 More things are rothed by prayer than this world dreams of. The mutual broadcasting system in cooperation with Family Theater Incorporated presents the Tin Whistle, starring Robert Young. Fred McMurray is your host. You've probably heard it said that Hollywood is the crossroads of the world. It's true you meet people here from almost any place you can mention. People with all kinds of ideas, people with problems. And once in a while you meet someone with a good solution to a problem. I met someone like that recently, and he has a wonderful idea. It's a simple yet perfect solution to the unhappiness, misunderstanding, and disruption that occurs in family life today. The solution is this. Pray together as a family. And why? Because in a prayerful home where there is respect for God, there is also respect for one another. A respect that brings harmony and happiness. Respect that brings understanding, forgiveness, and unchanging love. That's why we say, pray together as a family. Make daily family prayer a family practice. And you too will learn what so many have discovered. A simple fact, that family prayer brings happiness and harmony into a home. This morning, quite by accident, I came upon an old newspaper item concerning Miss Margaret Rice, who was a teacher at the grammar school I attended. It's been 26 years since I last saw Miss Margaret Rice. She must have been about 33 at the time, and I was nine. My first impulse was to destroy the old newspaper clipping and to dismiss it from my mind. But then I began to realize I've been trying not to think about Miss Margaret Rice all my life, and that I shall never escape the torment of her memory. It was on my ninth birthday that my father gave me the whistle. Although I received many fine presents, with the unpredictableness of youth, the whistle became my proudest possession. It was a small tin thing with a barrel stock, not more than an inch in diameter. When you blew on it, it made a high shrill blast, not unlike a police whistle. I gave it a tentative toot, and then put it aside to play with my other presence till bedtime. Martin, put your skates in the box now. It's time you were in bed. Oh, please, Mom. Can I stay out and play some more? It's my birthday, and while these skates you gave me, you're my favorite present. No, Martin. Please, Mom. I don't want to go to bed. It's a half hour past your bedtime already. Then will you come up when I'm in bed and kiss me goodnight? All right, but just for a minute. Your father and I have a lot to do tonight, and he's had a difficult day. He's always got work to do. Your father has to work hard to buy us the nice things we have, like your presents here. You gave me these skates. He didn't. I want to take my skates and whistle upstairs with me. May I, Mom? Yes, all right. Here, let me hang the whistle around your neck. Now go inside and say goodnight to your father, dear. When I got into bed that night, I waited a while, but my mother didn't come. The whistle was still around my neck, and I didn't dare to blow it at full blast because if my father was working, he'd be angry. Either my mother didn't hear it downstairs or she didn't pay any attention to it. And I got out of bed and started down the stairs. Halfway down the stairs, looking through the banister rail, I could see my mother sitting there with my father in front of the fire. He had his arm around her and her head was resting on his shoulder. Tadah. Yes, it's been a long day. How's Martin behaving himself? Fine. I had to let him stay up a little while. After all, it was his birthday, and he's becoming quite a man now. Did you see how excited he was about his presence? Yeah, he liked those skates, all right. But I don't think he thought much of that whistle. Well, he wouldn't blow it indoors, dear. But I'm sure when he plays outdoors tomorrow... What was that? Martin, what do you mean scaring your mother like that? Don't you know better than to blow that thing that way? Please don't say anything to him tonight. It's his birthday, you know. It wasn't long before my father began to regret that I had been given a whistle. It held a growing fascination for me. And I was seldom without it, whether out of doors or in the house. Martin, stop that noise! Martin, did you hear me? All right, all right, I heard you. Gosh, I can't have any fun. What did you say? Nothing. Why can't I blow my whistle? Because it makes too much noise. It's getting so, we have to listen to that thing from morning to night, and I just won't stand for it. Now you'll either promise never to blow it in the house again or I'll take it away from you. Now, which is it going to be? But I don't have to blow it so loud. See, I can make it very soft. Martin, your father said not to blow it in the house. Now you