 Family Theater presents Mitzi Gainer and Edgar Buchanan. From Hollywood, the mutual network and cooperation with Family Theater presents the last battle starring Edgar Buchanan. And now here is your hostess, Mitzi Gainer. Thank you, Tony LaFranco. Family Theater's only purpose is to bring to everyone's attention a practice that must become an important part of our lives. If we are to win peace for ourselves, peace for our families, and peace for the whole world, Family Theater urges you to pray. Pray together as a family. And now to our transcribed drama, The Last Battle, starring Edgar Buchanan as the narrator. I guess you saw in the paper the other day where the only living Union Army veteran of the Civil War somewhere up in Minnesota recently took a little sick and had to slow down a bit. He's something like 108 years old. And that by itself is pretty big news. But I didn't give it much play in the Hartzville Picayune because after thinking the whole thing over, I decided the item was sort of an anti-climax. To what happened here years ago, I mean. Every schoolboy here about knows the story on account of the statue and the plaque up in front of the city hall. The story of Major Haskell Summerfield and drummer boy Jerry Jackson. Of course, I hadn't even been born when the trouble began back in 65. Technically, Hartzville fought on the side of the Union. But it was in a state that had a little trouble when the war first started, making up its mind which way to jump. So after it was over, especially following Lee's surrender to Grant at Appomattox, there were men coming home to Hartzville, wearing gray as well as blue. Hey Jerry, drummer boy. Will you look what's coming up the street setting his horse like he ain't heard who lost the war? It's a Reb, an officer. And not just any officer. What? You remember Haskell Summerfield? That ain't Summerfield. Looking that rag tag with a black beard on him? It's Summerfield right on. The high and mighty Mr. Haskell Summerfield. What's a man from Hartzville doing in a Reb uniform? You'll see some more of him before you're through. Come on, let's welcome him home. I got no welcome for any Reb. Come on, the war is over. Go Major! Major Summerfield! Yes? Remember me? Clement Harris. Used to clerk down at White's place. Of course, of course Harris. Glad to see you came through it alive. No thanks to you. How's that? Major, you remember Jerry Jackson? His father ran the blacksmith's shop. Certainly. You were just a boy when I last saw you. I ain't a boy anymore. I see. Ain't a Reb either. Jerry? I'm sure the outcome might have been different. That's nothing to joke about. No offense, Jackson. No offense meant only that I'm sure you fought gallantly. Ah, Jerry didn't do no fighting. You shut up! Well, you didn't. You was a drummer boy. I took up a gun at Shiloh, didn't I? All right, all right. You men fight at Shiloh? You bet we did. I was there. I'm sure I'd seen you. Oh, Jerry, the war is over. That's right. It's over and we won it. Nobody's saying you didn't, Jackson. Well then, how do you get off riding back into town here as big as you please when you're nothing but a traitor? Jerry. Because of your youth, I'm going to ignore that remark, Jackson, but don't make the mistake of repeating it. Don't you worry about my youth. I'm warning you not to repeat it. Major, he didn't mean nothing. I meant what I said and quit calling him major. He ain't a major. He's a traitor. There, I called it to you twice. What are you going to do about it? If you were a man, I would shoot you. But I think in this case, a good thrashing will do. Oh, now major. You mind holding my arse? Look, he's just shooting off his mouth. Let's see what kind of thrashing you'll give anybody. All right, major. Traitor, you just come on. Get up, boy. Get up. I'm not finished with you. Oh, you better get up, you dirty rabbit. I'm going to... Do you want any more? Can lick you? I can lick the tower to you. We'll see if you can. Get up. Jerry Jackson got up again. He got up better than a dozen times. He even landed a couple of good ones on the major. But he wasn't any match for him. My dad saw the fight. He was just a boy himself at the time. He said it was the worst licking he'd ever seen anyone take. And Jerry Jackson never forgot it. At the time, he was scarcely 18 and major summer field almost 40. But they were about the same size and weight. Maybe even give Jerry the edge of it. So it didn't occur to anyone to step in. Besides, it had been the drummer's boy picked the fight. It may seem funny to you that Hartsfield, being mostly union sympathizers, didn't interfere in gang up on the