Don, do you know what the pre-arranged signal is?
I don't know what you're talking about.
Claire, do you know what the signal is?
Signal from what?
Well, a few moments ago you were hypnotized and told that shortly after
awakening, you would be given a signal which would put you back to sleep again.
Now do you remember?
No.
I don't.
You're awake, aren't you?
Yes.
I think so.
Well, let's try a few things to see whether we can identify the signal.
Do you think it's strange to say that when farmland has been tended and cherished
for generations, it may come to cherish the people who live on and buy it, or
that the land loving its people keeps watch over them to guard them from harm?
The rug boys watch as hog carcasses are broken down into primal cuts.
After chilling, the carcass passes over a firmly anchored knife which
separates the two sides.
This is the first step in the disassembly of the pork side.
This large saw wheel then
cuts the shoulder from the side.
So much automation enters the industrial picture today that it is not surprising
to see the start of meat processing begin in this fashion.
Let's watch the development of the ham, one of the first meat
cuts to receive attention.
Painstaking care is given to ensure uniform removal of skin and fat.
A close inspection of the ham follows.
The ham slide down a shoot to the floor below where they are fed onto
the automatic scaling line.
Each bin
holds a given weight ham.
The pans are individual scales that automatically drop the weighed
ham into the correct bin.
Skillfully removing the bone of hams before processing the famous Hormel Cure 81
ham, canned ham, cooked ham, or ingredient meat for spam.
Very choice hams are saved for the production of the Cure 81s.
Precise trimming of external and internal fat takes place.
The shoulders supply the skins used in the production of gelatin.
The skins are fed into a grinder
and are shown emerging here.
A series of cooking, filtering, and chilling operations occur before the gelatin
is extruded onto a conveyor belt in this spaghetti-like form.
A moving arm now spreads the gelatin evenly on another belt conveyor.
This mattress of gelatin will travel through two dryers.
The dried gelatin is now broken down into small particles and conveyed by auger
to a grinder for final granulation.
The Here are scenes reminding us again that the place to learn about the
interests of the people is where they gather in large and revealing numbers.
For anyone curious about our national enthusiasms, our pleasures, and our
relaxations, the obvious and wise procedure is to go where they are
spontaneously displayed.
To walk with the jostling frongs, to follow the crowd to some stadium, for
example, where collegiate gladiators battle amid modern football pageantry, or to
a ballpark filled with ardent admirers of our national pastime, are the scene of
exciting watersports like this regatta along Maryland's historic shore where the
breeze is blowing keen and fresh and the skippers have met to
match their wits and their skill.
U.E. locals in Philadelphia and Camden organized a protest parade, an orderly
parade, headed by their country's flag in the hands of a
veteran of the German campaign.
To the tune of the Star Spangled Banner while everyone stood at attention.
But when the parade started, trouble began.
The flag was torn from the hands of the veterans.
The veteran was beaten.
When violence failed, the companies gave in. Big business was stopped.
The strikes were won and the contracts were safe in the hands of Secretary
-Treasurer Julius M. Spak.
Yes, big business was stopped.
With the CIO in the forefront, labor and the people won the first round.
But big business is not giving up. It is starting a new offensive.
Prices have zoomed. What we won in the strikes is being stolen back from us
through a big business congress.
Where are we going?
Well, you know what a company town looks like.
With
this congress re-elected, we'll have a company country with company housing,
company stores, company unions, company discrimination.
We'll have unemployment at home and ultimately
war abroad.
We know that mass evacuation can never be permitted if only for one reason, and
all important, the fact that every able-bodied person is needed in the city
before as well as after an attack.
Putting out fires, for example, will require help from everyone.
We must realize that in modern warfare, city dwellers find
themselves right in the front lines.
After an attack, our first responsibility will be to keep our heads
and get back to our jobs.
For each of us has a job to do. And no matter what happens, the people of the
city must be fed, clothed, supplied with electricity and heat.
The city must be kept alive and it will take everything the city has to do it.
You know Fred, actually staying in the city to help after an atomic attack is not
nearly as dangerous as a lot of people think.
The danger of, well, lingering radiation is not really very serious.
After an atomic air burst, the danger of radiation and falling debris is over
within a minute and a half.
Over and above that, we know from the experience of London, Berlin and other
European cities, that people didn't even want to leave their city.
