 Hollywood, California, Monday, September 28th. The Lux Radio Theater presents Wallace Beery in The Plutocrats. Presents Hollywood, our stars, Wallace Beery, Clara Kimball Young, Marjorie Rambo, Cecilia Parker, and Eric Linden. Our guests, Victor Young, Walt Disney, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, and Carol Ann Beery. Our musical director, Louis Silvers. Hello, brought to you under the direction of Hollywood's renowned producer, Mr. Cecil B. DeMille. Tonight, we celebrate the 100th broadcast of the Lux Radio Theater, and many of Hollywood's notables are here to observe the occasion with us. Among those in our audience, I see Madame Schumann Heich, Carmel Myers, Sari Maritza, and Benny Baker. And to all our listeners, a hearty welcome from Lux. Before turning the microphone over to Mr. DeMille, may I remind you of just two of the many good reasons why Lux Toilet Soap is so popular the world over. First, Lux Toilet Soap guards against cosmetic skin. The active lather of this pure, delicately perfumed soap removes stale ruse and powder, frees the pores of all foreign matter, and keeps the skin soft, smooth, and clear. Second, Lux Toilet Soap is within everybody's budget. It costs so little, and all the family can use it. It's fine for baby's tender skin, men prefer it for its full, rich lather. With your next order, remember to add and six cakes of Lux Toilet Soap. And now the man who has given us some of our greatest motion pictures and many of our most glamorous stars. Ladies and gentlemen, the producer of the Lux Radio Theater, Mr. Cecil B. DeMille. Things from Hollywood, ladies and gentlemen, the most hilarious April fool joke ever played on the world, and the one we most appreciate is Wallace Berry. He was born in Kansas City on April 1st. At the age of nine, he was the biggest boy in the fourth grade. Three years later, he was still the biggest boy in the fourth grade. The faculty was amazed at his ability to resist education, and his schoolmates were completely awed by him. They called him jumbo, which was not only descriptive, but prophetic. For at 15, he left home and became the best known elephant trainer in America, forcing Ringling's herd of 26. While he followed this with a humble, even humiliating start as an actor. It was as a chorus boy in babes and toyland. When I first met him 20 years ago, I cast him as a German general in the first picture based on the world war, the little America. He has since been an electrician, cameraman, director, comedian and serious actor, breaking all records for motion picture versatility. The play in which he stars tonight is taken from the comedy by Arthur Goodrich, based on the novel by Booth Tarkington. Featured with Wally is an all-star cast. We'll hear Clara Kimball Young as Mrs. Tinker, Marjorie Rambo in the role of Madame Memorial, Cecilia Parker as Olivia Tinker, Eric Linden as Lawrence Ogle, and we'll hear Wallace Beery in the character of an American millionaire. He is starred as Earl Tinker in the plutocrat. We're in a state room on board the steamship Doomveer. It's evening of the first day out, and already Mrs. Tinker has succumbed to the rolling sea. She lies in her berth and ice bag on her head, a hapless, hopeless, helpless expression in her eyes. Earl, her husband, sits at her side, filled with concern. How do you feel now, honey? Terrible. Oh, gosh, I hate to see you feel like this. Ain't there anything I can do for you? No, just go away. Go away and let me die in peace. Oh, don't talk like that. Why, you ain't gonna die. Folks don't pass out on account of a little seasickness. I'm going to. I never felt like this in all my life. Yeah, but we've only been out seven hours, honey. It seems like seven years. Oh, I wish I was back in Omaha. Oh, you will feel better just as soon as we hit port. We'll be in Algiers in about eight days. Eight days? You'll never even know that you were sick. You know, I was speaking to the captain just after dinner. He said all this talk about seasickness is just imagination. Not with me, it isn't. Well, you probably ain't seasick at all. You just feel bad on account of that lemon meringue pie that you had for dinner. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to, darling. Go away. Go away. Honey, listen, please. Oh, it's your mom. I think she's a little upset. Oh, God, I'll take care of her. I've tried to do something for her, but she keeps on telling me to go away. Maybe you'd better. Well, if you say so, baby, seems a shame, though. Here we are, the first real vacation in 10 years, and your mom has to go get seasick. Please, Pa, I think it would be a lot better if you left her alone. Huh? What's the matter with you? Nothing. I just... It's all green around the gills. Oh, don't. Say, you ain't got it, too. Olivia. Oh, my. Well, for Pete's sake, you get in the bed there with your mom, Olivia. I'll fix you up. You leave her alone, Earl Tinker. Yeah, but honey, listen... I'll take care of her. You can't even take care of yourself. If you just let me alone, I can. Go on, now. Go away. All right, all day. This is going to be a swell trip for me. I can see that. I'll be up in the lounge if you want me. Will you have another, Monsieur? Yeah, go on and fill it up, George. Wee, Monsieur. You know, George, I am a terribly lonesome man. Wee, Monsieur. Yeah, never mind that masseur stuff. Tinker's the name. Earl Tinker, president of the Tinker Packing Company. Omaha, USA. All stored, Monsieur. The Mustang is cocktail, please. One, the Mustang is wee, Monsieur. Hi there, young fellow. Oh, good evening. You remember me, don't you? At the same table, you and me and my wife and my daughters? Oh, yes, of course. Yeah, well, Tinker's my name. Tinker Meat Packing Company. I don't believe you said what yours was. Uh, Ogle, Lawrence Ogle. Not Ogle, uh, Ogle, Pipes and Steamed Bitons? Pardon me, I'm not in business. Oh, you're not. Well, that's too bad. I thought you might be Ogle and Ogle, Pipes and Steamed Bitons. One, the Mustang is, Monsieur. Why don't you call that thing a Demosthen, what? Wee, Monsieur, Demosthen is. It is the latest drink in New York. Oh, guess you're from New York, huh, Ogle? Yeah. Well, I'm from Omaha myself. Finest town on earth. Oh, New