All language subtitles for The.Waltons.S01E05.The.Typewriter.WEBRip.x264

From the very beginning,
when I thought of writing...

it was about my family, our
home, and Walton's Mountain.

This was my world...

the kind of life I knew well
enough to tell people about.

I remember a day
in the 1930s...

when I finally felt ready
to show one of my stories...

to someone for
the very first time.

Yes, ma'am?

On Page 3 you used
the word "farther"...

and I think you intend
to say "further."

Alright, I'll
change it.

And on Page...

'10...'

you should put a comma
after the word "gold mine."

I see. Alright.

Aside from the grammar part
though, what do you think?

I find it very moving.

It's a wonderful story.

-You really believed it?
-Every word.

What do you know
about that.

The characters of
the mother and father...

are especially fine.

I guess, you know where I
got my inspiration for them.

What are you going to
do with your story now?

I don't know. What do you
think I ought to do?

I think you ought to submit
it to a magazine.

'Try to get
it published.'

Just like a real writer.

You are a real writer.

Young, inexperienced...

but the talent is there,
the gift is there.

Something...

totally your own.

Something to guard,
to treasure...

'and to use.'

Thank you.

-'I appreciate your reading it.'
-Thank you.

-I guess I'll see you tomorrow.
-Okay.

-Bye.
-Bye.

I have copied this story so
many times, I know it by heart.

But it's important that
it look just right.

Miss Hunter says I'm a writer,
and I feel like a writer.

But if I can convince
a big magazine

then maybe I'll know
I'm a writer.

Come in.

I heard you was looking
for an envelope.

Yes, ma'am, to mail
my story in.

Found you one.

I'm much obliged
to you, Grandma.

Is it a good story, boy?

Miss Hunter
says it is.

She would know.

Your Grandpa has
already given you

what you'll inherit
from him.

-The meadow?
-Yeah.

I know. I treasure
that, Grandma.

I won't be leaving you that when
I die. You know, money, land.

The meadow is
from both of you.

Besides, I've
known you, Grandma.

That's all I want you
to leave me.

My family
were storytellers.

And long before we
had luxuries...

like electric light, and radio,
and all this modernism...

we used to sit around
the fireplace at night...

and each one of us would take
turns at telling stories.

Ghost stories,
witch stories...

long ago stories
of Indians and wars...

and things that happened
in the history of our family.

And I've kept them.

And now they're mellow in my
mind and ready to tell again.

Miss Hunter told me
that the talent

of being a writer
was a gift.

Now I know where
that gift comes from.

All these stories
I remember...

I'll tell them
to you, John-Boy.

That will be my
inheritance to you.

Grandma, I cherish you.

And I you, boy.

-Good night.
-Good night.

John-Boy, can I
carry the letter?

You're gonna get
it all dirty, Jim-Bob.

John-Boy, can I carry
it after Jim-Bob?

Roll over,
come on, boy.

-Can I go?
-What is this, a parade?

There's nothing else to do.
Can't teach that dog nothing.

If he's aiding the bank,
he'll get used to it.

Can I carry
the letter now?

You children will
get it wrinkled up.

But I haven't
carried it yet.

-Who has it now?
-I got it.

Alright, let me
have it.

Erin, you carry it
the rest of the way.

Hi, Mr. Godsey.

What's going on here?

What is this,
a family reunion?

John-Boy's written
a story.

And we are mailing it off
to Collier's magazine.

We're all going
to be famous.

Congratulations,
John-Boy.

Your family must
be terribly proud.

-One day, I hope.
-Isn't that lovely, Sister.

This boy has attained fame and
fortune in one fell swoop...

'and look how modest
he is about it.'

It hasn't happened yet. I'm just
sending the story off now.

Our cousin, Raymond,
was a writer.

It was Raymond,
wasn't it, Sister?

Yes. He left town right
after the scandal.

Just adored basket weaving.

'Papa would never allow
us to read any'

'of Cousin Raymond's
books.'

-Said they were too risqué.
-Of course, Papa read them.

I found them in his desk
after he passed on.

We really ought to
be going, Sister.

We left the Recipe machine
just bubbling away.

Congratulations again,
John-Boy, on your success.

Thanks, but it
hasn't happened--

It's such a pleasure to see
a young man get success

at such an early age.

