The Halls of Ivy, starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman.
Good evening, this is Ronald Coleman.
And Vanita Coleman.
Inviting you to join us again on the campus of Ivy College.
And now, the Halls of Ivy.
Welcome again to Ivy, Ivy College that is, in the town of Ivy, USA.
The final weeks of any college semester are crowded ones.
Dr. William Todd Hunter Hall, president of Ivy, has just put in a strenuous day at his office,
and returns home to number one faculty row and his wife, Victoria, with gratitude and relief.
Vicki, Vicki, you home? I hope.
Oh, hello, lamb. You sound tired.
Yes, your tired lamb has returned to the fold, and about ready to.
Ready to what?
The fold.
Well, collapse in your chair, darling, and tell me all about it.
If you don't mind, I'd rather not. That would require a recharging of my mental batteries,
and at the moment I would away with thinking.
Which away? That away?
No, I'll put it this away.
I devoutly hope that we have nothing on the calendar for this evening.
Not a thing. Louise is going out tonight to have a date alone with your wife.
Ah, a date alone with my wife to the exclusion of the rest of the world is a unique and happy event.
And when I think of the schedule for the next two weeks...
Oh, I know, the faculty dinner Friday. On this weekend we have the president's reception.
Oh, yes, a week from tonight. Next Wednesday the Wellmans are coming here for dinner.
Oh, yes. Now, why did I forget that?
Freudian block, perhaps.
I made the date a month ago. The Wellmans are the kind of people you can't invite at the last minute.
They always think the people you really wanted suddenly drop dead, and you only ask them out of desperation.
Excuse me, Dr. Hall.
Oh, good evening, Louise.
Is it all right now?
I wasn't aware that anything was wrong.
If I don't, the prices change.
Then by all means, do.
Thank you. Thank you. And, Mrs. Hall, I cooked the chicken, but don't touch it.
Well, at today's prices, I'm not surprised it's sensitive.
I just don't know if I'm going to like it anyway since she's changed the color of her hair.
Who, the chicken?
She's almost old enough to be his mother.
Is that all, Dr. Hall?
Oh, yes, I think that takes care of everything.
Oh, just a moment, Louise, before you go. Is the cooked chicken for tomorrow night's dinner?
That's what I said, Mrs. Hall.
But you'll never get me to believe she's doing the singing.
Well, good night.
Good night, Louise.
And, Mrs. Hall, it's in the green one, but don't let it stand too long or it'll fall.
That's eggs for you.
Well, that's Louise there for you. How did you do, Toddy?
I thought you dropped more stitches than usual tonight.
All I know is that I'm quite hungry, and the chicken is for tomorrow night.
By tomorrow, I'll have to be fed intravenously.
I'm sure that whatever is about to fall is in my new green casserole.
It's probably one of her superb cheese, cheese-flavored casserole.
Good. But what did she mean about the change in prices?
Well, I expect she was going to the movies. But who is it that's changed the color of her hair?
Oh, her name is Legion.
Thanks to the, thanks to the amazing advances of our technological culture,
my lady can now match her hair to her gloves, her purse, or her mood.
Once found only on an automobile, the convertible top is now in the
matter of cosmetics.
And the permanent, which is so ridiculously temporary, is one of the...
Oh, well, I expect Louise has forgotten her key. I'll get it, darling.
But you go right ahead with your beauty shop lecture.
And by the way, do you think you could fit me in tomorrow afternoon
about 4.30 for a shampoo and finger wave?
Well, I don't know. Professor Heaslip's coming in for a manicure at two.
I'll have to look at my appointment book.
What, Mr. Merriweather, come in!
Well, thank you, ma'am.
How nice of you to call.
It's nice of you to say nice, ma'am, when we both know that this is an unholy hour for visiting.
Oh, Charles, kind. Glad to see you.
Sit down. You're just in time to hear Richard Hudnut Hall on the subject of modern makeup
or what foundation cream to use when building a foundation for a creamer in.
No, Charles, I shall not subject you to my lecture.
No, Charles, I shall not subject you to my layman's opinions on such an esoteric aspect of American life.