York's all right, too, I guess. You know, it's like I always tell my wife. It's a great little place to visit, but I wouldn't like to live there. Now, you'll excuse me, won't you? I've got to look up a friend on the line. Oh, sure, go on, go on. Thank you. See you around sometime, Ogle. Nice fella, India. Wee, Monsieur. Well, I guess I'll run and I'll see how the wife's coming on. Good night, Monsieur. Good night, George. Oh, excuse me, lady. It's quite all right, Monsieur. Yeah, I almost knocked the table over. I'm awfully sorry. It is nothing, Monsieur. Nothing spilled on you, didn't it? No, Monsieur. Well, let me get you another cocktail. Steward! Wee, Monsieur. Give the lady another cocktail. Of course. I guess I'm getting kind of clumsy in my old age, huh? Well, it is no harm done, Monsieur. Well, it's nice of you to say that. You know, a lot of folks would have been pretty sore, you know that. But it is not your fault. It's the ocean. I haven't learned to walk on it yet. Madame's cocktail. Merci. Well, guess I'll be going. Oh, please don't. No, sit down and keep me company. Say, I kind of like that right down to my shoe tops. You know, my name's Tinker. Tinker, president of the Tinker Packing Company. Omaha, USA. I am Madame Monroe. I am not president of anything, and I live in Paris. Well, I'm sure glad to know you, Madame Monroe. I sick not have to spend this trip in solitary. You're a widow, I guess. Is it so evident? Yes, Monsieur. You are a widower, Mr. Tinker. Me, a widower? Say, you wouldn't think so if you knew what would happen to me if my wife caught me talking to as good-looking woman as you are, Mrs. Gumsrow. You are very flattering, Monsieur. Oh, Mr. Tinker. Oh, hello there, ugly. I thought you went to look up a friend. Well, I did, but... Come, sit down, sit down. Mrs. Mum... This is Mr. Ugly. He sits at my table. He's from New York. I'm not holding it against him, though. How are you doing, Mrs. Mum Monroe? How do you do? It must be quite thrilling to fill yourself a real New Yorker, Monsieur. Well, in a way. Such a wonderful city. Say, what's New York got that Omaha ain't got? That's what I'd like to know. Oh, the arts, Mr. Tinker. Music, the theatre, panning... Don't talk to me about the theatres. I saw one of them plays in New York just before I caught this boat. Never again. You did not like it, Monsieur? Like it. You couldn't tell what it was all about. What play was it, Mr. Tinker? Oh, I don't know. It was some crazy thing called the pastured scene or something like that. The pastural scene? Yeah, that was it. Yeah, that was it. Believe me, it was certainly rotten. Well, I'm sorry. You feel that way, Mr. Tinker. You see, I wrote the pastural scene. Oh, you did. Well, imagine that. Mr. Tinker. Yeah. Madam Tinker would like to see you, Mr. Tinker. Oh, thanks. Excuse me, folks. I'll see you back later, Mrs. Mums, or else I can break out of jail. Oh, Frank, Heaven, he's gone. Well, Mr. Ogle, he is very amusing. He is so, um, so native, so typical American. Oh, he's far from typical. I mean of your ruling class. He is a leader, Mr. Ogle, a plutocrat. Oh, he's that all right, a provincial, western plutocrat? Mr., you speak so harshly. He is your friend, no? Hardly. But you came to him, you spoke with him. Shall I tell you why? Please. Because he happened to be sitting with you? Mr. I've been wanting to meet you ever since we left New York, Madam Amaro. But why? Must I answer that? No, it would be better perhaps if you did not. We shall all be, as you say, shipmates for eight old days. There is plenty of time and we shall meet often, I hope. Well, it can't be too often. Ah, you are very polite, Monsieur. Oh, sir, here you are. I've been looking all over the bird for you. Ah, yes, sir. This is Mr. Ogle. Mr. Ogle. Mr. Iasing's Momoro. How do you do? Iasing? Momoro? It is late, Mama. I think maybe we had best to scram, no? Well, excuse me, but... Do not mind him, Monsieur. My son, he makes a study of, um, American slang, eh? Son, did you say your son? But yes, you think that's so strange. Well, it's incredible, you're so young. Oh, two times you are polite, Monsieur. I am glad that I look so young to you. Come, Iasing. Good night, Monsieur Ogle. Good night. So long, Mr. Ogle. See you in the funny papers, eh bien? Well, Mama, you have found a rich American? Two of them, Iasing. One young, one not so young. The not-so-young American is the richer, I think. Ah, hot stuff. Well, um, I say good night, Mama. Do bien, Monsieur. Maybe when we reach Algiers, we have plenty of money, no? Oh, maybe. Maybe when we reach Algiers, yes, perhaps. Go not to your cabin, Iasing. I am going to walk a bit on day. Very well done. To the didoo, Mama. Take me back to Omaha. Take me back to Omaha. How long, Mrs. Bumsrose? Monsieur Tica. Say, you ain't turned in for the night, are you? In a little while, Monsieur. Oh, don't do that. I was just back on the way to the lounge looking for company. Ah, it is too bad. But there is always tomorrow and the next day and the next. Is it not so? Well, uh, I... My chair is up on the promenade date. If tomorrow morning after 10, you should be, uh, lonely. Yeah, well, I might be at that. You know, my wife and daughter ain't very good company right now. Then I will look for you tomorrow. Say, that'll be fine, Mrs. Mamarure. First day's run, 360 miles near us. Guise, made by Mr. Herr Tinker. Oh, Mr. Tinker, you have won the ship's pool. Yeah, I guess I'm pretty lucky at judging distances, huh? First day's run, ship's pool, won by Mr. Herr Tinker. