 The Mutual Broadcasting System in Cooperation with Family Theatre Incorporated presents Dear Mr. American, starring J. Carol Nash. Loretta Young is your hostess. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. In the hearts of people everywhere, there is one great hope that all nations will learn to live together in peace and brotherhood. We like to think that each war is the last war. We are hopeful that international conferences may prevent future wars. We give generously and help those who are suffering, especially the little children, who were born into a world at war and who are still suffering from its terrible after-effects. As a nation, as individuals, we want peace. But without God, there can be no peace. All history teaches that. Because without faith, there can be no freedom. And when freedom dies, a new war is born. Our homes, our communities, our nation and the world will be renewed with a peaceful, generous, God-loving spirit, if we as individuals make God a part of our homes. If we make family prayer a daily practice in our homes. For this is so true. A family of prayer is a family at peace. And the world of prayer would mean the world at peace. Loretta Young will speak again following tonight's family theater performance of Dear Mr. American, starring J. Carol Nash. In here, Maria, in the kitchen. Ah, so you are at the table, Joseph, all ready to begin. You have your hands clean? Maria, are not the good baker's hands always clean? All right, then. Here is the pen and ink and the paper. I borrowed them from the schoolmaster just as you asked. Now, Joseph, write the letter. Yes, yes, the letter. How is my old friend the professor? He's fine, I suppose, I didn't ask. Now, this letter... You didn't happen to see Anton? Joseph, what would a farmer be doing in the village at this time of night? The letter, huh? Oh, Maria, I don't even know how to start. And you, a grown man, even a child knows how to start a letter. But, Maria... It is nothing. You put down the date, then you put down the address, and then you say, dear, whoever you are writing to... But, Maria, that is just the trouble. Who am I writing to, huh? What, to an American, of course. Yes, yes, but which American? I've seen the country on the map, Maria. It is big. There are maybe millions of Americans, all different names. To which one do I write? Why, you write to... You see, you don't know either. No, no, but there's still maybe a way, Joseph. You can write it just to, dear, Mr. American. Just, dear, Mr? Yes, yes. And then when I take the pen and ink back to the professor, I will give him the letter, too. He will see that it goes to the right person. Well, you think you can do that, huh? Why, is he not the wisest man in the village? Well, all right. I will do it. Good. Here, fill the pen. Now, write it neatly. As best I can, Maria. You must remember, I am not so much of a penman. Dear Mr. American, please, you will excuse the mistakes I make in this letter. I am not a man of much schooling. My name, it is Joseph. If I lived in Spain, I would be Jose. A Pole, I would be Joseph. Italian, maybe, I would be called Giuseppe. And I could be any one of these nations. Or I could be French, or a Greek, or a German, or any one of a hundred others. Which one I am does not matter. The important thing is the reason why I am writing this letter. It is to thank you for something you did for me without even knowing. Something you gave back to me that I thought I had lost. To tell you what that thing is, I must go back a little to a day. Long ago, when I was a happy man, my trade is that of a baker. And since early morning that day, I had worked in the sweet fragrance of baking bread. You know the perfume of bread when it is hot from the oven? Well, on this day I am telling you of, it was a Saturday, and my son, Paul, had come to the shop to help me. A fine boy, taller than me even at 18. And on that day... Oh, there, Papa, I've got these loaves all ready for the oven. Well, now, let me see how they look. Uh-huh. So... All right, Papa. Well, perfect, my son, perfect. You know something? You're getting to be a first-class baker. Thanks, Papa. And when you're through with the school, you're going to be ready to step into a fine trade for the rest of your life, huh? No, I hope so, Papa. Hope so? Well, what's to prevent it? Oh, I don't know, Papa. Who knows what can happen? Oh, you get such strange ideas in that head of yours. What could happen? There will always be flour, huh? There will always be people who eat bread three times a day. Yes, but... Oh, have no doubts, my son. You are going to be a baker and a good one. And all your days, like me, you're going to work in this wonderful fragrance, making the bread that gives men the strength to run the world. Yes, Paula? Well, look who's here. Anton. Hello, Joseph. Hello. Oh, what a hot day. Morning there, Paul. Good morning. Well, it's good to see you, Anton. It's been so long, huh? What do you do on that farm of yours? Crawl under a haystack and sleep for weeks? Sleep? Who can sleep in harvester? Oh, yes, yes, the harvester. How is the wheat this year? Good, huh? Fine, fine. Good wheat. That's why I've come to see you, Joseph. Oh? I've been taking green to the middle. I've got a load of good flour outside. Good