 Family Theatre presents Lionel Barrymore and Wendell Corrie. From Hollywood the Mutual Network in Cooperation with Family Theatre presents Revolution in Rodneyville starring Wendell Corrie. Lionel Barrymore will be a host. Family Theatre's only purpose is to bring to everyone's attention a practice that must become an important part of our lives if we're to win peace for ourselves, peace for our families and peace for the world. Family Theatre urges you to pray. Pray together as a family. And now to our transcribed drama Revolution in Rodneyville starring Wendell Corrie as Tom. This is a story that you won't believe. Not that there's anything really incredible about it. It doesn't have to do with ghosts or foreign spies or flying saucers. In fact, there isn't a single element of the mysterious or the unusual in the entire episode. It's a story that could take place in any city or town in America. It could but unfortunately most people think it couldn't. And that's why you probably won't believe it. It all began about a year ago. I was driving through the southern part of the state on my way back to the capital where I work for one of the big dailies as a political reporter. I guess I have driven through Rodneyville at least a dozen times without ever paying much attention to it. A little town of more than six, seven thousand people. Normally I wouldn't give Rodneyville change for a quarter but that day my engine was heating up so I pulled into an old filling station and honked my horn. Nothing. I glanced around the antique canceling hand pump. Honked again. Still nothing. I just about decided to drive on and fill my radiator someplace else when the screen door, the shack flew open and a small middle-aged woman wearing dungarees hurried out. I'm sorry to keep you waiting, sir. Gasoline? Well, no, thanks. My radiator's heating up and I'd just like some water. Well, in a jiffy. I was talking on the phone with Mr. Beacons. He's our honest lawyer here in Rodneyville. I didn't hear you all. He's your honest one, eh? All the others crooked? Oh, no, I wouldn't say that about anybody, eh? Well, they're in different... Here, here. I'll give you a hand with that, man. Oh, no, no, I... Darn it. Darn it. Oh, it sticks all the time. You gotta reach under and find that cat. There it is. Thank you, Mr.... Dallas. Tom Dallas. Here, I'll pour the water. All right. Thought I recognized you, Mr. Dallas. You're the newspaper man, aren't you? I wish you could get my managing editor to admit that. Oh, I read you all the time in the Herald. As my husband would have said, it's good, strong stuff. He owned the paper here in Rodneyville, my husband. I was wondering what the catcher's gonna be. The catch? Yes, you aren't exactly the gas station type. And what ever decided your husband to get into this line? Oh, Sam didn't buy this place I did after he died. Oh, I'm sorry. Oh, not at all. Sam lost the paper trying to get himself back into politics. He was a little before your time, but you may have heard of him. Samuel Brand used to be state senator from this district. I've heard of him. See that you have. Mr. Dallas, are you going straight through town? Why, yes. You mind giving me a lift as far as the courthouse is right on your way? Well, I'd be happy to. I'll just be a minute. I want to lock up. I drove the widow of ex-state senator Samuel Brand down the main street of Rodneyville. Pulled up in front of the red brick building there where, more than 15 years ago, her husband had been tried and convicted of embezzlement. Mrs. Brand stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned to face Mrs. Wong-la-Dorshire. Thank you for the lift, Mr. Dallas. You're quite welcome. May I ask you a question? Go right ahead. Are you one of those newspaper men who likes to dig up stories for himself, or do you prefer getting your facts secondhand? I don't think I know what you mean, Mrs. Brand. There's a story here in Rodneyville, a big one, but it's buried under a lot of secondhand information. The man who finds it will have to do a lot of digging. Your husband's story? Not the way you think. It doesn't exonerate him. It's a bigger story than that. Sam was wrong in what he did, but... Oh, well, maybe you should have stopped somewhere else to fill up your radiator. Thanks for the ride, young man. Oh, wait a minute, Mrs. Brand. Goodbye, Mr. Dallas. I watched across the sidewalk, climbed the stone steps, and disappeared through the old-fashioned glass doors of the courthouse. I looked at my watch, quarter of five. Better than two more hours of daylight, time enough to be in the state capital for dinner and a good night's sleep. I shifted into first and pulled out from the curb. The main street was practically empty. I could see down the hot slab of concrete out to the edge of town less than a mile away. Rodneyville lay along the highway like a tired old dog stretched out in the afternoon sun. Silent, motionless, dead. Oh, there wasn't any story in Rodneyville. It was a graveyard. Put in the obituary column and forget it. What can you learn in a graveyard? I drove down the main street looking around. Shilts was ice cream pollen on a