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, it is incredible. It must be your company, Mr. Mamarure. One by Mr. Herr Tinker. So much money you have won, marvelous. I haven't had as good a time as this in 20 years. Champagne stored, champagne for everybody. What time do we dock tomorrow? Nine o'clock, Monsieur. Thank you. Shall I bring you a blanket, Monsieur? It is cool here on deck. No, don't bother. Very well, Monsieur. Oh, excuse me. Oh, I can take your pardon, Miss Tinker. I'm afraid my chair is in a rather bad position here. I'll move it. It's funny, isn't it? What? I told Mama when she asked me to come up here that I'd probably bump into you. I see that I did. I'm sorry. Sorry to meet me? Yes, you always made that perfectly clear. Oh, you know I didn't mean it that way. It doesn't matter. I was looking for Papa. Well, I haven't seen him. You know where he is? No, I've a faintest idea. That's not true. You know perfectly well. He's on the upper deck with Madam Mamarure. Oh, is he? And you know it and I know it, but Mama doesn't. If she did. Yes, I can imagine. No, you can't. Not possibly. There's one thing I want to say to you, Mr. Robel. You won't believe it because you come from New York. Papa is good. Oh, is he? Yes. I knew you'd say just that and just that way. Oh, is he? Oh, you make me so angry. And then I get angry all over again because I can let you make me angry. Well, I don't understand. I'm sorry, really. Listen, Mr. Robel. Tomorrow morning we'll all be getting off the boat of Algiers. I'll probably never see you again. I said there was one thing I wanted to tell you, but there's more. I've sat at the table with you every day for eight days. It hasn't been pleasant for me, not any pleasanter, that it has been for you. And I know how unpleasant it's been for you. Well, really, Miss Taker... Don't interrupt. I know what you think of Papa, what you think of me because I'm his daughter. You think he's just a common, ordinary provincial westerner that happens to have some money. Well, he isn't. You think you're oh so vastly superior. Well, you're not. And if you only knew what he thinks about you, of course that wouldn't matter to you, not one bit. He hasn't understood your unpleasantness. He just thinks you don't know any better. And you think I do? Of course you do. Thank you. If I see your father, I'll tell him you're looking for him. Well, Mama, you have no luck yet? Not yet, my son. There is not much time. Why do you not speak to this Monsieur Tinkler? See if we can bother. I have too much pride. Besides, I know him so little. Then I am what they say all washed up. Later he journeyed to the edge of the desert. To Binda. He tell me so just before. You mean perhaps we go to Binda also? It is not impossible. Life is just an adventure. Is it not so? Eh, bien. Perhaps at Binda, I feel much different. I do not know. Only one thing I know. Somehow you must have everything. Oh, baby. You wish to be an empresario, a great manager of the opera. Is it not so? It is the one thing you wish. Okay, a great empresario. It will take much money. And how? It shall come. If I can but see you started for success and happiness, there is nothing I will not do. But I am a moral. Ah, Mr. Oblik, come and sit down. Thank you. I assume perhaps you should finish your packing. Oui, mamma. I will be finishing two shakes. Well, my friend. Orally, I am angry with you. But why? I have been waiting an hour. Where have you been? On the deck. It was lovely there. Well, that creature Tinkler, I suppose. Yes, he was there, too. He is the most extraordinary. Oh, I am not interested. Sometimes I almost think you do not like him. Like him? Orally, you know he infuriates me. Just being what he is. Besides, I hate him because you seem to like him. Ah, yes, I see. Call it that if you like. Perhaps, my dear, that is what I wish. Orally. Listen to me. We are almost adults. You promise me that you will take that trip by automobile to the mountains to be there. Yes. Once years ago, I took it. Oh, I wish I could do it again. Well, why don't you? Africa. It is a place of magic, a place of strange and trauma. It changes people. For that I could wish not to go back to Paris, but to stay. Just to see Africa be with you. Well, I am bewitched already. Orally, come with me to Bindar. I can take a motor and we can drive through the wilderness over the mountains, lost, away from the world, together. No, no. It would not do. You see, I am very conventional. But with your son. He goes to? Of course. Well, perhaps. I wish very much to go to Bindar. Well, here I am again, Mrs. Numero. Good evening. Oh, you here, ugly? Yes, I was. But I'm leaving now. You won't forget, Mrs. Numero. No, no, no. Of course not. I won't swear on it to you. I don't think the young fellow cares about me. Well, our last night out, Mrs. Numero, all packed. My son, I assume they're just going to finish. Yeah. Say, what did you say his name was? I assume. Hyacinth. That's right. I can never remember which flower he is. Mr. Tita, you are sure you are going to Bindar? Yes, sir. Mama's got her hall, her heart set on Bindar. Where are you going? Well, I am still not certain. Well, I guess this is the last we'll see of each other. We, perhaps. But I have a feeling, a very strange feeling, that we should meet again, Mr. Tinker. No. Oh, yes. Perhaps even at Bindar. That'll suit me. You are sweet, Mr. Tinker. Oh, go on. Hello, there, honey. How are you feeling? I thought you was down in the cabin. I'm feeling much better. I thought a little walk on deck would be good for me. Sure. Perhaps you will excuse me now. Yeah, sure. Good night. All right. Well, honey? Earl Tinker, must that Frenchy woman tapping your shoulder? Who, me? My shoulder? Yes, your shoulder. Oh, no. You must be seeing things, honey. Oh, maybe. Good guy, honey. What's the matter with you? You know, I haven't done anything. No? How do I know, Earl Tinker, what you've been doing while I've been seasick? I guess no married woman ought to take a sea trip with her husband unless she's a good sailor. No, no, honey. You know, every day on this trip I've been so lonesome. Oh, you've never been lonesome in your life. Well, listen, Mama, will you? Take your hands off me, Earl Tinker. And listen to this. If you ever go chasing off after any other woman, I'll... Well, I'm just warning you, that's all. No, say, I don't need any warnings. I'm going back to the cabin. And I think you'd better come, too. Yeah, I'll be right with you, honey. Guys, you sure, Tinker? Mm-hmm. Here is the daily bullet, monsieur. You did not ask for this afternoon. Mm-mm, no. Thanks, George. You know, George... Oui, monsieur? Suppose there's a place that's just loaded with danger, and suppose a man's wife is just set on his going there. What can he do? He must do nothing. He must go like a man or be a coward. Yeah? Well, I'm pretty much of a coward, but Mama insists on going to