 The Mutual Broadcasting System, in cooperation with Family Theater Incorporated, presents The Tin Whistle, starring Ronald Reagan. Lloyd Nolan is your host. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. Periodically you come across an article in a magazine about the Forgotten Man. Often it's interesting reading about someone whose contribution to an organization or to a cause or to society has gone unnoticed. Now the Forgotten Man seems to be a great number of different people. But did you ever stop to realize that in homes there are Forgotten Men and Women too? Yes. Mothers and fathers whose work often goes unnoticed. Now today with so many activities outside of the home every family needs to get together for a while every day. And you can bring a lot of happiness into your home by expressing a little appreciation to all the other members of the family, to mom for all she does to make your home happy. And don't forget the old man too, sometimes he's the Forgotten Man. But you know, we of the Family Theater have another important conviction about home life and it's this. No home can be really happy if God is forgotten. Yes, every home needs God. Every family needs the daily remembrance of God. Every home needs daily family prayer for true and lasting happiness. Lord Nolan returns for a few words with you following tonight's Family Theater story, The Tin Whistle starring Ronald Reagan. This morning quite by accident I came upon an old newspaper item concerning Miss Margaret Rice, who was a teacher at the grammar school I attended. It's been 26 years since I last saw Miss Margaret Rice. She must have been about 33 at the time and I was nine. My first impulse was to destroy the old newspaper clipping and to dismiss it from my mind. But then I began to realize I've been trying not to think about Miss Margaret Rice all my life and that I shall never escape the torment of her memory. It was on my ninth birthday that my father gave me the whistle. Although I received many fine presents with the unpredictableness of youth, the whistle became my proudest possession. It was a small tin thing with a barrel stock not more than an inch in diameter. When you blew on it, it made a high shrill blast not unlike a police whistle. I gave it a tentative toot. And then put it aside to play with my other presents till bedtime. Martin, put your skates in the box now. It's time you were in bed. Oh, please, Mom, can I stay up and play some more? It's my birthday and these skates you gave me are my favorite presents. No, Martin. Please, Mom, I don't want to go to bed. It's a half hour past your bedtime already. Then will you come up when I'm in bed and kiss me again? All right. But just for a minute, your father and I have a lot to do tonight and he's had a very difficult day. He's always got work to do. Your father has to work hard to boss the nice things we have, like your presents here. You gave me these skates. She didn't. I want to take my skates and whistle upstairs with me. May I, Mom? Yes. All right. Here, let me hang the whistle around your neck. Now, go inside and say good night to your father, dear. When I got into bed that night, I waited a while, but my mother didn't come. The whistle was still around my neck, and I didn't dare to blow it at full blast because if my father was working, he'd be angry. Either my mother didn't hear it downstairs or she didn't pay any attention to it. I got out of bed and started down the stairs. Halfway down, looking through the banister rail, I could see my mother sitting there with my father in front of the fire. He had his arm around her, and her head was resting on his shoulder. Tired, dear. Yes, it's been a long day. How's Martin behaving himself? Fine. I had to let him stay up a little while. After all, it was his birthday, and he's becoming quite a man now. Did you see how excited he was about his presence? Mayor, he liked those skates all right, but I don't think he thought much of that whistle. Well, he wouldn't blow it indoors, dear, but I'm sure when he plays outdoors tomorrow now. Martin, what do you mean scaring your mother like that? Don't do no... Please, please don't say anything about it tonight. It's his birthday, you know. It wasn't long before my father began to regret that I'd been given a whistle. It held a growing fascination for me, and I was seldom without it, whether out of doors or in the house. Martin, stop that noise. Martin, did you hear me? Martin! All right, all right, I heard you. Gosh, a guy can't have any fun. What did you say? Nothing. Why can't I blow my whistle? Because it makes too much noise. Getting so, we have to listen to that thing from morning till night, and I just won't stand for it. Now you'll either promise never to blow it in the