I take it that you want
this envelope mailed.

Well, let's see now.

Looks like it's
neither fish nor fowl.

It could be three ounces,
or it could be four ounces.

It could go for three,
maybe it's four.

I'll pay for four, I wanna
make sure it gets there.

Okay, that'll
be 12 cents.

12 cents, right.

Here you are.

Is there any way I can be sure
they're gonna get it?

You can send it registered.
Cost you 10 cents extra.

10 cents?

I better not.

Here goes, off
to New York.

Thank you.

Come on, Mary Ellen.

Look here, this is
exactly what I need.

-What is it?
-Stuff to make you beautiful.

"Super Deluxe Beauty Kit."

"Each item personally endorsed
by Hollywood stars."

"Charming scents for milady...

"imported from
the beauty capital

of the world,
Paris, France."

Mary Ellen.

"Follow the high society trend.

"Soften and beautify rough,
chapped hands in minutes."

You look at the price tag
before you drooling over it.

Mr. Godsey.

-Find something you like?
-I sure have.

Better not set your heart
on something that's expensive.

I've got some money
set aside.

I want to put a deposit
on the beauty kit.

It's her money, Ike.

Okay, $1. I'll make
you out a receipt?

Once I get the beauty kit, I'll
probably get so beautiful...

I'll go to Hollywood, California
and become a movie star.

In the meantime,
Miss Famous Movie Star...

I bet your mommy and daddy got
some chores for us at home.

-Ta-ta, Mr. Godsey.
-Ta-ta, Mary Ellen.

Ta-ta, kids.

Hold on, old woman. You've cut
off enough back up there.

Who's cutting the hair,
you or me?

John-Boy, what is
the matter with you?

My story's been gone
two whole hours.

Where do you reckon
it is by now?

'Probably still sitting
at Ike Godsey's Post Office.'

Will you hold still?
Want your ear sliced off?

How long does it take the train
from Charlottesville

to New York?

About 12 hours, I imagine.

Then I reckon they
unload it right away.

Then they got
to deliver it.

And then they
got to read it.

How's your handwriting?

Real clear.

I copied some of those pages
over three and four times.

Old woman, I say
that's enough off.

Enough, if you want to go around
looking like General Custer.

General Washington had long
hair, Ben Franklin had long hair

and my own father had long hair.

I'm not married to Washington,
or Franklin or your father.

I'm married to you.

Why don't you let me look
like me? I say that's enough.

Now, look, you're getting hair
all over the floor!

Next time, I'm going
to let Ike Godsey cut.

There's not gonna
be a next time.

I'm gonna let it grow
and braid it, Delilah.

Some writers type
out their stories.

They even have their secretaries
do it for them.

Is that what you want?

Sure, someday.

John-Boy!

-Yes, Daddy?
-'I've got an order for wood.'

'Come on out, help me
load the truck.'

I'll be right there.

It'll be a cold day
in July...

when I let that Delilah
get her hands

on my head
of hair again.

Why don't you just
let Ike Godsey cut it?

Ike hasn't got
his heart in barbering.

He'll leave you
to sit in the chair...

while he goes off
to peddle a 3-cent stamp.

I sure wish I knew where
my story was by now.

I've been meaning
to ask you, John-Boy.

What is it you write
about exactly?

I don't know. Just about
whatever comes to mind.

Sometimes about Reckless.
Sometimes about Chance.

-Animal stories?
-'No, not always.'

'I guess, I just work 'em
in every now and then.'

Mostly it's about us.
You know, the family.

What could you write about us?
It isn't like we do anything.

Shouldn't you
be writing about...

kings, and presidents, and
generals, and people like that?

What do I know about generals,
and kings, and presidents?

I don't see how you can possibly
find anything interesting

to write about us.

Grandpa, it would
take me a lifetime...

to set down everything
interesting about all of us.

Evey.

It's your ma, Evey.

Are you going to
be home for a while?

Everything's all right.

Your ma's been wrong, Evey.

She's coming over
now to help you.

Yeah, and help
your Willy, too.

So Ma Perkins has
a change of heartat last.

Realizes what love is--

-A wonderful lady.
-The finest.

You sure there's nothing
in here for me, Ike?

