come lumbering on to the lot was enough to send all the guards scattering for cover. And there was Lionel. Glaring menacingly behind the wheel, confined to a wheelchair but man enough to run down any unwary pedestrian pool enough to challenges right away. Lionel Barrymore was first, last and always an individual. And I think that this, along with his extraordinary talent, will give him a kind of immortality. His passing was a loss not only to our own community here in Hollywood, but to everyone in this great country and world. Bing Crosby and Lionel Barrymore worked together under the Kraft Music Hall. And so we asked Bing what was the thing he cherished most from their relationship. I remember Lionel came into the studio one day carrying a newspaper clipping. It was a review from Minneapolis paper dated 1898, and it was written by a close friend of his, named Mr. Frank Butler. To Lionel, this review was one of the most valuable possessions of your own. He told me that whenever he was tempted to feel too smug, it was not pure. A little tough to live with while he'd pull out this review and he'd read it. I think everyone would like to hear it, Bing. Okay, Eddie, I quote. Last night's performance provided as wretched an evening as these old eyes of witnessed, since being compelled to see 12 men hanged in a row by a bungling sheriff. With every aspect at the nadir, one performance stands out more hideously than the rest. A deplorable young actor whose name I am able to forget, although it smacks with Barrymore, appeared only once in a figment of a role, but he enacted it so balefully that the audience was terrified all evening, lest he come back on stage. Now, there's an opinion Lionel Barrymore cherished, indeed. Well, our next opinion doesn't come from the world of Hollywood, but from a man who is a leader in business. In radio, we call him the sponsor. Lionel was fortunate enough to have a wonderful sponsor. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. J. C. Hall, president of Hallmark Cards Incorporated. I cannot claim a lifelong friendship with Lionel Barrymore, like so many of his friends, but still in the years that I've had the privilege and opportunity to know and work with him, I have developed a great admiration for his ability, a true respect for his indomitable courage, a real love for his warm character. I feel that he is one of the very few irreplaceables, and that I have lost a true and trusted friend. God bless him. Well, we've heard what a lot of nice people had to say about a nice man, the things they remember. No program about Lionel Barrymore would be complete without including the things you remember. Now, please forgive the surface noise. This recording is old, but like many good things, we feel it mellows with age. The mayor of the town, starring Lionel Barrymore with Agnes Moorehead. Valentine's Day certainly brings back memories of the Merlin. Oh, yes, it does, Mayor. When I was a girl, we had parties every Valentine's Day, and we'd all tear off a blue tassel. Oh, my, no. Lots of the girls started romances that way, you know? Yes, yes. I can see the society comes now. The happy couple first got stuck on each other at a taffy bowl. Hmm. Tell me, Marily, did you get a bowl of pulling gaffy? No, but I got terrible big muscle. Then there's the popular Dr. Kildare series, both motion picture and radio. The way I starred is Dr. Kildare, and, of course, Lionel was cantankerous, lovable. Dr. Gillespie. Well, Dr. Gillespie, as you can see from these X-rays, Yukon Joe Moran is ready to be discharged. Yukon Joe Moran. Now, don't tell me you're letting just one patient get you down. Jimmy, that man's as phony as the fruit on a woman's hat. Yukon Joe. I don't think he's ever been further north than the Bronx. Well, he'll be off our hands and out of our hair in another hour, so cheer up. Well, I wasn't even thinking of him until you mentioned him. Well, then what is on your mind? It's Parker. Oh, that's why you've been so grumpy, pining away with love for the fair Parker. Oh, no, nothing of this sort. That's ridiculous. You'll know it. Of course, there were many, many more. Do you remember Rasputin, Lionel, and his equally famous brother John and their sister Ethel? Three Barrymore's in one motion picture. I was in a tomb. It was supposed to be an impossible picture to make, but Lionel later said it was one of his happiest moments in show business. They deemed again Grand Hotel. Then there was Lionel's Academy Award for a Free Soul in 1931. Over 300 different roles in more than 40 years of motion pictures and radio. Perhaps his most cherished role of all was Scrooge in Charles Dickens' Christmas Carol, a performance he gave for 19 consecutive years. It has become as traditional of Christmas as the singing of carols. And because we believe it is an important tradition, on December the 19th this year, the Hallmark Hall of Fame will present a transcription of Lionel's last performance as Scrooge. Now, ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Norman Vincent Peale. Another great figure has moved from the accustomed ways of our lives into the vast beyond. Surely he was one of those magnificent personalities who now and then appear, reminding us of the superlative craftsmanship of Almighty God. In our lifetime, Lionel Barrymore became a beloved tradition. Interesting, fascinating, kindly, lovable. The impress of his character was such that he shall forever be unforgettable. Sadly, we contemplate that he has gone from us. But even as many of the characters he so masterfully portrayed are deathless, so he will live always in our cherished memory. And so the curtain falls on the last act of a thrilling life. A great figure passes off the stage and into the wings. The audience which always loved him mourned. That mourning is only for themselves at losing his familiar voice and figure. As for him, he goes to join his great predecessors, that illustrious company of the immortals who have entertained and moved and inspired thousands across the years. In some brighter theater, the spiritually enhanced charm of his personality will go on forever bringing joy to others. How can we span 76 years in 30 minutes? Can we really sum up the lifetime of a man between the tickings of a second hand? I think not. There are a multitude of memories in the career of the Lionel Barrymore acting with but one facet of his great talent. His paintings could stand alone as the work of a fine craftsman. The music you hear is a symphonic work recorded by Eugene Ormanby entitled In Memoriam. Barrymore composed it in memory of his brother John. It was a scene from one of Lionel's novels. He's written another which will be published soon and with camera and ship, he wrote his autobiography entitled We Barrymores. So he has written books, painted in oil, etched, composed music and given memorable performances. Well, we have recorded a few of these. The second hand I see now ticking on the wall is ticking away the life of this broadcast just as surely as it ticked away the life of Lionel Barrymore. But Lionel himself summed up the important things of life in another way. These are the important things, youth and health and someone to love you. As for the record, there are some lines in Macbeth which say the whole business oh and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time. Well, yesterday's have lighted fool the way to dusty death. Out, life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It's a tale told in fury signifying this was Lionel Barrymore. Good night. This is the CBS Radio Network.