Bindar. In just a moment, we'll go on with the plutocrat, the luxe radio theater production with Wallace Beary and an all-star cast. Just now, we're going over to the Paramount Studios. Two girls have met on the lot. Let's listen to what they say. Hello, Judy. Going my way? Hey, what's the matter with you, anyway? Oh, thought I was going to make the grade for that taxi-dancing scene in the New Orleans Cafe. But I didn't. Probably I'll never get a job on this lot again. For any other idea... Oh, get hold of yourself, Judy. It'll come out all right. No, it won't. Well, I was all set for this job, and they told me nothing doing. They said that even though my dancing was good, I showed up badly in the close-ups. And it's all because of my skin. Flo, why should I have all these little blemishes? You don't. Your skin is lovely. Well, I do give my skin a little attention. For one thing, I use luck soap regularly. You know, Judy, I bet you never really get all of the stale makeup out of your skin. No wonder you've got choked pores and little blemishes. There are thousands of girls today like Flo. They use rouge and powder as much as they like. But they keep their skin soft and smooth with Lux Toilet Soap's active lather. There are some Judy's, too, who miss out because cosmetic skin has made them unattractive. It's foolish to risk cosmetic skin when such a simple, inexpensive care as Lux Toilet Soap guards against it. Begin to use it right away as nine out of ten screen stars do. And here's Mr. DeMille. We continue our play, The Plutocrats, starring Wallace Beery with an all-star cast. Several days have passed, and our friends from the boat are now stopping at a tourist hotel in Vinda on the edge of the desert. Downstairs on the Piazza, Lawrence Ogle, the New York playwright, is slumped in a chair, hands plunged deep in his pockets, his whole attitude suggesting his despondency. From the courtyard comes Tinker. He greets the playwright effusively. Well, well, well, look who's here. Little old New York himself. Oh, I am, Mr. Tinker. When did you arrive? This afternoon. So I've been out on a little trip across the desert all day. Well, how are you standing? Standing what? Why, this place here, you know, the heat, flies, bottled water and all that. Everybody jabbering around in foreign languages? Say, have you had any fleas yet? No. That's good. Neither have I, but mommy. Well, we won't go into that, you know. Thanks. You know, what they need here is a good live snappy border health. Now you take all these smells around here, for instance. I didn't realize what could be done in the line of smells, but over in that town of Sibiyoki, where I was the day, I ran across one smell that had anything that I ever smelled stung to death. Sibiyoki. Not a funny name for a town. Is it any funnier than Omaha? Well, well, at last, you said something. Up now, it's been like talking to you. It's been like coming out on a train east from Chicago. I was listening to you. The sort of thing one gets on trains west of Chicago? Sure. Free and friendly. Well, that's one reason a lot of us stay east. Well, it would improve you to go west, you know. No, thanks. I prefer civilization. Now, what are you doing out here? That's what I'd like to know. Well, suppose you ask Madam Memorial about that. Madam? Is she here? You don't expect me to believe you didn't know she was coming. Well, what in come are you talking about? Uh-huh. Yes, Olivia. Mama wants to see you, Papa. Oh, yeah. Where's she? Upstairs. She wants to know where you've been. Well, I've been right here talking to Mr. Ugly. You don't remember Mr. Ugly baby there? Yes, I remember him. Thanks. Mr. Tinker. Mm-hmm. A letter for you. It was left at the desk. Oh, at the desk? I see. Thank you, Georgie. No trouble at all. Left at the desk? That's funny. Yeah, ain't it? Must be a bill. In a lavender envelope? Mm-hmm. Well... And perfume, too. A perfume bill? Uh-huh, yeah. You can't tell anything about these foreigners. You know, they do funny things sometimes. I guess I'd better run on upstairs and see them off. So long, Mr. Ugly. Of course, Mr. Ugly. That bill is really a note from your French lady. She isn't my French lady. I saw you arrive with all those bags. You didn't look very happy. I wasn't. You don't look happy even now. I'm not. Goodbye. Aren't you going to stop and have tea with me? Tea with you? Why not? Besides, I want to talk to you about yourself. Oh, what again? I was brought into you on the boat, wasn't I? Tell me, was it you who suggested this trip to Binda or was it your French lady? I tell you, she isn't my French lady. Which? She's a destiny. Then she is after Papa, isn't she? Yes. As much as told me so right after we arrived here. And that's why you're looking so miserable. Of course, she's nearly old enough to be your mother. No, don't rub it in. It's all over with now. I just made a fool of myself. That isn't the worst. I'm a failure. A failure? The great Mr. Ogle? I had a play on in New York. The pastoral scene. Yes, I know. I saw it. Did you like it? Not much. No, you were right. It's a flop. I thought it'd be such a sure-fire hit that I took this trip on the strength of it. And here I am on the edge of the desert, flat, stony, broke. Not really. Isn't it a laugh? When you remember how cocky I was on the boat, I'd sort of shrunk a bit, haven't I? Think of you being humble. You don't know how becoming a bitch. Well, you'll just have to sit down and write another play, a better one. I have written a better one. Producer has it now, but he'll never put it on, not after this washout. What are you going to do? I have the remotest idea. I haven't even got a return ticket. Of course, popular advancements. Oh, no. You wouldn't take it? Not from him. Oh, you are a darling. What? You see, I've changed too. Well, I should thank you had. I hated you on the boat, partly because you were so aloof and patronizing in New York. But down underneath, you're strong and gritty and chivalrous and impossibly masculine and stubborn, just like Papa. What? Olivia. Yes, Mama? Your father. Where is he? Where is he? Why, he said he was going upstairs to see you. Didn't he see you? He did not. He sent me a note. A note. Listen. Dear Mama. He always