Monday, December 13, 2010

Mayberry Mondays #29: “Howard the Poet” (10/06/69, prod. no. 0202)

In addition to being Mayberry’s pedantic county clerk, Howard Sprague (Jack Dodson) also functions as the town’s poet laureate—a role we saw him perform in an early first season episode, “The Panel Show”, when he came out of the closet on national TV and then had to write a few verses in apologia.  (Okay, I’m joking about that—but that outfit he was wearing really did make him look gay.)  On this week’s Mayberry Mondays, Howard gets a chance to connect with his inner bard (oh, it only sounds dirty), as we will learn via an announcement at Mayberry’s Literary Club meeting…presided over by Beatrice “Aunt Bee” Taylor (Frances Bavier).  (Note: I know the screen caps in these write-ups have really been sucky of late but I think the video quality of this installment is definitely one of the worst.  I just wanted to apologize in advance.)

AUNT BEE: Ladies…ladies and gentlemen…now…I realize tonight that our meeting of the Literary Club was to be a discussion devoted to Thoreau’s Walden…but… (Noticing a hand up) Yes, Emmett?
EMMETT: I read it…
AUNT BEE: Fine…but tonight…
EMMETT: …and you can have it!

Those of you who follow this weekly feature may remember another earlier R.F.D. outing, “New Couple in Town”, in which Mayberry’s resident fix-it savant Emmett Clark (Paul Hartman) crabbed indeterminately about having to read Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea at a club meeting.  Which begs the question: why the hell haven’t the other members chucked him out by now?  You’ll also notice that the Literary Club has inducted its first member of color, token black resident Ralph Barton (Charles Lampkin).  These are progressive strides for the sleepy little North Carolina hamlet.  It won’t be long before Ralph gets to sit at the counter in the town’s diner.

AUNT BEE: Yes…well, we’ll take that up later…
EMMETT: It’s got no plot
AUNT BEE: Well, Emmett it isn’t a novel
EMMETT: Boy, you can say that again… (To Ralph) Did you read it?
RALPH: Well, Emmett, I was…
EMMETT: It’s about this nut who couldn’t get along with anybody, so he goes out in the woods…and that’s where…
AUNT BEE: Emmett, please
EMMETT: I was just making a literary comment…

Aunt Bee, in her courtly Southern fashion, tells Emmett to shut his bloody gob because she has an important letter to read that concerns one of the club members “who is much too modest to read it himself.”


Yeah, you pretty much guessed it….unless you came in late and missing the opening paragraph.

AUNT BEE: …and I feel that this may be a major turning point in his literary career…and I also feel it might benefit the whole club just to be associated with him…and it comes from our state literary magazine, The Carolina Pen and Quill…

Is that a fact?  Well, curl my pinkie and dunk me a crumpet…

AUNT BEE (reading out loud): “Next month our magazine is initiating a new poetry section devoted exclusively to the work of native Carolina poets…”
(At this point in the reading, the front door opens and in walks city council head/poor-but-honest dirt farmer Sam Jones [Ken Berry], who does his darndest not to disturb these proceedings)
AUNT BEE: “…on the basis of several poems of yours, which we have observed in the Valleydale Glow bulletin, we’d like to commission you… (She turns toward Howard, who is seated to her right) Commission you, Mr. Sprague, to write an original poem to inaugurate our new poetry page…”
(The members break out in applause)
RALPH: How ‘bout that, Sam?  The Carolina Pen and Quill wants Howard to write a poem…
SAM: Hey, that’s great, Howard!
HOWARD (trying to remain modest): I really don’t deserve this honor…

Well, no…you really don’t.  But since you have a lot of free time at that hive of activity known as the county clerk’s office, you were the most likely candidate.

SAM: Oh, now don’t be so modest—those were darn good poems you wrote…
RALPH: Of course they were…otherwise they wouldn’t have asked you…
EMMETT: Well, Howard…I guess this calls for a little speech…

You’ll note that Emmett quantified that with “little”…but since this is Howard we’re talking about I hope nobody in this club had to have a babysitter for this evening; this could run into some money.

AUNT BEE: Yes! Yes!  From Mayberry’s poet laureate…
HOWARD: Oh, no…really…I… (He gets to his feet) Well…I only want to say that I appreciate what a great honor this is, and…I really think that part of the credit should go to the club as a whole…after all, you people encouraged me and inspired me…well, personally I regard it as a team victory

Woo-hoo!!!  Everybody out on the lawn for a series of victory laps!  Howard gets a nice hand of applause, and he assures those assembled that he “won’t let the club down…nor the town of Mayberry.”  (Well, that simply won’t do…what is this week’s plot going to be about if Howard demonstrates confidence and competence?)

The scene then dissolves to Sam’s town council office, where we find Mayberry’s village idiot, Goober Pyle (George Lindsey), pleased at the news of Howard’s literary triumphs:

GOOBER: Boy, I sure wish I could have been there last night and seen ol’ Howard’s face…

“But with that Dukes of Hazzard marathon on CMT, I sorta lost track of time…”

GOOBER: Was he excited?
SAM: Yeah…
EMMETT: Of course he was…that’s a big honor
SAM: Yeah…I guess Howard’s the first real literary light we’ve ever had in Mayberry…
GOOBER: Hey, tell me…is it true what I heard?  That they might make him a lariat?
EMMETT: Make him a what?
GOOBER: A poet lariat
EMMETT: La…laureate…laureate
GOOBER: Oh…

And somewhere right now in the world, Jane Goodall is planning an itinerary for Mayberry.

GOOBER: Hey—wouldn’t it be somethin’ if sometimes his house was one of them shrines where tourists pay to go through it?  Like Ralph Wadlow Emerson’s house?
EMMETT: That’s Waldoo
GOOBER: Is it, Sam?
SAM: Well, it’s close…close…

“I’m sorry, Ms. Goodall—but Trailways is the only bus with stops and connections in Mayberry…”

GOOBER: Well, I’ll say this for Howard…no matter how famous he gets, he’ll never change…
EMMETT: No…not ol’ Howard…

Wait for it…


Howard comes into the office smoking a pipe and wearing an outfit that suggests he’s a supporter of West Ham United…

HOWARD: Hi, fellahs!
GOOBER: Hey, Howard…you got a cold?
HOWARD: A cold?
GOOBER: Well, yeah—you’re all muffled up
EMMETT: Since when are you smokin’ a pipe?
HOWARD: Aw, come on you guys—can’t anybody do anything different in this town without everybody making a big fuss over it?