either take it outdoors this minute or I'll have to... All right, I'm going. Gosh, what a house. I can't do anything. Can't have any fun. Now I have an adult's appreciation of how horrible it must have sounded. But at the time I felt persecuted and it made the little tin whistle seem more important to me than ever. I endowed it with a personality as if it could appreciate my righteous indignation. I took advantage of every opportunity to express my defiance through its shrill voice. Because of my possessive fascination with the whistle, I remember I got into several fights. As a result of one of them, I lost one of my closest boyhood friends. Hi, Martin. What you doing? Hi, George. I was just polishing the whistle. Look, gee, that's keen. Let me blow it once, huh? No, I haven't finished polishing it yet. Why you never let me blow it? I'm not going to eat it. I know, but I just want to finish polishing it first. Then you'll have some other excuse. What's so wonderful about a tin whistle? I think it was made of gold or something. Oh, you're just jealous because you haven't got one. Oh, yeah? I could have one if I wanted it. My father even bought me one once. Yeah? What happened to it? Well, I lost it. I didn't care. Shucks, who cares about a stupid whistle? Well, I care about mine and I'm not going to lose it. That's why I don't let everybody blow it. Okay, forget it. What'll we do? Want to play catch? No, let's play cops and robbers. Sure, just so you can blow your whistle. I'm tired of playing cops and robbers. You always have to be the cop. Sure, cops got to have whistles, don't they? Or else how would they be able to warn people? How about letting me be the cop just for once? I can be as good a one as you. No. Then I won't play. You just think about yourself. You're selfish. All the kids say so. I'm not selfish. Don't say that. You are so. You're just a selfish guy. I said don't say that. Oh, yeah? What are you going to do about it? Selfish? There, I said it again. Selfish, selfish, selfish. You dirty, I'll show you. Okay, if that's what you want, you're dead. Yeah, that's the way I want it, boy. His name was George. I've forgotten his last name now. He was one of my best friends, but we were never friends again after that day. I often had to play alone, being my own cop to an imaginary robber. Stop! Stop, don't shoot! Bang, bang, bang! My teacher in the fourth grade was Miss Rice. We often referred to her as Old Lady Rice, but I realize now she could have been only 33 or four. I remember I used to hide in the bushes on the corner of the schoolyard during recess and give a blast of my whistle, which sounded like a police whistle to passing motorists. I mean, Palmer, I see you. Come out of those bushes. Do you hear me? Yes, Miss Rice. Well, you're blowing that whistle at the automobiles, Martin. I was just having some fun. Well, that's not a very thoughtful way of having fun. Mr. Barclay's had complaints about this from motorists, but he didn't know who was responsible. Shucks, I can't see anything wrong in just playing a little game. Give me that whistle. It's my whistle. My father gave it to me. I'm not asking questions, Martin. I'm giving you a direct order. Give it to me. Oh, shucks. Thank you. Now, when you promise not to do this again, I'll return your whistle. You'll be sorry for this. I'll tell my father on you. You'll be good and mad. I'm not worried. Remember, I'll be waiting for your promise. I'll never promise. You'll see. My father can thank Mr. Barclay any day in the week. I was called down to the principal's office at the end of the day. In these austere surroundings, I felt like a small culprit. Mr. Barclay wore a very high, stiff collar that seemed to push his chin up and made him look even more imposing. I guess he was quite a handsome man, but he looked like an ogre to me then. Martin, what is the meaning of this? Of what? Why were you blowing this whistle at passing automobiles? Don't you know you could cause a serious accident? Did she tell you that? I've had several complaints from motorists lately about this. Miss Rice told me she caught you out at this morning. What have you to say for yourself? Nothing. Very well. Miss Rice, will you please step in here a moment? Yes, Mr. Barclay. Miss Rice, I think you would better keep Martin after school today for an hour while he meditates about what he has done. And here is his whistle. He is not to have it back until he promises he will not use it to frighten people. I understand. Come on, Martin. He's sorry, both of you. There's not the proper attitude, Martin. You'll stay after school every day for a week until you learn to realize that. So as not to penalize you too much, Miss Rice, I'll drive you home. You'll stop by when you're ready to leave. Thank