 Lux presents Hollywood. The Lux Radio Theatre brings you Bob Burns and Anita Louise in A Man to Remember. Ladies and gentlemen, your producer, Mr. Cecil B. DeMille. Greetings from Hollywood, ladies and gentlemen. This is the story of an undecorated hero, the country doctor. In tonight's play, adapted from the archaeo picture, A Man to Remember, we tell the story as it happened to a certain Dr. John Abbott in a town called Westport. But there's a whole army of Dr. Abbott, an army that covers more territory than the northwest-mounted police, and each man labors alone. The country doctor made it a little grumbling when the telephone rings in the middle of the night. But who wouldn't if he hadn't known a solid night's sleep in 20 years? He may not have his house painted as often as the neighbors would like, but perhaps the neighbors don't pay him as often as he would like. Few things happen in this town that John Abbott doesn't know about. So his story is a dozen stories of success and failure and love and hate and heartbreak. And we are proud to have this loyal servant of the people as the subject of tonight's play. We're also proud of the loyalty of our listeners. In buying Lux Flakes, you applaud these performances. And the performance of Lux Flakes in your homes applaud your judgment. That's one performance that always gets rave notices. Bob Burns is so much like the John Abbott of tonight's play, that it might be a mere accident that places him on our stage instead of in a doctor's office in Van Buren, Arkansas. Perhaps Bob would have made a good doctor, but that would have been Hollywood's loss. As Jean, the doctor's daughter, we have Anita Louise. At any doctor would be proud to have a daughter as lovely as Anita. Now to all country doctors, we dedicate this story of one country doctor. The curtain rises on the first act of a man to remember, starring Bob Burns as John Abbott and Anita Louise as Jean. If you should be driving across the continent sometime, you might strike a little town called Westport. It's an ordinary small town with its main street of course and its first national bank, owned by George Sykes. Homer rams his department stores there too and a few smaller shops. But on this spring afternoon, the shops that aren't closed are empty, for old, dark Abbott is dead. The townspeople stand along the curb in respectful silence as the funeral procession passes by. Yes, dear, now. I never saw so many flowers, never. He deserved it, if any man did. What's going on, Bob? I'm a stranger in town, somebody important die. Old, dark Abbott died. Take off your hat, stranger. Huh? Oh, sure. On the second floor of the bank building is the office of lawyer Perkins. From his window, the three leading businessmen of the town also watch the procession, but they are unmoved and cynical. I gave this town the only hospital it ever had, the George Sykes Memorial Hospital. But you'd think Abbott was the only man in this town with a plug nickel. I put in the first department store in Westport. I suppose that doesn't amount to anything either. Yes, and Joe Hurtness here has done a few things too. Yes, sir. It was me who got the public schools put in. You gave them the town a newspaper. And I'll bet the three of us won't scare up a baker's dozen at our funerals. Seems the more shiftless you are, the more people take up with you. Like old, dark Abbott down there. Now, Mr. Sykes, Mr. Ramsey, Mr. Hurtness, if you gentlemen can stifle your grief for a moment, perhaps we can get down to work. All right, counselor. While the town's marching behind Doc's casket, let's us figure out the expense. Sit down, gentlemen. Now, I brought Doc Abbott's strongbox with me, and I'm sure you're anxious to know what's in it. I find that in most cases of this nature, the creditors prefer to wait until... we'll say a half hour after the benediction has been delivered. Now, look here, Clyde, that ain't fair. The doctor'd want us to have our money. Of course, George, of course. I suppose we get down to business. Well, to begin with, I hold Doc Abbott's personal note for $600 plus 100 inches. 700. How about you, Homer? I had the bookkeeper figure up his account today. $726.37. He ain't paid a bill at the store since 1928. And you, George? He owes me $1,100. Well, Doc Abbott's son gave me the strongbox this morning when I explained how eager you were to get his father's affairs in shape. Now, suppose we just turned everything right out here on my desk. Gentlemen, do you see? Now, you've got everything upside down, don't it? That way, Clyde? Oh, I guess it doesn't matter. We'll want to go through all his papers. Well, we have... Well, this looks like one of those bills you were talking about, George. Fort First National Bank, $300 of accumulated interest at 7% of them. Signed John Abbott, dated June 16, 1919. Yeah, that's the first one, 1919. Yes, just about 20 years ago, wasn't it? I remember. It was right after Doc came back to Westport. I guess he needed money pretty badly at the time, so he went to the bank to see his old friend, George. Well, if it ain't John Abbott. That's right. How are you, George? I'm fine. Sit down. In the long while since you left here, John. We're in there 25 years. Oh, this is my boy, Dick. Well, well, quite a young man. How old? I'm eight, sir. Well, well, eight years old. This is George Sykes, Dick. We used to go to high school together. That's right. Your father left right after we graduated. He was voted the boy most likely to succeed, weren't you, John? He seems kind of funny now, doesn't he? Dick, suppose you wait outside. I got a little business I want to talk over. Sure, Dad. Walter, oh, I heard you lost your wife, John. That's too bad. Yes, she died in Chicago. I couldn't stay there after that, so I came back. Aiming to hang out your shingle? As long as I can make a living. Well, we got some doctors here already. There's a lot of poor folks on the other side of town. You can probably find enough business to get by. I figure to. I'll need a little eaten money, though. How much? About $300. That's a whale of a lot of money, John. You got anything to offer for security? 