 The Mutual Broadcasting System, in cooperation with Family Theatre Incorporated, presents the happiest person in the world, starring William Bendix and Walter Tetley. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. Well, I don't suppose there's anybody listening who doesn't know what a flashback is. You know, like when you sit down at the end of a year and look back over what you've accomplished. Maybe we re-enact the story and live it over again. Maybe we're happy about it. Maybe we've learned because we've been burned. And maybe we know why we missed the boat in 47. Well, anyway, we get to thinking. Which is good because all of us sometimes get around to thinking about something like the purpose of Family Theatre. About making a home. I mean making a happy home, which is a big job for any guy. So tonight we're going to do a flashback on a story about the happiest person in the world. Maybe that's going to be... Yes, maybe it's going to be you. Now I better introduce myself because I'm going to do the first flashback of 1948. It all started exactly seven days ago. And let me tell you I'm not living the life of Raleigh or a week. Because on the side I've been Father Time, city editor of the World newspaper. Alright, so I sound like Raleigh. But as Father Time I got more troubles. To begin with, at 11.59 p.m. New Year's Eve. I'm sitting around the office sharpening my sickle, combing 1947 out of my beard. And waiting for some 1948 sand for my hourglass. When all of a sudden... Here we go again. What a job. Every 365 days I got to break in a new reporter. And I bet 1948 is just like the rest. They come in full of resolutions and go out full of excuses. That's him at the door now. Okay, okay, come in. What do I always say? What do you always say? Don't slam doors, I always say. So you're 1948, my new reporter. Yes, indeed, chief. I'm little old 1948. The hottest thing that ever hit the calendar. Why, for sound, television, radar and nuclear fission. Nuclear fission? That's right, chief. Ever go nuclear fission? Oh, oh, this kid is cornier than 1909. Look, son, how come you're wearing long diapers? I just had to come in with that new look. Isn't it ducky? Yeah, but who wants to look like a duck? The point is, are you a good reporter? Do you have a nose for news? Chief, when it comes to reporting, I'm like Jimmy Duranty's nose. Now, way out in front, I know. In that case, brash boy, maybe you can write me a few stories on how man is going to solve his problems in 1948. Problems? What problems? Now you simmer down 48 and listen to me. I run the world newspaper, and you've got to do a bang-up job of reporting this year. Chief, oh, boy, I can write a yawn that'll make your beard stand on in. Shut all the quaint and speak. Okay, kid, okay, okay, I'll give you a trial assignment. Go out and get me a story on the happiest person in the world. Langzine! Come again, chief. I said, get me a story on the happiest person in the world. Oh, boy, what an easy job. What a cinch. I've got news for you, son. Finding a truly happy person in this world today can be a tough job. A really tough job. That was last Wednesday night, New Year's Eve. The first thing Thursday morning, little 48 started out to get his story. Naturally, as city editor, I gave him a lead. I sent him to the home of the richest man in town. Get a load of this front door. Must be four inches thick. Yes, sir, according to Dun and Brad Street, every time this door opens, you'll feel a draft of 80 million bucks. Hills? I'm 1948, the new reporter on Father Time's newspaper. He sent me out to get a story on the happiest person in the world, who I figure must be your boss. On account of he has 80 million bucks. I'd like to see him. Where is he? The master? Let me look in the radar. Oh, yes, there's the master on the 14th floor. What's he doing on the 14th floor? Playing polo. Well, here's the automatic elevator. It's expressed to the 14th floor. Thank you. Gee, anybody with a setup like this should be the happiest person in the world. Okay, 14th floor, here I come. Now, there's a novelty, an elevator with jet propulsion. How do you do, my boy? I'm J. Huntington Park. Howdy, J.P. I'm 1948, the new reporter on Father Time's newspaper, and I'm here on account of... Father Time sent you out to get a story on the happiest person in the world. How come you know that, J.P.? Every January first, he sends out a new reporter to see me, and always it's the same old assignment. Maybe that's because Father Time figures that the great J. Huntington Park, known to millions for his millions, has every reason to be happy. Fiddlesticks, Father Time knows very well that I'm the most unhappy wretch on earth. But Jeepers, J.P.? Yes, yes, I wasn't always unhappy, of course. But when I was a lad in Minnesota, we used to walk down the clay roads and pick the wild