“We’re sorry, Howard…up the Hammers!”

SAM: Uh…how’s the poem coming along, Howard?
HOWARD: Well…it’s still in the incubator, you might say…I got a few embryos rollin’ around in the old brain…

There’s a picture I didn’t need burned onto my retinas.

GOOBER: Does that mean he ain’t done nothin’ yet?
SAM: Well…he’s just getting started…
EMMETT: Well, when you get underway, Howard—just let me know…I’ll report to the club… (He heads out the office door)
HOWARD: Right…
GOOBER: Yeah…
EMMETT: See ya, Howard…
SAM: Thanks again, guys…
(Goober follows Emmett out but turns before he completely exits)
GOOBER (to Howard): Take care of that cold…

As Howard strikes a match to light his new pipe, he grouses to Sam that Emmett and Goober fail to grasp that “you don’t turn out poetry like you turn out sausages.”  As he goes into detail about the method he uses to be inspired by the poetic muse, he has difficult lighting the pipe until Sam finally says to him: “You got a block there someplace.”

HOWARD: You know, this is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to me…this could open up a whole new world to me…
SAM: Yeah…yeah, it could at that…
HOWARD: As county clerk, I sit around the office all day and stamp bike licenses and marriage licenses…what is that?  But now…I’m really going someplace…this one poem could do it all for me…


Ah, yes…I remember when we had to read Howard’s magnum opus, “An Untitled Poem,” in high school—the man’s talents as a wordsmith were phenomenal!  As you may have guessed, our hero is having a little trouble getting some inspiration—and I’m sure those faggy accessories he’s taking to sporting aren’t helping much, either.  He sits and thinks…and thinks and sits…and sits and thinks…


Well, since I always like to keep faithful TDOY readers riveted let’s get a change of scenery by seeing what’s happening on the street.  Ralph strolls up to where Emmett is seated outside his fix-it shop, and because he apparently doesn’t have any farm work to do that day asks Emmett what’s going on…

RALPH: What’s the problem?
EMMETT: Hah?  Oh…it’s Howard’s lamp…the wiring is all shot…he says he needs more light when he’s working…
RALPH (concerned): Don’t…don’t…don’t short it there…
EMMETT: Ralph…I’m the fix-it man, remember?

Ralph shrugs his shoulders in resignation as Emmett gets up from his bench and walks into the shop…you know, you’re probably expecting some cheap laugh right now where Emmett plugs in the lamp and then turns it on, shorting it in the process…


…so I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you.  Emmett licks his fingers in pain, and angrily tosses the lamp into a trash can.  Whistling, he makes his way back out to where Ralph is seated, now perusing the newspaper.

RALPH: Work all right?
EMMETT: Perfect, perfect…you through with the sports?
RALPH: Oh…oh, sure…
EMMETT: You had any late reports on Howard’s coming with the poem?
RALPH: No…I guess he’s pounding away at it…
EMMETT: Well, this could mean a great deal to Howard…might change his whole life
RALPH: No question about it…big feather in the cap of the Literary Club, too…
EMMETT: And Mayberry—did you ever stop to think what this could mean for Mayberry?
RALPH: No, I don’t believe I have…
EMMETT: Could put it on the map—look what Shakespeare did for Stratford on the Avon!
RALPH: Hey…hey…yeah…he really shot that town right up there, didn’t he?
EMMETT: Sure did…what about Jack London and the Klondike?
RALPH: Well…now there I don’t go along with you…
EMMETT: What’s wrong with the Klondike?
RALPH: Now, I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it…but I haven’t heard of many people beatin’ a path to the Klondike
EMMETT: Look, Ralph…just because you haven’t heard of it don’t mean they ain’t goin’ there
RALPH: Ah, you could be right…
EMMETT: Anyway—I guarantee that once Howard comes through with this poem, Mayberry’s going to be a lot more important than just a place to gas up…

And if you’re thinking that not nearly enough time has flown by in this episode, here comes the brains of the think tank to put in his two cents…

EMMETT: Ah, Sam—lemme ask you a question…
SAM: Oh, look…I gotta get over to Howard’s…
EMMETT: Now, listen…listen…how many people a year would you say go to the Klondike?


SAM: What?
EMMETT: How many people a year go to the Klondike?  Take a stab at it…
SAM (after a pause): Four?
RALPH (laughing, as he gets up and gathers his paper): See ya, Emmett…see ya, Sam…
EMMETT: Gotta be at least eight

Sam informs Emmett that he’s going over to Howard’s office to remind him of the poem’s deadline per Aunt Bee.  As he heads off in that direction, Emmett stops him to say: “Tell Howard his lamp is too shot to fix…and no charge…he might do me a favor sometime…”


Back at Poetry Central, Howard’s not making much headway…but at least his pencil is well-sharpened.  He gets up from his desk, stares out the window…and after a few moments, picks up his typewriter and carries it over to another desk where he proceeds to put the machine in its case.  Sam has arrived by this time and innocently asks Howard how things are coming along, and is met with a testy response:

HOWARD:  I just wish everyone would quit asking me how it’s going
SAM: Oh…I’m sorry…
HOWARD: …just don’t seem to realize that you just don’t turn out poetry like you turn out…
SAM: Sausages?
HOWARD: Yeah…sausages…
SAM: Well, anyway—the reason I stopped by was Aunt Bee wanted me to remind you about the deadline on the poem…the seventeenth?
HOWARD (angry): I’m aware of it, Sam…
SAM: Okay...okay…I did my duty…

Heh heh heh…he said “duty.”  A frustrated Howard announces that he’s going home because he can’t create in the office: “It’s too impersonal…cold…sterile…poetry needs an atmosphere of warmth…and…and books…and human things.”  As he prepares to go out the door, Sam calls it back and hands him his scarf.

After General Foods pays some bills, we’re back in the office…and surrounded by wadded up piles of paper, it would seem Howard is still dealing with his writer’s block.  The office door opens, and in strolls Aunt Bee with a hamper big enough to choke a rhinoceros.