flour, huh? You see what I was just telling you, Paul? There will always be flour. So, well, if you think good flour is so easy to come by, I'll take you to the baker in the next village. Oh, wait, wait now. Oh, this man Anton is such a hothead. I want your flour, my friend. Bring the wagon around to the back and Paul will help you hoist it up to the loft, huh? And the price? Oh, whatever you say. I know you are a fair man. Anton, I trust you. All right then, all right. I'll bring the wagon. Oh, well, hello, Professor. Good morning, Joseph Paul. I want the loaf of... Anton, I haven't seen you for a long time. So? But I saw you not more than half an hour ago. Huh? You were walking along the road with your head down. Ah, yes. Ah, yes, I was looking for insects. Bugs? Oh, this schoolmaster of ours is... He's an odd one, Anton. Every Saturday he walks through the fields looking under stones for little insects. He collects them. No. You can laugh, but just see the treasure I found this morning. Look at that. What is that? A little ugly glump of twigs. Oh, it is beautiful, Anton, not to the eye, but is a testament of faith. It will in time become a butterfly, a creature of free and iridescent beauty. Oh, these words, Professor. I am only a peasant. Yes, but you at least understand faith. Ah? Well, every day. Take, for instance, the winter wheat that you will sow this for. All winter long it must lie there in the soil like a dead thing, soaked by rain, chilled by frost, buried under snow. And yet, when spring comes, what will you expect? What else? Exactly. You have faith. It runs the world. You know, it's funny. I was just telling Paul here that bread runs the world. The strength and the energy. Yes, yes, yes. But man does not live by bread alone. What goes on in men's hearts? That's the thing that shapes their destiny. Men's dreams, his hopes. Oh, these words, words. I go and out and unload my flour. I'll be right around to the back to help you, Anton. Anton, he knows more about wheat than words, huh? Well, Professor, what can I do for you now, huh? For me? I must have come in here for something, but I seem to have forgotten. How could I forget with that wonderful smell a loaf of bread for dinner? Well, Professor, right out of the oven. Fine, fine. Well, good day. I will see you in school Monday, Paul. Papa, the professor didn't pay for the bread. Oh, I know he is so absent-minded, but he'll pay the next time. Well, suppose he forgets? Or he won't. I trust my friends. Well, do you think he's right, Papa? You know, I mean about faith running the world? Yes. Yes. And I like... Well, I like what I was telling you a little while ago. I have faith that there will always be flour. I have faith that people will always eat bread three times a day. I have faith that when you are ready, you will have a good trade for the rest of your life as a baker and... Hey, open up! That's Anton. I'd better go to the back door now. You have him help you pull the sacks up to the loft with a rope pole. And here, take along the ledger. Be sure to write down the number of sacks and the date. All right. What is the date today, Papa? Today, let's see now. Oh, yes, yes, it's the 31st. Right here, you write August 31st, 1939. August 31st, 1939. Sometimes I wonder what happened to Professor's butterfly, huh? Then it came out like he said, like a little flower with wings into the fields. The fields filled with the thunder of guns and the groans of men and... I'm sorry. I will scratch that out. You see, that is not why I am writing you, dear Mr. American. Well, not about the war, but to tell you what I lost and how you gave it back to me. This thing that I lost, it did not go all at once, but a little at a time over weeks and months and years. Though the first of it went a few days after that far-off, happy Saturday. Oh, Professor, well, good morning. Joseph, I have some business with you. Business? Hmm. A money matter? I forgot you. Here's the money for the bread I took the other day here. Well, is that why you were looking so worried? No. No, this is another matter I've come to see you about. I have some papers here. Well, what is this? Inventory? You see, Joseph, as our village has no mayor, the authorities have picked me to enforce the rationing. Oh, yes, yes, yes, rationing. What is that? The control of food. It is necessary that there be an equal sharing of what we have to eat now that we are at war. Oh, and they put you in charge? Mm-hmm. Well, that's a great honor. I'm afraid it's not going to make friends for me, Joseph. You see, now, this paper's in here. Oh, no, no, it's no trouble, Professor. I will fill them out at once. I must write down all the flour I have in this shop, huh? Yes, Joseph, and quickly the trucks You mean they came to take my flour? Yes, Joseph. All of it? That's what the orders say, Joseph. There is some mistake. Of course, I will try to straighten it out as soon as possible. But in the meantime, if the trucks come, I understand. If I didn't give all my flour, then there will be trouble for you, huh? Yes. There will be no trouble. I will give them all I have. Thank you, Joseph. You know something. You know what I was telling Paul just a couple of days ago? What? I told him that there will always be flour. So now you see what I was beginning