 The Johnson-Wax Program, Words at War, with Carl Van Doren. The makers of Johnson's Wax for home and industry, in cooperation with the Council on Books in War Time, proudly presents one of the most widely discussed programs in America. Words at War, dramatizations of the most representative books to come out of this great world conflict. And with this as usual, is one of the keenest judges of good books in America. The eminent author, biographer and Pulitzer Prize winner, Mr. Carl Van Doren. Mr. Van Doren. Tonight's book is the story of an American who has been a soldier since the early months of this war, but who has never left the country. He modestly begins by saying that he has nothing to talk about and that that is why he wrote the book. But you will soon find out that he has a great deal to talk about. I'll tell you what it is and who the author is after Jack Costello has brought you a short message from our sponsor. You know, folks, we'd like to point out that during these summer days, both your front and back doors are apt to be open a good deal of the time. That means that more than the usual amount of dust and dirt are going to blow into your kitchen and front entrance hall. And their linoleum floor coverings need extra protection. They'll be perfectly safe if they're polished with Johnson's glow coat. If you ever looked at the jagged edges of those dirt particles under a magnifying glass, you'd understand why floor coverings wear so much longer. In fact, six to ten times longer when they're regularly protected with Johnson's self-polishing glow coat. Actually, the glow coat film, although invisible, acts as a tough shield guarding against wear and scratches. Glow coat is easy to apply, dries quickly to a beautiful sparkling finish. It's called self-polishing because it needs no rubbing or buffing. It keeps the colors of your linoleum new looking indefinitely. And of course, it saves you many hours of work. All right, here's Mr. Vandoren. Words at war tonight brings you a dramatization of Donald Huff's Captain Retread. In the last war, Donald Huff was interned private, corporal, second lieutenant, and first lieutenant in the signal corps. In this war, he is a captain in the Air Force. His book is the story of his experiences in an army which is essentially the American army he knew, but in a war which is different and how different. Pay no attention to him when he says he has nothing to talk about. He has a great deal to tell all Americans about the daily lives of millions of young men, soldiers in training whom we think of every day. But I'll let Captain Huff tell you himself as he tells it in his human and humorous book, Captain Retread. That's a great song. I was going back in the army after 24 years. The last time I was a kid of 22. Now I was 47. An individual of experience. My face lined with what dermatologists like to call marks of character. But which, having watched and developed, I accredited mostly to beer. I was getting into uniform again on May 19, 1942. Trying to pick up where I'd left off on August 4, 1919. I had a commission as captain in the Air Corps. And first order of business was to meet my friend Hyatt at the department store to pick out a uniform. Hyatt tried to get back in the army, too, but they turned him down. Poor guy, I felt awful sorry for him. Look! Pornographs, house furnishings, kitchenware, uniform. Uniforms. And boys' clothing. Creepy. Third floor. Make it easy, brother. You can't get out until I open the door. I've got to get a uniform. Probably got a few left. Out on three. Pardon me, madam. Excuse me, sir. On up three. Get back in the car, please. Up three. Hey, hi. Hi. Here I am. Oh, hello, Don. Very nice of you to come down high. Where are the uniforms? Right over here. I've been looking at them. Oh, you're a lucky stiff. You know, I still can't figure why they turned me down. I'm in just as good shape as you are. Well, maybe high, but, you know, we all can't go back. You've got a jab to do here at home, high old man. Air raid warden, save waste fats, sell bonds. Man in the home front, you know. Ah, nuts to the home front. Come on, let's get you a uniform. Yes, gentlemen. May I be of service? My friend wants to look at a uniform. Yeah, an army officer's uniform. Big, your pardon, sir. You are going in the army? I'm going back in the army. Oh, a retread, eh? What do you mean, retread? Oh, that's just to name the younger men half of you First World War officers, sir. They call you retreads. Rather good, don't you think? Hey, that's not bad. That's just what you are, Don, a retread. Oh, right, all right. Let's see some uniforms. Well, now, let me see. I'd say you take a 40, right? 