house again or I'll take it away from you. But I don't have to blow it so long. See, I can make it very soft. Martin, your father said not to blow it in the house. Now you either take it outdoors this minute, all right, I'm going. Gosh, what a house. A guy can't do anything. Can't have any fun. Now I have an adult's appreciation of how horrible it must have sounded. But at the time I felt persecuted and it made the little tin whistle seem more important to me than ever. I endowed it with a personality as if it could appreciate my righteous indignation. And I took advantage of every opportunity to express my defiance through its shrill voice. Because of my possessive fascination with the whistle, I got into several fights. And as a result of one of them, I lost one of my closest boyhood friends. Hi, Martin. What you doing? Hi, George. I just polishing my whistle. Look, gee, that's keen. Let me blow it once, huh? No, I haven't finished polishing it yet. Fine, you never let me blow it. I'm not going to eat it. I know, but I just want to finish polishing it first. And then you'll have some other excuse. What's so wonderful about a tin whistle? You think it was made of gold or something? Ah, you're just jealous because you haven't got one. Oh, yeah? Well, I could have one if I wanted it. My father even bought me one once. Yeah? What happened to it? Well, I lost it. I didn't care. Shucks, who cares about a stupid whistle? Well, I care about mine. I'm not going to lose it. That's why I don't let everybody blow it. Okay, forget it. What do we do? Want to play catch? Let's play cops and robbers. Oh, sure. Just so you can blow your whistle. I'm tired of playing cops and robbers. You always have to be the cop. Sure. Cops got to have whistles, don't they? That's how they'll be able to warn people. Well, how about letting me be the cop just for once? I can be just as good a one as you. No. Then I won't play. You just think about yourself. You're selfish. All the kids say so. I'm not selfish. Don't say that. You are so. You're just a selfish guy. I said don't say that. Oh, yeah? What are you going to do about it? Selfish there. I said it again. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. You dirty. I'll show you. Okay, if that's what you want. Yeah, that's what I'm going to show you. His name was George. I've forgotten his last name now. He was one of my best friends. But we were never friends again after that day. I often had to play alone, being my own cop to an imaginary robbery. My teacher in the fourth grade was Miss Rice. We often referred to her as Old Lady Rice. But I realize now she could have been only 33 or 4. I remember I used to hide in the bushes on the corner of the schoolyard during recess and give a blast of my whistle, which sounded like a police whistle to passing motorists. Palmer, I see you. Come out of those bushes. Do you hear me? Yes, Miss Rice. Were you blowing that whistle at the automobiles, Martin? I was just having some fun. Well, that's not a very thoughtful way of having fun. Mr. Barclays had complaints about this for motorists, but he didn't know who was responsible. Shucks. I can't say anything wrong in just playing a little game. Give me that whistle. It's my whistle. My father gave it to me. I am not asking questions, Martin. I am giving you a direct order. Give it to me. Oh, shucks. Thank you. Now, when you promise not to do this again, I'll return your whistle. You'll be sorry for this. I'll tell my father on you. He'll be good and mad. I'm not worried. Remember, I'll be waiting for your promise. Well, I'll never promise. You'll see. My father can lick Mr. Barclay any old day. I was called down to the principal's office at the end of the day, and these austere surroundings, I felt like a small culprit. Mr. Barclay wore a very high, stiff collar that seemed to push his chin up, made him look even more imposing. I guess he was quite a handsome man, but he looked like an ogre to me then. Martin, what is the meaning of this? Of what? Why were you blowing this whistle at passing automobiles? Don't you know you could cause a serious accident? Did she tell you that? I've had several complaints for motorists lately about this. Ms. Rice told me she caught you out at this morning. What have you to say for yourself? Nothing. Well, Ms. Rice, will you please step in here a moment? Yes, of course. Ms. Rice, I think you'd better keep Martin after school today for an hour, while he meditates about what he has done. And here is his whistle. He is not to have it back until he promises he will not use it to frighten people. I understand. Come, Martin. You be sorry, both of you. It's not the proper attitude, Martin. You will stay after school every day for a week until you learn to realize