 Family Theatre presents John Ford and Fibber McGee and Molly. In cooperation with Family Theatre presents Fibber McGee and Molly in the Win Bag. To introduce the drama, your host, John Ford. Thank you, Tony LaFranco. Family Theatre's only purpose is to bring to everyone's attention a practice that must become an important part of our lives. If we are to win peace for ourselves, peace for our families and peace for the world, Family Theatre urges you to pray and pray together as a family. A story tonight takes place in the little town of Clay Centre, Kansas, where DJ Latimer and his good wife Martha are solid, substantial citizens. DJ owns a not-too-prosperous real estate and insurance business, is a former president of the local Roto-Wonners Club and finds his principal release from the humdrum of small-town life in the thrice weekly changeability Ritz Theatre. Martha has long been content to be a housewife and a good man. Their only child, a daughter named Valeska, is married to Jimmy Meredith, a young continuity writer on the staff of the nationwide broadcasting company in Chicago. Jimmy and Val have spent the Thanksgiving holidays with Mom and Dad and are soon to return to the windy city. This particular evening, the four are seated in the parlor and Jimmy says to his father-in-law, DJ, how'd you like to do me a favor and make yourself some money besides? What kind of a favor, my boy? Well, it's rather a complicated story. You've heard the nationwide theater of the year, haven't you? Tuesday night at nine? Frequently. In my opinion, an excellent program. We almost never miss it. You don't write that, do you, Jimmy? Well, not yet, but the boss wants me to. It's a freelance show. That means the network buys scripts from anybody who sends them in. I mean, if they're good scripts. I see. And you want me to write this nationwide theater? Oh, DJ, stop being foolish. You couldn't even write a note to the milkman when we went to Denver last summer and wanted him to stop leaving milk for two weeks. That was his fault completely. He read my note carelessly and simply misinterpreted what I'd written. Let's not argue about it, DJ. What is it you want him to do, Jimmy? Well, it's a little like this, Mom. Mr. Roberts, the head of our continuity department, wants me to write some scripts for the nationwide theater. But he can't pay me because I'm on the regular staff. And the network has a ruling that a staff writer can't be paid extra for anything he writes that's sustaining. Their theory is that that's what my salary's for. Oh, and it's a stupid rule. And Mr. Roberts tells Jimmy he's sure the network's eventually going to change it. I should think so. Meanwhile, though, there's only one way I can make any money out of the nationwide theater. Whatever script I write, I mail to Dad, and he sends them in under his name. Oh, I don't know, Jimmy. The network pays $300 a script. What? And when the check comes to you, Dad, you cash it and keep 50 of it for your trouble. DJ wouldn't take a penny, Jimmy. My dear. And it's no soap. No, either Dad takes the 50 or Jimmy gets somebody else to do it. Well, your mother was a trifle hasty, Val. Of course I'll do it, my boy. Anything to help you out in any way I can. Uh-oh, that's Fred Jackson. I almost forgot I promised to help him fix his car radio tonight. You kids will excuse me, won't you? I'll be back in half an hour or so. Sure, Dad. We'll still be here. Well, that's a load off my mind. I wonder. Well, what do you mean, Mom? You know your father, Val. He's the sweetest man in the world, but he does have his weakness. Mom means that Dad's an incurable romanticist. That's how I got the name Valeska. I wanted to call her Priscilla after my grandmother. Well, at about the time I was born, Dad was carrying a very large torch for a movie starlet named Valeska LaRue. Hollywood's a great influence in Dad's life. Every time he sees Humphrey Bogart in a picture, he talks out of the side of his mouth till I almost go crazy. And it's been goodness knows how many years since we saw Algiers, but every once in a while he still asks me to come with me to the Cos bar. With a French accent or what he thinks is why. Yeah, Dad lives every movie he sees. Poor dear. Outside of going to a couple of American Legion conventions, he's never done any of the things he's dreamed of doing. And it's a lucky thing, too, from what I heard of the way