Original subtitles

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.