 dedicated to the strength of the nation. Proudly we hail the United States Army and United States Air Force presentation. Now here is our producer, the well-known Hollywood showman, C.P. McGregor. Thank you, thank you, and greetings from Hollywood, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to your Theater of Stars, where the top names of motion pictures join us for your entertainment. Dick Faran is our star in the title of our play, The Journal of a Hometown Boy. Our curtain for Act One will rise right after this important message from Wendell Niles. A man in uniform of the United States Army and the United States Air Force has a job to do. A job that's vital to you, your children, and your children's children. That job is peace. The mission of today's regular army and air force is the preservation of peace throughout the world and the security of our United States of America. That job and the uniform which marks the wearer as one of the men doing that job means honor and satisfaction to all concerned, to the men in uniform and to you whose lives they are helping to make secure. When you show respect to the men in uniform, you are respecting yourselves and honoring your country. Now, once again, our producer. The curtain rises on Act One of Journal of a Hometown Boy starring Dick Faran as Wilbur Hoskins. In an effort to allay his homesickness during his four years in the army, Wilbur Hoskins spent most of his spare time writing notes to himself about his hometown. High down supposed strangers think central city is much of a town speeding through in a train. About all they see is the water tower, the depot, the grain elevator. But to know central city, you have to know the people. Like Grandma Fleming, Doc Harris, Mr. Williams. And when Wilbur was discharged from the army, he had central city down on paper. He showed his notes to Mr. Williams, the editor of Central City Weekly, then promptly forgot them. He had written them for himself, not for publication. And he was amazed when Mr. Williams told him that he had entered Wilbur's notes in a new author's contest and that they had won first prize. Bewildered and a little frightened, Wilbur has just arrived at the offices of the New York publishing house, which is bringing out his book. Yes, may I help you? Gosh, I hope so. I want to see Mr.... Mr... I got his name on a paper here somewhere. Oh, yeah, Mr. Sherman, Mr. John Sherman. Who shall I say is calling? Wilbur, Wilbur Hoskins. And what is it you want to see Mr. Sherman about, Mr. Hoskins? My book. It was entered in the new author's contest. I'm sorry, Mr. Hoskins, the decision of the judges is final. Maybe you'll have better luck next year. Better luck? Better luck. My book won first prize. Really? Yeah, I didn't believe it myself at first either. Go right in, Mr. Hoskins. Mr. Sherman's expecting you. It's the first door on your left. Thank you. Thank you very much. Don't mention it. Mr. Sherman? Yes? I'm Wilbur Hoskins. Well, well... This is a pleasure indeed, Mr. Hoskins. I've been looking forward to meeting you. Yes, sit down. That's mighty nice of you, Mr. Sherman. I've been looking forward to meeting you too. Do you have the check? Check? Yeah. Mr. Williams, he's the man who sent my journal to you. He said that I was to get a check for $10,000. Oh, yes, the prize money. It's all made out and waiting for you, Wilbur. We'll pick it up as we leave. Oh, well, shall we leave now? I mean, I'd like to catch a train back to Central City tonight, if I can. Tonight? Yeah. Why, my boy, you'll have to stay here at least two weeks. Certainly, for publicity purposes. You have to meet the reviewers, the columnists, the leading booksellers, in fact, all the people who can help build your book into the best seller that I know it can be. It'll take at least two weeks. Oh, gosh. Do you know a good reliable laundry with one-day service? We'll worry about laundry later, Wilbur. Right now, you and I are due to meet some of the critics at a cocktail party. Critics? Yes. Well, when I meet them, what do I do? Well, any writer does. Talk about yourself. Oh. Of course, it won't hurt to mention the title of your book a few hundred times. Now, let's get over there before they finish drinking and go home. Well, Wilbur, now that you've met them, what do you think of the critics? Well, that isn't nearly as important as what did the critics think of me? With that attitude, my boy, you should go far. As a matter of fact, the critics loved you. You must feel with such phrases as exceptionally keen insight, fine perception and deep understanding of small-town American. Oh, I expect you're just being kind to a stranger. That bunt, they wouldn't be kind to their own mothers. But when Hasselman described you as a new Will Rogers, I knew you were in. Why did he say that, Mr. Sherman? Well, Rogers was funny. No, funnier than you, my boy. But they nearly died when you said that the proudest day of your life was when you got the good conduct ribbon. But that was the proudest day of my