strawberries and raspberries that grew along the banks. Sounds pretty dull, J.A.S.T. to me. On hot summer days, we'd sneak off to the old swimming hole, nestled among the willows. And personally, I like them more than they will, sir. In the winter, we'd go skating, and then come home and have red apples and make popcorn in the fireplace. Well, sorry, J.P., I gotta run along. Well, when I think of it, I believe those were the only really happy moments of my life. Look, Mr. Park, if you'd be happier on wild strawberries and popcorn, why don't you close up shop and go back to the farm? Confidentially, my boy, if I went back to Minnesota and ate just one wild strawberry and just one kernel of popcorn, it would probably kill me. You see, I not only have 80 million dollars, I have chronic dyspepsia. The next morning, that's Friday the 2nd, little 48 walks into my office as cocky as ever. Shut all the quaintants, be forgotten! Look, diaper, Danny, you gonna keep singing that tune all year? Nope, by tomorrow, chief, I expect to give you my own interpretation of Mimi. Well, when do you expect to give me that story? Can I help it if I get bum leads? If you were a smart reporter, you'd get your own leads. Now, scram out of here and get me that story. Yes, sir, yes, sir. Shut all the quaintants, be forgotten! Mimi! Mr. I, I mean Buster. Just drive me around the park. I'm gonna think. Pardon my inquisitivity, but ain't you a 1948? Yep, how'd you guess? I figured it out from the way you ain't dressed. Hey, how you doing? Me? Great. Got me a soft job. All I gotta do is write a yarn on the happiest person in the world. Hey, maybe that's you. Me? Are you kidding? With the troubles I hear in that backseat? Creepers, if I could write up them backseat troubles and sell them to the radio, I'd wind up with a greater soap opera in the country. Not to mention a lot of dough. And dyspepsia. Yeah, what's a you? Dyspepsia. How would you like that? With a lot of dough, I'd love it. And then I can walk right up to Gloria Glamour and say, come on, baby, you and me is gonna make beautiful music together. That I would like to hear. With Stakowski conducting, of course. Who is Gloria Glamour, pray tell? You are no one around here, ain't you? Well, she's only at almost gorgeous gallon pitches, that's all. Blonde, violet-ray eyes, ruby tight lips. Eh, you wouldn't understand, but from my dough buster, she's got everything. Looks, fame, dough. That's enough, pal. Just drop me off at her swimming pool. She must be the character I'm looking for. I thought I was born 20 years sooner. But no, fate has willed it otherwise. I think there's some stuff and all that there, but you're just too old for me. Junior, I may be a little too old for you, but a lot of my fans were here this afternoon at a party, and they didn't seem to think I was too decrepit. Yeah, I know. I wrote in on the cover of one of their autograph books. Oh, lovely. I'm so glad you came. May I offer you some formula? Oh, no, thanks. I just finished dinner, you know. Miss Glamour, I really must explain why I burst in on you this way. You see, I'm 1948. I suspected that, honey. Congratulations and good luck. Well, that's what I come to see you about, or your luck and good fortune. Mine? Oh, now, baby, are you kidding? Heavens, no. I've been told that you're the most beautiful and famous woman in pictures. So? You mean you've got a beef, too? Cutems, I have a whole stockyard full of them. Don't you realize what I have to go through to be a movie star? No, but whatever it is on you, it looks good. The alarm clock rings at 5 a.m. I have a breakfast of orange juice, black coffee, and dry toast. Then a 60-minute ride to the studio. And I want to get to the studio. What do you drive, Jack Benny's old Maxwell? I'm a movie star. I must live on a ranch, you know. 7 a.m., I check in the make-up department. Sit there till 8.30, while 7,000 people paint my lips, pancake my cheeks, pluck my eyebrows, stick on false eyelashes, do my hair, undo it, and do it over again. And the set being glamorous is fun, isn't it? Fun, he says. Rehearsal after rehearsal, take after take. Let's try it just once more to be sure, says the director. And every time he says that, out marches the army from make-up for another landing on my cheeks, my hair, my eyelashes. And then at last they yell, quiet, camera. And I melt into the arms of a man that I simply can't stand. Doesn't this racket have a brighter side? Or your evenings, for instance? My evenings you can have. I stagger out of the studio at 6 p.m. if I'm lucky. Get home and sit down to a divine meal of one lean lamb chop and some raw carrots. No potatoes, no bread, no dessert, no calories. Then the zeroes where you sneak a $10 steak and dance till dawn. No, to bed. With seven pages of script I have to learn for the next day. And while I'm doing