17 years experience as a practicing physician. I've done pretty well. You're broke, ain't you? I'm in about keeping my patience alive. That's my business, you know. All right, John, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll make a note out for $300, give you $250. Got to have a little bonus, you know, where there ain't no security. But I always like to help out an old friend. Do you help out many of your old friends this way, George? You'd be surprised. They should have elected you the boy most likely to succeed. Hmm? Oh, yes. Sign right here, John. Doctor never paid that no, George? Nary a penny. Well, I'll suppose we just laid this one aside for the present. Now, this next paper seems to be a bill. It's made out to Howard Johnson, July 17, 1919. Delivery of child, $25. What's that written on the bottom of it? It seems to be a notation dock made. Johnson has no money. That was a trouble with the dock. No, it was treating poor folks who couldn't pay him. Well, I suppose it's pretty hard for a doctor to refuse, Joe. This Johnson, now, he sent for dock about 2 o'clock one morning. His wife was having a baby. You have a fine baby girl. Girl? I wanted a boy. Somebody who could help me work this farm when I get old. Girls are for people who can afford them. How's my wife? Well? I did everything I could, Johnson. I'm afraid she wasn't in very good condition to begin with. Well, I did everything I could. You mean she's... There's only one thing I can say. I know how you feel, because I lost my wife that way and the baby just about a year ago. She never had nothing while she lived. Bad crops and bad times. We was going to have a good crop this season. I was going to buy her something. Keep the baby warm, whatever you do. I'll be back in the morning. You better have some milk on hand. You get out of here. Get out and don't you ever come back. I said get out! Get out before I give you more. Get out! I guess you ain't responsible right now. I'm sorry, man. Another night call, I guess. You better get back to bed, son. I'll see what is first. Who is it, son? It ain't anybody, Jan. What? It ain't anybody. There's a basket on the porch and that's all. A basket? Look, Dad, it's a little baby. There's an old pin on it. What to say, Dan? Dear doctor, I'm sorry I hit you. Please give the kid to somebody who will be good to it. Gee, what are you going to do, Dan? Well, it seems you got a baby sister, Dick. Let's get her inside. Never did hear that story before, counselor. Well, Dan didn't often tell it, Joe, but that's how he came to adopt the girl you all watched grow up and know as Jean Abbott. Well, let's get on. It seems to be largely bills and more bills, gentlemen. Well, here's one that ought to look familiar to you, Homer. Homer Ramsley, General Merchandise, to dark Abbott account, one doll, $12. Yeah, I guess he did buy a doll at the store once. July 17, 1923. Somebody wrote, please remit, across the bill and to a saint. Well, that was a mistake. Oh, say, I remember hearing about that. The clerk at your store, a fellow by the name of Raymond, told me. Sure, seems the dark owed you for that doll and one morning he walked in the front door with a pig under his arm. Little showed it was squealing to beat the back. What's all this about? Oh, Mr. Ramsley, it's a pig. I can see that. Is it yours now? Nope, it's yours. You're crazy. Nope, you see, you sent me a bill this morning for a doll I bought from a daughter. This bill is marked, please remit. I figure you must be kind of hard up so I hurried right down. Well, I can't take a pig in payment. Well, that's the way my patients pay me. Pigs, eggs, potatoes. How much was the bill? $12. That pig ain't worth more than five. Maybe not now, but he will be. Here, brought a bag of corn, too. Feed the corn to the pig and in three months' homer, you'll be owing me money. Now listen, I can't accept anything like this. Oh, by the way, come to think of it, I believe you owe me money right now. Yep, here it is. Your bill for Mrs. Ramsley's appendicitis operation. Come into my office, John. I want to talk to you about that. Sure, take good care of that pig, Mr. Ramsley. Sit down, John. Thanks, Homer. John, that bill was sent to you by mistake. No offence, you know. Now, let's see what I owe you. Of course, I know you'd rather have Doc Robinson do that operation, Homer, but being as he was out of town, it was an emergency, and I did it. Sure, sure. You should save Martha's life that night, John. Would have been a heap easier if we'd had a hospital in Westport. There's a lot of patients lost on kitchen tables. Still got that pipe cream about a hospital? You did all right on the kitchen table. Well, let's see the bad news. Oh, here it is, Homer. $100. That's right. How much of your time did that operation take? Oh, about four hours, if I remember. $100 for four hours? That's pretty steep, John. You really mean that, don't you, Homer? You bet I do. What do you pay your janitor here? $0.40 an hour? I guess I did make a mistake figuring that, Bill Homer. That's more like it. Yep, the only place we differ is the value each of us puts on your wife. I was a little bit too high, so I'll settle right now for $0.40 an hour, $1.60 cash. Now, John, I didn't mean that. Perfectly willing to pay a fair price. Give me $1.60. Well, I feel ashamed to settle for that, John. Give me the money. Sure. Here it is. Thanks. I'll just make a notation on the bill. I'd like to keep my record straight. Settle for $1.60 cash. There we are. You got a bargain at that, Homer. You'd have to pay a grave digger for six hours. Good day, Homer. Here's the record of the transaction, Homer. Settle for $1.60. You got a real bargain that time, Homer. Now, let's get on with this, Clyde. I ain't got all day. Oh, sure, sure. Now, let's see. This next paper, well, it isn't a bill for a change. The announcement of Dick's graduation from medical school. June 17, 1934. At Curtis University today, Richard Marvel Abbott, son of