36. I'm so them wrong about sizes, sir. Yeah, let's just slip this 40 on for size. I don't want a 40. I want a 36. You only take a 36 now? Oh, I have taken a 40 now and then, but I'll be losing a lot of weight in the army. What I want is a 36. Very well, sir, if you insist. 36, well, you'll never get into it. And here we are, sir, a 36. Thank you. And now, if you'll just slip off your coat. Now, there we are. Now we put this one on. Uh-huh. Now we button the buttons. There. My, we do have a tummy, don't we? Now, your cap, sir. Oh, no, no, I don't want that kind. I want one of those slouchy ones. I'm in the Air Corps. Don't be silly, Don. Those floppy caps are for flyers. Yeah, but I could have one, couldn't I? You look ridiculous at your age. Oh, all right. Now you're insignia, sir. Double silver bar. That's right. Uh, let me fix them for you. Oh, thanks. There we are. All ready for another war, eh? Not bad. Not bad at all. All done. I really would like to have the blouse altered for you, sir. If you don't mind my saying it, it is a little snug. Snug? Say, buddy, in a few weeks this blouse will be hanging on me like a sack. Come on, high, let's go. Goodbye. Good luck, Captain. Goodbye. Come on, Captain Retread. Coming. Goodbye, Broadway, hello, friends. Hey, hi. Look what's coming at us. What? Don't you see? A soldier. Boy, watch me return his snappy salute. Hey, this'll be great. First time I've saluted in 20 years. Get this now, high. Get this high. Boy, why, he walked right by me. He didn't even look at me. Didn't even give you a tumble. But you'll recover. Now come on, Retread. Let's stop in at Joe's. I'm thirsty. I certainly need something after shopping with you, Don. That is nice of you to come, high. I appreciate it. You ruin my day. You get a commission and they turn me down. I still don't get it. Oh, it's just the brakes, high. You know, somebody's got the man. Don't you mention manning that home front again or so help me, Don. Yes, gentlemen. Oh, hello, Mr. Downey. Hello, Joe. Mr. Oh, I mean Captain Hoff. Well, congratulations, Captain. Thanks, Joe. Yes, they're getting some of us old boys back in harness. Yes, they certainly are. What'll it be, gentlemen? The usual, Joe. Only make it a double. Yes, sir. And you, Captain? Oh, I don't know. Give me the same, I guess. What's the matter? Not for you, Captain. No one in uniform served before five o'clock. California law. Oh, no, say, what's the idea? You could have a little beer, maybe, or a soft drink. Oh, give me a beer. One beer. My wife, Barry, and my son, Sherwood, and I were living in Laguna Beach. Sherwood was stationed nearby with the Marines. And I was due to report to the air base at Santa Ana. So we were all together for a while anyway. Well, come in here. I've got something to show you. All right, dear. I'll be right in. And wondering what was keeping you. Just about to call your office. Sherwood's going out this evening at... Don. How do you like it? But when did you get it? It's afternoon. I went with me. Sappy, huh? Oh, you look wonderful, dear. Wonderful. Not bad for a retread, huh? Retread, dear? Sure. You know, that's what the kids call us old timers, who come back in the Army. Oh, that's cute. Retread. Yeah. Now, see, back in harness. Dear, turn around. Huh? Why? Turn around. All right. Hmm. Dear, isn't that coat a little snug? Snug? Well, of course it isn't. It's a 36. But, dear, you take a 40. I take a 36. This fits me. Well, anyway, I'll be losing weight in the Army. Well, perhaps. But anyway, unbutton the coat and sit down. Be comfortable. Perfectly comfortable the way I am. But, uh, it is a little warm, isn't it? Well, if I sort of unbutton it is warm. Well, Barry. Here we go again. Yep, once more. I can't pretend that I like it. You and the Army, Sherwood and the Marines? Well, I'm not going any place much, Barry. I'll probably stay in this country. Maybe we can have a house wherever I'm stationed. It won't be bad. What about Sherwood? Well, somebody's kid has to go overseas. I know it. But I don't want to go overseas. I can't help it. I don't want him to go. You'll come through all right, Barry. It's just something that's got to be done. We were getting along so well. Sherwood loved his job. Your work was going fine. Everything was nice. Just the way I always hoped it would be. And then this, this war. We're just one little family, Barry. We've got to remember that. Oh. I don't want to go overseas. We've got to