swollen side. The Rodneyville First National Bank green shade drawn over the windows. Nobody. Rodneyville Weekly Harrow. A storefront print shop that probably got off the nut by running handbills and carnivals. Sporting an overhead wooden sign that ran the length of the building with a faded gold lettering that barely make out the red editor Samuel Brand. And for some reason I can't explain, that stopped me. Yes, sir? What can I do for you? Uh, my name's Tom Dallas. I'm on the trip. I think you carry my column here in town. Thank you. Glad to know you, Mr. Dallas. My name is Weeks. Arthur Weeks, owner, editor, publisher, and general fact totem. Take a chair. Glad to know you, Mr. Weeks. So you're Tom Dallas. Yeah, we run you once a month, Lipman's three, but I must say nobody kicks much. I'm glad to hear I'm holding my own. What can I do for you? Just passing through? Uh, not exactly. I wonder if you have anything in your morgue that goes as far back as the trial of Senator Brand. I guess we have. Were you looking for anything in particular? No, I'd just like to brush up on the whole story, the embezzlement, the court case, whole thing. Well, I'd be glad to tell you anything you want to know. You see, I worked here on the paper when Mr. Brand owned it. Before he ever went to the Senate, I remember the whole thing, like it is yesterday. You gonna do a piece on Senator Brand for your column? I was thinking about it. Look, Mr. Dallas, that whole thing's been dead for years. I don't see what good will do to dig it up now. You know, it's funny you should bring that up, Mr. Weeks. Yeah? Because I was just driving out of Rodneyville, thinking the same thing. How'd you mean? Well, I was thinking, no offense now, but I was thinking, what is this place, this town of Rodneyville? What is it? Graveyard. What can you learn in a graveyard? Oh, you're right, Mr. Dallas. You can't learn much. But a little, Mr. Weeks. Yeah? Yeah. At least in a graveyard, you can learn where the body's buried. Can I see those files now, Mr. Weeks? Mm-hmm. It took me until 7.30, almost three hours, going through the dusty, 15-year-old volume of yellowed newspapers. When I was finished, I headed for Mrs. Brand's house. I don't know if she was surprised to see me or not. Won't you come in, Mr. Dallas? Thank you. Oh, I... I didn't know you had company. Oh, that's all right. Mr. Dallas, this is Mr. Beacons, my lawyer. How do you do, sir? Glad to know you. Mrs. Brand was just telling me that you spent the afternoon over at the offices of the Herald. I didn't know that to get around town so fast. Oh, you underestimate Mr. Weeks. He didn't waste a minute. Telling whom? Mayor Driscoll? See, you read the transcript of the trial very carefully. I did, but it still doesn't exonerate your husband, Mrs. Brand. Well, I told you it wouldn't. Sam did embezzle $75,000 of the county's funds, but not for himself. He did it to fight the Driscoll people, and he intended to return it after the election. It was wrong, no matter how you figure it. Of course it was. Sam knew that. Then why did he do it? Because he didn't think it was as wrong as having Driscoll's man go back to the State Senate. Taking the $75,000 letting Driscoll's gang take the election. All right, Mr. Dallas. Sam Brand was wrong, and he went to jail, and now he's dead. But Driscoll goes on and on and on. And this county is a cesspool. How do you fight him with kid gloves? I don't know. I didn't think you would. May... you made a mistake. This man doesn't care. We're little people in a little town, and he's on his way to the Capitol. Perhaps Mr. Weeks is right, Mr. Dallas, we're sorry to have detained you. No, no, wait a minute. What do you want me to do, Mrs. Brand? Put your husband back in the headlines? Prove he was a martyr? No. No, I want you to help this town, help the whole county get rid of Driscoll. Forget my husband. And where do you fit into this, Beacons? I am running against Driscoll for mayor four months from now. How do I know you're any better than he is? Besides, Driscoll's just one man at the head of an organization. You've got to dismember the whole works to put him out of business. We know that, Mr. Dallas. That's why we're asking you to help. My husband, Sam, spent the last ten years of his life fighting Driscoll. But he made the mistake of thinking you can fight fire with fire. You can't. All you do is burn your fingers. The only way to fight fire is with water. I'm not sure I follow you, Mrs. Brand. Sit down, Mr. Dallas. This may take some explaining. Mr. Beacons and I didn't leave Mrs. Brand's house until almost midnight. And during those five hours, I watched unfold one of the most original, yet simple ideas for ousting as corrupt a local government as I had ever seen. And yet, although it was a little marvel of simplicity and theory, there was no guarantee it would work in practice. I stayed the night in Rodneyville, but by 9.30 the following morning, I'd arrived in the state capitol and was the office of my managing editor. I think that scheme of Mrs. Brand is the craziest idea that's come up the pike in years. People are people. They aren't going to give up what