Dr. John Abbott, was graduated with us. That is a mighty fine speech you made, Dick. I didn't understand all the big word, but you said them well. Dad, I've never mentioned this before. It always seemed awkward. But thanks, Dad, for these years here. Oh, that's... No, that's been my fun, Dick. Say, I've been meaning to ask you, if you were going into post-graduate work now, what would you specialize in? That's easy. The thing you always wanted to do. A neuropathology. I'd like to know all about nerves. I'm awfully glad to hear you say that, Dick, because you're going to spend the next three years at the Sorbonne in Paris. The Sorbonne? But you can't afford that, Dad. Oh, I've managed to save a little, and I have an idea where I can borrow some more. And, Dad, I'd be a liar if I told you I wasn't crazy to go, but you'll sail in two weeks. You know, son, to my way of thinking, neurology is the greatest feel in the world. There's so much pain I could spare people if I knew how. Some diseases, I can't cure at all. But if I could only take the pain out of it, I'd feel more like a doctor instead of a vet. Dad, you always wanted post-graduate work, and you never got it. Why should I? Because times have changed, Dick. Doctors have to know more these days. And what I don't know, maybe you can come back and teach me. So, you see, it's a sort of a partnership. You and me, huh, son? Dad, you're swell. Here's Gene. Hey, what's all the yelling about, young lady? Dad, Howard Sykes wants to drive me back to Westport. May he? Howard Sykes, huh? Well, I guess so. Oh, thanks, Dad. Dick, your speech was grand. Well, thanks. Dad, have you told him yet? Just now. Isn't it wonderful, Dick? I know you're going to be all kinds of a success over there. Well, Howard's waiting. Bye. Goodbye. Come home early. I will. Dad, I don't know whether I like the idea of Gene running around with Howard Sykes. No, why not, son? You haven't got anything against Howard Sykes, have you? Oh, of course not, but neither have I. Not a thing. Except, of course, he's George Sykes' son. Ha-ha-ha-ha. About some of these bills. Oh, never mind those. Look here, here's a letter from Dick. A letter can wait. Dad, something's got to be done about getting in some of this money that's owing you. Look at this bill. It's five years old. To Evan Fisher, setting broken leg, $25. Received on account, $2.50. One bushel of turnips, four dozen eggs. Good eggs, too. And here's one to Mrs. Sarah Bright. Removing cataract from right eye, $40. Received on account, two months' laundry. Oh, Dad, these people ought to pay you. They do the best they can, honey. Most of these folks have a pretty tough time of it. But what about you? Trying to keep Dick in Paris and all? I'll get along somehow. We'll manage somehow until Dick comes home. Then we'll have a real doctor in the family. But, Dad, that's another two years yet. In the meantime, what do we do with these bills? Got to do something, huh? Well, I'll tell you, Jeannie, just mark them paid in for what we'll forget all about. Curtin falls on the first act of a man to remember. In act two, John Abbott goes to work on that hospital in his own direct way. Now, during this brief intermission, Mr. Ruick tells us about a direct way to get some other things done. Before we hear Bob Burns and Anita Louise in act two of a man to remember, we are going to re-enact a scene that actually happened in real life. It's based on a letter we received from Mrs. Frances Whitney of Brooklyn, New York. Let me read you part of her letter. She writes, My daughter has a lovely pink angora sweater which a friend of mine gave her for her birthday several months ago. Tonight, this friend invited us to dinner and my daughter wore the sweater. When my friend Mildred saw it, she said, My dear, haven't you worn that sweater at all? Well, of course I'm Mildred. I've worn it loads of times. No, I'd never know it. How in the world do you manage to keep it looking so nice? Oh, that's easy. I wash it in lukewarm, like suds every second or third time I wear it. Don't tell me you've washed that sweater. Why, when I've washed Barbara's sweaters, they bother stretched or shrunk. One of them is actually bold. Minus angora, you know. That won't happen if you wash them a gentle luke's way. Just pat in luke suds, rinse in lukewarm water, and pin to shape with rust-proof pins, and then gently brush the nap when the sweater's dry. I think it's simply marvelous the way luke keeps angora's sweaters new-looking. We appreciate Mrs. Whitney's writing us such a charming letter. She voices the experience of thousands of women all over the country who depend on the luke's method to help sweaters and other women stay new-looking longer. You see, luke's flakes are so gentle. There's no harmful alkali and no cake soap rubbing to fade or streak colors or shrink sensitive woollen fibers. That's why over 2,000 stores have advised their customers to use luke's. Just keep this rule in mind. If it's safe in water, it's safe in luke's. And use luke's for all your washables. Things like your stockings and underthings, your house dresses, and attractive printed silks. They'll stay new-looking for a long time with that kind of care. Buy a thrifty, large-sized box of luke's flakes tomorrow. You'll be amazed how many things it will care for. Remember, luke's is so pure a little goes a long way. Luke's is thrifty. Now our producer, Mr. DeMille. Act two of a man to remember starring Bob Burns as John Abbott and Anita Louise as Jean. In the office on Main Street, lawyer Perkins is going over the papers with Dr. Abbott's strongbox. The town's three leading businessmen watch eagerly as the attorney picks up the next item, another newspaper clipping, recording a landmark in the history of Westport. It looks as if the doc kept track of everything they printed about their hospital, you build, George. Yeah, it certainly does. The doc was always happy on that hospital idea. Yes, always wondered just how you came to build that hospital, George. Well, I... I'm going to do something for the