he cut up and carried on in Chicago, dropping paper bags full of water out of hotel windows onto people's heads down below on the sidewalk. I don't think you need to worry, Mom. Nobody ever listens to the writer's name at the end of a radio show. Well, just the same, Jimmy. I'm worried about it. Why, Mom? Well, because it's your father. I haven't been married to that man 25 years come next February 10th for nothing. I love him, but I know if there's any way for something to slip or come unraveled, he'll find it. The Flower of Tahiti was written by Digby Latimer and was directed... The Flower of Tahiti was written by Digby Latimer. Did you hear that, Martha? I'm not deep. Well, sometimes I wonder why I'm not. Why did you send in Jimmy's story under the name of Digby Latimer instead of DJ? Martha, my dear, you don't understand. DJ Latimer is all right for a businessman, but Digby Latimer is much more dignified and appropriate for an author. Mr. Bloodgood, I'd like to cash a little check, if you don't mind. That's what the bank's here for, DJ. Five ones be okay. Same as usual. Oh, this check is a trifle larger than that, Mr. Bloodgood. $300, to be exact. Well, that's to turn to nice deal, DJ. Pay to the order of Digby Latimer? Digby Latimer is my nom de plume. My pen name, Mr. Bloodgood. Oh, and it's signed nationwide broadcasting? Yeah, it's payment for a little thing I dashed off in my spare time. You may have heard it two weeks ago last Tuesday on the nationwide theater of the air. A little thing I called the Flower of Tahiti. I did hear that, DJ. Maybe you noticed right at the end the announcer said the Flower of Tahiti was written by Digby Latimer. No, no, I can't say I did, DJ. Well, he said that. That's what's known as name credit. All we top radio writers insist on that. And don't be too surprised, Mr. Bloodgood, if I cash several checks like this one every month. And be sure to listen every Tuesday night at nine. I'll most assuredly do that, DJ. Remember, when you hear the announcer say written by Digby Latimer, you'll know it's old DJ himself and not a reasonable facsimile thereof. No, sir, I never would have thought it. I'd say that still waters run deep, except the DJ's hardly ever still. Oh, good morning, Emma. Morning, Esa. Any news today that's fit for the Clay Center, Clarion the Prince? Maybe. What did you say if I told you that Colonel Townsman had a play he wrote on the nationwide theatre of the year? Yeah, coast to coast. Well, I'll tell him to get a padded cell ready for you, Esa. Who's the budding genius in our midst? DJ Latimer. DJ Latimer's a radio writer? Not three minutes ago. I cashed the check. The broadcasting company sent him for his play. $300. Esa, Bloodgood, you're not fun and with me, are you? No, what I'm telling is the gospel truth. Emma, DJ called his play the flower of Tahiti. Well, I heard that. Oh, it was just beautiful and so sad. I cried up a couple of handkerchiefs. That play was the handiwork of DJ Latimer. Oh, my. And here we stand talking when I ought to be interviewing him. Just heard the news, DJ, and I think it's the most thrilling thing that ever happened to Clay Center. No, it was nothing, Emma. Really nothing. Just a little thing I dashed off in a few spare moments. You're too modest, DJ. Now tell me, where did you ever find out what the native girl said right at the end of the play that E-R-O-R. E-R-O-R-A-N-E-T-A-T-U-A. Yes. What does it mean? That's Tahitian for God be with you till we meet again. How touching. But how did you ever know that? Well, once many years ago, a beautiful Tahitian princess uttered those very words to... to, oh, but perhaps I'd better not say. What, DJ? I never knew you'd been in Tahiti. In days gone by, Emma, the foreign legion went everywhere. And you were in the foreign legion? Oh, may I print that, DJ? Well, I'd rather you wouldn't, Emma. You see, Martha is acquainted with my somewhat, shall I say, adventurous youth, and she's made me promise never to reveal its details. But there are some things I could tell you, Emma. Oh, I'm sure there are, DJ. Have you any more plays coming up on the nationwide theater? Yes, week after next. It's a story of unrequited love on the African belt. I call it Sahara Safari. And is it by any chance based on the personal experiences of this author? You promise not to print this, Emma? Well, if you insist. I do, I must. All right, then. Is it