AUNT BEE: I brought you something to eat…
HOWARD: Oh now, look, Aunt Bee…I’m not hungry
AUNT BEE: Howard, nobody can create on an empty stomach…oh my heavens, what a mess!  (She starts to tidy his desk) My goodness…
HOWARD: No, no, Aunt Bee…I like it messy…
AUNT BEE: Oh, nonsense…nonsense…a clear desk means a clear mind

Aunt Bee tiptoes to and fro from the desk to where she sat the basket down, serving Howard his lunch…and the effect is not unlike watching her doing a seductive dance with fried chicken, mashed potatoes and all the fixin’s.  And now that I’ve ruined any of you from every stepping foot inside KFC again…

AUNT BEE: You just think think think…it’ll come…it’ll come…just let your mind flow free and unfettered
HOWARD: Aunt Bee…
AUNT BEE (shushing him): I’m not here…remember?

After raising the blinds in his office (“Good light is so important”) she waltzes over to the calendar on the wall…

AUNT BEE: Oh my…oh, yes—we have to worry about this, don’t we…the deadline…it’s getting kind of close, isn’t it? 
HOWARD: Yes…yes, it is…isn’t it…getting close…
AUNT BEE: You just think and eat…and I’ll come back later with the dishes…

As Aunt Bee heads for the doorway, she passes by Emmett, who is coming in with a light bulb in his hand.  They whisper greetings to one another and then Emmett begins to tiptoe his way over to where Howard is sitting.  “Don’t tiptoe!” Howard shouts at him, exasperated…causing Emmett to drop the bulb and it shatters on the floor.  There is a dissolve to the outside of Emmett’s storefront…

GOOBER: Asked you to leave, huh?
EMMETT: Asked me?  He ordered me to leave…I thought poets were supposed to be nice people…we got a rough one…
GOOBER: Well, I just can’t believe that ol’ Howard’s freezin’ up…
EMMETT: I don’t think he’s written a line yet…
GOOBER: The thing is due pretty soon, ain’t it?
EMMETT: Well, of course it’s kinda natural… (He and Goober enter the fix-it shop) Put too much pressure on a guy…it’s easy to choke up…
GOOBER: Heck yes—it’s even happened to me
EMMETT: You?
GOOBER (sitting down): Yeah…
EMMETT: Get off my stool…
GOOBER (standing up again): Listen…one time…this English feller in a big Rolls-Royce drove into the gas station…well, you know how expensive them cars are…
EMMETT: Oh, yeah…you can’t touch one of them for under…oh…five or six thou…
GOOBER: Right…well, all he needed was a carburetor adjustment—why, I can fix one of them with my eyes shut…
EMMETT: Yeah, I know…that’s how you fixed mine the last time…
GOOBER: Emmett…anyway, there was somethin’ about that shiny motor…and the way he was leanin’ over my shoulder watchin’ me…well, I started sweatin’…my hands started twitchin’…and I couldn’t even hold a screwdriver steady…first thing I knew, I broke a wire in there…
EMMETT: Ah, you were just out of your class…
GOOBER: No, I choked…the harder I tried, the worse I did…finally he took the screwdriver out of my hands and fixed it himself…you talk about being embarrassed…

Especially if you happened to walk in on the part where Goober describes the customer looking over his shoulder and how Goob starts a-sweating (shudder).  Goober empathizes with Howard’s situation and tells Emmett he’s going over to his office to give him a pep talk—but Emmett counters that Howard isn’t there; he’s out in the woods seeking inspiration…

HOWARD: Stump stump stump…ah…there sat the…old… (Writing this down) …gnarled…stump…stump chump rump lump…lump!  Like…there sat the old gnarled stump…like a wizened ancient lump…that’s no good…
(Howard sees a rabbit run by)


HOWARD: Rabbit!  Rabbit rabbit rabbit rabbit…rabbit habit…grab it…grab the rabbit…uh…it’s a habit…grab it…it’s a habit…oh…

Goober, peeking from behind a tree, is not nearly so stupid that even he knows Howard has gone bye-bye.  So in his endearing country bumpkin way, he offers a few simple words of encouragement to his chum:

GOOBER: Oh, well—don’t worry…I know how it is…been through it myself…it’s just…well, it’s just in your mind…you just think you’ve blown it; that you’re a miserable failure and let everybody down and all you can do is hide out here…why, that inspiration you’re graspin’ for could be…could be…could be right here any place, like that ol’ stump here…lots of good rhymes there…chump, lump, stump…

At this point in the conversation, Howard could conveniently dispatch Goober to the great self-serve in the sky with the help of a large tree limb and not only would anyone care but it would end up being the best R.F.D. episode ever.  Unfortunately, all Howard can do is shoo him away in his Sprague-like fashion and bemoan the fact that the sands in the hourglass are slowly running out and he’s yet to create a masterwork of poetry.

There’s a dissolve to a shot of Howard hunched over his typewriter in his office, and a nice bit of nonverbal comedy as he pecks on the keys, advances the carriage upward to remove the paper in the machine and he smiles at what he has typed…


…he then folds the paper neatly…and then folds it again…and again…and again, then frustratingly throws it in the wastebasket…he then steps back and then stares at the trash…another inspired look crawls across his face and he reaches over to where his typewriter is on the desk.  Picking the machine up, he walks over to the wastebasket and throws the typewriter on top.  Since we’re just about out of show, I guess it’s time for Sam to make an appearance and to say the right Andy Griffith-like thing.

SAM: I saw your light still on…
(Sam stares down at the typewriter in the trash basket)
HOWARD: Yeah—Tom Edison invented that…
SAM: It’s getting a little late, Howard—don’t you think you ought to go home and…get some sleep?
HOWARD (shrugs): Why not?
SAM: Yeah…come on, I’ll give you a lift…
HOWARD: Sam, don’t you think it was considerate of Tom Edison to invent the incandescent light bulb so that I could sit here and watch my life go right down the drain?
SAM (grabbing Howard’s coat off a chair): It’s, uh…getting a little chilly out…maybe you…better put your jacket on…
HOWARD (after a pause): Sam…you’re looking at a failure…a complete…total…dismal failure…

“And in other news…space is infinite.”