town, Clyde, and it seems sort of a lasting thing. A sort of a monument, eh, George? Yes, I guess that's what it is. Well, see, here's a funny thing, a dance card of jeans. Fasten out of one of these clippings. Some affair at the country club. September 1937. Seems to have been the time your boy Howard was going around with the George. His name's here for most every dance. Yes, he did see quite a bit of her at one time. Didn't last, though. Yes, well, that's the way it is with young people. They find one moon and then they have a little quarrel and everything's off. I guess it happened that night they were driving home from the day. Howard, don't you think I'd better drive? Well, I'm just as sober as... when I'm sober. Oh, now, don't be afraid, Jeannie. Howard, please, so down. Howard, please. Oh, all right, I'll slow down. You nearly turned us over. Well, I didn't. Ah, Jeannie. Do you know you're a beautiful Jeannie? Howard, please, I didn't mean I wanted to park. I think you'd better take me home. Sure, sure I will, in one condition. What is it? Tell me you love me. Oh, don't be silly, Howard, and let's go home. All right, then. I'll kill myself. Howard, where did you get that gun? Give it to me. Let go. Let go. Take it away from your head, Howard. Give it to me. Gene. Oh, Gene, I didn't mean to. Honest, I didn't. Gene, where did it hit you? In... in my arm. Oh, here. I'll bind my handkerchief around it. Oh, gosh, Gene, I... I might have killed you. No, no, no, I'll still as you can. I'll get you right home to your father. Just lie still now, Gene. Don't move. Where is he? Where's my son? He's gone home. You just missed him. Is he all right? Oh, yes, he's all right. Gene's all right, too, luckily. Just a shot in the shoulder. John, this is terrible. Yes, George, it is. Might have been murdered, but the very least man slaughtered. What the boy didn't mean to hurt her? I know George, and he feels pretty terrible about it, but I suppose that's a question for the jury to settle. You know, of course, I have to report any gunshot wound to the police. That's the law. But, John, now, John, you can't do that. Listen. Listen, John, I'll do anything to make it right. Will you, George? You name it. I'll do anything you say. George, you've made a lot of money around this town. I guess you're about the biggest man Westport's ever produced. Well... I was just thinking it's a shame that you won't leave any fitting memorial behind you. A man like you should engrave his name in the history of his town. Something big, George, something worthwhile. Like what? Like the George Sykes Memorial Hospital. You mean you want me to build a hospital? That's the idea, George. Well, I won't do it. Now, this is blackmail. Yes, sir, guess it is. Well, it won't work. I won't build a hospital for you or anyone else. Not even for your son, George? Be a pity to see him go to jail. Now, wait, John. Wait a minute. Be reasonable. I'm willing to do anything within reason. That's the way to talk. Yes, sir, George, I bet it won't cost you a cent more than 30 or $40,000. And maybe they'll even let you make a speech. Think of that, George, standing up in front of a big new building, the crowd cheering, the bands playing. George, I'm proud. We're from the man who made this building possible. The greatest humanitarian in our town, Mr. George Sykes. Thank you, Dr. Robinson, friends and fellow townspeople in giving this handsome structure for the benefit of our sake. I, George Sykes, am doing very little. When I glance back at that marvelous structure, costing $40,000 plus landscaping, I do not feel proud, my friends. I do not feel very humbled because I've been able to do some little act to make my presence in the community a thing of benefit to us all. I thank you. That was a good speech, eh, Doc? Shorten to the point. A wonderful speech. I guess that makes George Sykes about the biggest man this town ever saw. And what a heart. What a heart. I think I'll go in and take a look around the building. Would you like to see what he's done inside? Yes, sir. Good afternoon. What can I do for you? Afternoon, Superintendent. I just figured I'd better drop in and sign the doctor's registry. Well, you see, Dr. Sykes wanted to be sure that only the most modern methods were practiced here. And so he made a provisor that only physicians who've had postgraduate work within the last 20 years would be admitted to the registry. Oh, I see. However, there was a provision made for you, Dr. Abbott. You will be allowed to use a charity ward, provided, of course, a regular physician stands by. That means then that nobody will be excluded from the hospital. That is no patient. Quite right, Doctor. Quite right. Are there any other things that would bar a doctor out of here? Nothing but the 20-year clause. I just wondered. Because my son's going to get back into town next week from Paris. I just wanted to be sure that there wasn't any stipulation against all doctors named Abbott. Son, the end of the line. The old place hasn't changed a bit, has it? Oh, Dick, it's wonderful to see you again. Why, Gene, say, you've changed. Have I? I told you, son, well, I'll take your bags upstairs. Well, what's the matter, Dick? Why, you? You really surprised me, Genie. I didn't even kiss you. Well, it's not too late, is it? I guess it isn't. What's so funny? All the time I've been thinking of you as a sister, and, well, you're not at all, are you? Why, no, I'm not. I'm just itching to hear all you've been doing. Say, did you study under Dr. Redding all the time? Two years. Redding. Great man. He's done more for neurology than any man in the last 40 years, I guess. He knows the stuff all right. You know, Dad, I can't get over Genie. Or she's blossomed out into a regular beauty. You should come home often to check up on what's going on. You surprised me. You're not married, Gene. What's the matter with all the men in this town? Oh, I suppose you think I never had a chance, huh? Well, I'll bet you have. It's not about hard sites. Oh, I see him once in a while. Nothing