Confederate major. But I guess it was like a lot of places midway between the north and the south after the war ended. People wanted to leave it that way. If two men had a disagreement, that was their own business. Joe Major Summerfield went back to working his big farm a few miles north of Hartsfield. And Jerry took up where he left off in his dad's blacksmith shop. And for 10 years, the two men never spoke. Jerry shot the Summerfield horses regular as the season, and the Major paid him face to face, so much a shoe, but not a word passed between them. And folks got to where they were slow to speak of it in front of Jerry, because he was coming up in the world. What he'd made, he'd saved or put into land. And when he married Henry White's daughter and took control of the general store in the harness shop her dad had left her, well outside of George Tuckle, the banker, and maybe the Major himself, Jerry Jackson at 28 was one of the wealthiest men in the county. See, that was in 75, the year of the trouble about Decoration Day Parade started. Jerry. Mr. Tuckle, do you see the news in the Piquillon? Oh, what's up? Hey, look, state legislature has just passed a bill legalizing May 30th as Decoration Day honoring the Civil War dead. Yeah, that's all I heard. Well, now I'm forming a committee to fix up a parade and arrange to decorate the graves. I was kind of hoping that you'd be willing to serve on them. I'd be glad to. Yeah, all right. I've already spoken to Todd Barnes and Major Summerfield. The fireman's band said that they'd... What's Summerfield doing in this? Well, he served. He served with the rebels. Well, so did a dozen other men in town, and two of them are since dead. This isn't a holiday for rebels. You mean you think I'm going to organize a parade that marches out to the cemetery and passes up the graves of the Confederate dead? This is not the south. It's closer than you think. Now, Jerry, I understand exactly how you feel about Summerfield. He's a traitor. And he beat you up. It's got nothing to do with it. Not a thing. All right, all right. But you're a war veteran, and I think a man in your position in Hartzville should be on this committee. I'm not asking you to forgive anything that you can't forgive. All I am saying is, don't cut off your nose despite your face. All right, Jerry. You'll serve on the committee? I'll serve on it. With Summerfield and the others? I said I'd serve on it. And he did, too. Ex-drummer boy Jerry Jackson helped plan every Decoration Day parade for the next 20 years. And a lot of folks thought the acts had been buried. Not that Jerry and the Major ever said much to each other. But they'd turn up at the meetings of the Arrangements Committee every year. From 1882 on, it was called Memorial Day, not Decoration Day. And unless you knew the grudge Jerry held against the Major, you'd say these were just two men who didn't seem to know one another very well. That's all. But that wasn't all by a long shot. Jerry, over the years, had been buying up land outside Heartsville. And he had a reason. What the reason was came to light one evening about a week after my 20th birthday in April, 1898. My dad owned the picayune before me. And I'd been working on it for the two years since I'd finished high school. This particular night, at about 10 o'clock, I was getting ready to close up shop when the front door flew open and in came old Major Summerfield. He was better than 70, then, with his eyes blazing and his white whiskers quivering like leaves in a gale. Where's your daddy called? Why, isn't he down at the house? No, no, I just rode by there. Your mother said he was called out in some urgent business. Usually that means something down here. You're sure he's not been by? Yes, you're positive. Is there anything I can help with? You know, I just found out Jackson and a group of speculators have bought up the river property next to mine. Well, is there anything wrong with that? And they claim it's in the deed. They control the water rights to the stream and it comes onto my land. Claim they can cut off my water. Choke me out. Well, Major, I'm no lawyer, but if I were you, I think that's who I'd consult. Well, I already consulted. When he says it's legal, they can do it. Well, then... Now, I say that's wrong. I don't care how legal it is. It's a sin. It's stealing. And I want your daddy to write it up in his paper and to call it stealing. Well, sir, I think you'd better speak to him about that. I intend to. Have you talked to Mr. Jackson yet? That's just where I'm going right now. But I wanted to get this on public record first. In case? Just in case. Yes, sir. You