HOWARD: Well, maybe you don’t understand…I failed…I mean, I can’t write two lines—I can’t even write two words…I’m a failure!
SAM: All right, so…you’re a failure…come on…come on…put your jacket on…
HOWARD: What kind of a person are you?!!  I mean, here I am—a man at the end of his rope…his whole life blasted away, and all you’re worried about is getting my coat on…

That’s what results from spending too much time around Aunt Bee.  I’m not going to go in too deep detail with this roundelay: Howard bemoans the fact that he’s blown his big opportunity and that he’s let the entire town down; Sam is trying to tell him in the politest way possible to man up and stop acting like a big poetry-spouting pansy.  But the habits of a lifetime are hard to break…and as such, Howard has found his muse:


Though we walk on the wind
Our courage turns frail
At a small gnawing fear
“What if I fail?”
The sweet smell of success
Falls painfully stale
When that dread thought intrudes
“What if I fail?”
Though we’re destiny’s child
Our paths studded and starred
Just one little failure
And forever we’re scarred
Do you believe that, my friend?
Then more fool thou
You can’t let one failure
Color the whole cow

Some of the stimulating stanzas of this wretched poem are drowned out when Goober whispers to Sam; “Cow?  He’s gettin’ a little humor in it…”

With which you are blessed
Grab that small failure
And do not deplore it
If you take it in stride
You’re a better man for it
From the wise come these words
Let thee never more quail
At that Devil-wrought phrase
“Oh!  What if I fail?”

The members of the club break out in applause, though I suspect it’s probably because Aunt Bee has finished reading it as opposed to any literary merit.  (Seriously—how does a smell “fall painfully stale?”)  “That was really somethin’, Howard,” gushes Goober—summing up not only the club but my opinion of Mr. Sprague’s work…

GOOBER: …pretty good about the cow…
EMMETT: Great, Howard—I knew you could do it!  I never doubted you for one second…

What a kiss-ass.

HOWARD: Well, I wish I’d have been as sure about it as all you were…if it hadn’t been for Sam here…
SAM: Oh no no no…I didn’t do a thing…I couldn’t put two words together…no, you did it all, Howard—and it’s the best thing you ever did…
AUNT BEE: Indeed it is!  And who knows?  Mayberry may become the home of the poet laureate…
HOWARD: Oh…come on…me?  Nah…

But Aunt Bee insists that such an idiotic notion could happen, and as Howard tries to modestly dismiss such crazy ideas he nonchalantly sticks that pipe back in his mouth.  If you think that’s funny, wait till we get to the coda.

In the wrap-up, Sam pulls into Goober’s station to fill up and finds him hunched over the insides of an automobile, peering inside.  When Goober turns to Sam…


…he’s decked out in Howard’s poet regalia.

GOOBER: Oh…Howard give ‘em to me…said it didn’t exactly help the creative process none, just makes a fool out of ya…
SAM (giving him the once-over): He may be right
GOOBER: I don’t know about that, Sam…seems to be workin’ for me…wanna hear somethin’?
SAM: Well…uh…
(Goober hands Sam his pipe and the gas cap, and reaches around to pull a notebook out of his pocket)
GOOBER: Now I know I ain’t never gonna become another Ralph Wadlow Emerson…but you listen to this…”Lo, the shades of night ‘twas…” ‘Twas, now that’s a word poets use…it means “it was”…’twas…
SAM: Yeah…I see…
GOOBER: How you like it so far?
SAM: Well…how’s the rest of it go?
GOOBER: Well, that’s as far as I got…I’m sorta waitin’ for inspiration to hit me…
SAM: Oh—well, while you’re waiting would you mind giving me some gas?
GOOBER: Well…  (He jams the gas hose nozzle into Sam’s tank) Lo, the shades of night ‘twas…fallin’…grawlin’…brawlin’…
(There are several “dings” to indicate Sam’s tank is full, and then the sound of gasoline spilling on the ground is heard)
SAM: It’s spilling!
GOOBER: No, that don’t rhyme…oh!!!

Goober then comically tries to remove the gas hose and ends up spilling petrol on himself, Sam and the notebook which has fallen to the ground.  Now, if I could ask a favor of any TDOY reader who eventually stumbles on to a method of time travel—would you mind going back to when I first came up with the idea of doing this R.F.D. project and talking me out of it?

Since Mayberry’s Literary Club simply won’t run itself, that means Aunt Bee is front and center in this week’s episode…and Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s patented Mayberry R.F.D. Bee-o-meter™ adds another notch to her belt, tallying a total of two appearances for the second season and fourteen in total for the series.  We are also blessed with the absence of Sam’s idiot son Mike (Buddy Foster) for a second week but we also lose an appearance from the only real reason to ever watch this series—Millie “Do you want jimmies on that cupcake?” Swanson, played by Facebook chum Arlene Golonka.  Next week on Mayberry Mondays, an episode that actually made me laugh out loud…well, parts of it, anyway.  Here’s hoping you’ll join me at that time for the wet-your-pants funny “Goober and the Telephone Girl.”


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Monday, December 6, 2010

Mayberry Mondays #28: “Saving Morelli’s” (09/29/69, prod. no. 0207)

Last week when I kicked off the inaugural episode of Mayberry R.F.D.’s second season with “Andy’s Baby,” I mentioned in passing that I’d already watched the remaining installments of the show and that some of them were a real chore to watch.

This is one of them.  Your enjoyment of “Saving Morelli’s” will depend largely on your appreciation of star Ken Berry’s singing and dancing gifts; I don’t wish to disparage the man—he clearly has talent, which he displayed prominently with numerous guest appearances on The Carol Burnett Show and his own short-lived variety series The Ken Berry Wow Show—but the last thing the Velveeta of sitcoms needs is musical numbers.  Since I knew the job was dangerous when I took it, however …I have no alternative but to solider on.

It’s Saturday night in Mayberry, and if that sleepy little North Carolina hamlet is anything like the town I grew up in West Virginia (Ravenswood) folks are prepared to do some wild and crazy things…like playing with the automatic doors at Penny Fare.  No, I’m only slightly kidding about that; to your right is a picture of the local hot spot, Morelli’s…but something seems amiss as the song on the jukebox ends and four individuals walk back to their table from the dance floor: city council head/poor-but-honest dirt farmer Sam Jones (Berry), bakery doyenne Millicent “Millie” Swanson (Arlene Golonka), pedantic county clerk Howard Sprague (Jack Dodson) and a young underage girl (Symma Winston) who answers to “Shirley” and who appears to be Howard’s date for the evening…

HOWARD: Boy, there sure is a lot of elbow room out here tonight, huh?
SAM: Yeah—I’ve never seen a place so empty
MILLIE: It’s probably just an off night—it’s usually real bouncy here Saturday nights…
HOWARD: Yeah…sure is… (To Shirley) We always think of it as a real fun place…


You think I’m kidding about this girl, but honest to my grandma she doesn’t look a day over fourteen, even in this admittedly crappy screen capture.  I’ll bet Howard drove around the schoolyard for hours before finding someone who’d go out with him.