Oh, esoteric, maybe, but don't give your wife any lessons in lily-gilding.
That schoolgirl complexion needs no more schooling.
She has graduated magna cum wolf whistle.
Now, Mr. Merriweather, that's what I call finesse in flattery.
Oh, not flattery, ma'am, just honest gasping admiration.
Now, Charles, you are a gratifying relic left over from the age of gallantry.
Unfortunately, the art of praise has been neglected in this hard-bitten, pungent period of hours
when compliments are reduced to such frightening phrases as slick chick, dreamboat, and hot shot.
You're gone, kid, real gone.
Well, I like to think of myself as a gallant character.
In the secret life of Walter Mitty Merriweather, he sees himself in a scarlet cape and plumed hat on bended knee.
It's an odd place to wear a plumed hat.
Oh, I don't know. There's something so plebeian about a plain kneecap.
Now, now, finish this revolting picture, Charles. I find it quite cloak and sordid.
Yes, proceed, Sir Lancelot, or go on, Gawain.
Don't encourage me, ma'am. I'm just a lock and bar at heart and love laughs at lock and bars of my age.
But there's nothing romantic about my reason for dropping by this evening.
Bill, does the name J.B. Radcliffe mean anything to you?
Radcliffe? Oh, yes, I think Mr. Wellman did mention him.
Well, I'll brief you briefly.
Radcliffe is an Ivy alumnus who has been living for years in comparative obscurity until Clarence suddenly discovered he'd become a millionaire.
Unhappily, Clarence was in my office a week ago when J.B. called to say he'd be going through Ivy tonight.
Naturally, Clarence invited himself along for dinner.
Naturally, Clarence saw the handwriting on the endowment, didn't he?
Yes, ma'am. But Radcliffe is not what you might call a nammard of Wellman.
In fact, he thinks Clarence is a clunk.
I tried to tell him what a fine man he was, how the Wellman ancestors were good Mayflower stock,
how the Wellmans founded a certain city in New England, and Radcliffe said, what's it a marble head?
That will give you an idea.
Well, is there anything I can do to alleviate the situation?
Send Mr. Wellman a telegram saying his soup factory's on fire and the malagatoni got too hot.
Yes, we might send it collect so he'd shoot the messenger boy and get arrested.
We've got to gag Clarence somewhere.
Better just let him run his course and hope for the best.
After all, with a possible million-dollar endowment in sight, he might be quite a graceful dinner companion.
He'll be too graceful. He'll butter Radcliffe like a breakfast bun.
Now, believe me, I can get more folding money out of him with a few friendly insults
than Clarence could extract with flattery, prayer, cajolery, and asking to see snapshots of his grandchildren.
Well, it's my problem, kiddies. Wish me well.
We do, Mr. Merriweather. May the Radcliffe fountain pen run freely tonight.
Yes, and please let us know what success you have.
I shall. And if in a moment of mad sanity I stab Clarence with a lobster fork and they send me up the river,
use your influence with the governor to get me a low number.
Bye now.
Goodbye.
I believe you know how fond I am of Mr. Merriweather, darling,
but I am glad that he, and not us, has Mr. Wilman on his hands for dinner tonight.
Dinner? Vicki, I'm starved.
Lock the doors, barricade the windows, muzzle the telephone, and let's have at the soufflé.
Wasn't it cozy, Toddy? Just you and me and lighted candles in a sink full of dishes.
Want some more coffee?
No, thank you, darling. I am surfeited, satisfied, replete, and full.
I doubt if I can eat again until sometime late in August.
Well, you go in the other room and curl up with a chest problem, and I'll do the dishes.
We'll do the dishes.
No, no, my goodness. Only a few thousand of them, said she, with a brave little smile.
Oh, very well, if you don't mind.
But as you insist, of course. Here, here's an apron for you.
Apron? Well, haven't you something not quite so dretty? These ruffles, after all.
Very becoming to you.
Turn around, I'll tie it up for you.
Thank you, dear. I've met to a certain inability to tie a bow knot.
Oh, no, not visitors.
I'll chase them away. I'll tell them Dr. Hall is not at home.
Yeah, just poke your head out of the door and say, your mother doesn't want any.