Most of those who did leave soon began trickling back into town.
Of course, a few people should be evacuated, small children, be
aged, infirmed, so on.
These people should be moved voluntarily by their families,
not during an attack, of course.
But the able-bodied person must stay and help.
Modern warfare has no respect at all for civilians.
Like it or not, each of us has his share of fighting to do,
his share of danger to face.
Running away from that duty would be desertion, pure and simple.
In the army, it would mean court martial.
As a civilian, it would not only be reasonable, but it would mean having to live
with the knowledge that in deserting your responsibility, you failed yourself,
your family, your friends, your city.
The Three identical miniature frame houses, each with varying exterior
conditions, all the same distance from the point of the explosion.
The house on the right, an eyesore.
But you've seen these same conditions in your own hometown.
Old, unpainted wood, and look at the paper, leaves, and trash in the yard.
In a moment, you'll see the results of atomic heat flash on this house.
The house on the left, typical of many homes across the nation, heavily weathered
dry wood in runs, down condition.
This house is the product of years of neglect.
It has not been painted regularly.
It's dry and rotten.
A tinderbox ready to turn into a blazing torch.
The house in the middle, in good condition, with a clean, unlitered yard.
The exterior has been painted with ordinary, good-quality house paint.
Light painted surfaces reflect heat, and the paint also protects the wood
from weathering and moisture damage.
Let's watch the test now and see what happens under atomic heat.
The light flash, the heat wave, and clouds of dust.
Now let's go back and see it again in stop motion.
The light flash, the heat wave, and clouds of dust.
Keep your eye on the house on the right.
Notice how the heat wave affects it.
There's the fire starting in the trash surrounding the house.
Now it spreads to the house itself.
In a moment, the blast wave, and here it comes.
The house on the right is the first of ignite.
The trash serves as kindling for the dry, weathered wood.
The house on the left smolders for a few moments.
Looks almost as if it will not burn, and then bursts into flame.
The house on the left smolders for a few moments.
The house on the right continues to burn.
Two houses are a total loss, but the well-kept and painted house
in the middle still stands.
Which of these is your house?
This one?
The house on the right?
Dilapidated with paper, dead grass, litter, everywhere.
The house on the left?
Unpainted?
Run down?
Neglected?
Is this your house?
The house in the middle, cleaned up, painted up, and fixed up, exposed to the
same searing atomic heat wave, did not catch fire.
Dad, Dad, can I take the car into town now?
Okay, I'll go ahead.
But take it easy.
I'll be real careful.
He'll be all right.
Let's get the gag going.
Hey, maybe we better go along with him, make sure he gets there all right.
Okay, bye, [...]
Okay, fine.
Goodbye, everybody.
So, I'm going to [...] the house.
There went Alan with his new driver's license, and Frank and Betty right behind,
on as nice a summer day as you could wish for.
Why don't they look, Ralph?
Tell me.
Why don't they look?
Over at the Fox dugout nearby, morning tasks are likewise underway.
Mr. Fox is hewing newly felled bird.
That's something that has to be done in carving a home out of a wilderness.
Lucinda Fox is grinding Indian corn, a food important to all the settlers, while
Brother Oliver milks the family goat to a highly prized
possession brought from England.
And now, Jason has laid the new fire and must borrow a live ember to light it.
Here he is at the Fox place.
Would there be an ember in your fire for some careless bachelors, John?
That there would, Jason, and you'd be welcome.
Do but speak of it to Susan.
The Normkeg settlers share dangers together, and they gladly share comforts too.
How seems Master Robert today, Mr. Fox.
I fear me there is little change.
The fever has not left him these many days.
One day, when you're well again, Laddie, you can hunt deer with Jason.
The fireplace doesn't always give adequate heat, especially when there is
sickness in the house, sickness that may be very serious.
In the gardens of the settlement, medicinal herbs are grown, some of local origin
and others transplanted from England.
Mistress Lane, who is skilled in their preparation and use, supervises a
selection to be used in a special broth.
Later, she carries her preparation to a case of serious illness
in the home of Harold Perry.
Here is a draft of herbs, fresh brew for Mistress Perry.
It is most tidy and welcome, for the pain is still sharp.
Yes, there is still sickness, and there is still the
healthfulness of neighbor toward neighbor.