to lose, huh? It was a simple thing, that mistake. Some clerk confused by all the bookkeeping of a war. And yet, even after it was corrected and the flouration was established, and I had flour enough for a little baking now and then, I remembered that there might not always be flour. And that much was taken from me. And in another month of so, a little more was taken. Oh, please, please, Maria. Not now, Maria. Oh, please, he's coming up to work. Now, Maria. Quick, dry your eyes. Here, my attitude is bigger. Oh, he's in the hall. Now smile, Maria. Smile, smile. Where is everybody? Here in the kitchen. Hide the handkerchief. Well, look me over. What do you think of this? Well, now say now, if that isn't a nice-looking uniform, huh? Mama, you're crying. Oh. Oh, they're there, Mama. No, they're there. Everything's going to be all right. Oh, no, Maria. Look, you are soaking the shoulder at that beautiful uniform. What's the army going to say, huh? They're not going to like it. Paul, you'll take care of yourself. Oh, Mama, sure, Mama. Well, sure, he's got to be careful when he is wearing that new watch. Watch? What's this anyway? Well, we were going to give it to you after dinner, Paul, but... What? Well, you may as well have it now. Here, son, wear it in good health. Oh, you like it, Paul. Oh, Mama, it's wonderful. You'll think of us whenever you look to see what time it is. Well, sure he will. He'll think of us when it's the time, but there's just one thing now, son. When you come back and you're working in the bakery, you've got to take it off when you are mixing the dough. Oh, sure, sure, Papa. If I come back... If you... come back? Yes, I mean, you know, Pop, well, the fellows were telling me today that when you get in early like this, you've got a good chance of being promoted. Who knows, I might get to be an officer. I might make the army my career. Oh, I see. That's a long face. If our poor could be an officer. Yes, I'll tell you, Papa. I'll make your promise. The minute I get to be general, I'll quit and come back to the bakery. Oh, Paul, a general. Yes, a general in a bakery. You know it. Charge over the podiums. Oh, right-faced general. Forward march. The general's dinner is ready. Oh! The kind you force through a throat that is tight with tears. And as I laughed, I... I knew that another of the things I lived by was crumbling. It went slowly, this one, not all at once. For a long time, I even had hope. And then, in the last months of the war... It is with the most sincere regret that we inform you that your son, Paul, died as a result of enemy action. And so, that was gone. What did I have left out of the things I lived by? Well, I had my fate in my friends in Antone and the professor. I still had fate in that idea that people would always eat bread three times a day. Well, it's funny, huh? How a man can keep an idea like that in his head in spite of all he can see around him. I have not written down here, dear Mr. American, that these things velvet us in the matter of food during the war. It is a bitter memory and there is no reason why I should bring it back. I suppose things were the same in your country, and you also knew that it was nothing to always be hungry and cold, but through the worst of it, even through the times when there was not for weeks that beautiful smell of baking in my shop, I hoped that when the war was over, things would be better, but they were not better. They were worse. There was a bitter winter, a scorching summer, the worst drought in a hundred years, the grain burned in the fields, the food dropped unripened, the vegetables died in soil that was baked like a brick. One day in the fall, I happened to pass by the schoolhouse. It was recess, so I went in. Well, now, Joseph, this is a pleasant surprise. Sit down, sit down. Well, thank you. I am a little tired. Who isn't these days? And how are things at the bakery? You should know, how can a man bake without flour? I know, I know. And they still got me burdened with the rationing, even when there isn't anything to ration anymore. It is hard, huh? All those papers with all the other things you have to do. The school isn't much work, Joseph. There are so few pupils, so many sicks, so many too weak to come. Uh-huh. It is higher than the children. You know, Joseph, sometimes I think it's easier for them than it is for us. Easier? They suffer, but they are so young. They have no memory of the other times when things wear as they should be. You and I, we can try to forget our hunger and our weakness, but we cannot forget the days when there was food and the child's life glinted with sunshine, rippled with laughter like a running brook. Do you remember, Joseph, how a schoolyard should be at recess time? Yes. As full of noise as a pillow is of feathers, huh? Listen to my schoolyard now. So? They are just sitting out. They're like little shrunken flowers, trying to steal a little energy from the sun. They think that's the way children were born to be. They do not know. If they could only have bread. Well, let's talk of more pleasant things, huh, Joseph? Yes. I saw Antoine yesterday. He was inarranging about the grain allotment for his cattle. Cattle? Well, he has a couple of cows, you know? He's allowed to have a little grain. He gives grain to cows when