The Waltons S05E24 The Achievement

I sent you a book of mine about, oh, six weeks ago. It's called Walton's Mountain, and I haven't heard anything at all. Ma'am, I spent five years of my life working on this book. I've come all the way from Virginia just to check up on the manuscript. For all I know, it might even be lost. Make an outline right around his foot. Grandpa, what you up to? I'm doing detective work and I am not Grandpa. Please address me as my dear Watson, beloved assistant to Jessica, girl spy. It came as a coincidence that just as I finally completed my first novel, Elizabeth, for the first time, became enthralled with the book. I wondered if what I had written would ever be published and read half so avidly. I don't have anything for you, but you know, I can sit my watch by you. No more than this pouch shows up and presto, don't make any jokes. You know, I'm waiting to hear about the book. What happens if they don't like it? I don't want to think about that. Are you sure there's nothing here for me? I said there's nothing for you and stop messing around with it. This is United States government property, and I'm the only one authorized to touch it. It's not even Corvette. Well, at least they haven't sent it back yet. What's the matter with Elizabeth? She hasn't said a word since she came in here. She's not likely to unless it's the jigs up or something like that. She's been reading that Jessica girl spy book over and over again. I think I recognize one of these men. Which one? Ike, her imagination is racing again. Come on, honey. Oh, it's just kid stuff. Jessica girl spy is not just kid stuff. Well, if you wanted to turn him in, who'd you turn him into? Jeff Bridges? J. Edgar Hoover. Still reading that dumb book? I think it's wonderful, Jim Bob. It's the first time she's ever been caught up in a book. Yeah, but who ever heard of a girl spy? Now you just stop teasing your sister. When did you last read a book? We by Charles A. Lindbergh. And how many times did you read it? A few hundred. Well, at least my book was real. I'll save some supper for you. Mom, I don't want to eat. I'm not hungry. No word yet? Nope, nothing. John boy? What? How would you write a letter to a person like Edith Catherine Herbert? Uh, well, you'd probably send it to her publisher. Here. Right there. See, there's the publisher and there's the address. You send it to them. It says, uh, Edith Catherine Herbert lives in New York with her mother. Think it'd be all right? Sure, why not? I think I will. I'll look it over for you if you like. Nobody's going to see my letter to the best writer in the whole world. John boy, maybe someday someone will write you a letter. Sorry, John boy. You must be getting nervous, huh? Me? No, I'm not the least bit nervous. I wasn't even going to ask you if there was anything for me. I just came down here to mail this letter for Elizabeth. That's all. Well, I sure hope this doesn't get lost like your book probably did. Lost? I mean, do you think it could have been lost? Oh, my God! I should have delivered it in person. How could it be lost? I mean, after all, it's been quite a while. It might be in the dead letter office or something. And I hold myself responsible because, after all, I work for the post office. And I feel responsible just like the letter carrier. You know, through the rain and the... Erin? New York? I've never called New York before. Well, you do it just like you do any other call. You call information, you get the number, okay? Then charge it to Ike's store. Hey, wait. I'll pay on this end. I can only wait so long, Ike. This came special delivery for you, Miss Maddox. Thank you, Tommy. You're welcome. Would you hold, please? I have another call. Receptionist Maddox. Hello. My name is John Walton, Jr. I sent Bell Becker a manuscript of my novel. And I haven't heard anything yet. When did you mail your manuscript to us, Mr. Walton? At least six weeks ago. Well, sometimes manuscripts have to wait for three to four months for a reading. Well, that's barbaric. I'm sure you'll be notified in due time. All I can ask is that you be patient. Who is it? May I come in? Come on in, son. I gotta go to New York. I gotta go find out about my book. I mean, I feel like my whole life is hanging in the balance. I don't know where it is. It could be lying out there in the rain somewhere. For all I know, it never even got to the publishers, and it's driving me crazy. Everything is all set here. All Ben has to do is run the newspaper off. I've made all the arrangements. The bus leaves Rockfish at eight o'clock in the morning. Am I making any sense? Are writers