Well, with this apron on, they'll think I'm my mother.
Good evening, Dr. Hall. Well, we're here.
Mr. Wellman.
We are not late.
Oh, Mrs. Wellman.
Clarence and I have been looking forward to this evening.
Well, good evening. Come in.
Thank you.
Ah, you see the little woman has put you to work, Dr. Hall. Lending a helping hand in the kitchen?
Oh, no, buddy. I think we have a treat in store for us tonight.
I'll bet, Dr. Hall, that you're preparing the dinner yourself.
Dinner? Well, I...
Yes, indeed. I put a ring around this date on my calendar.
Dinner, June 11th.
There's a little verse at the top of that calendar, too, says,
breaking of engagements is for the socially inept.
An appointment is a promise and a promise must be kept.
I think that's a very... But where's Mrs. Hall?
Why, she's out in the kitchen.
Fixing up some little curlicues and doodads, huh?
Well, that's for me.
Always eat so many appetizers, never can eat any dinner.
And the roast always has the roast left for Sunday night supper.
Left overwhelming, they call me.
The man who came to dinner couldn't eat any.
Well, perhaps I can help, Mrs. Hall. I'll just trot out to the kitchen.
No, no, no, no, no, no, please, please.
We only put our guests to work when there is something really difficult to do,
like fixing the plumbing or painting the...
No, no, no, no, no, please sit down.
I'll go and see what I can do to save the situ... I mean...
Help me with the...
Well, make yourselves comfortable, won't you? I'll be with you in a moment.
Take your time, man. Take your time.
Got all evening, you know.
Vicki, Vicki!
Did you get rid of whoever it was?
Vicki, it's the Wellmans. They've come for dinner.
But they can't! I mean, it's next week.
And besides, we've had dinner!
We'll have to eat another.
They're all dressed up for the occasion.
But, I... What do we have? There's nothing in the...
Oh, yes, there's Louise's chicken.
Well, if you can stall them, maybe I can sneak upstairs and get dressed.
Mr. Wellman obviously confused our invitation for next week
with the Merriweather Radcliffe dinner tonight.
Then we've got to keep in here, if I was going to get that endowment.
Yes, we'd better.
I'm appalled at the prospect of another dinner,
but, as Byron said, all history attests that happiness for man,
the hungry sinner, since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner.
The Voice of America is bringing you this presentation
of The Halls of Ivy, starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Colman.
Here today...
And now we return to The Halls of Ivy.
It's a few moments later, and Dr. and Mrs. Hall are in their kitchen,
feverishly trying to throw a dinner together for their unexpected guests,
Mr. and Mrs. Wellman, who are sitting in the living room.
Bertha Wellman is saying...
It's an old room, but really quite lovely, Bunny.
Of course, I could never live with those drapes.
Why not? What's the matter with them?
Oh, they're much too busy.
Busy? Doing what? Just hanging there.
Well, I mean, Bunny, a quieter pattern.
Oh, and I should think she'd have more flowers around.
I've heard so much about her roses.
What's the matter with that clump on the piano? Very pretty.
Yes, for a party.
Bunny, what do you suppose has happened to their maid?
Don't know and don't care much.
Can't understand her anyway.
Always talks like she was skipping rope at the same time.
Relax, Bunny. They probably let her off for the night to make it more intimate.
Paul usually knows what he's doing and...
Hello, Mr. Wellman. Mrs. Wellman, I'm so sorry you had to wait,
but this has been one of those days when everything got mixed up.
Oh, I know just how that is, Mrs. Hall.
And then something unexpected came up for our housekeeper,
so I hope you won't mind having potluck.
Don't be modest, Mrs. Hall. We've been here before.
We know all about what kind of a dinner you serve.
Ah, here we are.
Everything finally seems to be organized in the culinary department.
I have a few hors d'oeuvres here that may help to assuage the pangs of hunger.
Mrs. Wellman?
Thank you. Now, let me see.
What's that intriguing little one there in the middle?
Oh, hors d'oeuvres are like magic tricks.
If you tell how they're done, everybody says,
oh, for heaven's sake, anybody could do that.
I love them and don't care how they're made.