Absolutely.

What about that one right there?

The President of
the United States trusts me

with the mail but
not your grandson.

He comes in here
every day not once

but twice, checking
up on me!

You've got to learn not to
be so impatient, John-Boy.

I'll tell you, I wish I'd paid
the 10 cents extra...

and mailed it registered.

I sure hope John-Boy hears
from that magazine soon.

He's making a nervous wreck
out of himself

and everybody else.

Do you think he's
got a chance?

Sell one of his stories to one
of those New York magazines?

I have no idea how those
magazines choose their stories.

Wouldn't that
be something.

To open my magazine one day
and see a story

by John-Boy Walton.

Is that what he's writing?
Cowboy stories?

Didn't he tell you, Liv,
he's writing about us?

-Us?
-The family.

What on earth could he find
to write about us?

I thought about that
when he mentioned it.

Then I decided...

when you get the biggest heathen
in the county together with...

the prettiest member
of the Baptist Church choir...

you're gonna come up
with something.

You agree?

You've been promising
for a long time.

Don't you think you ought
to get baptized this year?

Are you gonna darn
that sock all night?

I've got another one
to finish after this.

You know I can't get to sleep
till you come to bed.

John-Boy, hurry up, come on!

Of all the days
for you to be late!

-I'd just about given up hope.
-Come on, open it up.

I'll tell you, Ike, I'm gonna
open it up at home, okay?

Thanks.

'Thank you''

Hurry up.

They sent it back.

-I'm so sorry.
-It's a shame.

Maybe you didn't
put enough postage on it.

Wouldn't surprise me none
if all our great writers

didn't have their
first stories sent back.

Don't you be discouraged

because you got turned
down the first time.

You just send that out
to another magazine.

-No, it's not a turndown.
-Then why'd they send it back?

"Dear Mr. Walton,
we are sorry

"but we can't consider
handwritten manuscripts."

They didn't even read it.

-The nerve of those people.
-It's not fair.

How do they expect you
to write it?

On a typewriter, I expect.

But your handwriting
was so clear.

It's not doing me
too much good now.

Can you write on
a typewriter, John-Boy?

'I could learn, I reckon''

I bet there isn't one typewriter
in all of Jefferson County.

I bet we could find one
over in Charlottesville.

Finding one and paying for it
is something else again.

John-Boy, could you give me a
hand with something upstairs?

-At a time like this?
-Take his mind off his troubles.

Sure, Grandpa.

Your grandmother says I never
learned to throw anything away.

Here we are.

This here is Amy. She died of
scarlet fever when she....

A war medal, won by your
Uncle Matt in the World War.

You just take a look
through these letters.

See if any one of them was writ
on a typewriting machine.

Wait a minute, this one here is.

Right here.

That's Judge Baldwin.

I wouldn't be surprised
if the Baldwin sisters

still didn't have
that machine.

They never threw anything away
that belonged to their daddy.

It's our proudest possession.

It belonged
to our papa.

But you may look
at it, all you like.

The machine
was purchased in 1908.

New, of course,
when Papa bought it.

I daresay it was the first
typewriting machine

brought into
Jefferson County.

Probably the only one.

It was on this machine
that Papa composed a letter...

'to Mr. Woodrow Wilson telling
him how to save'

'the League of Nations.'

'Mr. Wilson was born
in Staunton, you know''

'Papa knew him quite well.'

'In 1920, Papa wrote a series
of brilliant letters...'

to the editor of the New York
Times protesting

the 18th Amendment.

Was that the one that gave
ladies the right to vote?

No, it's the
one prohibiting the right

to sell alcoholic beverages,
Papa was quite concerned.

Has anybody tried
using it lately?

We were never
taught how.

Miss Mamie, Miss Emily...

I don't suppose that...

you would never consider...

lending the typewriter?

To whom?

Me.

We're very fond of you...

and know that you've
been raised responsibly.

We do know that,
don't we, Mamie?

Indeed. However...

'a chapter of Virginia history
was recorded on this machine...'

'and it ought properly
to be housed in a museum.'

'Was there someone
you want to show it to?'

No, ma'am. I had
in mind using it.

They wouldn't accept
my story in longhand.

Might one venture to ask
what the story is about?