There has to be, in a new land where the settlers face the uncertainties of a new
way of life, Mistress Perry knows that building a better world
requires courage and faith.
And these men, writing back to England, they know that too.
We are sorry to send back the ship without battle aiding, but there'd be much
sickness among us, and many of our number lack strength
to survive the winter's cold.
Yet, for the most, we remain of good heart and make what haste we
can to build our plantation.
Among our number, there be those of divers motives, some mainly pricing liberty
of conscience, and some chiefly seeking worldly gain.
Yet, we form one-body politic joined by common consent.
It was still winter when we moved out of the city into our new house, and I
remember how I used to stand staring out across the
fields, waiting for spring to come.
Jim used to tease me.
He'd say, if it arrives while I'm at the office, be sure and phone me, darling.
But actually, he was just as impatient for winter to end as I was, because now,
as soon as the snow melted, for the very first time, we were going to have a
garden of our own, and what a garden.
I could see it already in my mind's eye.
Spirea?
Cool white lilies?
Tall tulips nodding in the sun.
And iris that would outdo an orchid.
Spring must have arrived while I stood there dreaming.
All of a sudden, everywhere you looked, buds began to swell and burst open.
Leaves unfolded and lay on their backs, looking up at the sky.
Every wind carried the smell of damp earth and the wet bark of trees drenched
by soft spring rain.
Now came the moment we'd waited for so long.
Out we went, gay as larks, wearing what the well-dressed gardener should wear
and trying not to look self-conscious in our new roles.
Ah, what bright new tools, and what bright shining hopes we had.
Brand new gloves over our tender city hands.
The first trowel full of earth was like a
ceremony, a solemn dedication.
This was our earth, our very own, more wonderful than any other soil.
Miraculous in the hand, our land.
We really felt sorry for them.
One look was all we needed to tell us that this charming young couple didn't
know which end of a bulb was up.
Thought we'd be good neighbors.
Tell them what they are up against.
Give them a little friendly advice.
Now came the really big moment.
Miss Pajunas was going to give us a speed demonstration on
the IBM Electric typewriter.
But first came some warm-up typing at various speeds.
She started slowly at 40 words a minute.
Picked up speed fast.
Now 80 words a minute.
In less time than it takes to tell, she was typing at 100 words a minute.
125 words a minute.
Faster and faster.
We were seeing for ourselves how intelligent practice and drills repeated over
and over again give the fingers dexterity and rhythm, helping to make
accurate expert typists.
The champion was now ready for her speed test.
Quickly she attained top speed.
Championship speed.
As we saw how skillful typists could become on IBM Electric typewriters, we knew
why Stella Pajunas was the unchallenged world champion.
The swift flicking action of that little finger fascinated us.
As we watched Stella Pajunas in open-mouthed amazement, we realized that here
before our eyes were matched the utmost in human capability and the tops
in typewriter efficiency.
Ms. Pajunas did 185 words a minute.
We gave her the kind of ovation a world champion deserved.
[...]
Well, let's try a few things to see whether we can identify the signal.
Is it that?
I don't think so.
How do you feel about that?
Well, watch this.
No, not that.
[...] no, no.
Are you sound asleep, Claire?
Don, are you sound asleep?
[...]
Now I'm going to tell you something that happened to you
when you were six years old.
[...]
[...] my way.
Don't tell me.
[...]
Don't tell [...]
Water boy,
where are you hiding?
[...] my way.
Ma, see them campers over there?
I think we ought to take something to them.
It is lonely on the plains in 1870.
Very lonely.
News from back east is always welcome.
To settlers like the Crawfords, a visit to a newcomer is to relive their own
journey west, and to foresee needs and emergencies that will confront
oncoming pioneers.
Strangers in all but their sharing of a common heritage and the common destiny,
established settlers and newer rivals greet each other with warmth
and genuine friendship.
We saw your camp from the house and kind of wanted to come over and talk.
It gets awful lonesome out here.
Glad you came. Come over and sit down.
Yes, it is good to be with one's own kind again.
Where are you from?
Illinois.
How long have you been on the way?
About eight weeks now.
Yes, my husband filed his claim last spring and came back
for the children and me in July.
You'll find things very different out here.
Yes, I imagine we will.
So friendly talk goes on around the Carter Camp Fire.