serious, though. Redding. I always hoped I could study with a man like him someday. Why don't you go over to the Sorbonne for a year, Dad? Me and Paris, though. Well, that's no place for a plug. Say, Dad, do you mind if Gene and I scoot off for a little while? I'd like to look the old town over again. Well, no, not at all. Run along. I'll get ahead. Be back in a minute. I got to get a sign painter up here tomorrow. A sign painter? But for? Got to have that sign out there changed. Gonna put your name first. Make it Richard Marvel Abbott M.D. Nenundrick John Abbott. What do you think of that? Dad, there's something I want to talk to you about. Go ahead, son. Well, about three months ago, I had a letter from Dr. Robinson here in town. He wanted me to go in with him as his partner. And I wrote him I wouldn't do a thing before I talked with you. Do you want to go in with Robinson? It's not so much a question of wanting to, but forgive me, Dad. But I know the kind of patience you have. Well, bet your way in debt right now in my account. So if I could go with Dr. Robinson, I'd make us some real money. Those rich patients of his would never come to us over here. But if I'm with him, I can cash in on them. Well, son, money's never bothered me much. What I owe or what's owed me. I guess that's the wrong attitude, though. Dad, I wish you'd understand. It's not money for its own sake. It's just that why I'll be the only neurologist in this town. It's a new line, and people will go for it. People with money who can afford it. What about people who can't afford it? I'll make a deal with your dad. I'll take care of any case you send me for nothing. All right, son. Let's shake on it. All ready? We won't be long, Dad. Come on, Gene. Just take a look around. Goodbye, Dad. Goodbye, son. Can't you, Gene? I want to show you my new car. So you have a new car? Sure. Well, what do you think of it? It's very nice. Much better than anything your father ever had. Don't be like that. Dad understands. If you're going to succeed as a doctor, you've got to put on a little front. Your father never did. He couldn't afford to. But then I suppose he isn't a success. Now, look, Gene, Dad knows exactly why I moved and why I went into partnership with Dr. Robinson. You evidently don't want to understand. After all he's done for us and what he's expecting from you, I'll never understand. Please, Gene, have dinner with me Thursday night and we can talk this out. No. But why? I've been meaning to tell you for the past week only. It's so seldom we see you anymore. I'm going to be married. Oh. The hard sikes? Yes. Okay. Congratulations. Good night. Good night, Dick. Gene. Oh, Gene, come here quickly. Dad, Dad, what's the matter with you? Help me to set up. Dad, what is it? I thought you were asleep here on the couch. Oh, tell me what to do, please. Oh, it's all right now. A little heart attack. If you should ever find me like this again, Gene, always help me to set up. When you lie down, once in a while, it's the end. Oh, Dad. Why, Gene, each of you are crying. It's all right now. I'm all right, honey. Don't cry. I'll get it, Dad. Is Dr. Abed in? Yes, he is. Can I see him? My name's Johnson. Just a moment, please. It's a man to see you, Dad. Patient? I don't know. He said his name is Johnson. All right, Cindy, ma'am. Will you come in, please? Thank you, ma'am. Evening, Doc. Remember me, don't you? I guess I do. Don't go, Gene. What is it? Gene, this man is your father. My... my father? I guess maybe I ought to do a little explaining. I don't think it's necessary. I've already told it long ago. I see. Well, I've got to run upstairs. Good night, Cindy. Good night, Dad. Good night, Mr. Johnson. Well, what do you want? Nothing. Nothing at all. I just come back to apologize for the way I was, Doc, and to thank you for taking care of my daughter. If you're thinking of taking her with you, it's no go. No, Doc, it ain't that. Since I gave her to you that night, I've been living in the eastern part of the state. Done pretty well, too. And, well, I want to pay you what you've gone to. Here, it ain't what I'd like to give you, but it's something $3,000. $3,000? Are you sure you can afford it? Yep. I've got plenty of myself, and I'm working steady. Well, I got to get along. I don't suppose I'll ever be able to tell you just how much this money means to me, Johnson. I'm going to take it because I need it. You're... you're a good man, Doctor. Good night. Jeannie! Jeannie! Yes, Dad? Has he gone? Yes, Jeannie. Listen. Remember we had an extra registration blank for the sabon when Dick filled his out? Yes, but I... I don't... Get it for me, will you, Jeannie? I'm going to fill out my application for a course under Dr. Reddy. Dad! I ought to hear from him in a couple of weeks. Then I'm going to Paris, Jeannie, and I'm going to show them that an old fella can learn as well as a young one. Well, Doctor, it's just a sore throat and cold, ain't it, Doctor? Well, the throat and nasal passages are in flame. You say the Hustetter boy's been sick, too? Yes, Doctor. And music-era children, huh? That's right. Same symptoms. Tell you what I wish you'd do, Mrs. Smith. Keep Sally in the house and don't, under any circumstances, let any other children come in. Oh, you mean is something serious? I can't say yet. I want to see the Hustetter boy and the music-era kids. I'll be back this afternoon. Meeting of the Board of Supervisors at the Town of Westports in order. Dr. Abbott would like to say a few words for the bouts I don't know. Go ahead, Doctor. I won't take much of your time today, gentlemen, but I feel the Board of Supervisors ought to be told of a condition threatening our town. What's on your mind, John? Well, you're having a county fair in two weeks, and I've come here to ask you to cancel it. Cancel it? Are you crazy? Of course. Unless my diagnoses are all wrong, we're in for an epidemic of infantile paralysis. Now, what gives you that idea, Doc? I have four patients who reveal all the preliminary symptoms. Only four? That's no epidemic. Just quarantine them. Four