Well, it's about
my family mostly.

About how I went looking for
my daddy one Christmas time...

and stopped here on the way
and had a little Recipe, and--

You mention the Recipe
in the story?

Yes, ma'am. I hope you
don't mind.

Of course we don't mind.

Everybody in the whole world
should know about the Recipe.

How dare those magazine
people turn down

a story about
the Recipe?

Yankees, probably.

'Yes, ma'am.
New York people.'

Am I to understand,
John-Boy...

that these
treacherous Yankees...

might be persuaded to accept
your story about the Recipe...

if it were typewritten?

I think it would stand
a better chance of it.

What would
the Judge say, Mamie?

I believe the Judge
would say...

that nothing is
more important...

'than the nurturing
of artistic endeavor''

I can just hear
him saying it.

He had such
an authoritative voice.

Does this mean that....

I knew Mama would hit
the ceiling if she found out...

I'd borrowed the typewriter
from two old ladies

that made bootleg whiskey.

So I hid it.

Reckless, will you be quiet!

Nobody else is supposed
to be around here.

You're the only one
who's in on this, alright?

Stay quiet.

Alright.

Come on, get in here.

Thank you.

What's going on in...

I guess, I don't have to ask you
where you got that.

I thought it'd just be better
to keep it out here.

Yeah, pretty safe out here.

Now that I've taken
my garden tools out.

It's wrong to hide it
from Mama, isn't it?

Yes, it's wrong.

But if you tell her,
first she'll skin you alive...

and then make you take that back
to the Baldwin ladies.

I know.

But you just keep
on writing.

Here we go.

Now let's see.

Jason, isn't it your
turn to say grace?

I think so, Daddy.

Our Father, we thank thee

for all the good things
you have given us.

We ask thy blessing on this
food, and on this house. Amen.

Amen.

John-Boy's absent.

You sit down over there.

He's been gone all day.

I bet he's been
playing basketball.

Probably got a girl.

I'm glad to hear that.

I'm not, not if it makes
him late for dinner.

He used to spend all
his time writing.

All that seems to have changed.
He spends all his time outside.

Don't worry about him, Livie.
He'll come along all right.

How do you know?

Because he's a Walton.
Pass the soup, please.

Sorry I'm late.

Aren't you going to tell us
what you were doing, John-Boy?

No, he doesn't have to.

No, but he should try
to be home in time for supper.

-Yes, sir.
-If she'll let you go.

You got a girl, John-Boy?

'Of course, hundreds of them.'

They just swarm all over me,
like flies after wild honey...

smothering me
with frantic embraces.

And then I wake up.

I don't think he
has a girl.

I just think he walks
around and thinks.

And everywhere that John-Boy
went, Reckless was sure to go.

'Pass that chicken down here.'

It took me a lot longer
than I thought it would.

-You had to learn to type.
-That wasn't so hard.

It's just that when I typed it,
the story looked so different...

I had to keep
changing words.

I changed whole
paragraphs of it.

A fine writer is never
satisfied with his work.

Shakespeare. He made a lot
of changes in his plays.

'So you see, you're
in good company.'

-Did Shakespeare make a living?
-Eventually, yes.

'Cause, you know I got to start
helping my daddy out soon.

You know, in the long run
you might...

do more for him if you
give yourself some time.

'I'd like to see you go
to college, John-Boy'

My first.

I'm not so sure that would be
right, spending all that money.

-Colleges give scholarships.
-I'm not that good.

It wouldn't be easy...

but if you know
what you want...

'and why you want it,
who's to stop you?'

You know, you sounded
just like my Daddy there.

I better be sending it off and
get back to the old typewriter.

-Bye.
-Bye.

Today's the day
for Vernon to come

and I haven't got
a thing to sell him.

-There's always next week.
-But I need some money.

Do you mind if I
sell my bead kit?

Half of the beads
are lost anyway.

You're saving it
for Elizabeth.

Can I at least sell one
of my old dresses?

Erin needs every one
that isn't ripped to shreds.

How am I going to have
enough money to buy...

the Deluxe Hollywood Beauty Kit
endorsed by all the stars?

I've saved some money,
but I need lots more.

I wouldn't spend a lot
on something like that.

But I want to look pretty.