I'd eat the cap off a beer bottle if it had a piece of cheese and a slice of olive on it.
A visual appeal, I suppose.
Now, in my soup advertising, I insist on full color.
How can you sell beautiful tomato soup in black and white ads?
Looks like a bowl of melted golf balls.
You know, I've always wondered why they're called hors d'oeuvres.
Well, it's from the French and means literally outside of the work.
Oh, how interesting. You mean outside of work I hate hors d'oeuvres most?
No, no, Vicky, but the origin of the phrase is not generally known.
It seems there was a pastry cook in the royal kitchens of Louis the Pious.
His name was Gaston Flambeau, and his specialty was serving tremendous pastries,
which when opened revealed beautiful peasant girls with lutes.
Lutes? You mean lieutenants?
No, no, Bunny. A lute was a musical instrument.
How did Gaston go from big pastries to hors d'oeuvres? Did he run out of peasant girls?
No, no, it was all due to the famine of the year 823.
You see, in desperation, the royal kitchens had to satisfy the royal appetite with reduced but tasty novelties.
And Gaston Flambeau was so successful at utilizing leftovers that he was made a duke.
Yes, this of course broke his spirit because his heart was in the kitchen.
He spent his last years hanging about the scullery, muttering hors d'oeuvres, hors d'oeuvres, out of work, out of work.
You see, Bertha, what'd I tell you? This man knows everything.
Oh, what a delightful bit of history.
Well, when better history is made, my boy'll make it.
Thank you, my darling.
Why can't you ever remember little facts like that, Bunny?
Bunny?
Well, you know, just a little nickname. We met on Easter.
Charming, charming.
I saw her flying across the churchyard, and I called her Bertie.
Now, Clarence, you know the halls aren't interested in hearing that old story.
Oh, on the contrary, Mrs. Wilman, I'm delighted to hear about such personal history.
Yes, Dr. Hall, I may be a bear as chairman of the Board of Governors, but when the day is done, after office hours...
You're a lamb, Mr. Wilman.
Well, thank you, Mrs. Hall.
Well, you too. Don't know what Dr. Hall would do without you.
Charm, balance, common sense, and taste.
Taste? Oh, well, thank you, Mr. Wilman. That's a perfect cue. Dinner is served.
Will you have another cup of coffee, Mr. Wilman?
No, thank you. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. It was in the spring of 1911 when George Usher...
No, no, Buddy. It was the fall of 1912, and it wasn't George. It was his cousin John.
You see, Dr. Hall, John Usher was an old friend of my family.
You remember the Ushers of North Platte, Nebraska?
Well, no. I don't believe them.
Oh, they were very prominent people. They had the largest sporting goods store in North Platte,
and it was no time at all before Clarence became manager.
Buddy, will you let me tell it, please? You're getting it all backwards.
Dr. Hall, I don't know whether I ever told you before, but I began my career by tying flies.
Flies? What do you tie them to?
The art of tying flies is strictly piscatorial.
But what about the humane society? The idea of tying up little flies?
Oh, my God!
But what about flies, Mrs. Hall? A trough fly makes it even worse. A house fly.
Not mine being tied up in the house, but a trough fly used to the great outdoors.
Mrs. Hall, these were artificial flies.
I don't think their social attitudes are important, Mr. Wilman.
Maybe they just acted artificial. I mean...
I'm sorry, dear. They were imitation flies made of silk and thread, used by fishermen as lures.
Yes, darling. Thank you. And now we're even for Gaston Flambeau.
But now tell us, Mr. Wilman, what happened after your successful career as a tie flyer?
A trough fly tie, my dear.
As a trough flyer? It doesn't sound right, does it? Trough flyer?
No, dear. Let's try forgetting it.
Excuse me. Dr. Hall speaking.
Hello, Bill. Merriweather.
Oh, hello, Mr. Merriweather.
I hope I didn't get you up.
Oh, no. As a matter of fact, we have company.
Oh, well, then I'll make this a short report. Radcliffe is in the bag.
Gave me a whopping big check for IV. Three quarters of a million.
And that ain't coleslaw, brother.
No, it's definitely more nourishing.