that, the masseuse comes in and starts beating me up. At 9.30 I turn out the light. And just before I go to sleep, I start thinking. You do? Yes. I think how lovely and peaceful it was when I taught arithmetic at the Willow River Grammar School. Oh, get me out of here! Well, 48. Here it is Saturday, January 3rd. Three whole days on this assignment, no story. But she... But me no buts. But really, gee... But me no reallys either. You go out and get me that story if you have to call on every house on the block. Okay, okay, okay. And have it on my desk first thing Monday morning. He's a good kid, that 48. We'll just let him bump his head up against human nature a few more times and then we'll wise him up, huh, folks? I hate this assignment. If I don't turn in the story by Monday, old Father Time will throw me right out in a milky way. Well, I better do like he says. I'll call on every house on the block. Hello? Papa, come quick. 14 below zero and gives a little boy at the front door in diapers yet. Madam, I'm the new year. 1948. I'm a reporter on Father Time's newspaper. You hear that, Papa? It's a reporter from the New York Father Times. My assignment is to find the happiest person in the world. Are you happy, Madam? Bless you, my boy, but no. You see, you are knocking on my door too late. Too late? You should have come knocking on my door. December 6, 1941. Why December 6, 1941? December 7th. We are losing our boy Morris at Poil Harbor. Yeah? What do you want? I'm a reporter, mister. Are you the happiest person in the world? I might be. That old gamut store would move. You mean Morris' mother? What's wrong with her? She's a foreigner. Why, sure. And so was everybody who came over on the Mayflower. All right, wise guy. But that old gal next door's got an accent so thick you can cut it with a meat cleaver. You should have heard on New Year's Eve. Happy New Year, neighbor. Happy New Year! And you said? Nothing. I gave it a fisheye. I was in Paris on New Year's Eve, and a sergeant from Brooklyn kept yelling Happy New Year in French. And if you were a Frenchman, Jeep was what an accent he had. Nah, there's something else I don't like. They all talk like sissies. Sissies? Yeah. I happen to know plenty of young fellas in France who could play tackle for Notre Dame or Michigan. Yeah? Well, that marginal line wasn't so hot. Maybe there wouldn't be any marginal line if people like you would be a little more tolerant of people like you. Ass, gram, beat it, get lost! Hmph. The end of such a beautiful friendship. Too bad it couldn't have been shorter. Monday the 5th rolls around, and little 48 doesn't even come to the office. Poor little guy. I know he's still out shivering from door to door trying to find a truly happy person. Hello, boy. Won't you come in? I'm lonesome. Well, thank you. Gee, what a nice cozy little fire you have going here. Yes. In the evening, I sit by the fire and read. How nice. What do you do during the day? Oh, I sit in the public library and read. You see, I'm the librarian. My name is Mr. Birdwell. Glad to know you, Mr. Birdwell. The new reporter on Father Time's newspaper. Gee, you must be awfully happy. Nice quiet life surrounded by all your books and stuff. Oh, gracious, no. I'm really and truly quite miserable. You are? How come? Because I live in a world which other men have created and which I experience only in the pages of their books. My travels are gullibers' travels. My wanderings are the wanderings of Marco Polo. My adventures are the adventures of Jack London. And my loves are really only the loves of Casanova. Well, think how much better off you are, Mr. Birdwell. You have all that excitement without ever leaving your fireside. Well, sometimes I just wish I could meet a beautiful blonde. Then people would, oh, for goodness gracious, what am I saying? That you figure you're not happy. Oh, yes, but I could be. Yes, I could. That is, if I were Joe Miller, the famous radio comedian, there's my idea of the happiest person in all the... My goodness, where are you going? Sorry, Birdwell. Time's a-wasting. I'm going down to the radio studio and see Joe Miller. Tuesday and still no 48 with this story. But my spies told me the little geek was still plugging away. One report had him spotted at the door of the big radio gagster, Joe Miller. Well, the eternal triangle and cotton flannel. Come in, sonny. I haven't got time for kidding, Mr. Miller. My editor, Father Time, sent me out to get a story on the happiest person in the world. And I hear that's you. Me? Happy? After that clam bake I had last night? Was it a pretty bad show, Mr. Miller? Bad. Brother, last night I was the 30-minute pause between the Frost Warning and the Honest Mongolian. Nah, you aren't pulling my leg, are you, Mr. Miller? I should think that a big radio comedian like you must lead a very happy life. You