Until, with the setting of the sun over the darkening prairie vastness,
there comes a request for music.
Music that erases the solitude of the plains.
[...]
Music that erases the solitude of the plains.
Paul, come back.
Don't ride so fast, dear.
You might fall.
Paul, come here.
No, why don't you buy a heavy stock, Helen?
I was seeing in the paper the other day that there's no
difference, really, in looks.
The 15 denier may seem thinner, you know, but the 30 denier wears twice as long.
And I got some. John told me, by as a matter of fact, so I got some.
They really look just as well?
You know, the sales girl told me that I could buy a 15, and if they
were washed before I wore them.
[...]
What do you do with a child like that?
I don't think there's any danger there, Helen. It's just the
rocks the youngsters like to play around.
Hey, Paul!
Come on! Up through the cave! Come on!
Mom! Mom! Mom!
Mom? Mom? I'm home.
Oh, yeah. Mom's over at Aunt Miriam's house.
Going to basketball games sure makes you hungry.
One super burger coming up.
The little cheese and I'll have a super burger supreme.
Fire! Fire!
Fire! Help! Fire!
[...]
That was a close one, Gardiana.
You were lucky this time, Kevin.
Now fire safety is one area where being alert really pays off.
You made that flame way too high and you left the paper on the stove.
If you were aware of that danger, you could have avoided it.
You know, something as simple as a can of baking soda spread on that fire would
have given you precious moments to think.
You're right, safety woman.
Do you know the danger Dodgers salute, Kevin?
Aware, alert, alive.
That's right.
And besides fire prevention, you can practice safety in other ways.
Right now Tommy is taking the door off his old refrigerator.
This is a lot of work, but it sure is worth it.
Don't want any little kid getting stuck inside and suffocating.
Wait till dad gets home from work and sees the good job I've done.
Better put dad's tools away.
Dad's gone.
Emergency, I must go, Kevin.
Danger, Dodger.
I salute you.
Aware, alert, alive.
Gardiana, the gun wasn't locked.
Tommy, the one thing everyone needs to know about guns is this.
Every gun is a loaded gun.
600 people of your age died last year from bullets in
guns that they thought were empty.
For that reason, guns are never to be played with, not ever.
All guns should be safely locked away.
I'm sorry, Gardiana.
I know, Tommy.
But if we're not alert to dangerous things like a gun, how are we going to avoid
the more innocent-looking things around our homes that can harm
us almost as much?
Hi, young fella.
Here's your towel and here's your teddy bear to take the bed with you.
Come on, young fella, you're to draw yourself.
Get it here.
The dishes are all washed and ready.
Come here a minute.
There you are.
Now brush your teeth and get all ready for bed, and then come
on down and say goodnight to Mommy and me.
That infernal turtle.
Daddy, you kicked George.
[...] . .
When one human being takes the life of another, either intentionally or through
inexcusable carelessness, in such crimes as murder or manslaughter while driving
under the influence of liquor or dope, the homicide squad undertakes the solution
of the crime and the arrest of the criminals.
Happily, such occurrences are rare in St. Paul, and in recent years practically
all killings of this nature have been solved.
Five years ago, something that began right in my own family, when Paul was
just ten years old.
Bye, Mom.
Dad.
Paul?
You've forgotten your shoes again.
Okay.
Have a nice day, dear.
Bye.
I don't know what's wrong with that boy.
Now don't start worrying about Paul. He's coming along fine.
No, he isn't.
He doesn't seem to take an interest in things.
What things?
Well, you know, last night he asked me again to give him
an excuse from Jim Cross at school.
Did you?
No, I didn't.
The doctor told me last week there's nothing wrong with him.
Of course there isn't.
You should see the army's gut.
I was watching him Saturday morning, pegging stones at a tin can.
Yes, but by himself.
That's no way for a growing boy. He needs...
Well, I don't know. Something's missing.
Oh, forget it, Helen. Paul's still a child.
You'll come along all right.
He's got all the time in the world.
I felt in my heart that my husband was wrong.
Paul didn't have all the time in the world.
He was growing so fast, and yet he seemed to be turning into himself for
satisfactions he should have been getting with others.
In his twisted mind, Andrew
was drowning his stepfather.
Until Almighty God, we commend the soul of our sister departed, and we commit her
body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to
ashes, dust to dust.
