 Your Coca-Cola bottler presents, Claudia, based on the famous play and novels by Rose Frankin. Brought to you transcribed Monday through Friday by your friendly neighbor who bottles Coca-Cola. Relax, and while you're listening, refresh yourself. Have a Coke. And now, Claudia. Oh, David, I love having you home all day. I'm not home to play. I'm home to work on these plans for the school. Who cares why the important thing is you're home? I'm going to act as if I'm not. Go ahead. See if I care. I'm going to lock myself up in this little room and keep my nose to my drawing board all day. Poor nose. You're not going to even see me. Good. Oh. I don't want to see you. I have a million things to do myself. I'm busy up to my ears. What are you busy with up to your ears? Thank you notes for the baby's presence. Poor you. Oh, poor me is right. Is there anything else in the world worse than writing thank you notes? Nothing's worse, sir. Not even the word. How many you have left? Too many, about 14, I guess. Haven't you written any? Of course I have. I still don't see why I have to write them all. You're his father. You should write half of them. I'm going to stay right here and work. Not so fast. You give me one good reason why you shouldn't write half. Presidents aren't mine to address to your illustrious son. Then he should write them. Then go right upstairs and ask him. I think I will. I'm half tempted to. And if you waste any more time before writing them, he'll be old enough to do it himself. So get moving. All right, all right, all right. And don't nag me. You know, the worst part is I hardly even know half the people who sent me those baby presents. It should make it twice as easy to write the letter. Now explain that to me, Mr. Smarty. Because you don't have to get personal. All you have to do is write a very formal thank you note. That's terrible. I hate receiving formal thank you notes. I imagine other people do to make it difficult for yourself. I will. I was only trying to help. Advice is no help. Action is what counts. And I'll leave you to yourself and you can start on the action right away. Oh, thank you very much. Nothing at all. Get mama to help you. He's pushing Bobby around in his promulator. That woman. She can't let him out of her sight. Guess you just have to work it out for yourself, man. I hope you haven't touched my soft lead pencils. They're stolen my ruler, a gum erasure. Oh, you're as fussy about your soft lead pencil as an old maid. It is impossible for the old maid to work without them. Tis a poor workman who blames his tools. Oh, now where's my favorite fountain pen? David, have you stolen my favorite fountain pen? I can't write with any other. Tis a poor workman who blames his tools. Now get on with those thank you notes. If you get through after lunch, I'll take you for a walk. Well, that's not much of an inducement, but it's better than none. All right, I love getting presents, but when you have to write eight different letters about eight different little chemises, it sort of takes the glow off. Ungrateful. If you're not doing anything quiet, don't you write a letter, do you? Look, I'm doing something. I'm going to figure out some measurements so quiet. No, let me see. Who's next on the list? Let's see. Mrs. Percival Jones, a silver spoon. Can you imagine sending a silver spoon to a three-month-old baby? I mean, weeks? Of all the things I didn't want my son to be being born with was a silver spoon in his mouth. Well, he wasn't. Well, he is now. Mrs. Percival Jones sent him one. Say, who is Mrs. Percival Jones anyway? Oh, no. Some friend of Julius probably. No. My sister-in-law has many, many friends, you know. Have you ever met Mrs. Percival Jones? That's what I remember. I wonder if there's a Mr. Percival Jones. Who cares? Mrs. Percival Jones. Shut up. Shut up. Write a letter. Dear Mrs. Percival Jones. Write it. Don't recite it. Dear Mrs. Percival Jones, I just can't begin to tell you how much my husband and I- Leave me out of it. Leave me out of it. How much my husband and I appreciate the darling- The lovely. Shut up. Appreciate the darling silver spoon you sent my son. He has been eating with it ever since the day- Oh, that's a lie. The whole thing is a lie. What am I supposed to say? Tell her the truth. I'd much rather. I don't dare. Oh, go ahead. Go ahead. All right. Here goes. Dear Mrs. Percival Jones, my husband and I want to tell you how silly we thought you were to send our three-week-old offspring a silver spoon. Considering the times we were living in, we both believe it was a very extravagant waste of money. You'd better go back to your lies there. David, I am writing these