calls me Mama when he's up to something. Go on. There's some folks I got acquainted with, wants me to go out and meet some of this famous Arab cuckoo. Now, what in heaven name their cuckoo? Maybe he'll explain. Oh, he'll explain all right. He'll explain plenty. Listen to this. You and Baby go right ahead and have your dinner. I'll be back early. At least, pretty early. Lovingly, Earl. Did you hear that? Lovingly. But, Mama, there's nothing wrong in that. Oh, yes, there is. No man ever sends love to his wife unless he's making love to another woman. Mama. Well, I'll find out who it is. I'll find out when I do. Oh, Monsieur Oguel. Oh, good lord. Who is this? Bonjour, Madame. M'amoiselle. How is Trix, huh? How do you do? I've seen that young man someplace. Oh, bantigais, Madame. On the boat, perhaps, I was traveling with my mama. Mama, let's go upstairs. Just a moment. Is your mother stopping here now? Ah, you said it, Madame. But, well, she is, I do not know. She says she's going to eat this famous Arab food. Oh, indeed. Mama, please. And was that famous food called, by any chance, cuckoos? Cuckoos? Cuckoos? What is cuckoos? That's what I'd like to know. So, he's with her, is he? Mama, don't. Oh, let me alone. He was with her all the way over on the boat, packing his shoulder. I saw her, and he's with her now. Just wait until he comes home. I'll cuckoo him. Just wait. Come on in to the hard room, Mrs. Monroe. There is no one here. No, not at two o'clock in the morning. Two o'clock. Gee, this is a terrible time to be coming home. My wife will be worried sick. It is late. If that guide had not lost his way. Yeah, a swell guide he was. Ah, but it was beautiful. Moonlight on the desert. Sure. Moonlight's great anywhere. You ought to see it out no more. You'll never forget, do you? I should say not. As a matter of fact, I'm getting kind of homesick for the old place right now. You know, ought to be getting started back there pretty soon. Ah, we, you will go, and I will stay. But tonight, tonight we are here together. Yeah, yes, ma'am. I'm not so sure it's a safe place to be, though. You turn on the lights? Must we have lights? Well, I guess it's more according to the oil. Besides, I got to shoot upstairs in a minute. Oh, no, no, no, not yet. See, I sit down just to make you sit down. Well, I'll stay just a couple of minutes. That's all. Have you never wondered about me, who I am, where I come from? Well, maybe I have in a way, but I wouldn't have thought about asking you. I want you to know. Listen, 20 years ago I am at Budapest. I am dancing. It is a masquerade. I bet you it was a stunner then. One man there thinks so. I meet him at nine o'clock. I dance with him, with no one else, until one. Then we run away together. Now, that's what I call snappy work. All night we drive. At daybreak we are married. Too late I find out that he is the crumb prince of... Oh, no, it is better that I do not name the country. It is so long ago. He is the father of my son. Honey-suckle? I assume. Oh, yeah, that's right. I'm going to... I'm always getting those flowers mixed up. But say, then that kid is a king. Oh, but no. My husband, he cannot go back to his own country. He calls himself Monroe. He lives in Paris. He was a colonel in the war. He died for France. Little by little we lose everything. I must help my son. So we try America. But no, there is no place for us there. So we start back home. But first two years where we have friends, then on the boat coming back, I meet you and... Oh, no, no, I cannot go on. I cannot say the rest. Oh, say. Don't cry, Mrs. Monroe. You are so big, so kind. If I can't but rest here for just a moment against your shoulder. I'm not so sure my wife would like that. She wouldn't like that, Mrs. Monroe. In a moment I go. I have no fear. No people ever come to this room after so late an hour. I know, but mama ain't people, Mrs. Monroe. No, now come on. I'm getting kind of nervous about my family. But it is my son. Now do not say he is your trope or any circle. Now don't tell me. Holly Hawks. I think. I got it wrong. He has ambitions, Mr. He wished to be an impresario. A what? An impresario. You don't say so. He cost 400,000 francs to buy him a partnership. 400,000 francs? How much is that real money? Oh, you do not wish to give it me? Oh, I am so ashamed to ask. No, no, no. I didn't say I wouldn't. Mr. Tinker, you like me, yes? Oh, sure, sure. Very, very much. Well, you know, I'm a married man, Mrs. Monroe. I got to find this little wife in the world. Oh, but you do like me. I don't, I think I better go on upstairs. Earl, is that you? Yeah, gosh, it's mama, Mrs. Monroe. You step out on the balcony, will you? Go on, get out like a good girl. Very well. But I will see you tomorrow, no? No. What? I mean, yes, go on, go on, go on. Good night, Mr. Good night, Mr. And I'm back in Omaha. Omaha. Earl Tinker. Uh-huh. Where have you been? Oh, hello, honey. Gee, did you get my note? I certainly did. Well, everything's all right then. That's fine. What's fine about it? Well, you see, some gentlemen asked me out to prize some of the famous cuckoos. And well, I would have taken you along, but you haven't shown much appetite for these foreign dishes and all. And so I went. That's it. I went. And who were the gentlemen you ate cuckoos with? What were their names? Her names? Why, honey, you wouldn't know them if I told you. Name one of them. One of them. Since one is. Well, Mr. Ogly was one of them. Don't believe you know him, though. Yes, I do. And Mr. Ogle has been out with Olivia all evening looking for you. That's where Mr. Ogle was. Now, Mama, don't get excited, you know. Come on over here and sit down. Let me alone. I know where you were, old thinker. And I know who you are with. You ought to be ashamed. But I ain't done nothing to be ashamed of. Coming home at two o'clock in the morning. I can explain that, Mama. We had a guide. And after we ate the cuckoos, the guide showed us around and he got lost. Lost. What kind of a guide was he? An A-Rab guide? Now look, Mommy, I can explain. Don't bother to explain, Earl Tinker. I don't want to hear any more of your lies. Oh, Mama, yes. After 25 years. 