supposed to make sense? Well, we're supposed to try. You better get some rest. I'll see you in the morning. All right, son. There you go. There's something to eat on the bus. I'd like to eat. Look at it. Get out of here. Get back! Okay, Daddy. John Boy! Yeah? Remember, Dad, if Edith Catherine Herbert has any new books out... All right. John Boy, my car ought to be finished by the time you get back. And if she does, where I can get them? I'll look into it, Elizabeth. John Boy, did you hear me about my car? Yeah, good going, Jim Bob. Well, it's Jim. Where'd we go wrong naming our children? Don't worry about the papers. I'll take care of them, okay? And don't forget to call us on the telephone. I'll call. I'll call. Don't take any wooden nickels. All right, Grandpa. Don't buy the Brooklyn Bridge. All right, everybody, stand back. Bye, Mama! You know, I bet every one of those criminals on Ike's poster are in New York right now waiting for some innocent person to come along. I know Mr. Sanford wants to talk to you, but he's been in meetings all day long. I'm sorry, Mr. Benchley, but this is not a good time to interrupt him. You know how Fridays are. Everyone wants to get out of the city. You are welcome, Mr. Benchley. Yes? Is that Robert Benchley? May I help you? Yes, ma'am. My name is John Walton, Jr., and I called from Virginia the other day, and I spoke to somebody here about my manuscript. It's called Walton's Mountain. I'm the somebody you talked to. And if I'm not mistaken, I advised you to wait a while. Yes, well, maybe I'd better speak with Miss Becker herself. After all, I did mail it directly to her. That's not quite the way it's done. It was unsolicited. In which case, it was probably sent to an assistant editor for a preliminary reading. Well, if I could just be sure it wasn't lost, ma'am... Even that has been known to happen. Well, I don't know why it should happen. I mean, I mailed it to Miss Becker. I don't see why she shouldn't get it instead of someone who did. Mr. Walton, I hear my name mentioned. Miss Becker, John Walton, Jr. How am I glad to see you. Ma'am, I've come here to find out about the manuscript I sent to you six weeks ago. It's called Walton's Mountain, and I haven't heard anything at all. I've explained. We get hundreds of submissions like this. Ma'am, I spent five years of my life working on this book. I've come all the way from Virginia just to check up on the manuscript. For all I know, it might even be lost. Well, I had planned to be out of the city before the rush, but... Come with me. Thank you. Just a moment. Thank you. Over there is a slush pile of unsolicited manuscripts which will someday be read. See why it takes so long? Slush pile, huh? May I? Sure. I don't see them. Wait a minute. That's it. That's it right there. What do I do with it now? Would you like to sit down and tell me about it? Yes, ma'am, I would. Thank you. Most of what's in here is the truth. I mean, I fictionalized parts of it, but most of it really happened. It's about my family and me. Start with you. Well, I've always wanted to write. I can't ever remember wanting to do anything else. As far back as I can remember, I always kept a journal... with my thoughts and feelings about things in it. But because I felt that no one would understand that, I always kept it a secret. And then one Christmas Eve, my mother found out. I don't understand you hiding things under a mattress. Is it something you're ashamed of? What's in that tablet, Mama? All my secret thoughts. How I feel. What I think about. What it's like late at night to hear a whippoorwill call and hear its mate call back. Or just watching the water go behind the creek... and knowing someday it'll reach the ocean. Wondering if I'll ever see an ocean and what a wonder that would be. You know, Mama, sometimes I hike on over to the highway... and I just sit and watch the buses go by and the people in them. And I'm wondering what they're like and what they say to each other... and where they're bound for. Things stay in my mind, Mama. I can't forget anything. And it all gets bottled up in here... and sometimes I feel like a crazy man. I can't rest or sleep or anything... until I just rush off up here and write it down in that tablet. Sometimes I think I really am crazy. Things have been different, Mama. I could have done something with my life. You will, John boy. You have a promising future. See, in families like mine, as soon as he's able to... the oldest boy is supposed to go to work as soon as he can... to help support the rest of the family. Now, I fully intended to do that... and I thought that my father