life, Mr. Sherman. It was? Yeah, my outfit was stationed at a whack replacement center and I was the only man in the company to get a good conduct ribbon. You're serious? Of course I'm serious. Good heavens, if that got out, we'd be the laughing stock of New York. Nancy! Oh, Nancy! What is it, Mr. Sherman? What's happened? Nancy, I want you to meet Wilbur Hoskins. Well, how do you do, Mr... Oh, you're the author of Journal of a Hometown Boy? Yes. Her name is Nancy Librock, Wilbur. You can call her Nancy. Well, that's certainly real generous of you, Mr. Sherman. Is it all right with you, Miss Librock? Why not? Well, of course I wouldn't feel quite right about it unless you call me Wilbur. Okay, Wilbur. Oh, thanks, Nancy. Now, what was all the screaming about, J.S.? Did you have another stroke of genius or just another stroke? Wilbur is going to be with us for two weeks, Nancy. Well, I should know. I laid out the publicity campaign. And I want you to chaperone him during those two weeks. Chaperone him? Yes, I don't want Wilbur to talk to a single soul unless you're with him. You're to stick to him day and night. Oh, now, see here, Mr. Sherman. You keep out of this, Wilbur. If you think for a second, J.S., that I'm going to play nursemaid to every half-witted author who... Nancy, you know what I mean. Yes, I know. But why do you always pick on me? I'll have to break all my dates for the next two weeks. Not on my account, you won't. I suppose you will go on the dates with me? No. I'm going home. You're what? I'm going home. Oh, no, you're not. Your contract calls for your cooperation in publicizing your book and specifically states that you will remain in New York for at least two weeks while the book is being launched. You violate your contract... I don't have a contract. What? You are going to give me my check in a contract right after we got back from that cocktail party. Right now, I don't have a contract and you don't have a book. Now, don't be ridiculous. When you entered your material in the new author's contract... I didn't enter my material. Mr. Williams did, and I didn't write a book. I just wrote some notes to myself, and if you'll just give them back, I'll be glad to forget the whole thing. But, Wilbur, think of all the money I've spent. The printing, the binding, the cover. I've been to some expense, too, Mr. Sherman. I had to take a whole day off from work and pay my way to New York and then back to Central City. I'm willing to take my loss. You can take yours. I'm going home. Oh, no. Please, Wilbur. No, I don't want to stay around and make Miss LeBrock unhappy. Miss LeBruck would be much more unhappy if you went home. Oh, no, she wouldn't. I heard what she said. Well, she's going to apologize for that. Aren't you, Miss LeBruck? The employer is always right, Jess. I apologize for whatever I said, Wilbur. And you're most anxious to have him stay. Aren't you, Miss LeBruck? Oh, I'd be devastated if he left. Yeah. Wilbur, what do you say to that? I'm going home. Oh, nice try, Jess. Better luck next time. Yeah, it better be better luck this time, Miss LeBruck, or you're out of a job. Oh, no. And now, Jess, you don't mean that. I certainly do. I had the best seller of the century on the presses until you hurt Wilbur's feelings. And if Wilbur goes home, you're fired, Nancy. Okay. I hope you have a nice train ride home, Wilbur, and get tenders in both eyes. Miss LeBruck. Miss LeBruck. Yes, Mr. Hooskins? Well, I just wanted you to know that I feel very badly about being responsible for you losing your job. Well, thank you. Just that one thought is bound to keep me warm all winter while I'm pounding the streets looking for another job. Gosh, I... I hadn't thought of that. It's a mighty serious matter, costing a fellow human being her livelihood, Wilbur. Yeah. I'd hate to have it on my conscience. Yeah. I hadn't thought of that either. I don't know how you could live with yourself knowing that you were responsible for casting this lovely young woman out on the streets, subjecting her to heaven knows what fate. Yeah. Hey, just a second. I'm not the one who's firing, Nancy. You are. I'm only doing it because she hurt your childish feelings to the point where you decided to go home and take your material with you. All right. I give up. Then sign the contract. Does Nancy keep her job? Certainly. And Nancy is still going to chaperone you. Well, Wilbur, do you think you can get up to your room without getting into trouble? Oh, I wouldn't get into any trouble, Nancy. I don't know what Mr. Sherman's worrying about. He just wants you to stay away from people, unless I'm with you. I've been around people all my life. Oh, these are different sort of people, Wilbur. Not the sort who'd give up going home just to keep a girl from losing her job. Oh, shucks. Nancy, you'd do the same for me. Would I? I wonder. Going up? Well, there's your elevator. I'd better be running along. See you in the morning, Wilbur. Yeah. Good night, Nancy. Good night, Wilbur. Mmm. Good night. Did she