 The beer that made Milwaukee famous presents the Halls of Ivy, starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman. Good evening, this is Ronald Coleman inviting you to join us again on the campus of Ivy College as the guest of our sponsors, the brewers of Schlitz beer. Tonight's program is dedicated to Dr. Horace Mann-Bundt, president of Lincoln University, Chester County, Pennsylvania. The taste of Schlitz, the taste so many people prefer, has made Schlitz beer first in sales in the USA. If you like good beer, do as millions of people are doing all over the nation. Ask for Schlitz, the most popular beer in history. Welcome again to Ivy, Ivy College that is in the town of Ivy, USA. When one thinks of a college president, it's apt to be in terms of mortarboard, academic gown, and a portentous harried individual pouring over lists of wealthy alumni for some untapped vein of golden endowments. This is a caricature, of course, but caricatures are merely distorted portraits. Without the distortion, at least one college president, William Todd Hunter Hall of Ivy, is a man in a business suit who is neither portentous nor harried, and he has friends and neighbors like everybody else. One of them is waiting for him now in his study at number one faculty role, and as he enters the front door, his wife Victoria says... No, Toddy, I'm so glad you're home. Thank you darling, your happiness at my return is most reassuring. I dislike it very much if you met me at the door and said, oh dear you again, back already. Well, I'm not only glad because I'm always glad to see you again, but also because we have a visitor. Oh, anyone who is likely to tax the presidential patients with some campus caper? No, no, this is someone you always enjoy talking to, it's little Sheila Quinn Cannon. Oh, Sheila, that's fine, where is she? Well, she's in your study, sitting in your chair, at your desk, drawing pictures on your best stationery with your best fountain pen. Well, my best stationery and my best fountain pen are none too good for Sheila Quinn Cannon. Yeah, I know, Toddy, and when you start visiting whether you'll be ours, so first tell me, how was the board meeting? Oh, much as usual. It's getting so the other members consider themselves a gallery of happy spectators, when Mr. Wellman and I get into our customary verbal head-on collisions. Well, Mr. Wellman has an unfair advantage in a head-on collision, he has two heads. Well, if he had seven heads, they'd do him no good against me. I've discovered a technique which has him completely baffled. It's a conversational gambit which I should hesitate to use against anyone else, but with Clarence, all's fair in love and board meetings. What's the gambit? Silence. How did you use it? Well, when he finishes speaking for a moment, I simply smile politely and wait as though for him to continue. When the pause becomes unbearable, he turns red, starts talking again, and makes no sense whatsoever because he is babbling from pure embarrassment. That reminds me of that book by Stephen Potter called Gamesmanship. Oh, yes. Or how to win games without actually cheating. You should write one on shut-upmanship, or how to win an argument without opening the mouth. Yes, it's peculiar how deafening a sudden silence can be. Yeah, that awful conversational laundry chute on which the whole party goes. Well, it accounts for a great deal of brainless chatter. Oh, which reminds me, I'm going to see my guest, whose chatter makes more sense than that of most people. Come along, Vicky. You won't be embarrassed if I'm present when you talk to this other woman. Oh, not at all, darling. I love you both. No, I'm not. Sheila, dear, our man has come home. Hello, Sheila. Hi, Dr. Hall. Hi, Mrs. Hall. Look at the picture I drew. Now, that's simply wonderful, Sheila. Yes. Isn't it, William? I've never seen anything quite like it. Personally, I never could draw horses. Me either. That's why it's a picture of a dog. Oh, yes, he is a dog. Yes, he's a nice, high dog. Especially in France. Are you going to be an artist when you grow up, Sheila? No, I'm going to be a doctor, or maybe a nurse. I think doctors and nurses are wonderful. Well, you ought to know, dear, you see enough of them. I'm not done, my bet. I guess maybe that's why I like you so much, Dr. Hall. You're a doctor, too. Well, not a medical doctor. I'm really just plain Mr. Hall, but people always call me doctor, and I'm so used to it, I don't bother to correct them anymore. How are all your family? Oh, fine, thank you, except Terry. You went to the hospital yesterday. Oh, Kevin's really? I didn't know. Is it anything serious, Sheila? Oh, no, he's just having his independence off. Oh, I'm sorry. But you know, they can remove an independence very easily these days. He'll be up and about before you know it. How old is Terry now? He's 10, going on 12. 