The murder was done, and Andrew disappeared.
[...]
Hello, son. What brings you here?
Andrew was on the run, running away from the murder he had committed in his mind.
And wherever there were loud noises, violence, or the sadistic suggestion, there
was Andrew, one high-pitched piercing note away from real tragedy.
[...] of no matter who
you choose to lead.
I am no land, Jesus, let me lead.
Gloria, we are here to help you lead.
Jesus, let me come.
Jesus, let me lead.
[...] God help you lead.
Hey, get a load of him, will you?
Why, the kids sound asleep.
Hey there!
Man, look at them go!
Strategically placed cameras covered everything that happened during impact.
We were especially interested in what happened to children with and without
belts, because this subject had not been explored.
But even though they were only dolls, and even though these were scientific
experiments, we couldn't avoid a feeling of tension and a sense
of impending tragedy.
For several months, the collision experiments continued at different speeds, at
different points of impact, sometimes with the passengers
belted, sometimes unbeltied.
[...] fixed Maybe moderate by today's driving standards, but not to the motorist
slammed about against glass and metal.
Children should never be allowed to stand on the seat of a car.
Sitting tends to restrict body movement generated by the forces
of impact to the rear seat.
Go ahead, fall go on through nothing in there going to hurt you.
I don't want to go on show daddy you're not afraid.
[...]
Oh go on Paul.
No.
Don't you yell at.
I guess you can get pretty mad sometimes.
Hi.
Where do you want to go?
Okay.
This worry continues to bother you and it exhibits itself in devious ways
in your adult life today.
Do you understand Claire?
Do you understand down here?
It is early morning of the first Tuesday in November.
This is an American city.
A city that is not very large, not very rich, not very old.
It is situated in the western part of the United States in California.
Its name is Riveton.
The woman in the car is Mrs. Dawson, one of Riveton's 15,000 residents.
She is principal of public school number two.
But today there will be no classes held here.
For this is election day.
This classroom is one of the 130,000 places the country over
in which American citizens are going to cast their votes today.
This is the table where the voters' names will be checked.
The locked ballot box and the polling booth.
Here it is in the privacy of this curtain space that the American voters, every
four years, on the first Tuesday after the first Monday in
November, choose their national government.
Here come Mrs. Dawson's colleagues on the election board of Riveton's seventh
precinct, each representing one of the major political parties.
Mr. Schwartz is a Republican who works for the streetcar company.
Mrs. Abernathy is a housewife and a Democrat.
Mrs. Dawson is chairman.
They've all known one another for years.
First they remove the last traces of their campaign
activities, their party buttons.
Then they take the oath.
I swear to defend the Constitution of the United States of America.
Form your duties as members of the election board.
Best of your ability, some help, you've got it.
I do.
This makes them responsible for seeing that the voting here today takes
place according to the laws of the land.
And now the polls are open.
Here comes the first voter.
No wonder he's first.
He's been up since four o'clock delivering milk.
Good morning, everybody.
Kathleen, you're the very first one.
Right on the dock.
Always like to vote early.
Give the Republicans a temporary lead.
Here's your dollar bill.
Thank you.
That's as far as we can go.
Remember, this is a secret vote.
No one ever sees another person mark his ballot.
Today, many thinking citizens are concerned about the growing centralization of
decisions, controlling the business, the social life, and the public
affairs of every community.
This was not all we saw.
A century and more ago, the local community was far more
independent than it is today.
Its citizens were men who believed they were free, free to work as they chose in
association with their neighbors, free to seek the good things of life in the
manner of their own choosing, free to make their own decisions in
most matters affecting them.
We drove over to New Salem in Illinois, where Abraham
Lincoln lived as a young man.
The old log buildings have been carefully restored as a monument to his memory.
I don't know about you, but a place like this makes me feel a shadow of history.
Yeah, I got a whale of a kick out of places like this.
You bet.
A mighty big chunk of history got started right here.
From rail splitter to president.
But life must have been pretty rough in those days.
How would you like to travel around behind a pair of auction?
We swam west to the Mississippi and turned north.
We were looking at some barges and a river tug when dad summed it up.
Once upon a time, these rivers were our only highways.
Today, we have highways all over the country.
We drive our own cars.
We get on a train, a plane, go from one end of the country to another.
And nobody says we can't.