tell your daddy I was by. What I didn't know that night, nor the major either, was that my dad and George Tuckle from the bank, plus two or three other businessmen in Hartzville, had already got wind of what Jerry Jackson was trying to do to the major, and had gone over to his house earlier to try to talk him out of it. But that part didn't come out until it was all over. The only thing known for sure was that the major arrived at Jackson's big house on Magnolia Street at about 1030, and that Jerry himself answered the door. I've been expecting you, Summerfield. Can I come in? Certainly. Yes, you've come about the land. I have? What is it you want to know? Why are you doing this to me, Jackson? Is it because of that beating I gave you all those years ago? Better than 30 years? Exactly, 33 to the month, Summerfield, April 1865. Then that's it, the beating. Not entirely. For another, you're the last rebel here about, so I think it's time you were on your way. You'd starve me off my land for that. If it came to it, but I may not have to. Oh, I won't sell to you. Never. I was born on that land. I'm not leaving it now. You left it once. That was different. You left it? You took up a gun against the man who was trying to defend it. I fought for what I thought was right. And if your side had won, do you think my father's blacksmith shop would have been here waiting for me like your farm was, clean and neat, ready to work again? It would not. It had been southern carpet baggers instead of northern ones, and the only one who'd come out of it without a scratch would be you. Either way, you couldn't lose. There wouldn't have been any carpet baggers. Well, it's my feeling there would have been plenty. You talk about your land. That's not being your land today. You put on a gray uniform. It's my land, and you're not going to take it from me. I worked that since I was a boy. All right. Try working it for a while with that water. Jackson, you're not going to do this to me. I'm doing it. No, you're not. I didn't think you'd come here without a gun. I should have shot you that first day. But I was a boy. And that's all that stopped me. I'm not a boy now, and you've got the gun. Why don't you just go ahead? I will if you don't sign this, and sign it now. Right of easement. This gives you back your water rights, nice and legal. Sign it. Nope. Don't take a will, Simmerfield. You're going to sign it. Nope, not going to do anything. You're going to do it all. What do you mean? You know, I've been trying to figure out for 33 years now why I can't stand you, and I've finally got it. There are two things you're afraid of, taking a gamble and admitting that you're wrong. That's a lie. Well, I say it's the truth. It's a rotten lie. You want satisfaction? What? You say your honor has been called into question. I assume you're going to challenge me. I don't have to challenge you. I'll admit it's risky. What do you mean risky? I'm not a boy anymore. I can use a pistol. You're just trying to bluff your way out of this situation. Well, and why don't you shoot me? You couldn't miss from there. You wouldn't be any risk. Don't tempt me. All you'd have to do later is convince yourself there's nothing wrong with cold-blooded murder. Go ahead. Jackson, my seconds will contact you in the morning. Well, by George, when it first came out the next day, that Jerry Jackson and Major Summerfield were planning to fight a duel, nobody knew what to think. And then, before any of us had a chance to decide, the telegraph operator down at the train station got a message flashed to him that Spain and the United States were at war. And I had to tear up the whole front page of the Picayune and start all over again. And yet, looking back, it's funny how that new war sort of ended the old one around Heartsville. Oh, not that anybody called off the duel. That was slated to take place right on schedule at dawn, April 25, 1898. But then, about one o'clock that morning, Dr. Jensen, the local Sawbones, routed both George Tuckle and Jerry Jackson out of bed to say that the Major had had a heart attack. He looked like he wasn't going to last. He wanted to see his opponent once more. You go ahead, Jerry. I'll wait out here. We should come in with me, George. Well, whatever you want. Howdy, Major. Hello, George. How do you feel? Pretty tired. Jensen here. I'm right here. I don't believe I'll be able to give you satisfaction this morning. I'm sorry. I know. I'm still a good shot. I was a good shot when I was a Major. And I'm still... Now, don't talk, Major. You just tire yourself out. I wanted to tell you, Jensen, I wish I hadn't beat you up that day. It's