children want bread? Well, it's ration administrator. I am permitted to... No, not when children are crying for bread. Joseph, wait a minute! Joseph, what brought you all the way out here? Antoine, is it true that you are feeding grain to your cattle? They get more than I do. I can tell you that. Look at my belt. Antoine, I want that grain. I want that grain. I want it for bread for the children. Are you trying to make a joke? I have permission to. I don't care what you have out of my way. I am going to your granary. Wait a minute. Let me get through. This is mine. Stop that. Stupid, eh? Stupid! Get off my farm! Joseph, I am sorry, but it is the law. I must fill out these papers. Papers? Papers? No, Antoine has charged that you try to take his grain by force. He was allowed that grain for his cows, therefore the matter is an offense against the government, and it must be reported to the district authorities. Now, if you will present your side of the case in these papers, I assure that they will understand. You started with papers and you end with papers. I am done with papers. I am through with this stupid business. Joseph, wait! Joseph! My friend! So, now you have seen what I lost, huh? One by one everything I live by, and last of all, my friends. What is a man when he has lost all that, huh? An empty bag. Where can he go? What can he do? What has he left? But maybe a little memory of a time and place where he once knew happiness. I went through the dark streets of our village to the shop. I unlocked the door that had been unlocked so long. The shop was not full of that beautiful fragrance anymore. It was just an empty place cold and moldy and chill as my heart. I sat down. There was no longer expectation. Joseph! Are you there? I must see you. Anton, well, I am coming. Joseph, I'm glad you're here. Look, look what I've got. So, a little sack of flour, you got that for your cows, too, huh? No, no, Joseph. This came from America with other food for the people of the village. Why do you do it to me? Because you're a good baker, Joseph, and this must be made into bread. Joseph, you did not give me a chance to tell you. They allow me a little grain for the cows, yes. But because the cows give milk and the milk is for babies. Oh, well, I did not know. I'm only a stupid peasant, Joseph. But even I can see the sense of it. Now, you've got work to do. I'll go now. Wait, wait. You will come back for the bread, huh? No, take it to the professor. Tell him to give it to the children at the school and tell him one thing. Yes? Tell him I want to drop that charge I made against you. I am too hot-headed. Goodbye, Anton. My friend. Oh, Maria. Anton came to the house. He told me about the flour. Oh, it's wonderful. Wonderful. You smell it, Maria, the baking. Such a little thing makes such a difference. Yes. Such a little thing as a sack of flour. Here, I... I've been thinking, Maria, this American who sent this, why do you suppose he did it, huh? No profit, no thanks. What is his reason, huh? Well, I suppose he was thinking maybe of the children. Yes, but by doing it, he... he too has given me back my fate. I don't understand it, Joseph. Mr. American, how can I explain? Now that I am writing this letter, I see it is that I was believing in the wrong things, things that could die and change, but now I see the right things to believe in. I have faith like the seed has in the ground. I have faith in the future and the goodness of God and the word and in you, my friend. This is Loretta Young again. Wasn't it Benjamin Franklin who said, a man cannot do a single good deed because every good deed we do is passed on from one person to another and continues to multiply itself among many people. I am sure that all of us can look back in our lives and remember someone who helped us in difficulties and that meant a renewal of our faith, our hope, and a promise that when we'd have the opportunity we'd be generous and unselfish in helping others. Yes, we have the opportunity to help those in need and among the greatest needs in the world today is a renewal of charity and faith in God, a renewal of the practice of family prayer. You know with God all things are possible. With God's help, our lives, our homes, our families, and the world can be kept in peace and happiness. But we must ask for that help. We must pray sincerely and humbly not only by ourselves but as a family. A prayerful home is a happy home and a prayerful world is a peaceful world because nations that pray together for peace will live together in peace just as a family that prays together stays together. Well, good night and God bless you. Our thanks to J. Carol Nash for his performance this evening. To Don Johnson for writing tonight's play and to Max Tehr for his music. This production of Family Theater Incorporated was directed by David Young. Next week our Family Theater stars will be John Sutton and Patricia Morrison with Roddy McDowell as host. Your host will be Roddy McDowell. This series of the Family Theater broadcast 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. Be with us next week at the same time when our Family Theater stars will be John Sutton and Patricia Morrison with Roddy McDowell as host. Tony Lothrano speaking. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.