letters, remember? All right. Have it your own way. If you don't want my advice, go ahead, but do it silently. My husband and I, we, um, eat at Dexter. Who on earth is Eva Dexter? Oh, I know Eva Dexter. She's Philip Dexter's wife. Oh, of course. He's a good friend of my brother. Well, then why doesn't your brother write them a thank-you note? They only sent it to us because of him. What did she send? Silver raffle. Honestly, now, this is worse than getting married. Marriage has compensations, but this, this is a big nuisance. Don't you call your son compensations? Not yet. Dear Mrs. Dexter. Why don't you make this a formal one? For instance. Mr. and Mrs. David Norton wishes to thank you for your thoughtfulness at this time. That sounds more like a condolence note. You have to be more cheerful about having a baby. Is it condolence or condolence? I never know. I don't know why I'm busy. I don't need to. I have to look it up. How about Mr. and Mrs. David Norton's sides are splitting about thanking you? Oh, you're such a big help. You get back to your figures. You may be a wonderful architect, but you're a fluff at thank-you notes. Now that I have proven it, maybe I'll get some peace and quiet. You know, I wish I could learn how to write faster. I'm so slow. My mind works eight times as fast as my hands. And your tongue works 80 times faster than your brain. I don't hear you. Dear Mrs. Dexter, please forgive my not writing sooner. It's bad psychology to begin with an apology. You are not to butt in, but in skiing. Now I can see why wives send their husbands off to the office to get a little peace. Dear Mrs. Dexter, dear, dear, dear Mrs. Dexter. My dear Mrs. Dexter. Oh, how I hate this. Hooray! Somebody's coming to see us. Any excuse not to have you do your work? You're a fine one to talk. Good morning, Mrs. Norton. I don't usually come ringing doorbells with this mail, but you had so many packages today. I couldn't very well stuff them all into that little mailbox of yours. More packages? Yep. Got a heap of them all here in this bag. I feel just like Santa Claus, only it's August. Oh, they're packages for that son of mine. I had to go and have a baby. I hear you say he's a fine boy. Well, he's not bad. He's getting entirely too many presents. Well, it'll save you money. You won't have to go and buy him all this junk yourself. Unfortunately, it's not the kind of stuff I'd buy in the first place. You're looking good, Mrs. Norton. Being a mother agrees with you. My thanks, Mrs. Cook. We missed you while we were in New York. We kind of missed you, too. I dropped the mail by regular and blew my horn, thinking if you was here, you'd come out. Well, it's nice to have you back. You've no idea how nice it is to be back. Well, as I was saying to my husband last night, Mr. Cook was suggesting that we take a little vacation and go away on a trip. As I was saying to him, I sure would like to go away, but when I'm away, I sure wish I was back home, packing suitcases, unpacking them, sleeping in strange beds, registering in strange hotels, having to pay bills, and eating food that's cooked by folks who don't even know how to boil eggs. Well, as I was saying to Mr. Cook, if we was taking a vacation, I'd stay home here where everything is just the way I want it to be. But I don't think I'm going to be taking a vacation. You know, I kind of like this wandering around, seeing all the folks and getting all the latest news. Howdy-up! Oh, that's my husband. Your husband? Oh, you know, I kind of like to say hello to him. I don't think I ever met Mr. Naughton, but the folks downtown say he's a mighty handsome man. Well, some other day, but... Well, any other day, it's all... See, he's working at home on the plans for the news. I would like to chat, please. I'm sorry, don't just say another word. When men have work to do, the world just has to stand still. That's right. But let a woman set herself down to her desk. She's expected to get her work done with an interruption every five minutes. I was just saying that to Mr. Cook last night. You were? Yes, so I just won't say another word. You won't? I'll just leave all these packages in your front hall and... Well, I'll be on my way. I'll see you, Mrs. Naughton. I'll drop by tomorrow. Maybe we'll have time for a real talk then. Thank you for coming, Mrs. Cook. It's always nice seeing you. What a tornado. Claudia? David, come on out here. Are you alone? She's gone. Good heavens. Now that woman can talk. She makes you sound like a mute. That's why I keep her wrong. Look at all this stuff she brought. Packages and packages and packages. There are at least 15 of them. And all from the same store that we've