The days pass and steadily the corridors press on westward.
Only a little distance now to the claim already coming into view.
But new trials lie ahead.
Cattlemen have long considered the plains their land for grazing
their vast herds of cattle.
Aiming to settle around here, mister?
See that cornfield right over there?
That's mine.
This year's cattle land is no good for farming.
Have you seen my crop of corn?
No, but this is all ex-borrow grazing land.
That's not what my claim stakes say.
Well, partner, as the saying goes, I guess you just have to live and learn.
Well, the job's about done, boys. There's the last poll.
Long distance. Long
distance. Long distance.
Millions of times every day in America, a voice on a wire briefly and simply
identifies itself in two words, long distance.
These words form one of the most familiar phrases of our language.
It is a phrase that announces an unseen personality, an alert young woman who
needs to know only who or where in order to make a path for speech to town
or countryside over the horizon.
It suggests naturally a watchful feminine presence at a switchboard and the
supplementary agency that in a few seconds can select from countless routes the
one that best can take this speech to faraway places.
The clock on the wall. On the seventh day of December
1941, it struck the 11th hour.
Every hour after that has been, will be, zero hours.
Forty-eight United States of a free and sovereign America are at war.
Every American has his job to do and the will to do it and
the tools to do it with.
Pray God, he also has the time. Time, the most vital natural
resource of a country at war.
Every tick of the clock is time one or lost. Every 60 minute sweep, every 12 hour
tour of those relentless hands is turning out carload lots of time for us to use
ourselves or to give away to the enemy.
All the scientific devices of chronology are machines manufacturing time. The
tools that are in our hands means victory.
Hands must be as relentless as the hands of our clock. They cannot
afford to be left.
Sunrise over Republic Steel. High noon at Willow Run.
Sunfall on the Electric Boat Company.
Midnight at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Dawn to dust and back to dawn again. Three
eight hour shifts, one day.
So much can be done in a day if Americans will keep their sleeves rolled up.
Now all that is over. The heat and excitement.
The votes are cast and Americans have agreed to accept the will of the
majority, whatever it may be.
Apparently even the younger generation has declared peace.
Now the election board begins its last duty, the counting of the votes.
The figures are checked and double checked.
Then there are telephoned headquarters.
Hello, this is Mrs. Dawson, 7th Precinct. Ready to report.
From coast to coast, precinct by precinct, city by city, state by
state. The results are recorded.
All over America tonight, the people are waiting to learn whom they have chosen
to govern them for the next four years.
Towards midnight, the final results are announced.
The nation of 140 million has elected a government.
Did you ever see such a day, Ken?
Grandma used to say it's so healthy around here they had
to shoot a man to start a graveyard.
They say Johnny Appleseed wouldn't buy this way.
Winnie, you opened up a whole new world for me.
Oh Ken, the ring. You've squeezed so hard. Isn't it rich looking and unusual?
And inexpensive too.
Ken, I can hardly wait until September to get away. It'll be such fun to be
together all the time and we'll be so close to everything in New York.
Art shows and foreign films and while even see the ocean for the first time.
Ken, do you leave your razorblades lying around?
Don't be a fellow scene Winnie.
Well it's a lucky thing Fran found us a two and a half off
campus. But what'll we put in it?
Well, that little Picasso sketch I picked up, that goes in
the living room. It's a masterpiece.
And the bendix?
You take care of the homemaking. I'll look after the books and records.
Tell me I'll supremacy now professor. It doesn't go with your salary.
Ken, do you like babies?
Sure.
Your own?
I hadn't thought of it.
Are you insured Ken?
No, why?
Well we know so awfully little about one another, don't we?
[...]
Wouldn't it be nice if we could just wander up a
road like this with never a care?
Oh yes darling, but someday we've got to stop and think things out.
Sure, but I'm awfully hungry right now.
[...] come on.
A man chases
a woman until she catches him.
Oh Ken, isn't this heaven? Ken, let's not think too far ahead yet.
Let's just fill every second with... with minutes.
Nothing's changed as it can.
Of course not, Angel.
I'm still a mystery to you.
As mysterious as life itself.
I wanted to stay this way forever and ever.
The earth and the grass sold grand international confabulation with the sun.
While man, the stumbler and finder goes on.
But Ken, that's beautiful. You're a great writer.