-Mary Ellen, you are pretty.
-But not like you.

Mary Ellen, what am I
going to do with you?

You can help me
dry apples...

if we sell some to Mr. Godsey,
we'll split the money.

When can we do it?

As soon as we
get enough apples.

Meantime, you
can clean the tool shed.

We can store
them there.

I'll do it right away.

Collier's magazine again?

Looks like you're gonna do
regular business with them.

I hope so.

We're going to send it
registered this time?

Then will you
do something for me?

Don't come in
here twice every day

asking if I've got
a letter for you.

Okay.

Mr. Rutley!

I've got something to sell!

Hi.

All this?

If I buy it by pounds, you'll
end up with 50 cents.

I'll give you 75.

A dollar.

Did somebody tell you that you
got to bargain with Vernon?

I need the money.
Every cent counts.

I could say 80 cents...

but then you'd ask for 95,
but who has all day?

Alright, $1.

Thank you.

Oh, no!

Grandpa, have
you seen it?

Have you been
to the shed?

-What's the matter?
-It's gone.

If somebody's hiding it,
better tell me now...

because it isn't funny!

What's wrong, John-Boy?

If you'll tell us what's wrong,
maybe we could help.

-He lost something.
-My typewriter.

-Typewriter?
-You don't have a typewriter.

I had a typewriter.
It was in the tool shed.

Now let's just start
from the beginning.

You had a typewriter
in the shed?

It wasn't even
my typewriter.

-John-Boy's sad.
-He lost his typewriter.

I didn't know you
had a typewriter.

It's a 1908 museum piece. I had
it out in the old tool shed.

In the tool shed?

Did you see it?

-Where in the tool shed?
-It was in a closet.

'In a brown box.'

Do you know anything
about it, Mary Ellen?

Because John-Boy's
got to have it.

Please tell me
where it is.

I think I sold
it to Mr. Rutley.

Why did you do that?

I didn't see it!
I didn't know it was there!

If I live to be a man here,
it's going to be a miracle.

You had no business going in
there in the first place.

-I sent her.
-She took it and she sold it!

You should've stabbed me
in the back with a dagger.

John-Boy, she didn't mean
to sell it.

I didn't, but I'm sorry. Here.

What's that?

That's what Vernon gave me
for the whole pile of junk.

$1 for a museum piece.

History was made on that
typewriter.

Try to imagine
how Mary Ellen feels.

Nothing left to do now, just
walk out in Drusilla Pond...

until the water's over my head.

John-Boy, we didn't know
you had a typewriter, did we?

I told him about the Judge's
typewriter.

He had to have one.

I borrowed it from Miss Mamie
and Miss Emily Baldwin.

Their daddy wrote to Woodrow
Wilson on that typewriter.

John-Boy, I told you

I don't want to be obligated
to those ladies.

I know. That's why
I kept it a secret.

We've got to return it
to them right away.

How am I going to do that?
You expect me--

We'll go and see
if we can catch up with Vernon.

Mr. Godsey,
have you seen Vernon Rutley?

I thought you were going
to ask for the mail.

I saw old Vernon this morning.

-He'd be long gone by now.
-Any idea where he lives, Ep?

Can't say as I do, but I've seen
him stop for dinner...

at one of those honky-tonk
places over on Route 29.

Thank you, Mr. Godsey.
Sheriff.

Two more diners.
Too soon to give up.

I tell you, I don't know
what I'm going to say...

to Miss Mamie and Miss Emily.

Well, I have been thinking,
John-Boy...

that typewriter's gone
for good...

but I can deliver their wood
without charging a cent.

Maybe that'll help pay for it.

No, Daddy, you don't understand.

That typewriter
can't be replaced.

They wouldn't have sold that
for a million dollars.

Hey, look over there.
Isn't that Vernon's truck?

I didn't know what I bought.

I threw all that junk in my
truck and drove off.

Mary Ellen had
no business selling it.

-Was it stolen goods?
-No, Vernon, just a mistake.

I hope you're willing
to sell it back to me.

-Please, sit down.
-Thank you, Vernon.

Daddy and I can take it out of
the back of your truck.

It's easy enough
to take it out of the truck...

if I had it in the truck.

How can I tell him I don't?

-Where is it?
-If I knew....