remember that. I know, dear. And I understand what you and Sherwood must do. You can count on me. Sure. We know that. Hey, where is the kid? He's upstairs getting ready for a date. Donna, I wish you'd speak to him. Yeah, about what? He's getting so hard to manage. I begged him to wear his rubbers today and he flatly refused. Oh, Barry. Sherwood's a man now. He's a marine. I don't care. Don, do you think he's getting enough to eat? Of course he is. He's eating better than you are. I don't know what's come over him. I fix all his favorite dishes and he hardly touches them. Barry, soldiers eat well. They don't come home hungry. That's the trouble. People think soldiers get nothing to eat but beans. Well, he looks thin to me. Well, sure. He's lost weight. Bound to him basic training. I say I'll probably take off 30 or 40 pounds myself. Where are you? In the living room, dear. Come in. I want to show you something. Okay, what is it, Mom? Jeepers, Dad. When did you get it? Private Huff. Is that the way to enter the presence of a superior officer? What do you mean, superior officer? A marine private first class is the same as a captain in the air corps. Why? But okay. Mrs. Huff? Yeah? Mrs. Huff, may I have your permission to speak to the captain? Oh, you sillies. Yes, you have my permission. Captain Huff, sir, I have Mrs. Huff's permission to speak to you. Very well, Private Huff. Well, get up on your feet. Give us a gander at that uniform. All right. Boy, if that ain't something, that's pretty good, Dad, for a retread. Hey, what do you mean, retread? Doesn't he look fine in his uniform? Button it up, dear. Boy, I'll say. Hey, hey, say, say, Dad, turn around. Turn around? What's the matter? Dad, isn't that blouse a little snug? I hope you're having as much fun as I am. This is Carl Van Doren speaking, and we're bringing you a dramatization based upon Donald Huff's book, Captain Retread, another of the Words at War series presented each week by the makers of Johnson's Wax. So far, we've shown you Captain Retread, an officer in the First World War who has donned his uniform for the second. It's a bit snug, but he's going to reduce. Now he's off to camp, so let's go along. Well, I reported to Santa Anna, and the first day stepped around the base with a spring on my walk. I had a picture of myself, lean-hipped, a hard-bitten fellow with chiseled features, the mark of many a bitter campaign on his face. Yet the little wrinkles around his eyes have betrayed a keen sense of humor, the right little smile, somehow a bit sad, too. Women would naturally fall in love with this fellow. But what was the poor chap to do? I dropped in the PX for a cup of coffee. There's a cute little redhead waiting on the counter. I slid onto a stool and decided to give the kid a break. Hello, gorges. Hello. What'll it be? I'd like a cup of coffee. Beautiful. Draw one. Anything else? Pop? No, no, no. We took the other old guy. You've got to take the captain on your side. Listen, we've got three of these Retreads on our team now. So have we. What can we do about it? There's simply in regulations about five hours of physical training or athletics a week. I decided to take it out in softball, which was no treat to the youngsters on the team. They put me in right field on the theory that nobody ever hits anything there in softball. So I tried to put on a front. I stand out in right, picking up pebbles now and then. I place my hands on my hips during pauses, the way they do in the big leagues. Take a few quick steps in the direction of a ball, no matter where it's hit, and in a general way, try to show that I'm on my toes. I shout encouraging remarks to the pitcher. He ignores me. But everything's okay until it's my turn to bat. You can do it, captain! In and a mothin'! I'm up there to try. I wiggle my legs like Babe Ruth, hitch my belt like Miller Huggins, swing my bat exactly like Hans Wagner. Nice try count. I wasn't destined to attend the Army as a commuter for very long. Orders came through, transferring me to a base gunnery school at Ajo, in Arizona, near the Mexican border. A very rugged post. It wasn't practical to get a house, so Barry stayed at home. We sure went away with the Marines. She pitched into Red Cross work. And at last, our family was fighting a total war. And now, away from home, now really a 24-hour day soldier, I find myself proud to be living with these men. Especially at night as I walk between the rows of brightly lighted barracks and the tents placed along the streets to handle the overflow. There's something thrilling about the post