all right. You'd have been a much happier man all your life. All your life. It's all right. But you called me a traitor that day. I never was. I never meant to... Now, Major, you mustn't talk anymore. But I hit you down, Jensen. I ruined your life. I made you hate and hate. Major, just rest now. You need to rest. Yes. Have you ever thought how different it might have been if you weren't standing there that day from the silver dollar when I wrote in here? If you'd just been down your daddy's blacksmith shop or up the street somewhere's... Yes. You'd be a happier man, Jensen. Now, isn't that strange? Major. What's the name of that boy you were with? Harris? Is that his name? Clam Harris. He's dead. There aren't many of us left either side. Not many. I just wanted to apologize, Jensen, because I won't be able to make it this morning. Major rallied a little bit the next day, but everybody could see it was just a matter of time. Doc Jensen said that even if there wasn't any relapse or another attack, he didn't give the old soldier more than a month. Doc was a pretty good guesser. On May 26th, just 31 days after he first took sick, Major Summerfield died quietly in his sleep. It'd be an exaggeration to say that the Spanish-American war was completely forgotten with the majors passing, but between most folks' preoccupation with one event or another, it was late the following afternoon when George Tuckle received an official-looking letter from Washington and first realized that not a single arrangement had been made for Memorial Day. But, Jerry, according to this letter, a personal representative of the president is coming here. Now, we've got to have some kind of ceremony. Why did they single out Hartzville? Well, it's not just Hartzville. It's almost a dozen towns, but most of them are like Hartzville. Places with both Confederate and Union veterans in them. The idea seems to be that the governor wants to show the rest of the world that the people of the United States have closed ranks in this new war and that the old betternesses have all been forgotten. You know, better take Hartzville off their schedule or our last rebel is gone. Well, Jerry, I got to thinking about that on my way over here. Thinking about what? The major. Nothing to think about. He's dead. Yeah, but he ain't buried yet. Now, what would you say to giving him a Memorial Day funeral? Full military honors. No. Now, Jerry. No, he's got no military honors coming. Not from Hartzville, he hasn't. Jerry, the man's dead. He can't hurt you anymore. That isn't that. And you licked him. And if it's any satisfaction, you finally licked a tar out of him. It was too late. It came too late. All right, all right, but now it's over. Maybe you and I don't believe in what the major fought for. Maybe as he grew older and got to looking back, even he stopped believing it. Why didn't he admit it? Well, I'm just saying maybe. Now, for all I know, he died thinking the Confederacy was right. And you say we should give a man like that a military funeral? Yes, because when he fought, he fought gallantly for what he believed in. You can't dishonor a man like that. I don't care what side he was on. That's not a case of fighting. That's all it is. Like, even as a boy, when you took up a rifle at Shiloh. Huh. Huh, never took up a rifle. Yeah. What? And Summerfield knew it. Right away that first day home for 33 years. He never let me forget. He knew I was lying. Well, I... I don't think it matters anyway. You were just a kid. At night, he took sick when he asked me whatever became a Clem Harris. Yes. He was just telling me he hadn't forgotten it. And he hadn't got my rib. When I came home, he was the first one I saw. And that's how it started. Well, you finally got him. Yeah. Now, don't you think he deserves a decent burial? It rained the day of the parade, but the crowd that turned out was the biggest Hartzville ever saw. Folks came all over the county, started lining the main street as early as 8.30 that morning, especially down by the reviewing stand in front of the courthouse. I was watching from a window in the third floor of the Picayune building. I couldn't make out a single face among the spectators because they were all hidden under the black glistening tops of umbrellas. It was 10 o'clock before all the visiting dignitaries had taken their places on the reviewing stand and another 15 minutes before the parade itself started. First, there came a color guard. Four fine-looking soldiers in dress uniforms and white gloves carrying the flag. Then the firemen's band and after them the Hartzville High Drummond's Bugle Corps, all of them marching slow