they consider a harmless pleasure just to join a political crusade. Well, that's where I come in. I've got to convince them that it isn't harmless pleasure. I've got to make them see that every time they drop a nickel in an illegal slot machine, every time they bribe a crooked cop or pay graft or a crooked official, they're cutting their own throats. I'm telling you it won't work, Tom. It's been tried before. People are people. But you let me take a crack at it. Sure, go on, knock your head against a stone wall. Thanks, boss. Thanks a lot. But don't say I didn't warn you. For the next six weeks, I traveled around Rodney County with beacons or Mrs. Brand, visiting shopkeepers, landlords, farmers, anyone and everybody who had a financial stake in the affairs of Rodney County. And never once was the name of Mayor Driscoll mentioned. We didn't go at it that way. Good afternoon, folks. What'll it be? Two ginger rails. With what? Some ice. All right. Come far? Over from Rodneyville. It's a nice place you got here. Oh, thanks. I'm doing all right. Give me some dimes, will you? Oh, sure. Here you are. Thanks. I think I'll give this one I'm banned as a chance to hold me up. Hmm, lemons. The story of my life. That machine pays pretty good on the average. Sends back about one for four. That's not bad considering. Not bad for you either. If you keep the other three. Do you keep the other three dimes? Well, no. I have to cut 60-40 with the guy who owns the machine. He put it in here. Yeah, and there's protection, I guess. Well, a cop's got to live. He sure ain't going to get rich in what they pay in this town. Sounds like a kind of a headache between the police and the man who owns the machine. Is there much left for you at the end of the month? I'll make a little. It pays a gas bill. What about this slot machine? Could you do it? Say, what's your angle, folks? You come in, buy some ginger ale, want the story of my life. What are you, temperance kids? No. We're just wondering why a man who's supposed to be in business for himself winds up running a collection agency for all the crooks in town. Oh, well, now just a minute later. And at a loss too, mister. This little gizmo with the revolving fruit cost you money. Now, I guess you haven't needed any help for much to figure that out. It's one of those things I put down What am I supposed to do? Fold up and quit? Because I don't like slot machines? Tell me, what would happen if you told the man who owns this machine to come and take it out of here? He'd take it out of here. About a week later, a building inspector would come out from city hall and discover this place has dry-rotten the rafters. So it's a public hazard and I'm out of business. Has it got dry-rotten the rafters? Yeah. Well then, why don't you fix it up? Because after I spend 200 bucks for that along comes a fire inspector and there's something wrong with the wiring. You can't win. So when the inspectors come around and their annual visit you slip them in ten apiece and that's the end of it, eh? Yeah. Until the next time. Did it ever occur to you that these crooks couldn't lay a finger on you if it weren't for the fact that you're breaking the law yourself? Look, lady, what's your angle? Look, if we can prove to you, using your own figures, that you can make more money in the long haul by getting rid of this slot machine and by keeping it, would you go along with us? Uh... Sure. Sure, why not? All right. Now, how much do you think it would cost to bring the rafters and the wiring up? That's how it went for six weeks. Mrs. Brand, Mr. Beacons and I crisscrossed the county selling enlightened self-interest to anyone who'd listened. We got results too, slowly at first, but gradually people began to respond. We just hammered away at one point. It cost less, to be honest. I knew we were making progress but I didn't realize how much until one afternoon, when Mr. Weeks stuck his head into the cubbyhole I was using for an office. I announced a visitor. Mr. Dallas? Uh-huh. It's the mayor. Mr. Discoley, I'd like to see you. Mr. Dallas, I was told this was your office and I took the liberty of looking in. Well, come on in. Sit down. If you don't mind, Mr. Weeks. Not at all, Mayor. Not at all. I'll see you around. I'll get right to the point, Dallas. I know that you've stirred up quite a fuss in this county. Fuss? What fuss is that? Oh, come on now, don't be coy. I mean this reform party of yours. Oh, you've got it wrong, Mr. Discoley. We haven't started any party. Now, look here, Dallas. I know who put you up to this. That Beacons fellow and Senator Brand's widow. I'd just like to know what you're getting out of it. Not a thing. There isn't any party, Mr. Discoley. Isn't any campaign literature or any platform? I happen to know that Beacons kicked me in the fall. All you knew that six months ago, Mr. Discoley. This isn't a political organization. Why, if you think it is, why don't you try to take it over? Well, I was coming to that. Come in. Tom, we just... Oh, I didn't know you had a visit. Oh, come on in, Mayor. You too, Mr. Beacons. Mr. Discoley might just as well put his proposition up to all of us. Hey, think