HOWARD: Well, whaddya say we tie on the old feedbag, huh?
SAM: Fine, fine…
MILLIE: Yeah, I’m starved…

A gentleman who looks like he came in third in a Chef Boyardee look-a-like contest emerges from the kitchen and looks around sadly.  For the purposes of our play, he is the “Morelli” of the restaurant’s title but in actuality he’s character actor Frank Puglia—a stage, screen and television veteran whose film credits go all the way back to silents (he was cast by director D.W. Griffith in Orphans of the Storm and Isn’t Life Wonderful) and who’s best remembered here at TDOY as the thesp who plays “Baron Montay” in the 1947 Bob Hope comedy My Favorite Brunette.  (Movie fans might also recognize him as the street vendor who keeps offering Ingrid Bergman a discount as she chats with Humphrey Bogart in the marketplace scene in Casablanca.*)


MORELLI: Hello, everybody…
SAM: Oh…hi, Mr. Morelli…
(Morelli is greeted by the others seated at the table)
MORELLI: Uh…you order good and fine…order good because everything is on the house
SAM: On the house?  That’s swell!
MILLIE: Oh, what’s the occasion?
MORELLI: Well…I’m closing the place…
SAM: Oh…no, you’re kidding…
MORELLI: No…I’m not kidding…I close next week…

“One teensy little cockroach in the veal scallopini, and BOOM!  The Board of Health comes down on you like a ton of bricks…”

MILLIE: But why?
MORELLI: No business, senorina…just no business…on Saturday night I should have them lined up here
HOWARD: Yeah, what happened to everybody?
MORELLI: They go to Pagano’s…
MILLIE: Well, Pagano’s has nice food but it’s not nearly as good as yours…

Well…there is that endless salad and breadsticks deal…

MORELLI: Senorina…the food has nothing to do with it…it’s entertainment…he gives them entertainment!!!
SAM: Oh, yeah…I’ve seen their ads…they put on a floor show over there, don’t they?
MORELLI: Yeah…well…I go back to St. Louis…I got a brother-in-law there; he owns a hamburger joint…
SAM: Well, look, Mr. Morelli—why do you have to go back there?  Why don’t you just put entertainment in here?  (Morelli starts to interject) No, no, no—if Pagano’s can do it, you can do it…
MORELLI: Look, Sam—what do I know about entertainment?

The clown with his pants falling down...or the dance that's a dream of romance...or the scene where the villain is mean…that's entertainment!

HOWARD: Hey…we’ve all got a little bit of show biz know-how…why don’t we try booking an act and sort of get the ball rolling…?
MILLIE: Why yes!  Why not?
HOWARD: I mean, when I was in college I staged the Senior Hi-Jinks…and Millie, you were in some shows in Raleigh
MILLIE: Right!  (To Sam) And you told me you did some shows in the Army in Alaska, Sam…

“And my uncle’s got a barn we could rehearse in…”  The mention of Millie’s Raleigh shows is, of course, a reference to an earlier R.F.D. outing, “The Church Play,” in which her attempts to stage a production of Sleeping Beauty are nearly scotched by Mayberry’s resident evil bitch, Clara Edwards (Hope Summers).  But if Howard and Sam are “show biz veterans” why did they go through all that trouble asking Millie to take over the church play if they could have done the job themselves?

SAM: Yeah…well, I didn’t put on any shows or stage them or anything—I was just in them…
MILLIE: A song and dance man…
HOWARD: Yeah, yeah, I remember…well, give us the word, Mr. Morelli and we’ll book a show for you…
MORELLI: Well, I appreciate it very much but I think it’s asking too much…
HOWARD: Nonsense!  It’s just as important to us to keep this place open as it is to you…
SAM: Sure it is!  We have to have a place to go on Saturday nights…
MILLIE: Right…
SAM: I mean it’s either here or the library

I don’t know, Samuel—I hear that library can get pretty lively sometimes, especially when the copy of Peyton Place hasn’t been checked out.  So Morelli the restaurateur gives his stamp of approval in allowing our heroes (and heroine) to book some first-rate entertainment into his joint (Howard tells him they’ll head up to Raleigh and stop off at a talent agency) and motions for a waiter to take everybody’s order.  (I wonder if they’re still getting the meal on the house?)


Now, if this were the same Charles Pierce who writes for the Boston Globe and is a frequent guest on NPR’s Wait, Wait…Don’t Tell Me! this episode would improve a hundredfold…but as I have so often commented in the past, we simply aren’t that lucky.  No, this Charlie Pierce is…well, let me see if I can provide some photo identification:


Yes, it’s our old pal Buddy Lester—whom we last saw on the show as a salesman who successfully sold would-be shoe peddler Goober Pyle (George Lindsey) a pen in the episode “An Efficient Service Station.”  Howard and Millie catch Pierce in mid-sandwich; he explains that agents have to grab a bite of lunch whenever they can.

PIERCE: Now what can I do for you?
HOWARD: Well, we’d like to book an act for a roadhouse…
PIERCE: Oh…what’s the name of the joint?
MILLIE: It’s called Morelli’s…

“Morelli’s?  I thought the Board of Health closed that place already…”

PIERCE: Morelli’s…that’s outside of Chicago, isn’t it?
HOWARD: No…it’s outside of Mayberry…
PIERCE: Outside of what?
HOWARD/MILLIE: Mayberry…
HOWARD: It’s a small town, but rather sophisticated, I’d say…

If by “sophistication” one means The Dukes of Hazzard airs exclusively on PBS…

PIERCE (grabbing a Rolodex): Well…lemme see who I got that ain’t workin’…you know, I handle some of the biggest acts in the country—some of them world renowned…sophisticated, you say, huh?
HOWARD: Right…
PIERCE: Sophisticated…S…S…ah!  Picked one right off the bat…Harbinger the Magician…
MILLIE: Definitely no…you see…
HOWARD: Mr. Pierce, I think I can straighten you out pretty quick…what we’re actually looking for is a musical act who’s known in the area…I mean, that people have seen on local television or somewhere around…a name that’s familiar to them…
PIERCE: Well, I don’t know…like I said, most of my acts are world renowned…local, huh?  (Back to the Rolodex) L…L…local…ah!  The Claghorn Brothers?
MILLIE: Oh, you mean the ones that used to be on WBTD?
PIERCE: Yeah…yeah…
HOWARD (excitedly): Oh hey, Millie—I think we’re onto something…the Claghorn brothers are great!  Good singing, and funny, too!
MILLIE: Oh, well…I think they’d be just perfect!