expected that of me. But on that same Christmas Eve... I found out that my father knew all along about my writing. He'd been working in Waynesboro that year... and he had a hard time getting home that night. But when he finally did, there were presents for everybody. Open yours, son. Oh, yeah. I don't know how it got way up to the North Pole... but I guess he must be a right smart man. I don't know much about the right trade, son... but if that's what you want to take up, give it all you got. Yes, sir, Daddy. After that, I wrote whenever I could make the time. Short stories, poems, scenes. But I was founder and I didn't have any direction. And then one day, I showed one of my short stories... to someone for the first time. 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. Well, what do you know about that? And the characters of the mother and father are... especially fine. Well, 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 with it? I think you ought to try to submit it to a magazine. Try to get it published. Just like a real writer? You're a real writer. Young and experienced, but... the talent is there. The gift is there. Something... totally your own. Something to guard, to treasure... and to use. Thank you. I sure appreciate your reading it for me. Thank you. One of my best influences was my teacher, Rosemary Hunter. And one of the most unexpected, my own grandmother. My family was 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 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. You know, Miss Hunter told me that the... talent of being a writer was a gift. Now I know where that gift comes from. Tell all these stories I remember. I'll tell them to you, John boy. And that'll be my inheritance to you. Grandma, I cherish you. And I you, boy. Good night. By chance, a professional writer came to the mountain. A.J. Covington. Moral stories are out of style, John boy. And so am I. But my story has a motto. Don't waste your life... searching for the one big story you were born to write. Write the little stories. Who knows, the sum total of them might be the big one. Write about Walton's Mountain. Your feelings about your family and this place. Just the way you've been doing. Write about how it is to be young and confused and poor. Groping. But supported by a strong father and a loving mother. Surrounded by brothers and sisters that pester you and irritate you. But care about you. Try to capture that in words, John boy. That's as big a challenge as the Klondike or the white whale or flying the Atlantic Ocean alone. It was too big for me. But I think you just might be up to it. Reading these should keep me out of trouble over the weekend. When I get to yours, I'll write you. Ma'am, do you think that if I stayed over till Monday, you might be able to read it? I'll give you an answer Monday. Thank you very much. How's it coming along, Jim Bob? I'm almost finished. That's great. Stand still. Hold your horses, you old mule. Come on, go ahead there. Make an outline right around his hoof. There you go. What are you doing, Elizabeth? Jessica, can't you ever remember? I can remember when I want to. Grandpa, what are you all doing? Detective work, and I am not grandpa. Please address me as my dear Watson, beloved assistant to Jessica, girl spy. Okay, Watson and girl spy. What are you all doing? Taking Blue's hoof prints. Hoof prints? You were just doing everyone's fingerprints. Now you're doing hoof prints? Don't you care if Blue gets stolen? Of course I care. But who's going to steal an old mule? Jessica, girl spy will know. We'll track down those mule thieves. And that's why we're taking Blue's hoof prints, Enchantress, and Myrtle's. Elizabeth, you're crazy. Jessica! Jessica? Hi, dear Watson. Ike said he hasn't heard a word from John Boy. John Boy promised he'd call the moment he arrived. Oh, don't worry, man. New York's a big place. Take a while for him to get settled down. I know what happened to John Boy. He's been kidnapped. Yeah. Get John Boy on the line. You know, when John Boy called, he reversed the charges. He's probably run out of money. I hope you bought a round-trip ticket. I wouldn't want him to get stuck up there. She's ringing. Daddy, can I stay on the line? Yeah. Hello. Hi, John Boy. Have you walked the Great White Way? And are the buildings of tallest people safe? Honey, Aaron. Here's Daddy. Hello, son. How are you? Listen, I'm sorry about call and collect, but I'm going to have to stay through Monday, and I'm running kind of short on money. New York's kind of a rough place without money. I want to talk to him. I don't care how much it costs. Speak