and even to their own music. Then a polished-looking platoon of infantrymen would come over from Fort Swanson and turn to smart eyes right as they passed the reviewing stand and after them, the Major. His casket mounted on a caisson because he was cavalry draped over half and half by the red, white, and blue in the stars and bars. And right behind the caisson, walking slow with his eyes down was Jerry Jackson carrying the Major's sword. The rain going like it was in everybody's face, you couldn't tell the genuine mourners from those who were just getting soaked, but on they marched all the way down Main Street out of town up the long hill to the cemetery. As representative of the press, I'd ridden on ahead of the funeral cortege in a rig with my dad and the mayor and the man from Washington who was there to personally represent the president. We were all at the grave side when the caisson pulled up. I think it must have been George Tuckl who asked the mayor if it wouldn't be all right for Jerry Jackson to say a few words before introducing the presidential representative. The mayor was a little peeved because he'd been looking over his prepared speech all the way out to the cemetery, but he didn't make a fuss. After most of the crowd had gathered, Jerry stepped out from them, still holding the major sword. He gazed down at the empty grave that was slowly filling with water. I just want to say I think that although the man we're burying here today was never a friend of mine, he lived as best he knew how by his own lights. Now that those lights are out, it's no part of mine except to speak well of the memory of major Haskell Summerfield. Of course, the strangers there couldn't know why those last words of Jerry Jackson sent such a ripple through the crowd at the grave. Because, you see, he'd never called Haskell Summerfield a major, not once in 33 years. And now that he had, we all knew it was over and forgiven, and that the last battle of the war was finished. That's why just recently I didn't see much point in playing up the story of the last Union veteran who was 108 years old. Because it'd be kind of an anti-climax to anyone in Heartsville who had seen the statue and the plaque up in front of the city hall. One of the two figures of the Union drummer boy taking the sword from the Confederate Major. This is Mitzi Gaynor again. Athlete Limber up just before a contest? It's as if he's telling his nerves and muscles, get ready, we got another big day ahead of us. And you know, on the level of just ordinary unathletic living, we can use that limbering up technique ourselves. Except that instead of alerting our muscles and nerves to the difficulties we have to face each day, we can direct the message to our minds and our hearts through prayer, daily prayer. We can say in so many words, Dear God, I'll try to win today over temptation, over pride, over greed, over selfishness. I'll try to be a little more like the one in whose image you created me. The prayer we offer can be that short, that simple. But of course it has to be accompanied by an honest effort on our part to do what we say we will. An athlete can limber up before a game, but if he doesn't try to win, the gesture is meaningless. And it's like that with prayer. Prayers aren't just words. They're promises, intentions, resolutions. And the spiritual limbering up that we do when we pray together as a family is especially effective because it makes us a team on which each member helps the others. And I guess you realize it's pretty hard to break up a winning combination like that. Give it a try. You'll see for yourself the family that prays together stays together. And Bob Easton. The script was written and directed for Family Theater by John T. Kelly with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman. This series of Family Theater broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you feel the need for this type of program by the mutual network which has responded to this need. And by the hundreds of stars of stage, screen and radio who give so unselfishly of their time and talent to appear on our Family Theater stage. To them and to you our humble thanks. This is Tony Lafranco expressing the wish of Family Theater that the blessing of God may be upon you and your home and inviting you to be with us next week when Family Theater will present the last straw starring James Cagney and Gene Cagney. Dorothy Malone will be your hostess. Join us, won't you? Family Theater is broadcast throughout the world and originates in the Hollywood studios of the world's largest network. This is Mutual, the radio network for all America.