you, Mel. Mr. Barclay. I was determined to get even with them and show them they couldn't keep my whistle. I told the other kids that Miss Rice kept me after school every day just so she could wait for Mr. Barclay to drive her home. This, of course, provided a juicy item for conversation, especially among the girls. They even made up songs about it. Hi, she can't fool me. She. The girls drew hearts on the sidewalk and on the sides of buildings, with Miss Rice's and Mr. Barclay's initials on them. The boys held up there in, too. Old man Barclay and old lady Rice, stay after school. Ain't that nice. I think the first time Miss Rice had any evidence of what was going on behind her back was the day she caught me passing a note to a girl who sat at the desk across the aisle from her. The Lewis and Clark Expedition was authorized by Congress in 1803. Their object was to obtain further information about the country west of the Mississippi River, to discover what the regents had to offer of value, and to search out the Indian tribes there. Lucy, shh. Here, take this note. No, she'll see us. Oh, she won't? Here, take it. It's funny. All right, but be careful. Until they reach the forks of the Missouri and name them the Martin Palmer, can you tell me what they named the three rivers? What did you say, Miss Rice? I knew you weren't paying attention. Lucy, bring me that note. Well, Miss Rice, I don't. You heard me. Bring it here immediately. Quick, tear it up. Don't let her see it. Oh, I knew she'd see us. Why didn't you let her see it? Lucy, I'm curious to see what is of more interest to you two at this point than the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Hand me the note, Lucy. I didn't want to take it. Martin made me honest. Quiet now, quiet. Now then, let me see what be so important. I'll bet Miss Rice and Mr. Bu- Lucy, is this the note Martin gave to you? Yes, Miss Rice. I didn't want to take it, but he made me. No, no, mind, Lucy. You may take your seat. Martin, come up here. But, Miss Rice, I was only- I said to come up here this minute. Yes, ma'am. Martin, did you write this note? Answer me, did you write this note? Yes, ma'am, but I- Why? Did you think it would be funny? No, ma'am. I mean, well, I was only making a joke. Is this your idea of a joke? Rediculing people, making fun of them behind their backs? But I didn't mean to make fun. Do you think Mr. Barclay would think this was funny? No, ma'am. I think it was a low, mean, disgraceful thing to do. A man like Mr. Barclay. So fine, so, so- Martin, how could you? I've forgotten now what the note said. Maybe I want to forget. But it must have been something very cruel and nasty. I remember I was stunned by Miss Rice's sudden reaction and somewhat frightened. I had expected her to slap me or to take me by the ear and march me down to Mr. Barclay's office. But she did none of those things. She just left me standing there as she ran sobbing from the room. I looked around at my classmates and the expression on my face must have been ludicrous. Because suddenly they began to laugh. It surprised me at first because I was still shocked by Miss Rice's peculiar behavior. But as the laughter continued, it swept me up and I began to laugh with her. Then suddenly, I realized that they're not laughing at me. But of course, I was a hero. I had put one over on Miss Rice. It was after school the next day before Miss Rice accorded me any direct attention. She called me to her desk and said that Mr. Barclay had directed that I was to remain after school every day until I apologized. So it was, every day I remained after school. All the time a silent feud was growing between me and Miss Rice. I was determined that I would make her give me back my tin whistle and I was just as determined that I would never apologize. She never called upon me to recite or answer questions. Then my lessons were received and graded without comment. It was as if I was in possession of some dark secret concerning her private life. And she wished not to remind herself of that fact. The girls in the class continued their fascinated speculation. Know what? None of the other teachers like her. Why do you suppose? It's because they're old maids and they think maybe Mr. Barclay will marry her. Probably in their way, the girls guessed right. Most of the teachers were strict, proper, straight laced. And Miss Rice was definitely much younger and much prettier than any of them. It was a small school in a small town. Once going home late after school, I overheard two teachers talking. I really feel it's not proper, not proper at all, not in front of susceptible young minds. What I don't understand is Mr. Barclay. He's so careful in most respects. He obviously dreams of being county superintendent someday. So that