I'll be going, Mr. Dallas. No, no, no. Stick around. We're practical people. What's your offer? Can I speak freely, Mrs. Brand? Why, certainly. You won't mind, will you, Jim? Not in the slightest. Well, I'll put my cards on the table. You folks are getting results around Rodneyville. I'll admit that. And I, for one, have no objection to a little reform now and then. I think it's a good idea. And you've been very sportsman-like about this so far. You haven't come out against me openly. You haven't even pointed a finger in my direction. I want you to know I appreciate that. I appreciate it enough to show my gratitude in a very substantial way. Just, uh, how do you mean, Mr. Discoley? Well, there's room enough for everyone in this county, Mrs. Brand. I could make it worth your while if you and Mr. Beacons were to support me in the election this fall. I don't see how you could, Mr. Discoley. Oh, come now. No, seriously, Mr. Discoley, you don't have much to offer us at all. The illegal gambling in this county is on the decline. There's not much money there. That's a point, Mr. Driscoll. And the way people have been conforming to the other laws around here lately, probably the graft has dropped off to practically nothing. Now, listen, I didn't come down here to make funny conversation. Oh, we're not trying to be funny, Mr. Driscoll. This is a serious business. Your machines coming apart at the seams. Your own people are starting to desert you. If you can't keep them satisfied, what can you do for us? I can handle my end, don't you worry. I don't know the way things are going. We can't very well go out and tell the voters that you want them to start breaking the law again. They've found out it costs less the other way. You're all talking like a lot of featherheads. Let's be practical. I'm afraid that's the trouble, Mr. Mayor. Rodney Villa's gotten a jump on us. It's gone ahead and become so practical that by this fall a man won't be able to make a dishonest dollar around here. All right. Have your little joke. I was crazy to try talking sense to you in the first place. Good day to all of you. Well, Tom, I think we've done it. Yeah. We and the people are Rodney Villa. And you said it wouldn't work, Tom. Yeah. Remember? Yeah, I guess that's what's wrong with this game. What? It's so simple, most people wouldn't hit on it. Well, that's the story. I went back to the Capitol and wrote a 10,000-word feature piece on it. It should never get published. People won't believe it, my editor told me. We'd get laughed out of the newspaper business. It reads like a fairy tale. So it never saw a print. But that fall I covered the election in Rodney Villa and Jim Beacon's won-by-lad slide. I tried to tell my editor there was a connection between that story and this one, but he wouldn't swallow it. So I guess I can't very well blame you. You don't either. Here's your host, Lionel Barrymore. I've had some wonderful experiences in my life, but I drank high among them out of hearing a symphony orchestra playing some of your own compositions. To hear the cellos throbbing with warmth over the notes you wrote. To hear the violin singing the melody and muted appeal. To hear the horns enriching each phrase and bar. It's like giving creation back to the creator. Yes. They'll tell you music is the universal language. And it does approach it, certainly. But I think there's a much more universal language. Prayer. From the infant, lisping phrases newly learned and not yet quite understood to the old person dying on a bed of pain with life's meaning now clearer before dimming eyes. Eh. There's a symphony for you far above me, a man to comprehend. In such a symphony, there are no scratchy fiddles and no untuned strings or broken reeds. Just one vast harp. The harp of a thousand strings. Each voice of prayer is a voice in tune. For it's tune to the infinite concert master who hears every pulsing string and throbbing note, every gentle rhythm and tender harmony. Now, every family at prayer is such a symphony. Let's remember that the family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. From Hollywood, Family Theater has brought you Revolution and Rodney Bill, starring Wendell Corey. Lionel Barrymore was your host. Others in our cast were Vivi Janus, Fred Shields, Jack Krushen, Norman Field and Pat McGeehan. The script was written by John T. Kelly with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and was directed and transcribed by Joseph F. Mansfield. This series of Family Theater broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who feel the need for this type of program. By the Mutual Network, which has responded to this need and by the hundreds of stars of stage, screen and radio who give so unselfishly of their time and talent to appear on our Family Theater stage. To them and to you, our humble thanks. This is Tony LaFranco expressing the wish of Family Theater that the blessing of God may be upon you and your home and inviting you with us next week when Family Theater will present the latest things starring Ed Sullivan and William Gargan. Join us, won't you? This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.