cases of infantile paralysis, gentlemen, are enough to start an epidemic. The merchants of this town put up $12,000 for that county fair, and you're suggesting we throw that money away just because four of your patients might have infantile paralysis. That's right, George. Well, there's nothing doing. You can't expect us to call off the fair on the gamble. Quarantine your patients, and that finishes it. All right, then I'll have to go to the newspapers. Joe, I want you to print this story. Now, listen here, John. A newspaper has a debt to the community. We can't scare our readers with every wild rumor that comes down the road. But this isn't a wild rumor, Joe. You can't prove it, can you? All right, then I want to buy an ad in tonight's edition. You mean advertise as paralysis care? Oh, no. I'm afraid we couldn't, John. Not a merchant in town would advertise with me if I ran your copy. Can you print me up some handbills? Same thing. I'm sorry. You've got a boy, haven't you, Joe D'Hearton? Well, yes. And you, George, you've got a little girl. And you, Jenkins, your kids are just the right age, too. The right age for what? For infantile paralysis. Only don't worry, gentlemen. I'm going to see that they don't get it. Goodbye, gentlemen. I hope you sleep well tonight. Act II of a man to remember. Once aroused, John Abbott is a man to be reckoned with. And he starts a one-man crusade in Act III. Before we go on with the play, here are some friends of ours to tell you a story and song. Bob Burns and Anita Louise return in a moment for Act III of a man to remember. You know, sometimes music expresses things better than we can say them. There's a song, for example, that describes perfectly the beauty of luck's suds. And I've asked Artreo to sing it for you tonight. All right, girls? It's a dream. Luck's suds really do seem like that. They're so light, so gentle. Oh, you make them sound too poetic, Mr. Ruick. They're really very practical, you know. Well, of course they are, Sally. Millions of women know that. And they've made Luck's flakes the world's largest-selling package soap for fine fabrics. Fine fabrics, Mr. Ruick? What about everyday fabrics? Well, of course, they are. And they've made Luck's flakes the world's largest-selling package soap for fine fabrics. Mr. Ruick, what about everyday fabrics? Why, just think of underthings and stockings and blouses, things we wear and Luck's every day. Luck's take such beautiful care of them, they wear and wear. Well, there's a good reason for that. There's no harmful alkali in Luck's flakes to fade any color or hurt any fabric that's safe in water alone. The gentle suds float out every trace of perspiration and soil and leave things fresh and new-looking. The Luck's habit is a dainty habit and it's a thrifty one. So keep the large box of Luck's flakes in the house and Luck's underthings after every wearing. Your blouses, dresses and sweaters, often they'll stay new-looking longer because Luck's suds are so gentle, so safe. We pause now for station identification. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System. We continue with a man to remember. Little by little, the life of Dr. Abbott unfolds itself. As lawyer Perkins continues to examine the contents of the strongbox, the men are silent now, each busy with his own thoughts. The lawyer speaks quietly. Well, here's the last of the bills, gentlemen, for the printing of circulars. He did get those paralysis notices printed up jode even if you wouldn't do it for him. And there's another item here showing that he gave each kid who helped him ten cents to post the notices around town on fences and trees where folks could read them. You remember that morning, gentlemen, quite some excitement was. Warning. Infantile paralysis. Keep your children indoors and away from other children. Stay away from congested districts. Do not attend the county fair. I am undertaking a house-to-house canvas to administer a precautionary throat spray to all children whose parents will permit it. If I do not get to your house, come to me in the evenings. John Abbott, M.D. John Abbott, M.D. Infantile paralysis. Mary! Tommy! You come... I'll take care of you in the living room. Get those sprays ready, will you, Jeannie? Dad. Oh, hello, son. What brings you around? Dad, I... I came to talk to you. Well, I'm pretty busy right now, Dick, but all right if you talk fast. Can we... can we be alone? I'll go, Dad. No, wait. Jeannie's been my right hand and most of my heart for a long time, Dick. There's no reason for her to go now. What's on your mind? Well, it's about all this paralysis scare. If you're wrong, Dad, it will reflect on every doctor in this town. People will lose confidence. And that's all doctors have to back them up. The confidence of their patients. Yes, maybe we doctors should value our reputations more than we do. Take me. I run a 50-50 chance of being wrong. If I am wrong, people lose confidence. But if I'm right, then I've saved lives, young bodies, muscles and bones, grief and pain. I think it's worth the gamble, Dick. There's another thing, Dad. This business of spring children, whether they're your patients or not, it's considered unethical. The local medical association is pretty well stirred up about it. That's really why I came to warn you. The medical association stirred up, aren't they? Isn't that too bad? Well, tell them they should have been stirred up a week ago. They're too late. Okay, Dad. He felt he had to do it. He was trying to help you, Dad. I know, and he's right, Jean. Right? Yes, about ethics. Because up here in my head, I am unethical. I just realize what I'm thinking. I'm hoping right now, in spite of myself, I'm hoping this is infantile paralysis. I don't know what's come over me. I know. But in your heart, you're hoping it isn't. Yes, yes, of course. Jean, I never felt it before, but I'm an old man. More attention, please. I've heard the charges of the medical association, Dr. Abbott. There's nothing personal in them. The county fair and the reputation of all of us has been put