10 going on 12? What happened to 11? Well, my daddy says he's growing so fast, he'll probably skip 11. You see, Dr. Hall, your fountain pen doesn't look very good anymore. The point got all spread out. See? Yes, I see. It'll be... It'll be twice as good as it was before, and now it has two points. I was kind of afraid for a while. I'd busted it. Well, that pen wasn't really for writing with any way, Sheila. It's mostly just a look at. I didn't even know it had ink in it. Oh, it had lots of ink in it. Too much even. Some of it came out on the carpet. I tried to wipe it off, but it kind of smeared around lower. See, I'm sorry, Mrs. Hall. Well, don't be dear. That carpet needed cleaning anyway, and you just helped to bring it to mind. Oh, thank you for reminding me. You're welcome, Mrs. Hall. Well, now how about some more cookies and another glass of milk? No, thank you. I had two glasses and the brother's zillion cookies, and I don't want to spoil my dinner. I guess I'd better go home now. And come back soon, won't you, Sheila? I like talking to you. By the way, when did you say your brother was being operated on? This afternoon. Mother says we can go see him about Saturday. I gotta go to the hospital anyway and get my braces adjusted. Well, I'd love to go with you if I may. Terrence was teaching me how to make a kite, and I'm just about ready for my second lesson. Sheila, for me, Sheila, that I want to... There's a phone, Dr. Hall. Yeah, we know, dear, but where is it? Well, it's on a long chord, Sheila, and sometimes we can't find it. Oh, I remember now. I put in a desk to her, so I have more room. Here it is. Oh, it is. Yeah, it's a very good idea. I'm sorry I never thought of that myself. Excuse me, ladies. Certainly. Sure. Dr. Hall's residence. Professor Harmon? Oh, yes, Professor. I'm sorry to hear that. Oh, but isn't there anything we can do to lighten your schedule? I see. Well, it's only that I dislike your taking such a drastic step without exhausting every possibility. Why don't you... Why don't you come over and have a talk? Perhaps we can work out something. For 30, that'll be fine. Goodbye, Professor. Now then, what were... Oh, yeah, yes, Sheila. Sheila, will you let us know when you hear how Terrence is getting along? Okay, Dr. Hall. They said he ought to be out from the... Anus... Anus... Anus-static. Right now, maybe. Sheila, if he's not asking too much, could you come back and tell us about him? Oh, yes, I'd like to. Say, about 4.30? I come over a lot oftener, but daddy says you're a busy man and don't bother you. Yeah, he only bothers us when you stay away too long, Sheila. Oh, I like to come over here. You're always so nice. Even when I make a mistake, it turns out good. Like when I spilled ink on your carpet, and it reminded you to have it cleaned. Anyway... Well, goodbye, Dr. Hall. Will you please hand me my crutches? Uh, here you are, Sheila. I'd offer to help you, but you always refuse me. And my feelings are so easily hurt. Uh, you just say that, I guess. Anyway, I like to walk by myself, and I almost never fall down anymore. Isn't that wonderful? Yes, it really is, Sheila. You know you're getting to be the bounciest while the block. Thank you, Mrs. Hall. I only go next door, but it takes me a little while to get there. So I better get started, I guess. Bye, Dr. Hall. Goodbye, Sheila. Until 4.30. And thank you for fixing my fountain pen. Yes, and for reminding me about the carpet. Oh, that's all right. I was glad to do it. Terrific, youngster. Miss Gallowhead. It isn't the iron in her brazes that keeps her going. It keeps her going. It's a key in her courage. And me of one definition of the word handicapped. An artificial disadvantage placed on a superior contender. But why did you ask her to come back? I mean, so specifically at 4.30. Oh, it's just an idea I had. After talking to Professor Harmon, he wants to resign. Resign? Why? I thought he was one of the best men on the faculty. Oh, he is. But it seems he can do more for the student that he can for himself. Oh, yeah, I know. He's a... what do you call it? A person who makes ten trips a day to the drugstore for pink pills. Pilgrim? No, no, no. You'd... I'm hyper-contriac. Hyper-contriac, yes. According to the... according to the old definition, one who enjoys, he'll help. Yes, yes, yes. But I still don't see what he's got to do with little Sheila coming back at 4.30. I'm not sure I do, either. But you know how I like to set up personal situations and see what happens? I'm afraid I'm just a drawing-room dramatist who is lucky to have a heroine like Sheila Quincanon. You wouldn't believe what a guy could get into buying a 3-cent stamp. Unless, of course, you knew Dall Warburton, our one-of-a-kind postmaster here at Ivy. I dropped into the post office quite innocent. Well, well, Carpenter, can I tell you something, or did you just drop into model for one of our wanted posters? Oh, hello, Dall. I just want a 3-cent stamp. 