should think so long. Let me tell you what happens, 48. You beat your brains out all week and come up with a hot script. Laugh in every line. According to your contract, the sponsor has to have that script 48 hours in advance. So you shoot him a copy. Well, he sits there for two days reading the jokes and laughing his head off. Then he calls up and says, great script, Joe, great script. Then I go on the air and he listens. Shakes his head and says, got to do something about Joe. He's using stale jokes. Well, so long, kid. And good luck to you anyway. By yesterday, Wednesday, the sixth day of his assignment, my little reporter, 48, was so discouraged that he just stood on the biggest corner downtown and when people had come by, he'd say, Hello, Mr. Are you happy? No, they just elected a new mayor. Why should you be sure about that? I'm the old mayor. Do you realize what I had to pay for this little bag of groceries? Yes and no, son. Yes, because I like being a country doctor. And no, because it's a long, almost hopeless struggle against ignorance and indifference. I didn't have my dresses taken in and I feel so good I eat too much and have my dresses let out and then it looks horrible, I go on an 18-day diet again and have my clothes taken in and then I feel so good I eat like a horse and then I have my... Yeah, okay. It was impossible. What assignment was that? Oh, oh yes, finding the happiest person in the world. Excuse me if I seem forgetful, but after all, you've been a whole week on that story and... Hey, what's the fancy gadget for the time? That's my magic television screen, my boy. Look, do you recognize this gentleman? That's J. Huntington Park, the 80-millionaire. Yeah, watch the screen. Hmm, the butlers bring in J.P. the male. Yes. Thank you, Walter. Hmm. Here's a letter from Huntington Park College. Walter, look at this. My words, sir, the letter appears to be six feet long. And it has hundreds of signatures on it, Walter. Eh, dear Mr. Park, it says, on this, the first day of the new year, we wish to express our gratitude for the privilege of attending the magnificent college which bears your name. Very nice. Your policy of denying entrance to no one because of race, religion, or creed is equally magnificent. We honestly hope that the educational advantages which you have made available to us will make us equal to the task of continuing your great service to mankind. Signed the student body. Wonderful, sir. That should make you very pleased. Pleased. Walter, you're looking at the happiest man in the world. J.P. told me he was miserable on account of his dyspepsia. Yeah, that's human nature, 48. What's human nature, Chief? Human nature? Oh, that's when you're feeling low down as a molehillon. Somebody gives you a whack on the back and says, gee, you're a swell guy and you forget your dyspepsia. Human nature is when you're drawing unemployment compensation and figuring your failure. Then somebody says I need a fellow with just your qualifications and your eyes light up like Times Square. You know, if I've got a sneaking suspicion that, well... Well what? You didn't by any chance fix it so I spent the week bumping into the wrong side of human nature. Look in the magic television. It's Gloria Glamour. She's walking out on the big stage at Hollywood Bowl. For her sterling performance in the role of Vivian in the picture Moonlight Sonata, the Academy Award to Gloria Glamour. Ladies and gentlemen, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. You have made me the happiest person in the world. And she told me she wanted to go back teach an arrhythmic ticket at Willow River Grammar School. Human nature, my boy. Some people get to the point in life where they figure they've gone so far that the only thing left is to go back and start over again. Hey Chief, can you pick up Joe Miller, the famous radio comedian? Why, sure. He's down in Texas doing a show at an army camp. And then we had breakfast and what an experience. The next sergeant yelled, come and get it. And anyone between the chow hounds and the chow gets it. Well, I turned to the soldier next to me and I said, did you get a knife and fork? And he said, yeah, they were delicious. I won't say that they eat fast down here but I turned to say hello to the fellow on the other side of me and when I look back again, they asked me what I wanted for dessert. Well, take it, young man. There's Joe Miller in his dressing room right after the show. Hello? Oh, hello. Yeah, it's a sponsor. What's that sponsor? A great show. Well, thanks a lot. What? Oh, you're kidding. You mean it? A hooper rating of 88. Yowly. Sponge, you are talking to the happiest person in the world. I thought nobody was happy. Now it seems like everybody's doing all right. Well, everybody except that little bookworm, Birdwell. We'll take a look at him in the