that. So as not to penalize you too much, Ms. Rice, I'll drive you home if you'll stop by when you're ready to leave. Thank you, Mel. Mr. Barkley. I was determined to get even with them and show them they couldn't keep my whistle. I told the other kids that Ms. Rice kept me after school every day, just so she could wait for Mr. Barkley to drive her home. This, of course, provided a juicy item for conversation, especially among the girls. They even made up songs about it. Oh, baby! Girls drew hearts on the sidewalk and on the sides of buildings, with Ms. Rice and Mr. Barkley's initials on them. The boys held up there in, too. Oh! I think the first time Ms. Rice had any evidence of what was going on behind her back was the day she caught me passing a note to a girl who sat at the desk across the aisle. And at the request of Thomas Jefferson, the Lewis and Clark expedition was authorized by Congress in 1803. Their object was to obtain further information about the country west of the Mississippi River for what the regions had to offer of value and to search out the Indian tribes there. Mary, where the Lewis? Lucy, shh! Here, take this note. No, she'll see you. No, she won't. Here, take it. It's funny. No, no, no. Until they reached the forks of the Missouri and named them the... Martin Palmer, can you tell me what they named the three rivers? What did you say, Ms. Rice? I knew you weren't paying attention. Lucy, bring me that note. But, Ms. Rice, I'll... You heard me. Bring it here immediately. Lucy, I'm curious to see what is of more interest to you two at this point than the Lewis and Clark expedition. And be the note, Lucy. I didn't want to take it. Quiet, quiet. Now then, let's see what was so important. I'll bet Ms. Rice and Mr. Bach... Lucy, is this the note Martin gave to you? Yes, Ms. Rice. I didn't want to take it. Never mind, Lucy, never mind. You may take your seat. Martin, come up here. But, Ms. Rice, I was only... I said to come up here this minute. Yes. Martin, did you write this note? Answer me. Did you write this note? Yes, ma'am, but I... Why? Did you think it would be funny? No, ma'am. I mean, well, I was only making a joke. Is this your idea of a joke? Ridiculing people. Making fun of them behind their backs. But I didn't mean to make fun. Do you think Mr. Barkley would think this was funny? No, ma'am. I think it was a low, mean, disgraceful thing to do. A man like Mr. Barkley, so fine, so... I've forgotten now what the note said. Maybe I want to forget. But it must have been something very cruel and nasty. I remember I was stunned by Ms. Rice's sudden reaction, somewhat frightened. I'd expected her to slap me or to take me by the ear and march me down to Mr. Barkley's office. But she did none of those things. She just left me standing there as she ran sobbing from the room. I looked around at my classmates and the expression on my face must have been ludicrous because suddenly they began to laugh. It surprised me at first because I was still shocked by Ms. Rice's peculiar behavior. But as the laughter continued, it swept me up and I began to laugh with them. Then suddenly I realized they were not laughing at me, but with me. Of course, I was a hero. I'd put one over on Ms. Rice. It was after school the next day before Ms. Rice accorded me any direct attention. She called me to her desk and said that Mr. Barkley had directed that I was to remain after school every day until I apologized. And so it was. Every day I remained after school and all the time a silent feud was growing between me and Ms. Rice. I was determined that I would make her give me back my tin whistle and I was just as determined that I would never apologize. She never called upon me to answer questions and my lessons were received and graded without comment. It was as if I was in possession of some dark secret concerning her private life and she wished not to remind herself of the fact. The girls in the class continued their fascinated speculation. Know what? None of the other teachers like her. Why do you suppose? It's because they're old maids and they think maybe Mr. Barkley will marry her. Probably in their way the girls guessed right. Most of the teachers were strict, proper, straight laced and Ms. Rice was definitely much younger and much prettier than any of them. It was a small school and a small town. Once going home late after school I overheard two teachers talking. I really feel it's not proper. Not proper at all. It's not in front of susceptible young minds. What I don't understand is Mr. Barkley. He's so careful in most respects. He obviously dreams of being county superintendent someday. So that was it. Ms. Rice was really in love with Mr. Barkley and he was taken with her, but he was timid. Not sure of how