-Sell it, did you, Vernon?
-To Davidson.

He's a junkman, too.
Not like me.

He's a pretty big
junkman.

He travels in a huge truck.

Texas to Vermont to Florida.

Lucky man.

Any idea where
he was going this time?

There's no telling with
Davidson.

He often sells to wholesale
businesses all over the country.

I'm sorry.

You liked that typewriter a lot,
didn't you?

Thanks anyway, Vernon.

Well, if I happen to run into
Davidson...

-I'll ask him.
-I appreciate it.

But he travels so fast.

I'm the most hateful creature
in the whole world.

-Hi, Daddy.
-Hi.

-Hi, Jim-Bob.
-Hi.

You must be hungry, both of you.

-Yes, ma'am.
-Supper's ready, John-Boy.

We're having mashed potatoes,
corn pudding, and egg on hash.

That's nice.

We might as well talk about it.

You'll have to face Miss Mamie
and Miss Emily and tell them.

I'd rather die.

That's not going to bring
the typewriter back.

Jason...

tell Mary Ellen
to come to the table.

She just can't make herself sit
down with the rest of us.

Well, I guess it won't hurt her
to have a sandwich later on.

I don't see how anybody
could give up egg on hash.

Mary Ellen, where's your
brother?

-Which one?
-John-Boy.

He's over at
the Baldwin sisters'.

Why? Is something wrong?

No, something's right
for a change.

Vernon sent word
he tracked down that Davidson...

and Davidson said he sold
that old typewriter...

to an office over in
Charlottesville.

-Oh, glory!
-I got to go that way...

If I can catch up with John-Boy
I'd give him a lift.

Sheriff Bridges,
it was all my fault

that typewriter got sold
in the first place.

I'd give anything if I could
get it back for him.

Then I'll give you a lift.

I appreciate this. I really do.

Yes, I will.

I'll be with you in a moment.

Yes, indeed, tomorrow for sure.

None of them look very old.

They may have it stuck away
in a back room somewhere.

Hello. Can I help you folks?

We're looking for an old
typewriter.

We heard you bought one.

The manager thought
he'd save some money...

but that machine
turned out to be

exactly what it looked like:
junk.

I thought so, too.

-What'd you do with it, ma'am?
-We got rid of it.

How?

We sent it to the warehouse
on Elm Street.

-Howdy.
-Hi.

Did you buy a typewriter
in the last day or so?

-That oldie?
-Yeah.

I gave it to the night janitor
to take home.

I thought the wife might like
it, but she got mad...

and said that ain't
no kind of birthday present.

So I sold it to the junkyard
for $2.

-Any idea where it is?
-How would I know?

We try to unload the goods fast.
A typewriter? I don't remember.

Never saw anyone so fidgety.

Cousin Marvin was twitchy.
Remember, Sister?

He had fleas.

It was because
of all those dogs.

Cousin Marvin could just
never bear to see a lost dog.

He'd to pick them up on the road
and give them a loving home.

How did Cousin Marvin
die anyway, Sister?

I've always claimed it was
hydrophobia.

You know, dogs pretend
to be quite friendly...

but it's only
for convenience's sake.

They'll seize you
with their fangs

the minute you turn your back.

At least they did poor Marvin.

Is anything the matter,
John-Boy?

He's eager to return to creating
literature on Papa's typewriter.

I've lost it.

Cousin Elvira was peculiar, too.

Remember, they used to have
all those bats in the house...

and they used to run up and down
the upstairs hall at night...

batting at them
with tennis rackets.

John-Boy, what was it
you just said?

-I lost it.
-You've lost what?

The typewriter.

Got sold to a junkman.

What?

Frequently, people only own
treasures...

for just a short time.

This has been the case with some
of the world's great paintings.

Yes, with jewels, too.

The Star of Africa diamond
has had a good

many owners down through
the years.

Sold to a junkman.

My sister, Mary Ellen. She
didn't know she was doing it.

Emily, we must be brave.

I'm trying, Sister,
but it's like losing

a bit of Papa all over again.

We'll take action.
We will find this junkman...

and we'll buy Papa's typewriter
back from him.

We tried that. He's already sold
it to another junkman.

I've tried everything.

And I'm just so upset
about it 'cause

I know what it means
to both of you.

