[guitar music]
[theme music]
[car honking]
[music continues]
[instrumental music]
Growing up on Walton's Mountain in those Depression years...
when times were lean and money was scarce...
I learned early that hard work was a central fact of life...
and the key to survival.
I wasn't afraid of work, but above everything else
I wanted to be a writer.
Gripping a book, reading and rereading
the wonderfully colored sentences:
This was as close as I could get to another writer.
Until one afternoon I met someone who showed me...
the way I must take to be a literary man.
John-Boy.
Right here, Daddy.
Where have you been? We had to load this ourselves.
I'm sorry, I was off reading.
That's a load for sure. Now let's get it into town.
So we're behind schedule?
Not so far we can't catch up.
Get it to the railroad station and come back.
We got more timber to cut.
Yes, sir.
[engine starts]
You think we'll make our deadline?
We got three good days and three good men. We'll make it.
[engine revving]
[engine choking]
[sighs]
Man and his machine.
Times like this you wonder...
which is the slave and which is the master.
-Sir? -Never mind, son.
You don't need a philosopher.
I think you probably need a mechanic.
I've tried everything I've ever seen my daddy do
and it's no use.
Son, you've aroused the dormant Good Samaritan in me.
Would you like me to dip into my mechanical bag of tricks...
and see what I can do?
Are you an automotive repairman?
No. Can't lay claim to that.
But I have tinkered with a few engines in my time.
Could help you out on this one if you say the word.
Sure. Go right ahead. I'd appreciate it.
No guarantees.
[chuckles]
The name is Covington. A.J. Covington.
A.J. to many, Andy to a chosen few.
I'm just John-Boy Walton.
Well, John-Boy...
I just might be able to help you, with a little luck.
[all laughing]
I don't need it.
What are you going to put the berries in?
-My hat. -Mostly his mouth.
I'll get you, Mary Ellen.
Come on, Jim-Bob.
-I don't think I'll go today. -Why not?
I don't feel so well.
But it won't be any fun without you.
Now you just run along, Elizabeth.
Jim-Bob's got no business out in the hot sun
if he's not feeling well.
I'll bring you some berries.
-The child got a fever? -I don't think so.
His forehead feels clammy. I wonder what it is.
It's too late for spring fever
and too early for summer doldrums.
I'll brew him some tea.
And you are gonna drink it.
[engine starts]
Hold it.
I can't thank you enough, Mr. Covington.
Machines are still largely predictable, unlike people.
I wish I could offer to pay you.
And spoil my image as a Good Samaritan? Glad I could help.
-Can I give you a lift? -I would appreciate it.
Which way are you going?
Any way you're headed would be fine.
I'm just going up to Rockfish to deliver this lumber.
Reading Moby Dick?
Carnival man gave it to me. Littlest man you ever saw.
"When gliding by the Bashee Isles...
"we emerged at last upon the great South Sea.
"Now the long supplication of my youth was answered.
"That serene ocean rolled eastward from me
a thousand leagues of blue."
-You know it by heart. -Certain sections.
Melville was my model and inspiration
when I was learning the craft.
Are you a writer?
There are some who thought so.
-You ready? -All right.
I sure do appreciate your helping me out, Mr. Covington.
A.J.
That's all right. Never unloaded lumber before.
It's a new experience for me. Grist for the mill.
I bet you've had a lot of experiences.
I left Indiana when I was 17 and went to Chicago.
Chicago.
"Hog Butcher for the World, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat
"Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler"
Carl Sandburg.
I'll never forget the first time I heard Carl recite that poem.
Stirred up quite a hullabaloo.
You knew Carl Sandburg?
Worked beside him as a stevedore.
Chicago was an exciting place in those days.
-Anderson, Dreiser, Lindsay. -So you made Chicago your home?
The world's my home.
I guess you've just about been everywhere and done everything.
I'm working on it.
And those are the experiences that make a writer.
You seem to be unusually interested in the literary life.
I am.
Have some ambition that way yourself?
I want to be a writer.
More than anything else in the world, I want to be a writer.
If you really mean that,
you've already taken the first big step.
If you want to make it, your writing has to come first.
Before comfort, security, happiness.
Very few stick it out.
But you have.
What's the second step?
That depends.
Won't your folks be wondering where you are? It's almost 6:00.
They will be worried.
Mr. Covington?
Would you like to come home and meet my folks?
If you say so.
Hop in.