was it. Miss Rice was really in love with Mr. Barclay and he was taken with her. But he was timid, not sure of how things would influence his getting on in the world. I remember only this about Mr. Barclay. He wore a very high stiff collar that seemed to push his chin up. I guess he was quite a handsome man. Finally, my continued lateness in getting home was noticed. My father spoke to me about it. But why does Miss Rice keep you after school? She just doesn't like me. She took that whistle you gave me away from me. Well, now, son, maybe she had a good reason for taking the whistle. Are you sure you weren't doing anything wrong? Honest, I wasn't. I was just standing by the water fountain getting a drink when she came up behind me and grabbed the whistle. She said it made her nervous. Martin, you're positive you weren't blowing it? Not even a little bit? No, I wasn't. Gee, I don't blow it all the time, mom. There's some doubt on that point. You certainly didn't give us much rest around the house while you had it. Just the same, Tom. I think it was downright unfair of Miss Rice to take advantage of him. Just because she doesn't happen to like whistle. She's just a fussy old maid. Now, that isn't necessary, Martin. Her being unmarried has nothing to do with it. But really, Tom, you should talk it over with her. Get her side of the story. Oh, Dad, don't have to talk it over to her. Couldn't he give me a note or something? Just as good as his seeing her. Well, maybe I ought to see her. I'd like to see just what sort of a person she is. She's the newest teacher, isn't she? She and Mr. Barkley are stuck on each other. They stay after school all the time and smooth. Martin, you mustn't say such things. It's true. How do you know? Everybody says so. Have you ever seen them? Well, I, well, sure, I've seen them lots of times. Jesus, things they do. Martin, is this true? You've actually seen them? Well, didn't I tell you? Do you think I'm a liar? Oh, of course not, dear. Tom, this is disgraceful. Right in the school where the children can see them. Young, susceptible minds. Somebody ought to speak to the school board. Oh, it's probably not as serious as it sounds. You know how kids exaggerate? Things happen fast after that. My mother and father became terribly interested in the affairs of Miss Rice and Mr. Barkley. And they communicated their interest to other parents. For my part, I had just one idea. First to get back my tin whistle, and to get it back without making any promises or any apologies. Who does she think she is? Miss High and Mighty. Think she's got influence because she's teacher's pet. Well, sure. I'll make her give me back my tin whistle. I feel a little sick even 26 years later when I think of that hearing. The school board had to take action. The grown-ups had convinced themselves that this was a scandal. Our young, susceptible minds were in danger of being tainted. It was all rather shame-faced and mean-spirited. Martin, did you ever see Mr. Barkley kissing Miss Rice? Yes, sir. Where? In his office. I saw them. They kissed each other lots of times. Thank you, Martin. Miss Hennessey. Yes, sir. Miss Hennessey, as a teacher in a Princeville grammar school, are you of the opinion that there has been anything, shall we say, out of the ordinary going on between Miss Margaret Rice and Mr. Melvin Barkley? Well, I hate gossips and always have. But I've been a teacher in Princeville for over 32 to be exact. And I have always tried to do the best job I could. And be proud of my duty to guide the destinies of the younger generation. Yes, yes, yes, Miss Hennessey. But answer my question. Would you say Miss Rice and Mr. Barkley have been setting a poor example for the students in their school? Well, I've always held Mr. Barkley in the highest respect. Well, frankly, I don't know a thing. Not directly. I wish you wouldn't insist. There really wasn't any evidence. Just mine. But nobody stepped forward to defend Miss Margaret Rice. Not the students, not the teachers. And the witness stand, Mr. Barkley, was extremely stiff and prim. I should like the permission of the board to read a short statement into the record. You may proceed, Mr. Barkley. I, Melvin Barkley, declare that at no time has there ever been anything improper between myself and any member of the teaching staff at Princeville Grammar School. Eight years in this position, no breath of suspicion has ever before been heard against my record. I have at all times been conscious of my solemn obligation to conduct myself in such a way as to provide the susceptible minds of youth with an example of firm, dignified, and impartial behavior. What attentions have you paid Miss Margaret Rice? My attitude toward Miss Rice has always been correct. And our relationship has always