By the way, what do you suppose happened to Clarence? He never showed up.
Oh, it's been a delightful evening.
Whose evening?
Yes, the Wilmans were here for dinner, you know.
As a matter of fact, we were just sitting around chatting.
Oh! Oh! Oh, thanks, Bill. I don't know how you did it, but tell me all about your devious tactics tomorrow.
And now I give you back to Clarence and his birdie. Bye.
Bye, child.
Tell me, William, how is Mr. Merriweather feeling now?
Splendid, Victoria. Just splendid.
Oh, has he been sick? That's too bad. He's such a nice man.
Sick? Nonsense. I just saw him this morning. Looked perfectly all right to me.
As a matter of fact, we were supposed to be together.
That is, I distinctly marked the calendar. I put the ring around the rosie.
I mean, the date. I shouldn't be here. This is a trick.
Why, what do you mean, Mr. Wilman? Who would trick you, and for what?
Merriweather had dinner with Radcliffe tonight, didn't he?
Well, yes, Mr. Wilman. He did mention something.
Mention? That's where I was supposed to be, but you made me make a mistake.
That is, you misled. I thought I got my mix. That is, my date. I was sure. What happened?
Well, he had a dinner tonight, Mr. Wilman, remember?
Oh, you mean you weren't expecting us until next Wednesday. Oh, how dreadful of us, Mrs. Hall.
Oh, not at all, Mr. Wilman.
By Burmley, how could you?
Me? What did I do? I support that.
Well, Mr. Wilman, you were so emphatic about the fact that you had ringed this date that we thought perhaps we were the ones who had made the mistake.
Don't you try to crawl out of it now, Dr. Hall. You didn't make any mistake. I did.
All I want to know is why did you let me do it? You knew Merriwether and Radcliffe were expecting me.
You knew I had no business being here. So why didn't you throw me out? Why, Dr. Hall? Why?
You know, I enjoyed myself thoroughly tonight, Toddy, despite all that panic and mix-up.
And, incidentally, darling, was the dinner too bad?
Which dinner? The one we ate or the one the Wilmans ate?
Oh, excuse me.
Halleluja.
You too, Stiller.
Did you have a nice evening?
I don't know why I bothered. I couldn't see any difference in her hair at all.
Oh, that's too bad. After all, you're worrying.
It wasn't in technicolor, so how could you tell?
Well, I'm all done in. Good night.
Good night.
Darling, you know, I'm kind of done in myself.
Yes, our nice quiet evening. But it was well spent, Vicki. And may I say that you came through in the crisis magnificently.
Well, you know me. Quick study, and if you haven't got a script, you have to add lib.
Excuse me, Mrs. Hall. What happened to the chicken?
Oh, Louisa, we forgot to tell you. We had it for dinner. But the soufflé, that's gone too.
Well, we had two dinners, Louisa.
Were you that hungry, Dr. Hall?
No, no, but our guests were.
Well, it's not that I mind, but the chicken was for tomorrow night.
Yes, we know. But you may sleep tonight in the happy knowledge that your chicken may be listed with man's other feathered friends of history.
Such as which?
Well, such as the seagulls which saved the Mormon crops in Utah, the ravens which fed Elijah, the geese whose cackling warned an ancient city of an impending invasion.
What about my chicken?
Yes, darling, tie that fly. Connect it historically.
Well, Louisa, having your chicken on hand tonight made it possible for us to feed Mr. and Mrs. Wellman, thus setting Mr. Merriweather free to catch a benevolent goose which laid this college a golden egg.
We'll be seeing the next week at this same time at the Halls of Ivy starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Cullman.
Louisa is played by Elizabeth Patterson. Mr. Wellman is Herbert Butterfield. Mr. Merriweather is Gail Gordon. And Mrs. Wellman is Sarah Silver.
Tonight's script was written by Barbara Milton Merlin and Don Quinn. Music was composed and conducted by Henry Russell. Ken Carpenter speaking.
Oh, we love the Halls of Ivy that surround us here today.
This production of the Halls of Ivy was broadcast with an actual audience present in the studio.
And shimmer off in twilight like the old Vesperberg.
Applause.