up, son. Your mother's on the line. John Boy, you all right? I'm fine, Mama. Did you find your novel? Well, that's just it. See, I found it, but the lady editor hasn't read it yet. You sound kind of down, son. Well, I'm not going to like the idea of waiting, especially all weekend. You've worked too long and too hard on that novel for them to turn you down. I hope you're right. Now, remember, son, if they don't publish it, you always got the newspaper back here. Well, say hello to everybody. I don't want to run the bill. We love you, John Boy. Good luck. I love you all. Bye, John Boy. Gotta go. My board's all lighted up. Bye-bye, Aaron. Listen, son, I could send you a few dollars, but I don't think the mail would reach you in time. Well, that's all right. Don't worry about it. I'm just going to have to watch my budget, that's all. What are you going to do in New York without any money? Well, just see the city, I guess. I got enough money for subways and ferries. I thought maybe I'd try to look up Daisy. Remember Daisy Garner? She's the girl I danced with in that marathon? Yeah, I remember. Well, she wrote to me once. She sent me her address. Well, take care of yourself, son. All right, bye now. Good luck from all of us. Boy, it sure would be fun to spend a few days in New York. New York's a tough town when you're a stranger. Surely they have churches there. You could find somebody in a church. They got everything in New York. Do you know if Daisy Garner's here? I was told she works here. Daisy? She's around here somewhere. That's Daisy, dancing with a tall, gray-haired man. Oh, yeah. Thank you. Mister. You buy your tickets here. But I... All right, I'll have one. Daisy? You been in any marathons lately? John Walton, it's you. How are you? Not as bad as it looks. You know, I had a feeling you would turn up in New York one of these days. Really? Are you still a writer? Oh, yeah. Well, that's why I'm here. I'm waiting to hear if they're gonna publish my book or not. You finished it? I finished it. I'm waiting to hear from Hastings House if they're gonna publish it or not. Daisy, I've been just walking and walking around and you're the first familiar face I've seen out of six million. You can't understand me. Oh. How nice. Is this familiar? Yeah. I can't tell you how good it is to see you. Me, too. Is this your first time in New York? Oh, well, welcome to the Magic City. This is where everything happens, John. It's where you really, really, really begin to live. Oh, don't look at this place. This is where I earn my living and I can take off when I want to, which is important because I'm a dancer. Uh-huh. No, I'm a real, real dancer. I've been in two musicals so far. Oh. Yes, and tomorrow. Tomorrow I'm in the final auditions for a wonderful, wonderful new show, a speaking part this time. Speaking part, huh? Yes. I'll tell you, if enthusiasm gets it done, you've got a good chance. Oh, I don't know. It's all here, John. It's a city just boiling over with life. Have you seen it? Have you really, really seen it? True? Yeah. I've been too busy thinking about myself and my book. No, I know. No, I haven't seen it. I haven't seen any of it. If you're the same John Walton I knew, with your imagination, with your dreams, you're going to love New York. Well, what time do you get off? About 11. Will I see you? Well, I'd dance with you all night, but I don't have enough time. So I'll be downstairs. Oh, right. I'll be waiting for you. Dear Lord, we ask thy blessing on this house and on this food. And we especially ask of a John boy in New York City, amen. Amen. Mama's kissing at the table good manners. I don't think anybody minds. I wish they wouldn't do it in public. Sorry, Jim Bob. Your hair looks nice, Mary Ellen. Thanks, Mama. Mary Ellen, you sure have changed since you got married. Seems like only yesterday that I saw you. Do you two really fight? Once a week. John, you were there. What do you think John boy's doing now? I don't know. Things have changed up there. I know, I know. You know, you know, you know what? Uh-oh, Jessica girl spy strikes again. Daddy, is it dark in New York? It's dark right about now, yep. I can see John walking along the dark river. That's right. This big black car stopped. And then these men in black hats, black overcoats get out. They take out a cement coffin. Where does this child learn such things? On the radio. It's just getting good. Then they jump into the river. John boy sees them. They see John boy. They corner John boy with guns. He jumps in the river. They shoot at him. They jump in the river after him. Now that just happened. John boy was