Just didn't live up
to my promise.

I wanted to take care
of it and I didn't.

I don't blame you ladies
one bit for hating me.

Now, that will be enough.

Now, Emily...

we've distressed John-Boy
enough already.

We mustn't do that.

No. But, John-Boy,
we loved the typewriter.

We still do,
wherever it may be...

but a typewriter
is only a thing.

-It's a material thing.
-But it was the Judge's thing.

Emily, we can afford
to take the loss.

After all...

Papa left us much more
to remember him by.

That is true,
isn't it, Mamie?

You're so kind, both of you.

But might as well face it,
I let you down. And I'm sorry.

We'll get over it.

Why, Emily even
got over Ashley Longworth.

-I did not.
-But he's a memory, Sister.

A cherished memory.

Yes.

Like the Judge's typewriter.

...side of the country,
a major earthquake

shook the port city
of Long Beach.

Scattered information
indicates...

that at present count
the number of dead is 122.

Long Beach has been declared
a disaster area...

but there are also a number
of damaged buildings...

in other parts
of the Los Angeles County.

I'm going to pray
for those folks tonight.

$4 million worth of damages.

-What happened out there?
-An earthquake.

Hundreds of buildings ruined...

and more than
a hundred lives lost.

I don't know why they don't move
away from there.

We ought to count our blessings.

I reckon we ought to.

Have you seen Mary Ellen? She
hasn't come home from school.

We saw her heading for home.

She hasn't been seen
by man or beast.

-I think she's run away.
-She wouldn't.

After what she did to John-Boy?

She was so ashamed she wouldn't
play baseball today.

She said she'd never forgive
herself.

She said she'll run away

and join the
French Foreign Legion.

I saw her crying.

I had to make such a fuss
over that dumb typewriter.

I wish I'd never borrowed it.

I wish I'd never sent that story
off to the magazine.

I wish I'd never
even written it!

John-Boy.

I'm sorry, Mother,
I've got to go find Mary Ellen.

Mr. Godsey,
have you seen my sister?

-Which one?
-Mary Ellen.

-No, I haven't.
-Thank you.

-John-Boy.
-I'm in kind of a hurry.

You know, the first time
you kept asking me all the time.

This time
you don't seem to care.

I don't know what's happened
to you.

This morning I got this
in the mail.

It's for you,
came from New York.

And it's from
Collier's magazine.

And you didn't even ask for it.

Aren't you going to tell me
whether it's good news or bad?

I'm sorry, but I've got
to find Mary Ellen.

Not a trace of her,
not anywhere.

I didn't know where
to keep on looking.

She must be hiding out
in the woods somewhere.

She isn't, son.

Mary Ellen.

That's no way to behave.

-I felt so awful.
-I know. I did, too.

I finally told Miss Mamie
and Miss Emily...

they tried to hide it
from me...

but I could tell they were
upset about it.

They decided to take
the loss though.

They won't have to.

I found it in an antique store.

She had to pay a mighty steep
price to get it back, too.

Now she can't get
her Super Deluxe Beauty Kit.

And you still owe
the Sheriff $6.

I don't mind, John-Boy.
I can wait to be beautiful.

My next story has to be twice as
good as the first one was.

Because it just came back to me.

-That's terrible.
-No, it isn't really.

What do they mean "it doesn't
suit our present needs"?

Maybe it means it'll suit
their needs later.

Did they like your story,
John-Boy?

They read it with interest.

They want to hear
more of your stories.

Somebody up there in New York
has got some sense after all.

Everybody, look at it.
It's a turndown.

You all are making it sound like
I'm another William Shakespeare.

Maybe you are.

Might not suit their needs
this month.

But there's a lot
of months to come.

If I ever do sell a story,
I'm gonna make it up to you.

And I'm gonna buy you
that Deluxe Beauty Kit.

Super Deluxe.

Thank you.

My family managed
to turn

my first rejection slip into
some sort of victory.

I started typing
again that evening

and I've been typing stories
ever since.

But no typewriter
ever came to mean

as much to me
as that old machine...

I borrowed from Miss Mamie
and Miss Emily Baldwin.

Bedtime, son.

Lights out pretty soon?

Just finish
this sentence, Daddy.