based on your personal experiences? I'm sorry, Emma. I can't say. You know how people in a small town gossip, and if Martha were to see or hear that I was once a big game hunter in Africa, she'd deny it. Oh, not for her sake, you understand, but to protect me from the limelight. Did you read the clarion today, my dear? Yes, I read it. Did you by any chance see Emma Singletary's interview with Clay Center's famous radio writer, a man who happens to be your husband? I saw it. Of all the plain old hogwash I ever read, that was the worst. Martha. Let me have that paper. Oh, certainly, my dear. You know, if you were 40 years younger, would you have your mouth with laundry soap for telling fibs? Maybe I still ought to. Listen to this. Mr. Latimer's next play on the nationwide theater of the air is titled, Sahari Safari. And is a story of unrequited love on the African belt. A little bird has whispered in your reporter's ear that possibly, just possibly, Sahari Safari may be based upon experiences in the author's own life. For the same little bird whispers that possibly, just possibly, he was once a big game hunter in Africa. You know, I've been expecting something like this ever since you saw Trader Horne. But Martha, I give you my word, I never once told Emma Singletary I'd been a big game hunter in Africa, never. You probably hinted it. DJ, can't you stop telling those big windies all the time? It's, well, it's dishonest. And now you're taking credit for something that belongs to your son-in-law. But the lad wants me to, and it's bound to help in my business. People like to deal with the celebrity, you know. Ah, celebrity fiddle sticks. Huh, somebody just drove up in a big car. Heavenly days, it's Mrs. T. Canterbury Millsap. Uh-oh. What can she be wanting, calling on the peasants? I'll go to the door. You sit right where you are, I'll go. Okay. Good evening, Mrs. Millsap. Good evening, Mrs. Latimer. Is Mr. Latimer at home? Yes, he's here. Won't you come in? Thank you. He's right in here in our sitting room. It's Mrs. Millsap, DJ. Oh, well, this is a pleasure, Mrs. Millsap. Sit down, won't you? Here's a comfortable chair right here. Thank you, Mrs. Latimer. Can I get you a slug of tea, Mrs. Millsap? Thank you, my dear, no. I can stay only a moment. Uh, Mr. Latimer, you are doubtless aware that I am the president of the Ladies' Sanatopsis and Weekly Study League of Clay Center? Yes, of course. A very praiseworthy organization, Mrs. Millsap. Oh, thank you. We think so. Our aims are the profound study and hence the deeper appreciation of literature and the finer things of life. That's something I've always believed in myself. Oh, yes, I can understand that, Mr. Latimer. But, oh, why have you hidden your light under a bushel? Huh? Mr. Latimer, I want to ask you a great favor. Will you address our next meeting and give us a preview, may I phrase it so, of Sahara Safari? Well, I'll be happy to, Mrs. Millsap. Anything for culture is what I always say. Oh, thank you. Thank you so much. It's Friday at two o'clock and the ladies are meeting at my house. I'll be there, Millie. Well, now I must go. Oh, by the way, may we not also have the pleasure of your company, Mrs. Latimer? Oh, I'm afraid I'm not very literary. Oh, well, come anyway. That's a dear. Oh, Friday. It will be the day for the ladies' Stanotopsis Weekly Study League, and they'll never forget it. No, no, no, no. Don't bother to escort me to my car. Good night, Mr. Latimer. Good night, Mrs. Latimer. Good night, Mrs. Millsap. Good night. The ladies' Stanotopsis and Flat Doodle League aren't the only ones who'll never forget Friday. Now, this time, DJ, you've gone too far. Not at all, my dear. Not at all. After I reread Sahara Safari, I dare say I'll be able to make a very creditable talk. Maybe you could if you had a script. Well, by George, I did mail it in, didn't I? You did? Oh, well, so what? I recall a great deal of the story. Besides, if I've never been in Africa, neither have the ladies who'll be listening to me when I'm in Africa. Special intellectual treat. In the past, we have been privileged to hear some very famous authors, but never before one from our own fair city. He has kindly consented to give us a preview of his next-brained child, which is entitled Sahara Safari, and is the story of unrequited love on the African belt. Girls, may I present our celebrated fellow citizen of Clay's