public library on our magic television screen. No, there he is, Chief. That's Mr. Birdwell, all right. And as he do for a big surprise, that distinguished looking man walking up to his desk is the governor. Mr. Birdwell? Yes. May I help you? Good gracious, it's Governor Robbins. I know you're a busy man, Birdwell, so I won't take much of your time. I can't believe it. The governor calling on me. In our state, Birdwell, I'm endeavoring to raise both the level of our public service and the level of public respect for employees such as you, who serve with such a high degree of respect for your work and offer such a high degree of courtesy and helpfulness to your fellow citizens. I... I'm pleased to award you, Mr. Birdwell, our state's new certificate of superior service. The newspapers will have photographers here tomorrow to do a picture story of your job. Governor Robbins, I don't know what to say except that, well, for the first time in my life, I'm simply thrilled to death. This is amazing. When you come right down toward even Birdwell's happy. You're sure the sly old one aren't your father time. Let me knock my head against human nature for a whole week. How do you feel about it now that you've seen it operate? Well, pretty good. From where I stand, it's really very simple. I mean, everyone could be happy if they would think happiness into their lives. Right, Chief? Right. You can make your thoughts happy and optimistic or negative and discouraging. The choice is all yours. Hey, hey, you're tuning in another picture on the magic television. Yep, I've got one more to show you, 48. Okay, Father Time. This will be a picture of someone who has just been handed the job of bringing the different nations of the earth together and settling their differences. The job of tearing down their great wall of suspicion and fear. The job of filling the stomachs of hungry people with food and their hearts with brotherly love. In short, the job of creating a lasting peace. I sure don't envy this guy, Chief. That's a tough job. It won't be so tough if he'll go about it the right way. And what's the right way, Chief? He must get around to every home and strengthen it with a little more family integrity. Give every family a little more faith in their fellow man and a lot more faith in God. Then the big job will be much, much easier. Well, flash me the picture of this fellow with the big job, Chief. Believe me, if he does it well, everybody on earth will be the happiest person in the world. The picture, Father Time? Yes. There you are, son. There's the man with the big job. No! Guess who, folks? It's me, 1948! The happiest person in the world has starred William Bendix and Walter Tetley, who'll return now for a good-night word. Mr. Bendix, it's been a lot of fun to be on this show with you tonight. Thank you, Walt. I enjoyed being with you and being on family theater because I think it's a wonderful idea back at the program, getting together with your loved ones every day and praying together as a family. Would it embarrass you if I asked a question? That all depends on... Well, this is about prayer. What do you think is the best way to pray, Mr. Bendix? Well, I have my own preference. No, I mean, do you whisper it or talk right out or just sort of think it? I'd say all three, Walt. But I think when a man gets together with his family or when they pray, maybe he speaks right up and says, Thanks, dear Lord, for blessing me with a wonderful wife and such wonderful sons and daughters. You know, that brings a family very close together. That's a nice way to put it. And that's what I like about the family theater because it reminds us every week how important our home and family is and how much family prayer can mean in a home. There are millions listening who agree on that, Mr. Bendix. To all the family theater audience, I want to say thanks. And finish with that one line by which the program has become so well known. A line so important to remember. The family that prays together stays together. Good night, everybody, and God bless you. Our thanks to William Bendix and Walter Tetley for their performances this evening and to Glenn and Madge Wheaton for writing tonight's play. Music was scored and conducted by Max Tehr. This production of Family Theater Incorporated was directed by David Young. Others who appeared in tonight's play were Anne Tobin, B. Benedaret, Jack Mather, Franklin Parker, Herb Vigram, Dink Trout, and Harry Lang. Next week our Family Theater stars will be Robert Ryan and Joan Loring in Stolen Symphony. Your hostess will be Kate Smith. 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. Be with us next week at the same time when our Family Theater stars will be Robert Ryan and Joan Loring with Kate Smith as hostess. Tony LaFranco speaking. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.