3-cent stamp, eh? Well, let me see now. We've got several varieties. Got portraits, landscapes, great men, several delightful issues commemorating great events. Look, Dall, I just want a 3-cent stamp. I'm not fussy about what it looks like. Dear, dear, he isn't fussy. Can I'm surprised at you? Where's your sense of proportion? Now, what if I went into a tavern and asked for a glass of beer, and the man says, what kind? And I said, oh, I'm not fussy. But, Dall, that's different. You know, I talk about Schlitz beer. You know, I believe it's the greatest beer in the world. And you know perfectly well that Schlitz is America's best-like beer. And yet you, uh... you wouldn't really say you weren't fussy, would you, Dall? No, I don't know, Ken. I might. You see, I'm a little hurt. Now, you interrupted me before I'd finished my sales story on the line of stamps we carry here. Dall, you can't be serious. A 3-cent stamp, that's all I wanted. A measly little 3-cent stamp. Well, I'll thank you not to run down my product. Now, you listen here. We put out stamps here that can't be matched any place in Ivy for the money. Now, you tell me that Schlitz can't be matched for taste. But Dall, Schlitz can't be matched. Schlitz has a wonderful, light, bright taste you just don't find in any other beer. A taste so great that millions of Americans have made Schlitz beer their own personal beer. You see, Dall, the big difference between your product and mine is that mine can't be lit. Now, Ken, I've been patient about listening to your pitch. Now, may I finish mine? All right, Dall, go ahead. Well, I was merely going to say, Ken, that for 3 cents I'd sell you the best 3-cent stamp in the house, close the stamp window, since it's almost 6 anyway, and then that. Yes, Dall, and then. And then, Ken, I'd share with you a pair of bottles of the beer you love. Schlitz beer. It's my favorite, too. Shall we? Dall, we shall, and will. Special delivery. As we return to the halls of Ivy, we find Dr. and Mrs. Hall entertaining another visitor, Mr. Mallyweather, member of the Board of Governors and a good friend. Mrs. Hall is saying... Now, please take off your coat and get that glorious red scarf and sit down a while, Mr. Mallyweather. It's a cold afternoon and we don't want our favorite board member catching pneumonia. Thanks, ma'am. I appreciate your solicitude, as I appreciate you in all other departments. Dear boy. I was just walking around the campus, happy in being an overage graduate who can sleep until noon, and thought I'd drop in and see Prexy and his dream girl. Prexy and his dream girl don't see you often enough, child. Do we, dream girl? No, Prexy. We don't. Have you been busy, Mr. Mallyweather? No, ma'am, I have not. I am that pathetic figure in American life, the retired businessman who has no amusing vices, no talent for pure loafing, and who lives for golf in a climate where you can only play it seven months in the year. Which makes my business engagement this afternoon very urgent. Oh, are you starting on a new enterprise, child? Yes, yes. There's a new miniature golf course on the fifth floor of the Keeler Building downtown. It's rumored to be tougher than Pebble Beach, and strong men are said to have come down in the elevator weeping. It sounds very fascinating. There's no danger of sunstroke either. Well, let me know how you like it, won't you? Vicki and I may have a go at it ourselves. I'll give you a report. My tips tell me that on the seventh hole, you tee off from the top of an empty bottle. Oh, no! Yes, if you knock the bottle down, you have a stroke. Then you have to shoot through the thumb of a catcher's mitt. Carim the ball off the trigger of a music box, which plays, I'll be glad when you're dead you rascal you. And drive past three hazards. What are they? A pool of glue, a hole in the floor that connects with the city sewer system, and a Labrador retriever on a long leash who gets a hamburger for every golf ball he can grab. My informant may have exaggerated slightly, but it's found to be more fun than sitting in my broker's office trying to find a bum stock for a tax law. Tell me, is there a 19th hole on this course, Mr. Meriwether? Ma'am, you have the instincts of a true golfer. That was my first question, too. Yes, there is. Just a mashy shot up the street. Don't let us detain you from this investigation, Charles. If you don't come back, we'll assume that you have mistaken for an extra-large hamburger by the Labrador retriever. Well, just remember me as kindly old Charlie Meriwether and have Slammin' Thammy Snead read the eulogy. Let's hope you survive, Mr. Meriwether, so you and Mrs. Meriwether can have dinner with us tomorrow night. Most attractive offer I've had all week. What time? Oh, 7.30ish, or quarter-ish to eight, or even 7-ish, 15. Name your own-ish. By the way, are you dieting, either of you? It seems nowadays that everybody is. And we wouldn't want to be lacking in culinary tact. After all, with territorial statehood in question, it would never do to serve baked Alaska to a southern senator. No, you're asking to dance a hula afterward. Well, I'm not dieting, but did you ever know my wife when she wasn't? Or claim she wasn't? Well, I'm glad we found out. What can she eat? Oh, well, don't worry about it. There are three things a woman will make any excuse to get out of. A rainstorm, a tight girdle, and a diet. Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Goodbye, my child. Goodbye! Who liked Mr. Meriwether? He's so comfortable. I can't imagine him getting really perturbed about anything. That's because you've never seen him take seven practice swings, test the wind with a wet finger, wait for a clear fairway, tell his caddy to keep an eye on the ball and then flood his first tee shot. Well, that's different. That's a reason. How does he react? Oh, he's rather frightening. He just smiled, a thin-lipped smile, like Boris Karloff measuring out arsenic. He throws his driver into the nearest shrubbery, runs over to a tree and starts banging his head against the trunk. Then he sobs once or twice, comes back, borrows a brassie, shuts his eyes, and slams a screaming drive about 300 yards. It's an emotional game, isn't it? I suppose all golfers would go insane if they didn't have to take such a long walk between the tee and the green. Well, I'll be glad when the weather opens up enough so we can play again. You don't mind playing golf with your own wife. You are an exceptional man. With you, my darling, golf is simply a matter of getting my feet on the green grass, my head into the wind, and a long stroll with someone pleasant to talk to and be with. I love the sun, the air, the rolling hills, the gleam of water, and you, beside me, singing in the wilderness. Our wilderness were paradise in ours. Do you suppose... do you suppose Omar was a golfer? Of course he was. A book of rules consulted me to bow, a tangled ruff, a stymied ball, and thou, beside me, searching in the undergrowth. Ah, let us tell the Greens committee now. But why do you keep looking at your watch? You can't play golf for another month at least. I know, darling, but I'm expecting... I'm expecting Professor Harman and here he is. Well, that's one thing about being the president. Sorry, people have to keep their appointments on time. Yes, it's one of the compensations of my job. As my father used to say, an appointment unkept is a promise broken. And I have... oh, good afternoon, Professor. Good afternoon, Dr. Hall. Mrs. Hall. Hello, Professor Harman. You're looking very well. I am. Well, that shows you how deceitful I must be. Because I don't feel well at all. Oh. Anything specific, Professor? Or just things in general? Oh, I don't know, frankly. But I'm fed up with everything. I haven't got any particular aches or pains, but I just feel like throwing everything aside and running away. Well, you can buy a ticket to anywhere in the world, but you always pay excess for your mental luggage. But why not sit down and let's see what can be done about your resignation? The way I feel about it, there's only one thing to do, and that's to resign. Why don't you take that chair, Professor Harman? That's our psychological seat, Professor. It's deep enough so the visitor can't get up suddenly and run out and low enough so that its occupant must look up slightly to the president. And it's paid for, which gives the president and his wife a pleasant feeling of security. But I thought all psychologists made the patient face the light while they kept their own faces in the shadow. Ah, it's a strategy employed only by amateur psychologists. It is not the play of emotions on the visitor's face which guide my interview. It's the expression which I permit him to see on my face. So, thus forewarned, tell me your trouble. My husband intensely dislikes the idea of losing your services Professor. Yes, thank you. But I can't stay at the college. I think it would kill me. Is it that bad? It probably sounds a little dramatic to you, but I'm not dramatizing myself. I'm headed for a crack-up. I don't want to end up in the hospital. The pressure is too great by my classes. Working on two books for fall publication, meetings for this and that and committees. Shouldn't be difficult to get you off some of the committees and possibly relieve the pressure in other directions also. Mr. Meriwether's definition of a committee would make anyone want to get off them. He says a committee is a group of the unfit appointed by the unwilling to undertake the unnecessary. It isn't just the committees or any one thing. It's everything. The everlasting, unremitting pressure. I can't take it. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I'm jittery and jumpy. I just got to get away and get hold of myself. Have you considered spending a few days in the clinic for a physical check-up? I've done all that. The doctors find nothing. But I know there's some. Excuse me, you will. Dr. Hall's residence. Yes, operator, please do. It's from Bloomington, Indiana. Indiana U. And who's who? Don't I U? It's probably Professor Marcelli of the music department. I'm sorry, Professor Harmon. It'll be just a... Hello? Hello? Rico? Ah, comista, amico mio. Ben, Ben. Of course I'm ready. Been ready for weeks. All right. Here it is. Rook to the night's fourth and mate in three moves. Ha-ha. Oh, you don't think so? Ha-ha-ha. Well, take your time, old man. Professor Marcelli's been played for centuries. Why should we hurry it? How's the concerto coming along? Oh, it's too bad. Well, it's your move now, Rico. Good luck. Arrivederci. I take it the concerto isn't doing too well. Ah, Professor Marcelli's concerto is a sometimes thing. He alternates between being an accomplished composer and a frantic chess player. This is one of his frantic periods. I'm sorry. We will interrupt it, Professor Harmon. Go on, please. Well, there isn't any more. I simply want a resign. I know I have a contract, but I hope you'll give me permission to cancel it. Well, if you assure us that you can work out no alternative, I will see that your contract is cancelled. May we ask your plans if you do resign, Professor? I haven't made any, Mrs. Hall. I'll go away somewhere and take a long rest. I'm just giving up. Um, see who's at the door, Victoria, do you mind? Yes, certainly. Hello, Sheila. Ah, Sheila. Come in, come in. That's right, and I hear this right here. There it is. Let me take your cross. Thank you, Miss Powell. I just wanted to tell you about Harry. The doctor says he's fine. Oh, that's splendid, Sheila. We're delighted to hear it. I'm going to go see him on Saturday. Isn't that wonderful? Indeed it is. And thank you for coming over to tell us, dear. Oh, but you two haven't met. Uh, Professor Harman, this is our next door neighbor, Sheila Quincanon, the young lady whom I admire immensely. How do you do? Well, how do you do, Sheila? Is Professor Quincanon your father? Yes, he is. Do you know him? Oh, yes I do. He's a wonderful man. I know him. Do you know Terry? Terry? Yes. Karen's Quincanon, uh, Sheila's brother. He's in the hospital. They took out his independence. I'm going to go see him on Saturday on account of they're going to adjust my braces anyway. Is that, uh, much of a job, Sheila? Oh, no. It just takes a little while. My father says that not so long ago, when a little girl needed braces, there were many good ones. Now they make dandy ones. I guess I'm just lucky. Lucky? Uh, Sheila wants to be a doctor when she grows up. Don't you, Sheila? Sure. Or maybe a nurse. But maybe a doctor would be best. Because if my legs don't get better, I can sit at a desk and help people. Just as have to hurry around and lift things. Well, I'm sure you'd make a very good doctor. Well, I guess I'd better go now. It's a wonderful day out. I'm going to sit on a porch and watch the kids play. Can I please have my breakfast, Miss Hall? There you are. I'll walk to the door with you. Don't bother, Miss Hall. I like to do it all by myself. Remember, I'm about to hit one of the blocks. Bye, Dr. Hall. Bye, Professor. Goodbye. Now then, Professor Harmon, back to your problem. You were saying? Surviving a starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman has been presented by Schlitz, the beer that made Milwaukee famous. The taste of Schlitz. The taste so many people prefer has made Schlitz beer first in sales in the USA. Why don't you two enjoy the most popular beer in history? Next time, every time. Ask for Schlitz beer. Now, here again are Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman. Thank you, Ken. Ladies and gentlemen, Little Sheila Quincanon is your neighbour too. In every neighbourhood, in every community, there are children who need your help. The sale of Easter Seals by the Society for Crippled Children and Adults is dedicated to this purpose. Please support this wonderful work with your purchase of Easter Seals or send a donation direct to Crippled Children's Care at your local post office. Send as much as you can, but even a small donation will seem large to some youngster who has nowhere else to look for help from comfort. It's wonderful when all we tour one can bend and lend our strength to small one. Good night, everybody. Good night from all of us. And from our sponsor, the Joseph Schlitz Brewing Company of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and its thousands of friendly dealers throughout the nation. Good night. We'll be seeing you next week at this same time at the Halls of Ivy starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman. Mr. Mary Weather is played by Gail Gordon. Sheila was Mary McGovern, and Professor Harmon was John Brown. Tonight's script was written by Don Quinn. Music was composed and conducted by Henry Russell. The Halls of Ivy was created by Don Quinn, directed by Milton Merlin, and presented by the Joseph Schlitz Brewing Company of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. We're invited to enjoy on television the Schlitz Playhouse of Stars with Helen Hayes, Margaret Sullivan, Walter Hampton, and more of the brightest names of Hollywood and Broadway. See your newspaper for time and channel. Ken Carpenter, speak. Oh, we love that song. Now just for laughs, join in the fun with The Great Gilder Sleeve on NBC.