been limited to school affairs. Mr. Barkley, I feel obligated to put a question very bluntly. Are you in love with Miss Rice? I, no, sir. To your knowledge, is Miss Rice in love with you? Really, sir, I'm sure I don't know. This is most embarrassing. As a gentleman, I... I shall never forget the last time I saw Miss Rice. It was the morning following the announcement of her dismissal. She came to the school to collect her belonging before a new teacher had been assigned to our class. All of the children watched silently when she came into the classroom and walked to her desk and went through the drawers. Nobody moved, and you could hear the sound of short, quick breathing all around the room. Some of the girls were sniffling. Miss Rice found what she was looking for. Martin Palmer? Yes, Miss Rice? Come here, please. Don't... don't be frightened. It's all right. I... I believe this is your whistle, Martin. Yes, ma'am. Do you think you could behave yourself, no? Yes, ma'am. Thank you. Goodbye, children. I remember I stood there clutching the little tin whistle in my hand, possessively, watching Miss Rice leave the room. I looked around at the class, and their faces were as stiff and white as chalk. I felt they were waiting for me to do something, some act that would break the tension and snap us all back to the free and relaxed normalcy of the classroom. The only thing I could think of was the whistle. I put it to my lips and blew it at the departing Miss Rice defiantly and with all my might. When I went home that afternoon, I showed the whistle to my mother, and she smiled with satisfaction, warning me not to make a nuisance of myself with it. But strangely enough, the whistle no longer fascinated me. I no longer cared about hiding in the bushes and scaring motorists, nor in using it to play cops and robbers. One day I gave it a final toot, threw it into my closet junk box and went on to other interests. I never saw Miss Rice again. I heard my parents say she went to live with her family somewhere in the middle west. Mr. Barkley was later reported teaching in an obscure Southern town. He had not cut a very pretty figure. There was an ugly smoldering cloud of shame over our town for several weeks after the school board meeting. I was rummaging through some boxes of old things today when I came upon that newspaper clipping 26 years ago. Miss Margaret Rice, 33, until recently a teacher in the Princeville Grammar School, died in her father's home following a short illness. Cause of death was described as due to an infection which at first was diagnosed by doctors as of a trivial nature. These words whipped across my memory. It caused me to wince for the boy I had been. As if to mock me, I absentmindedly picked up the little tin whistle which was in the box of old things. Was now battered in musty. Almost involuntarily I put it to my lips and blew. The whistle left a sharp rancid taste in my mouth. Oh God, God forgive me. There's a school in life we all attend and whether willingly or otherwise in the school of experience we learn this lesson. No one can be completely independent in himself. All of us must acknowledge a power and goodness above and beyond us. Yes, our strength and goodness come from God through the power of prayer. And there's no substitute for the influence of family prayer to keep our families together. Then difficulties and sorrows and troubles become easier to bear. Because we have not only the sincere sympathy of those we love and the kindness of those who love us, we have God's most powerful help. That's why we are convinced it is all important to set aside some time every day to gather together as a family and pray. Daily family prayer means God is there in our homes. And we know this, a family that prays together, stays together. This is Fred McMurray saying good night and God bless you. You have just heard Robert Young as Martin in the tin whistle, a family theater play by Richard Burdick. Max Tehr directed the orchestra and Mel Williamson directed. John Ryder produced the program. Others who appeared in our play tonight were Frances Whitfield, Jerry Farber, Charles Seal, Tommy Bernard, Mary Lansing, Hal Gerrard, Jean Layton, and Anne Whitfield. Your host was Fred McMurray. Next week, our family theater star will be Roddy McDowell in the world of David Lee. Your hostess will be Anne Blythe. This series of the family theater broadcast is made possible by the thousands of you who felt the need for this kind of program by the Mutual Broadcasting System which has responded to this need. And by a friend of the New York Foundling Hospital which cares for homeless and motherless babies without distinction of race, creed, or color. Tony LaFranco speaking. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.