[engine starts]
-You're worried about John-Boy. -He ought to be.
That I am, Ma.
I'll tell you something you already know.
That's her specialty.
If a boy of mine his age had been off all hours...
he'd have his bottom scorched when he got home.
That boy of yours here got in twice as much devilment
as John-Boy ever did...
and I don't recall his bottom was too heavily scorched.
Was it?
Hey, everybody.
I had a breakdown in the truck on the way in.
And if it hadn't been for this gentleman
I never would've gotten it fixed.
Mr. Covington, this is my family. My daddy, John Walton.
-How do you do, sir? -This is my wife, my father.
Pleasure, sir.
How do you do?
She just flat went out on me.
Quit this side of the yards, and Mr. Covington helped me out.
Fact is, he got her started when I was ready to give up.
Much obliged to you, sir.
Won't you stay for dinner, Mr. Covington?
-Thank you kindly. -Have a seat right there, sir.
-Your hat. -Thank you very much.
Is fixing trucks a specialty of yours, Mr. Covington?
Just a sideline.
-Mr. Covington is a writer. -Is that a fact?
What brings you to this neck of the woods?
-Just passing through. -On your way to where?
Anywhere and everywhere.
Very nice. Thank you very much.
[plates rattling]
So you were in Cuba covering the war?
San Juan Hill and all the rest of it.
You must've gotten a lot of material for stories there.
Steve Crane was my tent mate.
Stephen Crane? The Red Badge of Courage?
-Brilliant writer. -Yes.
Tragic loss.
He died so young.
It's about time to turn in.
We've got to work double time tomorrow.
I understand you have a sawmill, Mr. Walton.
Just a little thing out back there...
cut some lumber for the railroad, a little firewood.
I once worked a whole season on a lumber mill up near Seattle.
It was hard work but it was satisfying.
-And you've cut timber? -Acres of it.
Daddy, we've still got that contract
for the four-by-fours to fill--
John-Boy's speaking out of turn.
Mr. Covington was kind enough to help out in an emergency
do us a favor.
If I could help you out, I'd be glad to stay on for a few days.
We're in no position to hire help.
Bed and board till the job's done would be good enough.
If you're kind enough to put up with what little we've to offer.
I'd be more than satisfied.
Well, good.
-You can have my room. -It's very generous of you...
but if the barn's available
I'd enjoy a night's sleep on a sweet bed of straw.
I'll get some bedclothes and fix you up a nice place in the barn.
And you're right, that straw does smell real good.
Bright boy.
He's got all the makings of a good writer:
curious and sensitive.
And trusting.
Good night, Mr. Walton.
Good night.
[dramatic music]
You're all set now.
After Whalen's Meadow, come back as soon as you've got a load.
We need all the logs we can get.
Yes, sir.
See you later, Daddy.
-Mule seems to be limping. -Yeah.
[mule braying]
Now, now.
No wonder you've been hobbling.
You got a big rock stuck in here.
There we go.
A.J., will you look at the....
[instrumental music]
"While on my way to Suffern along the Erie track
"I pass by a poor old farmhouse
"with its shingles broken and black
"I suppose I've passed it a hundred times
"but I always stop for a minute
"To look at the house, the tragic house
the house with nobody in it"
-Did you know Joyce Kilmer, too? -No.
Who owns this place, John-Boy?
It used to be the Tabor place.
But now my Daddy says anybody who can pay the back taxes on it
can claim it.
Reminds me of my boyhood home in Indiana.
Nobody's been here for two or three years.
You ever notice that some houses just
deteriorate out of loneliness?
Can't stand not sheltering life.
I wonder if these roses were red.
We're supposed to be chopping down trees, not gathering wool.
Like you to try a little of this beef broth.
Do I have to?
No, I won't force you.
Does it still hurt?
Can you show me where?
You just lie still.
Mama, is Jim-Bob real sick?
He's got a bad stomachache.
Like when I ate the green apples?
He isn't as sick as I was that time, is he?
No, Elizabeth. Nobody's ever been sicker than you and lived.
Out, you children.
When did you first start writing, A.J.?
I was just 15 when I first started making words
do the tricks I wanted them to do.
Why did you start?
Why?
I was making all these exciting new discoveries.
I felt like I just had to share them with somebody or bust.
I know.
Trouble is, on an Indiana farm...
what with the milking and plowing...
and planting and harvesting...
there wasn't much time for people to listen.
So I started writing all my thoughts down on paper.