Center, Mr. Dick B. Latimer. Thank you very much. Ladies is a Thanatopsis and Weekly Sturdy League. You're a charming chairman, or should I say chairlady, has asked me to tell you the story of my next radio drama on the nationwide theater. I call it Sahara Safari, because it concerns the adventures of Lord Manfred Chatsworth, a peer of the British Empire, who meets a beautiful Arab girl named Khalil Patra in the vast and trackless desert of the Belgian Congo. Lord Chatsworth has gone to Africa to hunt tigers. As he sails down the Nile in his falooka... That's a kind of a native schooner. He hears the heartbeat of the dark continent, the wild and savage rhythm of the top towns. It was worse than I thought it would be. I was prepared for almost anything, but not for hunting tigers in Africa. And what was wrong with that, may I ask? Nothing much, except that there aren't any tigers in Africa. They applauded me when I was through. Certainly they did, because Mrs. T. Canterbury Millsap did, and she's the bellcow of that herd. The rest of them do whatever she does. Now, you've got to stop it, DJ. Oh. Next week, Val and Jimmy will be here for Christmas, and I'm going to tell Jimmy he's got to put a stop to this nonsense he's started. Oh, Martha, you can't do that. DJ, I know you don't mean any harm. I know you wouldn't intentionally hurt a fly, but you're hurting something, and somebody a lot more important to me than a fly, and that's you. Look in Mom's diary, Jimmy. Oh, I don't know, Val. Diaries are a pretty sacred sort of a thing. It'd have to be mighty serious. Well, this is serious. Now, I know Mom too well not to see when she's really worried about something. Well, okay, go ahead. Yeah, start of December. Whatever it is, it probably happened this month. Hey, listen to this. December 20th. DJ spoke to the ladies' Thanatopsis and Weekly Study League this afternoon on the subject of his latest radio play, Sahara Safari. Why, they all fraud. When Mrs. Millsap introduced him, it was disgusting. He grinned like a jackass eating briars, and then he actually bowed. Oh, Val, this is priceless. Before I could stop myself, I said the old nanny. And Mrs. Pogus, who is... I beg your pardon, sir. I'm looking for Mrs. Martha Latimer. She's not home right now. I'm her husband, Digby Latimer. Perhaps you've heard me. No, I can't say that I have, but let me congratulate you, Mr. Latimer, on being the husband of a woman who's soon to be famous. Martha? Famous? That's right. My name is Swappold, John T. Swappolds. I represent Templeton and Savage of New York. The book publishers, you know. Oh. Yes, we've accepted Mrs. Latimer's book, The Windbag, and we're bringing it out in the spring. What an imagination your wife has of that scene where this DJ talks to the local ladies club about his new show. It's one of the funniest things I've ever read. Hunting tigers in Africa. And then there's another scene when his wife in the audience says under her breath the old nanny. Well, it's just as though he'd actually been there. Don't you think that's funny? Yes, yes, oh yes. That's very funny. Well, the American public will gobble it up. This character that she's dreamed of, this DJ, he will become the symbol of every braggart and every blowhard who ever lived. You should be very proud of her, Mr. Latimer. Yes, I am, of course. Yeah, Mrs. Latimer is a remarkable woman. A very remarkable woman. Oh, she's all of that, sir. And as soon as she comes in, will you ask her to get in touch with me at the Sunflower Hotel? And don't breathe a word of this to her, but I have an advanced royalty check with me. $5,000. I'm here, Martha, in the bedroom. I just got home. I met Mrs. Lumpkin, and you're packing your suitcase. You going away somewhere? Yes. How long will you be gone? A long time. Oh, well then you'd better let me get you some more collars. There's a dozen clean ones came back from the laundry this morning. Martha, how can you? Isn't it enough to drive the knife deep into my heart without twisting it in the wound? I tell you I'm going away, maybe forever. And all you can think about is clean collars. What in the wide world are you talking about? She asked me what I'm talking about. Martha, you've made a laughing stock out of me. You've bared my shame to the world. And for what? For money. For dirty, filthy money. That's for what? DJ Latimer, have you been drinking? Ah, don't pretend