Claghorn…Claghorn…it seems, I say, it seems to me I’ve heard that name somewhere before…


HOWARD: How much do they get?  I mean, this would be for the weekend, Saturday and Sunday…
PIERCE (after some thought): Five hundred bucks? That’s two shows a night…
MILLIE: But Mr. Morelli said we could spend that much…
HOWARD (getting up out of his chair): Mr. Pierce…you got yourself a deal!
PIERCE (shaking Howard’s hand): Good…you made a wise decision…

Well, it sounds good on paper at least—but will it pass muster with Mayberry’s resident fix-it savant, Emmett “Lowest Common Denominator” Clark (Paul Hartman)?

EMMETT: Hey—the Claghorn Brothers, huh?
HOWARD: Right!
EMMETT: Oh, they’re great…they’re just great…
SAM: Yeah, Howard…you and Millie picked out a real winner there…those Claghorn Brothers are a big attraction around here—they oughta really pull the people in…
HOWARD (beaming): Oh, yeah…they got what it takes, all right…good singing, guitar playing…and a lot of humor in what they say…they get off some real rib-ticklers…
SAM: Yeah…
EMMETT (laughing): I like it when the big guy goes dancin’ around singin’ into the jug…
SAM: Yeah…
HOWARD: And the little guy’s good, too…

Oh, spiffing…you’ve spent $500 of someone else’s money on a jug band, Howard.  Take a victory lap.  Howard, professional booker of talent that he is, then whips out a floor plan of the restaurant in order to show Sam and Emmett how the production will get underway…

HOWARD: Now—as far as the lighting goes…Sam, what’s your feeling about an amber spot?

“Um…well, I saw Amber Spott dance down at the Titty Twister and thought she was pretty good…”

SAM: Well…uh…gee, I don’t know…amber’s a nice color…
HOWARD: Check…now, I guess the boys will need a combination to back them up…
EMMETT: You mean music?
HOWARD: Yeah…they’ll need accompaniment on some of their numbers…what are some of the combos we’ve used at the dances?
SAM: Well, let me see…at the last thing we had we used Swifty Lewis and his Mad Hatters…
EMMETT: They must be good…’cause people still danced til’ twelve-thirty…
HOWARD: Swifty Lewis…yeah, I’ll check him out later this afternoon…he works righ down here at the toll bridge…

And what’s more, you can get Swifty and the Hatters for a mere spaghetti dinner and a lap dance from Amber.  Sam tells Howard and Emmett that he’s going over to Morelli’s and get him up to speed, also suggesting that Mr. M publicize the big event.  Apparently the notices in the Hooterville World-Guardian were effective because in a scene dissolve we find Sam, Millie and Howard seated at Morelli’s and Howard bragging about all those who have R.S.V.P.’d:

HOWARD: Hey, it’s a real sellout, all right…
SAM: Well, great…great…
HOWARD: Yeah, the crème de la crème, too—we’ve got people coming from Walnut Hill, Magnolia Park and Winston Meadows…the real jet-set!

“Abigail, let’s drive into Mayberry and see what those yokels are up to on a Saturday night…it might be frightfully amusing…”

MILLIE (to Mr. Morelli): Are you going to have enough food?
MORELLI: That’s what I’m working on now!  And I want to thank you very much—all of you…you saved Morelli’s…
SAM: Aw…
HOWARD: Oh, forget it, Mr. Morelli…oh, yeah—by the way…I thought it might be a good idea if somebody got up and introduced the Claghorn Brothers…you know?  And I suppose it really should be one of us…how about you, Sam?
SAM: Oh, me?  No, not me…how about you, Howard?
HOWARD: Well, how about you, Mr. Morelli?

“Look, Nancy—that food in the kitchen doesn’t cook itself, you know…”

MORELLI: Me get up in front of an audience?  I faint…
HOWARD: Well… (Chuckling) I suppose I might be able to handle it…
SAM: Look if there’s nothing more for me to do here there’s something I really have to take care of at the farm…

And as his friends chew the insides of their mouths to keep from laughing out loud at that patently ridiculous notion, Millie gives Sam a send-off just as the phone starts to ring over at the front of the restaurant.  “I’ll get it,” announces Howard as he makes his way over.  “I’ll just have to tell them we’re full up.”


HOWARD: Morelli’s…Howard Sprague speaking…oh, hi, Mr. Claghorn!  We were…what… (Ominous music up full) Well, you can’t…no!  I mean…Mr. Claghorn, we…well, yes…yeah…I understand…goodbye…
(Howard hangs up the phone with an expression that looks like he’s the victim of someone breaking into his house and swiping his stamp collection)
MILLIE: H-Howard?  What’s the matter?
HOWARD: That was Elmer Claghorn…his brother Willie’s about to become a father somewhat prematurely and they’re leaving for Atlanta…they cancelled out on us!
MILLIE: Oh, no! 
MORELLI: Cancelled out?  (Sighing) It was too good to be true…
MILLIE: But we’ve got this mob coming!
HOWARD: I know, I know…let’s just not panic…I’ll have to get on the phone with Charlie Pierce and see if he can send us some kind of replacement…if not Charlie Pierce, then some other agent…

Cue the sad trombone!  Howard’s failed attempts to get Pierce to answer his phone are explained away as it being a Saturday…though I personally believe it’s because Pierce isn’t wild about Howard calling him by his first name so he's ignoring the calls.  And the other agents are in solidarity; with the hours ticking away before the big event the only luck Howard’s had at landing a replacement act has been all bad…

HOWARD (dejectedly): No answer at any of the booking agencies…it’s Saturday…
MILLIE: Oh…
HOWARD: Well, doesn’t anybody know of any local talent?
MORELLI: I don’t know anybody…

Well, I was going to suggest Millie do a little entertaining for us…but what I’d like for her to do probably isn’t appropriate for a family sitcom…

HOWARD (frustrated): Just somebody who could sing a little!  Or…or do anything!
MILLIE: There’s just nobody
HOWARD (after a pause, and then you can almost see a light bulb by his head): Millie…
MILLIE: Yes?
HOWARD: What about Sam?
MILLIE: Well, what about him?
HOWARD: Well, you know that show he was in when he was in the Army…maybe he could do something from that…
MORELLI: Sam Jones?