in jeopardy by what we must consider an unwarranted action on your part. Have you any defense to offer? No defense, Dr. Robinson. I have no course but to put your suspension to a vote. Suspension? All right, go ahead. When you want to tell me the good news, you can find me at home. Well, all in favor of suspension, vote aye. Aye. All opposed? No. No. Motion carried. I'm sorry, Dick. Just a minute. Because my father made a mistake, you have voted him out. But let me tell you, the greatest men in medicine were those who made the greatest mistakes. They were the ones who put down their knowledge to us. What my father has done required more courage than the riseness whole room. With such, we're doctors. Lacking it, we're mechanics. Mr. Chairman, I have no choice but to tender my resignation. Dick, you can't do that. I'm sorry to be late, gentlemen. Come in, come in, Dr. Palmer. Yes, we waited for you as long as we could. I'm sorry, but I just couldn't get away. I have six cases of infantile paralysis in Wellington. Paralysis? Are you sure, Dr. Palmer? Of course I'm sure. Gentlemen, we're in for an epidemic. There are eight cases reported in Palmdale, 14 in Riverdale, four in Delta, and it's spreading like wildfire. Well, I assume we shall disregard all action in this meeting. Do I hear a motion that we insist on cancellation of the county fair? I make such a motion. All in favor, aye. Aye. There's a report from the whole county. They've licked the epidemic. Wonderful. And it's all due to you. No, not me. The doctors work pretty hard, Jean. Oh, yes. But it's you who showed them the way. I'll go, Dad. Special delivery letter to Dr. Raditz. Sorry I'm late. Oh, there. Dad, a special delivery from Paris. Oh, from the Sorbonne. Read it to me, will you, Jeanie? My eyes are kind of tired. Don't be nervous, Dad. Now, dear Dr. Abbott, your application for admission to Dr. Redding's courses in neurology has been definitely and duly received. We regret to inform you that this class requires two years' graduate work from anyone entering it. We therefore... That's enough, Jeanie. Oh, Dad. Dad, it isn't fair. Well, maybe it's just as well. I've got a better place for that money anyhow. May I come in? Dick. Hello, Jean. Hello, Dad. Well, son, it's good to see you. Dad, there are a lot of people outside. People? Well, send them in. I think maybe you'd better see them on the front porch. It's pretty much of a crowd. A crowd? To see me? Who are they? Well, the minister's leading them. Come out, Dad. What is this? Looks like everybody in town. I guess it is, Dad. Just about. Good evening, Doctor. Oh, good evening, Reverend. Doctor Abbott, you've been among us for a long time and you've worked hard. You never made much money, I guess, because the people you worked for didn't have much. But you didn't care. You just kept right on working. We wanted you to know that we have here a letter. A letter of thanks. It's got 6,000 signatures, Doctor. Almost every man, woman, and child in town. It's just to let you know that we... we love you. Why, I... I believe Dr. Robinson has a few words to say. Dr. Abbott, I've come to extend my personal professional apologies. You've taught us all something. Not only about medicine, but about humanity. The Westport Medical Association has delegated me to inform you that, uh, if you will accept it, you have in advance been elected president by acclimation. Yes! Dr. Robinson and... friends. Thank you. Thanks, son. Been something of a night, hasn't it? Come on, Dad. I'm going to put you on the couch and you're going to rest. In a... in a minute, Jeannie. I... I guess I am pretty tired. I'll take it. Hello? Oh, oh, yes, Mrs. Harmon. Dr. Abbott will be right over. It was Mrs. Harmon, Dad. She thinks Joe has broken his arm. I'll take the case. But she expects me. I told her Dr. Abbott would be right over. Thanks, son. Oh, Dad, would you mind if I get that sign painter up here tomorrow? Son, I... I think I'd like that fine. Well, I won't be long. Good night. Dick, do you mind if I go with you? You see, I... I always go with Dr. Abbott on... on cases of this nature. I think that's a great idea. I don't suppose I could hope that, uh, you always will go with Dr. Abbott? Oh, Dick. If you want me. And, uh, what about Howard Sykes? That was only because you were so stupid. I wouldn't marry anyone with a doctor. But I had to make sure that he was... a real doctor. I... I think maybe you've got one, Gene. I think maybe. I'll do my best. Come on, Genie. Goodbye, Dad. Goodbye, kids. Dr. Abbott will be right over. Sub-byte. We regret to inform you... Hmm. 6,000 names. Most every man, woman, and child in town. Dr. Abbott. Be right. The night we honored old Al Capit was the night he died, and that brings us to the last paper in the strongbox, this envelope. I think we can open it now. Money! A whole stack of bills. Now, there's a note, too, gentlemen. I'll read it to you. To George Sykes, Homer Ramsey, and Joe Harkness. I knew you three vultures would be the first to crawl over the carcass. According to my calculations, I owe the three of you $2,526.37. In this envelope, you'll find $3,000. After you've taken out what I owe you, there should be $473.63 left for Richard and Gene. Don't try to make it any less, because knowing you good people, I took the precaution to tell them exactly how much there was. Until I see you all in eternity, I am your humble servant, John Abbott M.D. Well, that's that. He was a good man, paid every cent he owed. Uh-huh. $3.30. I suppose the service is just about over for now. Kind of wish I'd have went. Down in Green Pastures, he leadeth me beside the still water. He restored my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. When's the story of John Abbott M.D.? Throughout America, there are thousands of others like him, whose estates are measured, not in money, but in memories of service to their fellow men. Before Bob Burns and Anita Louise returned for their curtain calls, I have a question for housewives. Have you any idea how many times a day you put your hands