kiss me? I say no. What floor do you want? I didn't ask her to or anything. She just kissed me. Well, I guess love comes that way to some people. Yeah. What floor do you want? Of course, it might be just because she's grateful for not losing her job, but I don't hardly believe that can be it. She's a nice girl, and nice girls don't kiss fellows just for jobs. What? Gosh, imagine my first day in New York, and I'm engaged. Well, let me be the first to congratulate you. What floor do you want? Report briefly from our story, Journal of a Hometown Boy starring Dick Fran to bring you a brief message from our government. Man, it's interesting to note that from July 1947 to October 1948, more men chose army jobs and army careers than joined any private industry. Hundreds of thousands of young Americans decided to stay in the army, rejoin the army, or sign their original enlistment contracts. There must be, and there are, good solid reasons for this. For instance, there are the great army technical schools where trades are learned, and you increase your skill and your chance for advancement. There's job security, and there's the chance of rapid promotion. Overall, is that good army pay, plus 20% extra if you choose service overseas. Food, clothing, quarters, medical and dental care at no cost, and the opportunities for travel and education that cannot be duplicated elsewhere. Think these things over, then learn the details. Visit your nearest U.S. Army and U.S. Air Force Recruiting Station immediately. Our curtain rises on Act II of Journal of a Hometown Boy starring Dick Fran as Wilbur Hoskins. It is several days since Wilbur saved Nancy Lebrouck's job by agreeing to sign a contract to have his book published and remain in New York. And it's several nights since Nancy gratefully and impulsively kissed Wilbur. He's been in a daze ever since. And at dinner, Nancy is finding him strangely unresponsive. Every critic in town is raving about your book. Oh, that's nice. You don't seem very happy about it. Oh, I am. I'm terribly happy about it, I guess. What's wrong, Wilbur? Nothing. You can tell Nancy, can't you? Oh, it's nothing important. I'm just in love. Well, oh, I think that's the most important thing in the world. You do? Certainly. What's the matter? Did you have a fight with your girl? Is that why you're so unhappy? Oh, no, she doesn't even know I'm in love with her. You got the nerve. Why not? You can't take much nerve to say, I love you. It takes more than I've got. Nonsense. Practice it a while and you'll have no trouble at all. I wish I could believe that. Come on. Try it out on me. Go ahead. Say, I love you, Nancy. I love you, Nancy. Oh, that isn't very convincing. Try it again. I love you, Nancy. Well, that's an improvement. But you can do better than that. Try it once more. I do love you, Nancy. Oh, that's more like it. I could almost believe that myself. Well... Oh, my gosh. What's she like? She pretty? Beautiful. Intelligent? She's so smart, she scares me. She sounds like quite a girl. She's just... just wonderful, that's all. Well, gee, if you think that much, Robert Wilbur, I'd suggest that you pop the question just as soon as you get back to Central City. Oh, she doesn't live in Central City. She... I love you, Nancy. I beg your pardon? Well, you're the girl, Nancy. I know it's hopeless. You could never see anything in a fellow like me, but I... I have to tell you. Oh, I'm sorry, Wilbur. Yeah, so am I. What's wonderful to dream about? I... I don't know what to say, Wilbur. Maybe we'd better go. It's 7.45. We'll be late for the broadcast. Broadcast? The author and the critics radio program. I told you about it. I guess I was thinking about something else. Gary Peterson and Marissa Evans are the critics on the program here. Pretty vicious when they want to be. They'll try to cut you up in tiny pieces and make you lose your temper. But don't let them do it, Wilbur. The way I feel now nothing can make me feel any worse. Say, what's this all about, Nancy? Do I have to talk on the radio? Well, just answer the questions they throw at you and don't volunteer any information. Gary, darling, Marissa, are we late? Oh, how can you even suggest such a thing? We won't go on the air for at least another 30 seconds. Oh, sorry, Gary. Well, what a lovely gown, Marissa. Did you make it yourself? Oh, no, no, darling. It gives me overcast thoughts. The thoughtful, isn't she? Very. Is this the boy wonder? Oh, sorry. With all the parties we've thrown, I felt certain you must have met Wilbur Evans, an old, old friend of mine. Not that old, Wilbur. Now, if you two kittens will take your claws out of each other for a second, I'd like to show Wilbur where to stand in relation to the microphone. Have you ever been on the air before, Wilbur? Mr. Peterson, but I listen a lot. Well, that should help your mic technique no end. Now, if you'll just sit down here and speak in your normal tone, we'll try to get a voice balance. Sorry, Wilbur, you're on your own. I just got the signal that we're all late. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is the author, Wilbur... Evans. And yours truly, Gary Peterson. Tonight, we take what pleasure we can in discussing Mr. Hoskins' book, the novel of a hometown boy. How did you ever happen to write your book, Wilbur? Well, I didn't really write a book. Sales seemed to prove that you did. Go on, Wilbur. You were saying that you didn't really write a book. Well, no. You see, while I was in the army, I'd get kind of lonesome and homesick, and I'd write down things that I remembered about Central City and its people. Oh, it was one of the finest pieces of satire I've ever read. Well, it was really perfect, Wilbur. Even your choice of a name for the town, Central City. It wasn't too obviously fictitious, and yet no one could really believe that any such town exists. Oh, no. I was born and raised in Central City. Well, I'll bet there are people in Central City who are listening to this program right now. Well, is there anything like the characters in your book? I'll bet they don't understand it. What do you mean by that? Well, Marissa meant that in some of your descriptive passages, your satire became a little broad, Wilbur. The people were too, shall we say, corny and unbelievable. Corny? Unbelievable? Exactly. Although they were rather to the funny, no one could ever believe that those characters were real people. I don't know what you're talking about. I don't write about characters, and I write about people I know, people I was brought up with. Every person I mention in my book is a living, breathing human being. You may be living and breathing, but I doubt that they're human beings. I suppose you're entitled to your opinion. Well, we're not only entitled to it, Wilbur, we're paid for it. If you insist that these were real people about whom you were writing, Wilbur, I might as well tell you, quite frankly, that their sentimentality is practically mordement. It gives me an entirely new concept of your book, Wilbur. The section I found particularly appalling, and I think you'll agree, Gary, was that part where Wilbur described the funeral telling about the entire town literally moving in on him, taking over his whole house, running everything without so much as a bar you leave. Well, anyone who could believe that would believe anything. I thoroughly agree with you, Marisa. People just don't do that sort of thing. Exactly. At least the people I've known have all had the good taste to leave others alone in their time of grief. You call that good taste? Well, certainly, old boy. After all, one's not one's brother's keeper, you know. Well, we are in Central City, and when somebody gets sick there, there's been an accident or anything else bad happens. Everybody in town is worried about it and tries to help. We don't stand around while some fellow drowns or his wife and kids go hungry and say to ourselves it's none of our business. We try to help each other. And if that's corny, if that's unbelievable, then most of the people in this country are corny and unbelievable, and thank God that they are. And as for you, Mr. Peterson and Miss Evans, I just wish to gost at either one of you as a man. No, see, here, Huskens, I'm just as much of a man as you. You're entitled to your opinion, Mr. Peterson, and I'm entitled to mine. Good night. Why didn't you wait for me? You really shouldn't have walked out on Gary and Marissa that way. They're lucky I did walk out. Well, I suppose you realize this finishes you in New York. Do you think I care? Well, they'll murder your next book, Wilbur. The critical fraternity doesn't like authors who talk back. What of it? I'm not going to write any more books. I'm going back to Central City and try to forget that I ever saw New York. Oh? I haven't had a single happy moment, except for you, I haven't met a single real person in the two weeks I've been here. If this is culture and civilization, they can take it and put it in the Hudson. Oh, there are nice people in New York, Wilbur. Friendly people. Kindhearted. I didn't say there weren't. I said I hadn't met any. And I'm giving them the benefit of the dot, which is more than the critics have given my people. I see. As a matter of fact, when I get back to Central City and tell them about these people, they won't believe me. Because, funny as we may look to them, they look twice as funny to us. I, uh, know what you mean, Wilbur. I'll bet you do. Well, as long as I've followed you to your hotel, you might at least ask me to sit down and let me tell you about it. Well, sit down. You were going to tell me something? I came to New York from a little town, Wilbur. Arrowsmith. It's a little further west than Central City and a lot smaller. If you're kidding. Hmm. I went to college, majored in journalism, and came to New York to become a writer. Gee. Is that how you started a work for Mr. Sherman? Yeah, directly. I got a job as a book reviewer, just like those people you met tonight. Then Mr. Sherman hired me as a press agent to keep me