25 years. This has to happen. Nothing's happened, Army. Well, it won't happen again. I'm going home. I'm leaving this place tomorrow. All right. I'll get the tickets. You needn't bother. I'll get them myself. You don't mean you're going home alone? No, I'm going with Olivia. What about me? I don't care what you do. Stay here if you like. I don't care. Oh, now. That ain't no way to talk. You don't mean that, Mama? Yes, I do. And I wouldn't care if I never saw you again. That's how much I mean it. Oh, Mama, here. Wait a second, Mama. Oh, gosh. We pause for station identification. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System. Since the advent of sound pictures just 10 years ago, Hollywood has become the world's largest colony of musicians. Victor Young is an outstanding member of this group. His career as a violinist ended abruptly when Victor tore up a $500 a week contract because it called for popular music. Then he changed his mind. Although symphonic music still dominates his private life, Victor has composed over 60 popular songs. The first one he wrote, Sweet Sue, was an immediate hit. A composer and conductor at Paramount Studios, he also directs the orchestra on the show Chateau Radio Hour Saturday Nights. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Victor Young. Thank you, Mr. DeMille. I've had many surprises since coming to Hollywood, but none as great as discovering how the pictures stars are about good music. Joan Crawford, who is studying voice, is a steady patroness of concerts. Edward G. Robinson, who won his fame in Gunman Rose, is happiest when he's conducting an orchestra. And his daughter is an excellent singer. Take Wally Berry. He invites you to his home for dinner, and all you do is listen to his little daughter, Carol Ann, play the piano. At least the landi is a pianist and composer, so is Lionel Barrymore. Loretta Young seldom misses a concert, while Myrna Loy, Gloria Swanson, and Herbert Marshall are all great music lovers. Most of our stars were present a few weeks ago at the Paul Stakowski's concert in the Hollywood Bowl when Victor conducted the first rendition of his remarkable musical pictures of the desert known as Arizona sketches. I've got a confession to make about that composition. I've never been near Arizona. And Vise had never been to Spain when he wrote Common. Do you rely solely on imagination, Victor, when composing? Well, I get a lot of inspiration playing poker. Collecting other people's notes? No, I always lose. Today I was told to write a song for Carol Lambert's next picture, so I played poker. As I was driving home at 4.30 in the morning, I ran into a tune, stopped the car, and wrote it on the back of an envelope. I once wrote a song on the back of a lucked soap wrapper. If the tune was as good as the soap, I would have had a real hit. Frankly, Mr. DeMille, the hardest thing about being a musical conductor is to be invited to talk on the radio program. I'd much rather play. Then why not play the song you wrote for Mariella's latest picture, Fatal Lady, which I love. I'd be glad to. Back to our play, The Plutocrat, with Wallace Berry and an all-star cast featuring Clara Kimbell Young, Marjorie Rambo, Cecilia Parker, and Eric Lindon. It's early the next morning. In the sunny dining room, Olivia sits at a small table waiting for her breakfast. Laurence Ogle, a tired and awaited apron, comes to her side and addresses her in respectful tones. Good morning, Miss. Do you care for your breakfast now? I'd like some Laurence Ogle. Yes, Miss. What are you doing in that apron? Well, I'm a waiter, Miss. A waiter? Why? Well, I had to do something. I haven't any money, you know, so I asked the manager for a job and got it. Well, I never. $9 a week and keeps. I've got it all figured out. If I hold this job and bank all my tips, I ought to have enough money saved up to get out of here by Christmas. Well, Easter at the latest. Laurence Ogle, you're a fool. Yes, Miss. Will you have some grapefruit? Listen to me. The melon's particularly nice this morning, Miss. If you say miss to me again, I'll scream. Yes, Miss. Listen, Laurence Ogle, you go right out to the office this minute and resign. I'll see that you get back home all right. I'm sorry, Miss, but I've got to see to that myself. You refuse to accept any help? Oh, not at all. If you could find it in your heart to leave an extra large tip, say $0.15 or maybe $0.20. Oh, why are you so stubborn? Well, I'll tell you why. Because I've been a failure. But worse than that, I've been a cheap, egotistical faker. I knew that last night, walking out across the desert with you by my side. You remember what I said? You were moon-struck. Well, the sun's shining now. Then you're sun-struck. Anyway, I made a decision last night. I determined that I had to work and to work hard to get back my self-respect, because, well, because someday I'm going to marry the finest girl in the world. Are you sure she'll have you? Absolutely. When that girl marries, she's got to marry a man. Her parents might object to her marrying a waiter in an Arab hotel. Well, then I guess I'm out of luck. You will be, Laurence Ogle. If Papa comes down and finds you dressed up like that, you'll laugh you off the map. Well, he's down already. What? Sure. Did he see you? Well, yes and no. He looked at me when I spoke to him, but I doubt if he really saw me. I think he's in a daze or something. Poor Papa. Where is he now? Outside on the porch. He's been walking up and down out there all morning, up and down, back and forth. Must be something on his mind. Good morning, Miss Bummer-O. I have been looking for you. Yeah? Mr. Dinka, I heard last night what you say to your wife. Yeah. I guess the whole hotel heard it. I am sorry. Terribly sorry. Oh, that's all right. It wasn't your fault, Mrs. Bummer-O. My wife, well, she just don't understand. That's all. She won't give me a chance to explain anything. She is going away? Yeah. I guess so. I am leaving, too. You? When? This morning. Now. I could not stay after causing so much trouble for you. Oh, listen. No, no. It was my fault, everything. But I will try to make it right again, Mr. Dinka. I will go to your wife. I will say, take him back, Mrs. Dinka. He is the nicest man I have ever known. No, no. No, you better not say that, Mrs. Bummer-O. I