into dishwater? As someone has figured out, you do it about 150 times. If you're the average mother, you wash about 150 pieces of silver and glassware and dishes every day. And that doesn't count pots and pans. Every day, you plunge your hands into dishwater around 150 times, and every single time you do it, your hands are exposed to the suds. Now let's think about that for a moment. If you use harsh soaps, soaps with harmful alkali, your hands are bound to get rough and red, aren't they? The harsh suds sting and bite the skin until your hands are sore and burned. And I'm sure you don't want hands like that, not when there's a way to avoid it. Mrs. S.D. Eldridge of New York has something to say on that subject. She writes, I've been doing dishes for 10 years, and my hands stay nice thanks to Lux Flakes. She helps her hands stay nice-looking by using Lux Flakes in her dishpan. And that's just what you can do too. Lux is so gentle. It has no harmful alkali, absolutely nothing to sting and irritate your hands the way harsh soaps do. It's as mild and pure as the finest toilet soaps. So try Lux for your dishes. It's so inexpensive, about a penny's worth of Lux will do your dishes for a whole day. In hard water, a little extra Lux gives an abundance of rich, active suds. Ask your grocer for the thrifty, large-sized Box of Lux Flakes tomorrow, and use Lux for your dishes every day. That's for lovely hands. Now here's Mr. DeMille with our stars. The footlights are up again. There's Bob Burns underneath a Louise come back to our microphone for a curtain call. Well, Bob, which would you rather be? A doctor or an actor? I thought she was going to say, actor, you want to be careful about that. You know, somebody might hear you. That talk about me getting an actor, being an actor gets around, he's labelled to ruin me a picture. Don't worry about Eve's driving, Bob. What's a few million is between friends? Oh, well, I guess I feel safer then. You know, Mr. DeMille, maybe we ought to ask people that've been putting off paying the doctor, even though they got the money, to turn over and you leave. That's a wonderful idea for a crusade, Bob. Well, now, you know, even a good old country doctor ain't going to let you walk all over him forever. Sooner or later, he's going to get impatient, just like one of my kin folks down in Arkansas. That wouldn't be Uncle Fudd, would it, Bob? No, no, Mr. DeMille, this is one I don't believe you've met yet. That's my Aunt Boo. Do you know that when I was down home, when I was a little boy, I used to think Aunt Boo was the most patient woman I ever saw in my life. She never showed any signs of losing her patience. But just last summer, I went back home and I went to visit her back in the mountains, and she had a kind of a family reunion back there. And she was pointing out all my kin folks I hadn't seen in some time. She says, now, of course, you know your Aunt Doody is over there talking to your Aunt Peachy Sims. And she says that boy, teasing the pig in the parlor there, says that's your cousin, Pernell. She says he's the brightest cousin you got, I reckon. She said he beat the reading time in Liberty before minutes. So she went on telling me all the names of these kin folks, and I noticed one woman sitting way back by herself that Aunt Boo hadn't pointed out. I said, well, what's the matter with that woman back there? She can tell me. And that's the first time I ever saw Aunt Boo show signs that she was losing her patience. She says, no, sir. That woman dropped in here 30 years ago to get a drink of water, and she's been with us ever since. And she says, I want to tell you I'm beginning to get tired of it. You know, you know, Bob, doctors have about as much patience as your Aunt Boo, and I know they'll appreciate your championship of their cause. And something we're all waiting to hear, Mr. DeMille, is the Lux Radio Theatre show for next week. Next Monday night, Anita, we have another Blue Ribbon show. We're going to present Cary Grant, Carol Lombard, and Gay Francis. And our play will be the screen success in name only. A drama of vital emotions. The story of a man who was bound to a selfish woman and loved another. We bring it to you next Monday night with the original screencast, Carol Lombard, Cary Grant, and Gay Francis. I'll reserve a seat at my radio right away, Mr. DeMille. Good night. Good night, Anita. So long, CB. Good night. We'll never forget a man who remembers. Our sponsors, the makers of Lux Flakes, joined me in inviting you to be with us again next Monday night when the Lux Radio Theatre presents Cary Grant, Carol Lombard, and Gay Francis in the play in name only. This is Cecil B. DeMille saying good night to you from Hollywood. This is Melville York inviting you to enjoy the popular Lux Daytime program, The Life and Love of Dr. Susan. In tomorrow's episode, Frieda, who hates and fears Dr. Susan, is plotting to humiliate her. Tomorrow, Mr. Blodgett learns surprising news about Frieda's scheme. Listen then. While the time in station see your newspaper, The Life and Love of Dr. Susan comes to you in addition to the Lux Radio Theatre. Heard in tonight's play were Harold Daniels as Dick, Granville Bates as George Sykes, Harlan Briggs as Homer Ramsey, Lou Merrill as Joad Harkness, John Fee as Clyde Perkins, Earl Ross as Howard Johnson, and Clara Blandic as Mother. The picture, A Man to Remember, was an RKO production. This studio's forthcoming production is The Huntsback of Notre Dame, starring Charles Lawton. Bob Burns appeared through courtesy of the Kraft Cheese Company. He will soon begin work in Alias the Deacon for Universal Pictures. Anita Louise will be seen in the RKO picture, Reno. Our music was directed by Louis Silvers. At the request of the Post Office Department, may we remind you to shop early and mail your Christmas presents in cards early to secure delivery before December 23rd. There will be no delivery on December 25th. Partials and envelopes may be endorsed. Do not open until Christmas. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.