things would influence his getting on in the world. I remember only this much about Mr. Barkley. He wore a very high stiff collar that seemed to push his chin up. I guess he was quite a handsome man. Finally, my continued lateness in getting home was noticed and my father spoke to me about it. But why does Ms. Rice keep you after school? Well, she just doesn't like me. That's why she took that whistle you gave me away from me. Well now, son, are you sure you weren't doing anything wrong? Honest, I wasn't. I was just standing there by the water, found and get a drink, and she came up behind me and grabbed the whistle. She said it made her nervous. Martin, you're positive you weren't blowing it? Not even a little bit? No, I wasn't. Gee, I don't blow it all the time, Mom. There's some doubt on that point. You certainly didn't give us much rest around the house while you had it. Just the same, Tom. She's just a fussy old maid. Now that isn't necessary, Martin. Her being unmarried has nothing to do with it. But really, Tom, you should talk it over with her. Get her side of the story. Oh, Dad, don't have to talk to her. Couldn't he just give me a note or something? Be just as good as his seeing her. Maybe I ought to see her. I'd like to see just what sort of a person she is. She's the newest teacher, isn't she? She and Mr. Barclay are stuck on each other. They stay after school all the time and smooch. How do you know? Everybody says so. Have you ever seen them? Oh, sure. I've seen them lots of times. Gee, the things they do. Martin, is this true? You've actually seen them? Didn't I tell you you think I'm a liar? Of course not, dear. Tom, this is disgraceful. Right in the school where the children can see them. Young, susceptible minds. Somebody should speak to the school board. Oh, it's probably not as serious as it sounds. You know how kids exaggerate. Things happened fast after that. My father and mother became terribly interested in the affairs of Miss Rice and Mr. Barclay. And they communicated their interests to other parents. For my part, I had just one idea. To get back my tin whistle and to get it back without making any promises or any apologies. Miss High and Mighty think she's got influence because she's a principal's pet. Well, I'll show her. I'll make her give me back my tin whistle. I feel a little sick. Even 26 years later, when I think of that hearing, the school board had to take action. The grown-ups had convinced themselves that this was a scandal. Our young, susceptible minds were in danger of being tainted. It was all rather shame-faced and mean-spirited. Martin, did you ever see Mr. Barclay kissing Miss Rice? Yes, sir. In his office? I saw him. They kissed each other lots of times. Thank you, Martin. Miss Hennessy. Miss Hennessy is a teacher in the Princefool Grammar School. Are you of the opinion that there has been anything, shall we say, out of the ordinary going on between Miss Margaret Rice and Mr. Melvin Barclay? Well, I hate gossips and always have, but I've been a teacher in Princefield for over 30 years, at 32, to be exact. I've always tried to do the best job I could and be proud of my duty to guide the destinies of the younger generation. Yes, yes, Miss Hennessy, but answer my question. Would you say Miss Rice and Mr. Barclay have been setting a poor example for the students in their school? Well, I've always held Mr. Barclay in the highest respect. Frankly, I don't know anything, not directly. I wish you wouldn't insist. There really wasn't any evidence, just mine. But nobody stepped forward to defend Miss Margaret Rice. Not the students, not the teachers. On the witness stand, Mr. Barclay was extremely stiff and prim. I should like the permission of the Board to read a short statement into the record. I, Melvin Barclay, declare that at no time has there ever been anything improper between myself and any member of the teaching staff at Princeville Grammar School. In eight years in this position, no breath of suspicion has ever before been heard against my record. I have at all times been conscious of my solemn obligation to conduct myself in such a way as to provide the susceptible minds of youth with an example of firm, dignified and impartial behavior. What attentions have you paid Miss Margaret Rice? My attitude toward Miss Rice has always been correct and our relationship has always been limited to school affairs. Mr. Barclay, I feel obligated to put a question very bluntly. Are you in love with Miss Rice? I... No, sir. To your knowledge, is Miss Rice in love with you? I... Well, really, sir, I'm sure I don't know. This is most embarrassing. As a gentleman, I... I shall never forget the last time I saw Miss Rice. It was the morning following the announcement of her dismissal. She