very moved. Come on now, have some milk, honey. That's enough. Well, here it is. Someday people are going to be paying money to see you in there. Oh, I can't believe it. How do you feel? I am so nervous. You're going to be just fine. You're going to do just great. Me knocking together. How do you think I feel? This is it. I hope you get the part. You'll be back. I'll see you. Here it goes. Are you reading, Miss Becker? I sure hope you are. Good Lord. I wonder what you felt, Daddy. Home from France and Uncle Ben left back there in an unmarked grave. Was it Mama you were thinking of? Or me? The baby? I wonder if you could have known then that you'd come back to Walton's Mountain and you were here and time has passed and I'm a man now and I'm going on a journey of my own. Yes? I'm sorry to disturb you but I'm looking for Edith Catherine Herbert. Were you a friend? Not really. I'm Edith's mother. She died nearly two months ago. Oh, my goodness. I'm sorry. Why were you looking for her? Oh, well, I was just on an errand and who might you be, Brother of Elizabeth? My name is John Walton Jr., ma'am. I'm from Virginia. You see, my sister's all wrapped up in that book that your daughter wrote. She practically lives the life of a Jessica Girl spy. Won't you come in? Thank you. My sister asked me to check in the bookstores for anything else that your daughter had written but I couldn't find anything in print. Oh, well, this is the book my daughter was working on when she received it. Oh, wait. Wait. What's her handwriting? I never liked books. Mostly I like being up in the mountains with my grandfather. Once we fell in a beaver pond and swam with the beavers and they were wild. Then I read your book, Jessica Girl Spy. When I go to bed at night I dream I am Jessica and when I wake up in the morning I dream I am Jessica. My brother is a writer too but he writes about us not about real people like you. He is a big shot and writes a newspaper but he's all right and listens when he isn't too busy. Your book has changed my life and I hope you will never stop. Thank you for reading my letter. Love, Jessica Elizabeth Walton Waltons Mountain, Virginia Not far from Rockfish. She's 18 years old and she's small for her age. She's got beautiful, beautiful red hair and a kind of impish face. She's full of surprises, a wonderful girl. Well, I should like to do something special for Elizabeth. Here's a copy of Jessica Girl Spy autographed by Edith. Oh, she'll treasure that. And here's a page in Edith's own handwriting from her unfinished manuscript. I miss the company of writers. Tell me what you're working on now. Well, it's my first novel. Actually, I finished the novel and I'm in New York waiting to hear whether Hastings House is going to publish it. Hastings House? You could almost say it's my second novel because I finished it over a year ago but I had to rewrite every page because the manuscript was burned up and our house caught on fire. Here we go! It's useless. I've tried and tried to rewrite the first page of my novel, the first paragraph, the first sentence. It always comes out the same, flat, empty. I feel as if there was a band of steel twisted tight inside me, shutting off the flow of words and feelings. Something was wrong. I wanted to turn my back on it and walk away. That's just how I feel about my book. But I found out what was wrong. I was trying to rebuild this house exactly like it was before. Well, you can't do it. You just can't get back that same excitement. No, I'm not the same man that built this. I can't get the same materials. I just got to get a roof over our heads. That's true. I was on the point of giving up. But I knew that if I was ever going to write again, I had to do it right then and there. So I took a tablet and I walked out in the middle of the woods and I sat down. And sure enough, I don't know how, but the words just started to come back. The dull and heat-laden days of August vanished in a rainstorm. And September dawned bright and sparkling and sunny. The foliage began to turn crimson and gold and bronze. The woods were afire with color but clean and chilled by an autumn wind. And so, I'm in New York City just waiting to hear. Oh, my dear boy, I'm so glad you came by. I do wish you well. Tommy, take these to editorial and this to the mailroom. Yes, ma'am. Miss Maddox? Well, good morning, Mr. Walton. Good morning. Miss Becker is in, isn't she? She is in. Bill, Mr. Walton is here. Won't you have a seat? Thank you. Good morning. Hastings House. Yes, I'll ring you, Mr. Adams. Franklin P. Adams? Franklin P. Adams. Ma'am? Won't you come in, Mr. Walton? Thank