at night, just before the lights go out. There's laughter and horseplay. The last few minutes of general talk, the tired fingers scribbling letters home. There's something thrilling and pathetic. The energies and brains of all these youngsters who are segregated from the world at which they've been so vital apart, confined by these barracks' walls in dedication to battle. And beyond the barracks, reaching to all parts of the country, hover the indistinct images of families. Their eyes and thoughts turn this way. Apprehension this way. Fear this way. Love this way. Watching boxes being packed. Presence being bought. Prayers being said. It seems too heavy a concentration in this small spot of the very essence of the country. Too many of the best. The mixture's too rich here, leaving it too lean outside. Barry came down to look over the army and me. Barry, darling, oh, I'm so glad to see you, dear. You look wonderful. Well, ten pounds lighter, that's all. You have at least that, Don. Well, come on, Barry, I'll show you around. I want to see your quarters. You will. What kind of a song is that? Oh, that's our old hinky-dinky brought up to date. The waxin' waves will win the war, par-li-boo. The waxin' waves will win the war, par-li-boo. The waxin' waves will win the war. So what the heck are we fighting for? Hinky-dinky par-li-boo. A million verses. They're fine-looking boys, aren't they, Don? Yeah, they're the best, Barry. Oh, there's one of the barracks. That? You'll be sorry! What's that? He's yelling at those recruits just passing the barracks. That's the stock greeting for all new men. You'll be sorry. Well, I must say everybody seems to be in good humor. Yes, Barry, they are. The army's humor is what makes it the best army in the world. It's our defense in depth. What do you mean, Don? Well, there's no other humor just like it. The humor of the army is concerned with itself. The army thinks the army is funny. Its humor is based upon itself, kidding itself and laughing itself off. I guess that goes for the rest of the country, too. That's why we could never tolerate a Hitler or a Mussolini. We'd watch them strutting and posing and burst out laughing and spoil everything. Yes, I suppose we would. Of course we would. When I'm officer of the day, I have to wear a pistol. That seems funny to the men. A guy in an office wearing a sidearm. My Barry, the other day I walked over to talk to a clerk about a report. He threw up his hand and said, Oh, don't shoot, Captain. And I read about a sailor in the ice-cold North Atlantic the other day. He was perched on an overturned lifeboat, as if you're riding a horse, and yelling, Hi-O Silver at the rescue ship. Oh, no. Barry, you can't beat people like that. Our peculiar sense of humor is our secret weapon. That's what I mean about our defense in depth. Now, we turn here. Oh, where's your house? You're looking at my house, Barry. This? This is just a barracks. Barry, please. This is B-O-Q. Bachelors, officers, quarters. I'll have you know I occupy the deluxe suite. Oh. Come on, Barry. This place was built years ago for the CCC. Well, maybe it's better on the inside. Oh, it is. There we are. Go on in, dear. How do you like it? Oh, Don. Ample room, six by eight. And look, I have got a ceiling. Only officer who has a ceiling. Ceiling? A few pieces of old beaver board. My night table. Don, it's a cardboard box that breakfast cereal came in. Uh, my wardrobe. Piece of gas pipe. You poor dear, have you been living like this? Barry, I've been living this way and loving it. Don, I'm going to speak to somebody about this. Oh, Barry. I wasn't kidding about loving the life and being with the men who make up this army. When I leave, I'll miss the men more than anything else. Most officers feel the same way. The men are everything to us. The men are the army. It's body and spirit and soul. And all we officers can do is skulk around the fringes of their vast brotherhood trying to get in. I won't pretend that it was an entire picnic. There were a lot of lonesome nights of the wind howling through the cracks of my deluxe suite and spraying the Arizona desert sand in my face. I won't pretend that I wasn't pretty excited when we got a chance. Barry and Sherwood and I to be together again after almost a year. The boy and I have been corresponding regularly and we both felt that Barry had behaved nobly during this year by herself. So we had a little surprise cooked up for her on the first anniversary of the family's second war. Shouldn't Sherwood be here by now? Oh, he'll be along. He couldn't get