tell you. But why? It is the truth. Maybe. But, you know, mama's kind of funny about them there things. No, I don't think you better say anything to her at all. But she will leave. She will get the divorce, no? Yeah. Yeah, she kind of hinted at that. And what will you do then? Well, I haven't thought about that. Ain't very nice, though. You know, when I started out on this vacation, all hopped up about seeing the world and having a good time. And now, well, look what's happened. Old business going to smash. I wish I'd never left Omaha. Mr. Dinka, why don't you come with me? I will make you happy. Come with you. We, my son and I, are leaving now. Come with us. Oh, no, I couldn't do that. What would I be doing traipsing around with you and Holly Hawks? We are ready. Yes, the car is waiting. In one moment, I think. Mr. Dinka. Say before I forget it. I got something for you here. What? But what is this? A check? And for so much money? Well, you said you needed 400,000 francs to make that son of yours a... Because you were going to make him... Grandi Persario. Imperial. Yeah, that's right. So I made out a little check. No, no, no. We cannot take it. Oh, sure you can. No, no, please. Oh, come on. Give me your purse and I'll put it in there. Come on. Hand it over, Mrs. Monroe. There. What do you think of that? Oh, what do I think? I think you are the biggest, the most generous. The most magnificent. Never mind that. You run along with him all. You'll be late. I have seen tonight. We go alone. Well, I... Oh, think what it means. If you stay, it is a life of emptiness. I'll tell you what I'll do. You wait down there in the car just 10 minutes. If I don't turn up while you go on and scoot along by yourself. Very well. I will wait for you. But if we do not meet again, goodbye, mon ami. Goodbye. Goodbye, Mrs. Bumsrow. We'll... We'll know in 10 minutes whether it's final or not. Agile, Mr. Tinker. Goodbye, Iliotrope. Oh, thank you for your kindness. You're the catcher. The catcher. The catcher. The catcher, by what? Olivia. Olivia. Oh, here you are. What's all the excitement? And where is your weight, is a print? It's all gone for good. Thank heaven. I suppose you were fired. I was not. I quit. Listen, I just got a telegram from that New York producer. Remember that second play I told you about? Yes. Well, listen, we put your other play in rehearsal before Pastro scene closed. Didn't want to tell you about it because we weren't sure we'd open. We did. Right. It's a knockout. Biggest thing in years. Oh, Lauren. Sending a check for 5,000 in advance of royalty. All right. Marvelous. Olivia, will you marry me? What? Marry me. You know, wedlock, matrimony. I'm crazy about you, Olivia. Honest I am. Oh, Lauren. Say it again. I'm crazy. Olivia. Olivia. Mama, come here. I've got news for you. Where's your father? Where is he? I don't know. Mama, listen. I'm going to be married. Oh, don't bother me with things like that now. Your father's gone. What? Don't bother me with that Frenchy woman. Mama. Are you sure, Mrs. Tinker? Of course I'm sure. She left a half an hour ago. The clerk told me. I've looked all over for Earl and he isn't here. Oh, it's all my fault. I told him I never wanted to see him again. And he believed me. Mama, when did you tell him that? Last night. I didn't mean it. I just wanted to frighten him. And now. Oh, no. Don't cry, Mama. Please don't cry. It'll be all right. I'll never see him again. And she won't treat him right. I know she won't. She'll let him go out in the rain without his rubbers. He always forgets his rubbers. And who's going to make him change to his heavy socks when the snow's on the ground? He'd never think of that himself. Oh, Mama, please. Oh, why did I ever say such things to him? Oh, folks. Oh, folks. Oh, oh, darling. Say, what is this? Oh, well, you've come back. You've come back. Sure I've come back. You seem kind of glad to see me too. Oh, I am. Where were you? Oh. Well, no place in particular. I walked down the roadways. There's a jewelry store down there, an A-rab place. I thought, well, maybe you'd like a place that's A-rabby and jewelry. So I brought you some here, honey. Oh, Earl. Thank you, darling. Then everything's all right again? I mean, you ain't sore at me or nothing like that. Of course not. Well, that's fine. That's fine. Papa, I'm going to be married. What? Married? Yes, Mr. Tinker. She's going to marry me. Why? Well, because she loves me. Well, I love her. Well, I guess it's all right with me. Olivia always has her own way anyway. Shake. Thank you, Mr. Tinker. Well, everything looks rosy for a while, don't it, mama? Yes, Earl. Well, I guess it ain't been such a bad vacation after all. Of course, you got seasick. Olivia got a husband. That kind of makes up for it. No, yes. I made a honey-suckle an impresario. Say, ugly, you're a pretty smart fellow, ain't you? Well, maybe. Well, tell me something, will you? What in the blazes is an impresario? We leave the product back on the eve of his return to Omaha, but we'll call Wallace Berry and Cecilia Parker back to the microphone shortly. Today, the world's most popular screen personality is celebrating the eighth anniversary of his debut in film. He has awards from nine different nations. President Roosevelt, Queen Mary, and Benito Mussolini are among his most ardent admirers. In Alaska, he's warmly received by the Eskimo, while in Ethiopia, even the war failed to stop the showing of his pictures. In France, where he won membership in the Legion of Honor, he is known as Michel Suri. The Japanese call him Miki Kuchi. The Spanish, Miguel Ratancito. His name, as you may have surmised, is Miki Mouse. To Miki, the world owes an immense debt of gratitude, but a still greater debt is due the man standing beside me now. Ladies and gentlemen, the creator of Miki Mouse and the silly symphony cartoons, Mr. Walt Disney. Thank you, Mr. DeMille. My knees are knocking together so hard they sound like a riveting machine. Maybe I'd better sit down. Come on, Walt. Stand up to the microphone. Are you a man or a mouse? Well, after associating with mice for so many years, I sometimes wonder myself. You see, as a matter of fact, Miki and I have been pals long before he became an actor. His