ignorance, Martha. The publisher's representative was here a few minutes ago. His name's Wapples, John T. Wapples. And he's at the Sunflower Hotel. He should make you very happy. He has an advanced royalty check for you. $5,000. $5,000 fiddle sticks. I won't stand in your way. That's why I'm leaving. Someday when you're old and lonely, I hope you'll give one fleeting thought to the husband who loved you and who sacrificed himself so that fame might be yours. Say, you stay right here, DJ, and don't move. I'll go phone Dr. Honeycutt. You're raving. I am not raving. I'm talking about your book. The book you wrote about me. The book you call The Windbag. I never wrote any book. Martha, the man practically quoted from it. All about how I spoke to the lady's Thanatopsis and Weekly Study League. And you said the old ninny. And to think, tomorrow's our silver wedding anniversary. Say, wait a minute, DJ. I noticed the other day my diary for last year is missing. Sure as death and taxes, those two kids of ours took it and gave it to those publishers. I certainly didn't. It makes no difference how they got it. They have it and they're going to publish it. They most certainly decided there are not going to publish it. DJ, darling, you didn't think for a minute that I would... What could I think? Why, you old ninny. Come here and put your arms around me and hug me tight. Come here. That's better. Don't you know that our love and our home mean more to me than all the money in the world? I've always hoped so. But you did call me an old ninny, didn't you? I certainly didn't. That's exactly what you are. You're right, Martha. I am an old ninny. But I won't be anymore. I'm going to reform. You promise? I'll take my paralyzed oath on a sister and full of seed catalogs. If ever again in my whole life I tell another stretcher I hope I trip and break my eyeglasses. Good morning, DJ. Good morning, Mr. Bloodgood. I'd like to cash a little check if you don't mind. That's what the bank's here for, DJ. Five ones be okay? Same as usual? That'll be fine. Notice you haven't had any of those checks from the nationwide broadcasting company lately, did you? No, I've given up radio writing, Mr. Bloodgood. It was taking up so much of my time I felt I was neglecting Martha. And when a man's lucky to have a wife like mine, well, you know. Martha's a wonderful... Watch that broken tile, DJ! Oh, you dropped your spectacles. Look and see if they're broken. One of the lenses is. Oh, my, my. Oh, that's bad. No. No, that's good. Oh, you wouldn't understand, Mr. Bloodgood. But this shows I'm improving. Yes, sir. It's a hard fight with a short stick, but I'm improving. This is John Ford again, your host. Did you ever walk through the streets of a big city and notice how many people hurry along, wrapped up in their own thoughts? It leaves you with a feeling that a big city with millions of people around can sometimes be the loneliest place in the world. And in the reverse of that picture, the most cheerful place in the world is a happy home. There's no word that means so much, so many things to each of us as a simple word, home. To have peaceful, prayerful, happy homes is a purpose to which Family Theatre is dedicated. Dedicated with the hope that your home, your family, will enjoy all of God's wonderful blessings dedicated to our slogan, the family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. Family Theatre has brought you Fibromigui and Molly in the Windbag, with John Ford as your host. Others in our cast were Verna Felton, Ruth Perot, Howard Culver, Howard McNeer, Michael Hayes, and Virginia Eiler. The script was written by Jack Mitchell, with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman, and was directed for Family Theatre by J. F. Mansfield. This series of Family Theatre broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who felt in need for this type of program, by the Mutual Network which has responded to this need, and by the hundreds of stars of stage, screen, and radio who have so unselfishly given of their time and talent to appear on our Family Theatre stage. To them and to you, our humble thanks. This is Tony LaFranco expressing the wish of Family Theatre, that the blessing of God may be upon you and your home, and inviting you to be with us next week at this time, when Family Theatre will present Donna Reed and Vincent Price in Jane Eyre. Join us, won't you?