from reviewing his author's books. Well, I'll bet you could have torn my book apart. The first time I read it, yes. Oh, but I'd have hated myself in the morning. I've read Journal of a Hometown Boy three times now, Wilbur. And I feel that I know Grandma Fleming, Doc Harris, Mr. Williams, almost as well as you do. Really? Mm-hmm. Do you like them, Nancy? Oh, I love them. I'd like to meet them, know them, have them as neighbors, and... Wilbur, would you like to rehearse that line again? Line? You were afraid to say to the girl you loved. Oh, you mean I love you? Uh-huh. Oh, and I love you too, Wilbur. Did you say what I thought you said? Yes, darling. Well, earlier this evening... Oh, the girl can change your mind, can't she? No, not after she's married. All right, I accept. Huh? I could never wait for you to get up nerve enough to propose, so I accept. When shall we get married? Well, I don't believe in long engagements. What about tonight? Oh, not in New York, Wilbur. We'll have to wait at least three days. Well, come on. Nowhere. To Central City. We're so backward there we can get married just as soon as I can get old Judge Allen out of bed. Oh, that sounds wonderful. When can we start? Just as soon as I get my things and check out. Going up. Coming. What floor do you want? I'm engaged. Again? Well, yeah. No, no, that... Isn't love wonderful. You know, I got a hunch we're going to be riding this thing up and down all night. What floor do you want? The curtain falls in the final act of Journal of a Hometown Boy. Our star, Dick Foren, will return for a curtain call after this important message from Wendell Niles. Find out if you can measure up with the best, the aviation cadets. You must be between the ages of 20 and 26 and 1 half with two years of college or the ability to pass an equivalent examination and you must be physically fit. If you fulfill those qualifications, you may be able to become an aviation cadet. Once you're in, it's a future unlimited. After graduation, you'll have your pilot's wings and a commission as second lieutenant in the U.S. Air Force Reserve. If you're especially good, you'll receive a regular commission in the Air Force immediately. At any rate, you'll have a good opportunity to qualify for a regular commission while on active duty. Don't miss this chance to widen the horizons of your future. Go to your nearest Air Force base, a recruiting station immediately. Only the best can be aviation cadets. Once again, our star, Dick Faran, and our producer. Dick, we tried to get you a rousing good fight for you and our play just to keep you happy, but the heavy did it with words instead. Oh, that's all right. The same effect without the bruises, C.P. I've had my share lately, you know. There's a lot of punching in El Paso. That's right. You're playing the heavy in El Paso. Coast-tarring John Payne, Gail Russell, Sterling Hayden and me. John and I mix often. We get plenty of lumps in the scraps, a new twist and change for me to coast through an argument with only words. Well, Dick, we'll all be looking out for El Paso and your technicolor lumps. Do that, and I hope you enjoy every one of them. But, by the way, thanks for asking me over. I know your picture work is keeping your nose to the grindstone. No, no, not the grindstone. I hit John Payne's fist with it. The same results. Oh, seriously. I really am glad to be a part of this program. It's doing a lot to attract fine men into both the Army and the Air Force. I've been listening to the opportunities both branches of the service offer. Good pay. And prestige. That's what I mean. A fella can make a career out of either the Army or the Air Force, which may be one reason why they attract the finest lads in the nation. Well, these are the young men this country looks to as protectors of our free way of life. They not only take their jobs seriously, but a uniform on a man gives them the satisfaction of being on the world's biggest job in a business where everyone respects him as a gentleman. You're right. America entrusts these men to keep the peace. And right now, that is the biggest job in the world. But now, what's your job for next week? Next week, Dick, and ladies and gentlemen, we bring you John Payne in a highly dramatic story, the Meadowlark. It is the story of hardship in a wind-blown and dust-laden country town and a constant struggle even among the strong for a survival which they call living. I know you like it. Good deal. And don't forget to ask me back. Well, so long, CP. Goodbye, Dick Faran. Please show to join us next week, ladies and gentlemen, when we bring you John Payne in the Meadowlark. Until then, this is CP McGregor saying thanks for listening and cheerio from Hollywood. Dick Faran appeared to the courtesy of the Hollywood Board in a committee which arranges for the appearance of all stars on this program. Script was by Bill Hampton, with music under the direction of Eddie Scrivenic. This program is transcribed in Hollywood for release at this time. Wendell Niles speaking.