Yeah, Mr. Morelli…Sam Jones is the only thing keeping you and your fine eatery from being demolished by an angry Walnut Hill-Magnolia Park-Winston Meadows horde.  Be afraid…be very afraid…

HOWARD: He did some shows in high school, too…he sang and dance and he was good
MILLIE: Oh, whatever that show was I know he did it a lot at the Army bases…oh, but that was years ago…
HOWARD: Yeah, but a performer never forgets that stuff…

Speak for yourself, Debate Team Boy—if it weren’t for the Internets I’d never remember all the words to “Jubilation T. Cornpone”…

MILLIE: There’s only one little hitch…I don’t think Sam would do it…
HOWARD (after a pause): Yeah, but that may depend on the approach…
MILLIE: What do you mean?
HOWARD: Millie, we’ve got to handle this carefully…very carefully…
MILLIE: Right...


As the two of them conspiratorially shake hands, the entire blogosphere can be heard collectively shouting: “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”  (Or it could just be me…but if it was, the voice would be kind of raspy.)  After the General Foods break, Howard and Millie pay Sam a visit at Jones Farms, where our hero manages to say with a straight face that he working on repairing a “darn pressure gauge off my irrigation pump”…(chortle)

SAM: Did you finish up out at Morelli’s?  (Howard and Millie respond in the affirmative)Yeah, I’m sure looking forward to the big night tonight…oh, Howard—I meant to ask you…did, uh…did anybody make any arrangements for the Claghorns?  I mean, a place for them to stay while they’re in town?
HOWARD: I-I-I-I-I spoke to Elmer Claghorn about half an hour ago…
SAM: Oh, good…
HOWARD: Yeah…
SAM: I should have known you’d take care of everything… (Millie and Howard laugh) Uh…well…you want to see me about anything special?
HOWARD (taking a deep breath): Sam, there comes a time in the course of human events…
SAM: Howard…Howard, how about just coming out with it…

Oh, but Sam…why not let him tell it in his own fashion, because you’re going to live forever

HOWARD: The Claghorn Brothers have cancelled out…
SAM: What?  Oh, no…why?
MILLIE: Oh, the details are unimportant…but there’s nobody else we can get—all the booking agencies are closed…
HOWARD: Sam…it’s up to you

“You’ve got just three hours to become a booking agent and build up a swell clientele in order to find us a replacement for the no-show Claghorns!”

SAM: Up to me?  Well, what can I do?
HOWARD: Something from that show you did when you were in the Army…
SAM (trying to get the words out): Oh, now wait a minute…wait a minute…you can’t be serious!  I’m no professional!  And besides…do you know how long ago that’s been?  That was twelve years!
MILLIE: But you said it was a big hit!  You said so yourself!
SAM: Don’t you understand…it’s just been too long ago…
HOWARD: Sam…is that your final word?
SAM: Oh, look…I’m sorry… (Howard and Millie turn and walk away, disgusted with their friend) I…I’m sorry…no, really… (Calling after them) I’m…I’m sorry…it’s just that I…I…I’m sorry!  I…I’m…sorry…

I’m not always that good at reading people, but I can’t help but think that Sam is sorry.  But not nearly as sorry as the treatment he’s going to get from this turniphead, who just so happens to run the town’s fix-it shop:

SAM: Emmett…hey, Emmett…I wonder if you’d take a look at this pressure gauge for me…it’s off my irrigation pump and it’s not registering for some reason…
EMMETT: Take it somewhere else…I don’t do business with fair-weather friends
SAM: What?
EMMETT: Morelli’s…you’re lettin’ it go down the drain…
SAM: Oh…look, Emmett…they’re asking me to do something I haven’t done for twelve years!
EMMETT: So what?  Sam Jones…Mister Nice Guy…

“That’s Mister Mister Nice Guy to you, my fine friend…”

EMMETT: Mayberry’s Sir Lancelot…not in my book you ain’t…
SAM: Look, Emmett…
EMMETT: I hope you never get your pressure gauge fixed…
SAM: Emmett, try to understand, will ya?  I’d be a flop!
EMMETT: Maybe…but at least you’d give Morelli a fighting chance…and I’ll thank you to keep your pressure gauge off my counter!  (The camera cuts to a barking dog standing in the doorway) See?  Even he’s heard about it… (To the dog) Sic ‘em!  Sic ‘em!  Sic ‘em!

Oh, if only that dog would go Cujo on Sam’s ass…this would be the best R.F.D. ever!  Unfortunately, he just chases our hero out the door, and the scene shifts to the restaurant, where Mr. Morelli sits dejectedly doing paperwork…

SAM: You’re not going to open at all?
MORELLI: No point…the people will hate me if there is no entertainment…sit down…
SAM (seating himself): Thank you…
MORELLI: Now, uh…I still want to thank everybody for being so kind…and trying, anyhow…
SAM: Aw, gee…I wish I could help, Mr. Morelli…but really, there’s…
MORELLI:: Please…Sam…don’t apologize…I know you’d do it if you thought you could…Sam…if you need any…pounded steaks…I have about a hundred and fifty of them…

Wait a minute…has this…this has all been a scheme to get some free beef!  Sam, you magnificent bastard!  I never…oh…wait one more minute…Sam’s not that clever to cadge some gratis meat…this plan would have had to have been hatched by a person not only familiar with the food situation at Rancho Jones…but someone who is pure dagnasty evil


You read my mind, good people.  This will go a long ways toward explaining why Beatrice “Aunt Bee” Taylor (Frances Bavier) isn’t in this episode…she’s working behind the scenes…well, Sam and Mr. Morelli don’t have much to say to one another after this—he asks Morelli if he still plans to relocate to St. Louis and when Morelli answers in the affirmative, Sam breaks another uncomfortable silence by telling him he’ll see him again before he leaves…

Sam is really getting a major guilt trip out of all this, and to be honest I don’t think it’s fair.  After all, he’s not Rob Freakin’ Petrie here.  And besides, Millie was in burlesque shows in Raleigh—ferchrissake, why won’t someone suggest she do a little bump-and-grind for the sake of an old man who’s going to wind up flipping burgers if his restaurant goes under?  (I know you think this is all about me, but I only want what’s best for kindly Mr. Morelli.)