came to the school to collect her belongings before a new teacher had been assigned to our class. All of the children watched silently when she came into the classroom and walked to her desk, went through the drawers. Nobody moved and you could hear the sound of short, quick breathing all around the room. Some of the girls were sniffling. Miss Rice found what she was looking for. Martin, Palmer. Yes, Miss Rice? Come here, please. No, don't be frightened. It's all right. I, uh... believe this is your whistle, Martin. Yes, ma'am. Do you think you can behave yourself now? Yes, ma'am. Thank you. Goodbye, children. I remember I stood there clutching the little tin whistle in my hand possessively, watching Miss Rice leave the room. I looked around at the class and their faces were as stiff and white as chalk. I felt they were waiting for me to do something, some act that would break the tension and snap us all back to the free and relaxed normalcy of the classroom. The only thing I could think of was the whistle. I put it to my lips and blew it at the departing Miss Rice, defiantly and with all my might. When I went home that afternoon, I showed the whistle to my mother and she smiled with satisfaction, warning me not to make a nuisance of myself with it. But strangely enough, the whistle no longer fascinated me. I no longer cared about hiding in the bushes and scaring motorists, nor in using it to play cops and robbers. One day I gave it a final toot. Throw it into my closet, junk box, and went on to other interests. I never saw Miss Rice again. I heard my parents say she went to live with her family somewhere in the middle west. Mr. Barkley was later reported teaching in an obscure southern town. He hadn't cut a very pretty figure. There was an ugly smoldering cloud of shame over our town for several weeks after the school board meeting. I was rummaging through some boxes of old things today when I came upon that newspaper clipping of 26 years ago. Miss Margaret Rice, 33, until recently a teacher in the Princeville Grammar School, died in her father's home following a short illness. Cause of death was described as due to an infection which at first was diagnosed by doctors as of a trivial nature. These words whipped across my memory and caused me to wince for the boy I had been. As if to mock me, I absentmindedly picked up the little tin whistle which was in the box of old things. It was now battered and musty. Almost involuntarily, I put it to my lips in blue. The whistle left a sharp, rancid taste in my mouth. Oh, God. God forgive me. This is Lloyd Nolan again. After listening to tonight's play, I guess most of us can look back at some unhappy early memories. Yes, and when we think things over a second time, when we second guess about opportunities we had, we'd like to be able to live over parts of the past and do things differently. But there's one thing none of us can afford to second guess, and that's about the future of our families. You know, this is a pretty mixed up world today. You hear a lot about families breaking up, about unhappy homes, juvenile crimes, and delinquency. And at times, most fathers and mothers get to worrying about these things. They don't want their homes to break up. They don't want their children to get into trouble. They'd like to have insurance against these things. Well, family theater is selling that kind of insurance. It's a protection policy for the whole family. It's daily family prayer that brings God's help and protection to a home. Yes, family prayer is the perfect plan, the only insurance that pays dividends now and in the future. That's the purpose of family theater, to sell you this policy of family prayer. So if you haven't started family prayer in your home, begin tonight and you'll discover how true is this conviction so many of us share. The family that prays together stays together. This is Lloyd Nolan saying good night and God bless you. Before saying good night, our thanks to Ronald Reagan for his performance this evening and to Richard Burdick for writing tonight's play. Music was scored and conducted by Max Ter. This production of family theater incorporated was directed by David Young, others who appeared in tonight's play were Francis Whitfield, Tommy Bernard, Charles Seal, Jerry Farber, Mary Lansing, Hal Gibbard and Whitfield and Gene Layton. Next week our family theater stars will be Jane Darwell and Bobby Driscoll in Jamie and the Promise. Your hostess will be Joan Leslie. This series of the family theater broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who felt the need for this kind of program and by the mutual broadcasting system which has responded to this need. Meryl Ross speaking. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.