you. I can't believe you got this old record running. It's not an old record for runs, is it? I guess not. Oh, you gotta see. Daddy got me some license plates. Look at that. Well, how about that? Jim Bob got his own car. What do you think? I think it's great. No, you choke and I'll crank. All right. I'll choke and you crank. And guess what? They gave me an advance on royalties of $150. They want me to write another book. Can you write two books? I can write 100 books if they want me to. But you don't want to read it with the spelling mistakes and everything. I want to read it just the way you wrote it. Well, Mama, you know, I wrote you out to be kind of a Baptist in it. That's fine with me. And, Daddy, you appear to be a bit of a heathen from time to time. Where'd you ever get an idea like that? You must be hungry. I bet you haven't had a solid meal since you left home. Well, a home-cooked meal would be just great. Did you talk to Edith, Captain Herbert? I got something for you, Elizabeth. There you go. But this is just like a girl's flyer. I had this one. I wanted a new one. Well, this isn't exactly the same as the one you have. See, this one, personally autographed by Edith Catherine Herbert. Did you see her write it? No, honey, I didn't. Elizabeth, she died a while back. But I did get to see her mama, who got your letter. And she gave me this autographed copy to give to you. So there won't be any more books by her. No. But I got something else for you. This is a page from the manuscript of the book she was working on when she died. It's in her own handwriting. And her mama wanted you to have it. John, but I don't want to cry. But I feel like I lost someone that was real close to me. Are you all right? I think I'll always miss her. I'm sure you will. Maybe I'll like your book. You do. I really hope you do. I don't know how they get it to work. I don't know how they send enough food in there to feed all those people. I don't know how they get enough water in there to keep everybody clean. You know, I did a lot of things. I went down to the Statue of Liberty like you did. And I went to Times Square. And the greatest thing of all, of course, was walking out of Hastings' house with a contract and a copy of my book under my arm. Felt like I was carrying my own baby. Well, it's not quite the same thing. I'm pregnant. Mary Ellen. We're going to be uncles. Mary Ellen, you're pregnant. Congratulations. We're going to be uncles. Congratulations. We're going to be a great grandma. Sometimes it pays to be an old heathen. We're going to be a great grandma. You're going to call him Zeb, isn't you? You're going to be an uncle John. Excuse me. Who's the father of this child anyway? Congratulations. It's getting chilly. Winter is coming on. Wild geese will be flying south any day now. John boy, you're awfully quiet tonight. I've got a lot on my mind. Nothing's ever stirred me up in my whole life like seeing that city for the first time. I reckon if you were born there, you might take it for granted. Being a country boy, it's a love affair right from the start. Just being on that island gives me such a feeling of promise and adventure. Like the wildest things I ever dreamed in my whole life could happen. There's a hotel called the Algonquin and that's where a lot of real great writers get together. I stood across the street from it for a long time and I'm not sure, but I think I saw Dorothy Parker and Robert Benchley come out and get into a taxi cab. It's the same sky looking down on Times Square but it seems like a whole different world to me. Well, how do you young folks feel about your firstborn flying the coop? I don't think we'd get him to stay far even if we tried. I've been meaning to. There's no need to, son. I guess I'd better get busy dining. He sucks. I think there's one of them that doesn't have a home. Well, don't forget you ain't home, son. I never will. I did leave Walton's Mountain to live and work in New York City. I wrote more novels and raised a family of my own. Today we live in California but no matter where I am the call of a night bird, the rumble of a train crossing a trestle, the scent of crab apple, the lowing of a sleepy cow can call me home again. In memory I stand before that small white house and I can still hear those sweet voices. Goodnight, Mama. Goodnight, Ben. Goodnight, Jim Bob. Goodnight, Mama. Goodnight, Aaron. Goodnight, Jim Bob. Goodnight, Grandpa. Goodnight, Aaron. Goodnight, Jason. Goodnight, Grandpa. Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Jason. Goodnight, Elizabeth. Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, John boy.