Alone while drinking a cup of joe, Sam starts to sing the words to the tune he performed while in the Army, desperately trying to remember the routine…


…he even attempts to try a little bit of the ol’ footwork, and is pleased when it all comes back to him…


His confidence returned, he gets on the horn and asks Sara—Mayberry’s phone operator and gossip queen—to get Howard on the phone.  It’s a momentous occasion here in Mayberry; Sam is going out on the floor of the restaurant as a city council official…but he’s coming back a star!

Ladies and gentlemen…Morelli’s of Mayberry is pleased to present your master of ceremonies for this evening…that kounty klerk of komedy, Howard Sprague!


HOWARD: Good evening, ladies and germs… (Laughs) Yeah…um…I’m Howard Sprague, your master of ceremonies…and a funny thing happened to me on the way to the club tonight—I was driving along, and a chicken…flew right into the windshield of my car


I’m interrupting this hilarious monologue because I love this picture of Millie and Emmett sitting at the table…Emmett’s looking around as if he expects Martha (Mary Lansing) to breeze in and catch him at any minute.  Where the hell is Mrs. Clark, anyway?  No wonder that marriage is always in trouble—Emmett’s too busy cattin’ around to pay her any attention.

HOWARD: …and the farmer came running out, and he said: “Uh, Mr. Motorist, that’s a very valuable chicken—he’s worth ten thousand dollars…”  And I said: “How can any chicken be worth ten thousand dollars?”  And he said: “Well, sir, that chicken can recite the Gettysburg Address…”  And I said: “Mr. Farmer, I’d like to hear that chicken say the Gettysburg Address…”  And he said: “I’m sorry, he can’t—he only does it on the Fourth of July…”

Millie is the only one in the joint who laughs at this, which just makes me love her all the more.  (Personally, I think Howard should have gone with that lisping parrot joke Andy wanted him to tell last week.)  “Well, so much for the humorous part of the show,” Howard continues on, bathed in flop sweat (“He gets things off to a nice lull,” cracks Emmett); he announces to those assembled that there’s been a slight change in tonight’s program by revealing that the Claghorn Brothers will not appear.  As the crowd grows restless and you can hear the faint sounds of beer bottles being broken against the bar to use as weaponry, Howard brings on the replacement: “Swingin’ Sam Jones!”


Those of you who were expecting to see Sam dressed in a Frank Sinatra fedora and coat stylishly draped over his shoulder really ought to read this weekly feature more often; he comes out instead channeling his inner Ray Bolger and sings and dances to a forgettable little ditty about how barnyard sounds are “heavenly music” to him.  Just be thankful I didn’t upload this to YouTube, and I will be expecting your PayPal donations in return sometime before the week is out.  (When I first watched this, the portable DVD player in my bedroom did not have a fast forward function…in Athens, several people can hear you scream.)


Well, maybe I’m being a tad harsh—the crowd in Morelli’s seem to like his stuff, as they applaud wildly like a group starved for entertainment…not to mention pounded steaks.  (I have never been so anxious to get to the coda of an episode in all my life.)

We find Sam, Millie, Howard, Emmett and Mr. Morelli in the city council office, where Howard is reading a glowing review of Sam’s performance in the Mayberry Gazette:

HOWARD: You were a smash!
MILLIE: Oh, everybody thought you were just wonderful
SAM: I got by, that’s about it…
MORELLI: Uh-uh-uh…but you know, all the people told me “Hey…will he come back next week?”
SAM: Oh, no…no no…I did my one number, that’s it
EMMETT: Well, I’ll fix your pressure gauge anytime you want me to, Sam…
SAM: Well, since I’m such a big star I don’t know if I’m going to give you my business anymore…
MILLIE: Oh, you… (Laughing with everyone else)
HOWARD: Well, I guess we’ll just have to call Charlie Pierce and see if we can get something new for next weekend…
MILLIE: Oh, what about an emcee?  Are you ready to do it again, Howard?
HOWARD: Oh, no…nooo…I’m a one-shot man, too…
EMMETT: Well, we’ll have to get somebody to introduce the act…whatever it is…
MORELLI: I was thinking of the same thing… (He gets up from his chair) Now, Howard…I watched you last night…yes…and I was thinking…I said…well…uh…should a chef always be a chef?  Just a chef?
SAM: You, Mr. Morelli?
MORELLI: Why not?  (Clearing his throat) Something very funny happened to me last night…in the kitchen…I was stirring the zuppe, and a fellow comes in and says: “Hey!  It looks like rain!”  And I said…”Yes…but it smells like zuppe!”

Something certainly smells all right.  (After this episode, I’m putting in for hazard pay.)

With Aunt Bee diabolically working behind the scenes in order to make certain Sam can put meat on the table for the winter, we don’t see her physically in this episode, so Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s patented Mayberry R.F.D. Bee-o-meter™ stalls at one appearance in the second season and thirteen show-ups overall.  (I’m guessing that Mike the Idiot Boy [Buddy Foster] must be acting as her loyal minion, since he’s MIA from this episode as well…not that I’m complaining, mind you.)  So except for a few stray choruses of “Carolina Moon” in some of the codas in future episodes Sam puts his terpsichorean skills in mothballs until “Community Spirit”—a much funnier episode than this one that, sadly, is in the third season so it will be a while before I get to it.  As for next week…well, it puts Howard Sprague in the spotlight but not in one of his better showcases—so the decision to come back here next week for “Howard the Poet” will be left entirely up to you.

*Puglia is also in a 1935 Technicolor comedy entitled Okay, José!—which is discussed in passing in this post at TDOY friend and supporter She Blogged by Night.


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