on the first bus. They're pretty crowded. Oh, I hope he comes soon. I have stakes. Hey, he'll be here. The three of us together again. Yes, Barry. You realize I've been in the army a whole year? Lost 28 pounds too by Gad. Oh, you're beautiful, dear. Well, I don't think I look like a retread anymore. It's Sherwood. That's his ring. Sherwood. Come on in, boy. I am father. I am mom. Oh, darling. I don't see it swallowing by. Seems he is. Yeah, gee, I missed you too, mom. Well, son, let's look at you. Hey, what's this? Get a load of that, huh? You've been promoted, Sherwood. It'll be Sergeant Sherwood to you, madam. Sherwood, I'm so proud of you. Marine Sergeant, huh? Corresponding to Major in the Army. Say, will you look at the old man's streamline? Boy, you took off some weight. 28 pounds. Boy, that retread is wearing thin. Oh. Sergeant, tell me, how did it happen? I don't know. A major asked me that the other day. I made a mistake, and he said, how did you ever get to be a sergeant? I said, I don't know, sir. And he said, well, I'm sure I'll never know. Well, there you are. Oh, I think something else is indicated here. Sherwood, could I speak to you a moment over here? That little matter, you know? Oh, oh, oh, sure, yeah. Now, what is this? A conference, Mrs. Huff. Oh, but she deserves it. Oh, but is she ready for it? Come on, you fellows. What is this all about? Let's go speak to her about that. Mrs. Huff. Yes? Mrs. Huff, we wish to make a citation. A citation? A citation. To bury Huff, our beloved wife. And mother. For conspicuous restraint, in permitting her son and husband to drink beer and eat peanuts and cheese and crackers, thereby spoiling their dinners. For recognizing the fact, at long last, that marines do not put on rubbers when it rains. Well, they should. For sewing buttons on our shirts and shoulder patches on our blouses. For not crying at bus stations, for allowing us to skip the salad. For yielding all of her privileges and prerogatives as boss of this family in the interest of the war effort. I, Captain Don Huff. I, Sergeant Sherwood Huff. We do both now, bury Huff. Elevate you for long and distinguished service to the rank of private first class. Congratulations, private first class, bury Huff. Oh, you nuts. Come here, both of you, before I cry. If you do, we'll break it a buck private, won't we, Sherwood? You'll bet we will, ma'am. All right then. I won't. But promise me one thing, will you, fellas? Sure. Anything? Make this the last war, will you? Fix it so you won't have to be a retread someday, Sherwood. One retread in the family is enough. Oh, Barry. There you are, Captain Retread by Donald Huff. This book, written with a tongue in the cheek and a twinkle in the eye, has its serious overtones, too, as you've heard. Obviously, we've been able to bring you only a few of the high spots of Captain Retread. So I suggest that you get this book and enjoy the rest of it. In a moment, I'll be back to tell you about our words at war for next week. Mr. Cartello? Thank you, Mr. Van Doren. Folks, the gasoline and oil companies are rendering a real service to car owners these days. First, by providing you with thorough check-up service, and second, by frequent reminders to take care of your personal transportation. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure in any car owner's language, and that goes for the finish as well as what's under the hood. Maybe your car won't actually break down because you don't keep it clean, but your driving morale will crack a little, and that road, dirt, and grime will injure the finish if you don't remove it occasionally. Let me suggest that you give your car a treatment with Johnson's Car New, the auto polish that does two things at once. Both cleans and polishes with one application. Car New is a liquid. So easy to use, you'll gladly do the job yourself. Make a note now to ask your dealer for Johnson's Car New, spelled C-A-R-N-U. Car New, which brings us to next week's program. Mr. Van Doren? Next week, we bring you a story of war without the roar of a single cannon and with the whine of but two bullets. It's the story of a group of young Americans who fight not only against Nazis, but also against one of the most demoralizing enemies of all, against the awful curse of loneliness. The script has already been written, and it is as imaginative a piece of writing as I have read in a long time. The title is War Below Zero. I recommend that you be on hand to hear it. Now, this is Carl Van Doren inviting you to be with us again next week, and until then, goodbye.