A teacher of great writing, weren't you? That was your most famous poet.
Sandberg, I know. But Ken, you're going to be greater than he.
You're going to be one of the most famous novelists in America.
If I ever get the novel written.
What do you mean then? Of course you will.
That depends on how easy you are to catch with a typewriter.
I never run away from you. Not really.
Sometimes you do. I think I've caught the way you talk or feel.
But when I try to put the words on paper, they don't ring true.
I realize that I don't know you well enough to recreate you.
You will, Ken. I have all the faith in the world in you.
Winnie, do you always have to pick things?
Why not? You see a flower and you think of Sandberg or Whitman.
I see a flower and I want to wear it in my hair. Put it in a vase.
These busy families make the shopping centers look young and colorful.
They have a let's go see quality that brings crowds to community
events and promotions.
For the children whom the young adults have always at hand,
there's plenty to do and see.
While his family shops, a boy can catch a fish, ride the rides, go to the circus,
visit the center zoo, and have his hair cut.
And if that doesn't tire him out, his mother can put him in the center's nursery
school, or he can get paint on his shirt, see his friends,
and wear himself out on the bars.
Since these young adults seem to be able to outlast their children, they stash
them away at a neighbor's house and go back to the center for more.
This is the life young adults lead.
The ancient law of supply and demand took effect. More land had to be
farmed. Crowded me out.
I remember when this was a potato patch. This where a
farmer raised millet.
There a peaceful pasture, and here a family of
homesteaders herded sheep.
He sees himself in the
hubcap. He wants to play.
Suppose we take the average man just as he stands and see what he would look like
if he were penalized by having everything about him which comes directly or
indirectly from animals taken from him.
First, his hat. It is made of felt, but is made of rabbit hair.
No rabbits, no hat.
It's almost time for lunch. Let's check with the wristwatch. But no horse hide or
cow hide or pigskin, no wristwatch strap.
And now, most embarrassing of all, that comfortable wool suit. No sheep, no
wool. No wool.
And if he seeks to run away, he'll have to go barefooted. For animal leather
enables him to have shoes. And that isn't all.
We'll save him the embarrassment of pointing out that the cotton in his
undergarment couldn't have been cultivated if it weren't for these hardworking
plantation animals and animal fertilizer.
But of course, we all could wear barrels.
Great artists have been at a loss to properly catch on canvas the simple beauty
of sheep serenely grazing.
Wooly wanderers, almost a million of them, slowly moving from place to place on
intimate terms with the natural beauty that surrounds them.
Cheap raising is a major Utah industry yielding more than $20 million annually.
No story ever told is so utterly amazing and dramatic as that miracle of 1848,
which prompted this memorial to seagulls, the only monument ever
erected to bird life in America.
Picture, if you can, pioneers rejoicing over the
prospect of harvesting their first crop.
Without warning, hordes of crickets start devouring every green thing. Pioneers
fight to save the precious grain. Discourage they offer prayer.
Suddenly the heavens are filled with flocks of seagulls who devour the crickets
and so a column is erected in remembrance of the mercy
of God to the Mormon pioneers.
Closed in, not being able to move.
Yes, that's right. Now as these impressions came to consciousness,
you could recognize them and feel right about them, couldn't you?
That's right. When I realized them, I knew they were right.
When you said gum, I knew it was gum. I did too. I knew that was it.
And you feel now that all the tension is gone. I feel just like I always did.
Yes. And you feel that the conflict is resolved. Definitely.
And that you're a normal individual again. Yes.
All right.
Do you think to eat?
They all got out. You know, I think something good is coming out of all this.
I like to think it all happened because our land loves us.
I've often thought that on our farm I could feel the
love flowing out from the land.
To Jim and Nene, to our children.
I think it's the same in all the farms around us.
Makes us feel warm and safe and protected.
Just like when we were children and knew our parents loved us.
Sometimes when a child has been protected too long, it
may have to be hurt a little.
If I can learn to stop doing the things it knows are wrong and dangerous,
that's part of growing up.
Our community too needed to grow up.
Perhaps we had to be hurt a little.
Before we could learn to stop doing the things we knew were wrong and dangerous.
Our land is very old.
So it must be very wise.
It knew we had to stand on our own feet.
So it helped us because it loves us.
That's the way I like to think it is.
Thank you.