real name is Mortimer. But no regular fellow likes a name like Mortimer, so he changed his name to Miki. But it was not until Walt Disney made the first cartoon and sound, ladies and gentlemen, that Miki attained star proportions. That film was called Steamboat Willie, and it was the late Roxy who had the courage to release it. I suppose Walt, with the motion picture in mind, thought you were crazy to put sound in an animated cartoon. Yes, completely nuts. You know what they're saying about you today? Now that you're making the first feature-length animated picture, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. I can imagine. What have you heard? Now, perhaps you better imagine that too. Anyway, how do you feel about it? Well, Mr. DeMille, any picture is a gamble. But we're betting three-quarters of a million dollars that Snow White will be good entertainment. My bet's on you. And now, ladies and gentlemen, I think we should cross-examine the young fellow on whom Walt bet his money eight years ago. Miki Mouse, take the stand. Yes, Mr. DeMille. Miki, how does it feel to have the whole world celebrating your birthday? Yes, Mr. DeMille. I mean, swell. Who's the better actor, Miki? You are Donald Duck. Oh, gosh. I don't know. Miki's an actor, Mr. DeMille. Donald's just a clown. Miki, is it true that you're jealous of Donald Duck? Is it true that you're jealous of Donald Duck's meteoric rise to fame? Oh, absolutely not, Mr. DeMille. Donald was starving to death singing in radio when Miki found him. I remember. I remember on the airwaves, he was like a duck out of water. Yeah, just a wise quacker. Donald, Donald, Donald. Get off Mr. DeMille's neck. Let's go. Let's go there now. That's more like it. Remember, you're a star now. Yeah, and he's got a valet who washes his face with luck soap. Donald, Donald, Donald. Donald Duck, you've denied being the worst singer in the annals of radio. All right, prove it. Sing. And it better be good. Donald, I apologize. You're wonderful. Thank you, Walt. Good night, Miki. Good night, Mr. DeMille. Good night, Mr. DeMille. And as you like it, Shakespeare says that each man in his time plays many parts. But surely few have played so many parts so well as Wallace Berry. Wally, I think, has been everything except a leading lady. But here he is now leading a lady to our microphone, Wallace Berry and Cecilia Parker. Thank you, Mr. DeMille. You gave my history wrong. I was a leading lady once. My first part in pictures was as a beautiful Swedish housemaid. Well, you were as beautiful then, Wally, as you are now. Well, Cecilia Parker here takes care of the Good Luck's department. Maybe I should say the Good Luck's department. Well, of course you should say the Luck's department. Although I guess it isn't really news that I use Luck's soap. Practically every star in Hollywood does. But honestly, Mr. DeMille, you shouldn't say Wally isn't good looking. I think he's beautiful. Thanks, Cecilia. Well, I guess I'm the only one in Hollywood who wasn't even considered for the part of Romeo. But you've got just as great a part in your new picture, old hutch. Well, the only difference is that instead of making you a great lover, they made you a great lover. You know, I always carry my critic along with me, my daughter, Carol Anne. You know, maybe you like to hear from here. Come here, Carol. Carol, this is Miss Parker and Mr. DeMille. How do you do, Mr. DeMille? You know, Mr. DeMille has directed some of the greatest pictures ever made. You know, for instance, did you ever hear of Cleopatra? Daddy, I can't say that word. Was that you, Mr. DeMille? I'm afraid not, Carol. It's the first time I've been mistaken for the siren of the Nile. You see, Carol, Mr. DeMille produces this program for luxe toilet soap. Oh, I know about luxe toilet soap. I wash my daughter's face with it. She won't let me use anything else. True Hollywood doll. Well, the next time that you wash your face, don't dump those suds on the lady's parrot next door. Will you please? Now, we forgot to ask you. How did you like the show? The show was all right, but why didn't you do something? I can always tell when you're tired and sleepy and time to go home. Well, Mr. DeMille, I think we better say good night. Good night, Rowan. Good night, Miss DeMille. Good night, Miss Parker. Good night, Carol. Just a minute, Carol Ann. There's something more important than going to bed. How would you like to meet Mickey Mouse? Oh, I would love to meet Mickey Mouse. Well, here he is. Hello, Carol Ann. Happy birthday, Mickey. Thanks, thanks to you, Carol Ann. What's that noise, Mickey? Oh, that's Donald Duck. Would you like to meet him? Oh, I don't care. Carol, Carol. I guess you've heard all about Donald. He's an actor. You want to hear him recite Little Boy Blue? Oh, I don't care. Oh, that's right. Come blow your horn. Here, Donald. Don't make so much noise. Control yourself. Come on away. Come on away here. Good night. Thank you, Donald and Mickey. And you, too, Wallace Berry, Carol Ann and Cecilia Parker. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your announcer, Melville Rui. In a moment, Mr. DeMille brings word of next week's program. Tonight's star, Wallace Berry, appeared through courtesy of Metro Golden Mayor, Mr. Young and Mr. DeMille Paramount and Louis Silver's 20th Century Fox, where he wrote the musical arrangements for Shirley Temple's latest picture, Dimples. And now, Mr. DeMille. This coming week, the biggest event in baseball commences the World Series. In observance of this, we bring you next Monday a story that will delight baseball enthusiasts and will equally delight those who think a baseball picture is something the water boy carries around. Next week, we give you a splendid comedy with one of the world's greatest comedians when the Lux Radio Theatre presents Elle Mother Great starring Joey Brown with June Travers. Our sponsors, the makers of Lux Toilet Soap, join me in inviting you to be with us next Monday night when Joey Brown steps up to the plate in the Lux Radio Theatre presentation of Elle Mother Great by Ring Ladner and George M. Cohen. This is Cecil B. DeMille saying good night to you from Hollywood. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.