already received packages from. But they're all the same things all over again. More silver spoons, more chemises, more sweet little knitted garments and blankets and... David, I don't want to seem ungrateful, but isn't it an awful waste? Darling, you can't scold people for their trying to be attentive. No, but it just doesn't seem right. Bobby has so much already. It's wrong for anybody these days to have more than they actually need. I agree with you, but there are times when you have to accept gifts with good grace. This is one of those times. Well, you better open them so you can sit right down and finish up your thank-you notes. Oh, never finish them. The more I write, the more I have to write. It's interminable. Want to open the packages here or shall I take them inside? Darling, you get to your work. I'll do it. I'll help until Gertrude finishes. Take a letter. Dear Mrs. Vandoren, thank you for your charming blue vest. From Elizabeth Vandoren? Another friend of Julia's? No, she's cousin of Roger's. You met her? Once. Nice. Very. I just think any cousin of Roger's would... David, listen... No, no. I'm not going to write any of them. Isn't that what I was going to ask? Oh. Where should I put all this stuff? Bring it up to Bobby's room. It's his. Let him look around and see all this. He'll be so spoiled we won't be able to do a thing with him. While he'll think life is nothing but a bed of roses. He'll get an idea he's rich and spoiled and pampered. That's no way to begin life. Well, suit yourself. You'll agree with me, don't you? Sure, I agree with you, but what's there to be done about it? I'm just thinking... All those little baby's children who don't have clothes to wear. Not enough food. Why should our son be born with more than he can use? Life isn't always in balance, darling. There are those who have too much and others who have too little. Somebody ought to do something about life, then. Who's somebody? Me. I mean, I. I am going to do something about it. What's the brilliant idea that's going through your head? It's not very brilliant. It's just that... I think I'm going to wrap all these presents at Bobby's. Everything I can't use and I'm going to send them to Europe through the Red Cross or some other organization. I'm going to send them to people who need them and who have to depend upon gifts for what they need. That would be a very fine thing to do. Oh, if there's nothing fine about it, it's just what everybody ought to do. And I think Bobby'd want to share his presents with all those little babies in the world who haven't anything. I'd be honored if, in this, you'd let me help. You're a nice girl. A nice mother for my son. Oh, I feel better about the whole business now. We'll open all these presents. We'll take out all the cards. And then I'll write thank-you notes that will be thank-you notes that I really mean. Most women carry equipment along when they go to market nowadays. A shopping bag or a carry-all-on wheels makes the job of transporting groceries easier. Another help is that handy carton in which you can carry six bottles of Coca-Cola home. And speaking of help, it's mighty pleasant to be able to step up to the Coke cooler while you're at your food store or delicious ice-cold refreshment. It's a wise shopper who shops, reprieve. Sure is good seeing Mrs. Norton again. Well, now that she's back in Eastbrook, you'll probably be seeing a great deal of her. Well, if she keeps on getting so many packages, I will. Well, maybe it'll let up. Claudia would certainly be pleased if it did. Well, most young folks love getting presents. And so does Claudia, usually. But about these, she's a little embarrassed. Too much is too much, isn't it? I guess that's it. I guess Claudia feels her son has plenty just having David for father. He's a nice man, I hear say. David, yes. You hear say right. And he has a way with youngsters, too, he has. Other than his own? Well, yes indeed, as we'll find out tomorrow, Mrs. Cook. Well, I'll be here. Maybe I'll be able to give Mrs. Cook a few pointers. See you then, Mr. King. Right, ma'am. Every day Monday through Friday, Claudia comes to you transcribed with the best wishes of your friendly neighbor who bottles Coca-Cola. So listen again tomorrow at the same time. And now this is Joe King saying, Au revoir. And remember, whoever you are, whatever you do, wherever you may be. When you think of refreshment, think of Coca-Cola. For Coca-Cola makes any pause the pause that refreshes. And ice cold Coca-Cola is everywhere. This broadcast of Claudia was supervised and directed by William Brown Maloney. And now here's a word from your friendly neighbor who bottles Coca-Cola.