How old were you then?
Seventeen.
Along about the same time I heard about this story contest
a magazine was having.
So I polished up this piece I had done
on a drought we'd had the year before...
and sent it in.
I didn't win the $75 first prize, but I did win the second.
-And you were just 17 ? -Yeah.
This watch was my prize.
It's a beauty. I've admired it.
I've carried it with me all these years.
What happened then?
I lit out for Chicago.
No money. No prospects.
But I was loaded down with hope and determination.
-Weren't you scared? -You bet.
But I knew then, as I know now...
that unless a man is ready to strike out on his own...
leave kith and kin behind without ever looking back...
he'll never make it as a writer.
My big story, the one I was born to write...
is out there somewhere.
I just got to keep searching till I find it.
I've never let anyone but my schoolteacher
see what I write...
but would you mind reading a little something?
And I'll bet you just happened
to bring it along with you, didn't you?
-I'll be glad to. -Thank you. I just....
I just wrote this last night.
That's not bad at all.
You think you see the makings of a writer in there somewhere?
You're working at it.
It might be, though...
that you are working a little bit too hard.
See, sometimes the fanciest words are not always the best.
And adjectives are just like red pepper:
A little bit goes a long way.
Look, for instance, right here.
Now what do you say let's start chopping some adjectives.
All right.
He doesn't seem to be getting any better.
Maybe you'd better send for Doc Shackleford.
Last of the logs, Daddy.
Nothing we can do about it till John-Boy gets back.
I surely thought John-Boy would be back
with another load before now.
-All right, son, switch it on. -All right, Daddy.
We need a doctor. Jim-Bob's getting worse by the minute.
Hold it, son.
All right, I'll get over to Ike's and call him right now.
There, now. See how much clearer it is?
Says it all in half the words.
Yes, well, now is the time for you to be learning those skills.
Then when you go out after your big story...
you'll be able to write it.
-I can't thank you enough, A.J. -My pleasure, son.
We've been at this a good while. I better get back to work.
When a writer gets lost in his own world, time has no meaning.
You know, we don't even have a half a wagonload yet.
Hey, everybody.
Sorry we're late getting home.
Ben, when you finish eating
would you turn the mules out for me?
-Sure. -Thank you.
Seems like dark just fell on us all of a sudden.
Put in a long day up there, didn't you?
We thought maybe you might have got lost.
No, sir, we didn't, but we did lose sight of the time.
Thank you.
-How's Jim-Bob? -He's one sick child.
Your daddy phoned for the doctor but he was out on another call.
All we can do now is wait.
Bring back a full load, did you, son?
No, Daddy, not exactly a full load. Right much, though.
How'd things go at the sawmill?
We managed to get along till mid-afternoon.
-Then we ran out of timber. -We waited and waited for you.
We wanted to come up and fetch you.
We thought maybe you laid down for a nap--
Right, children, that's enough.
The jelly, please.
Daddy, I did wrong today. I'm sorry.
Those things happen sometimes.
We got such an early start.
It seemed like we were doing real good.
Sometimes a man works real hard
and can't seem to get anything done.
It wasn't that.
We sat down on a log to eat lunch and we started talking.
I asked A.J. about writing, naturally.
How he got started and all.
And he told me.
And you didn't get much wood cut.
That's the whole thing.
I think reading and writing's a fine thing, John-Boy.
But you had a job to do today...
for me, for the family, for yourself.
A man's judged by the way...
he is handling a job he's agreed to do.
Give less than your best...
whether you're writing or chopping wood or farming...
and you're failing a lot of people.
Most of all he's failing himself.
You do the best of what you try...
you'll have nothing to be sorry about.
I'll try, Daddy.
-You'd better come. -What is it, Livie?
It's Jim-Bob. The pain is real bad.
And I'm afraid.
His fever's rising and his little stomach is
as tight as a drum.
Feeling pretty tough, are you, son?
Yes, Sir.
He hasn't been sick to his stomach
so it isn't anything he ate.
The pain's lower down, isn't it, honey?
I've given him some fennel tea to check the fever and....
Excuse me, I....
I heard your son was sick.
I thought maybe I could be of some help.
So you're a doctor, as well as a writer and a woodcutter?
No, ma'am, I'm not a doctor.
But I have worked in a hospital.
Any advice you can give us, Mr. Covington...
we'd be much obliged.
Hi, son.
Hurt down here?
[groaning]
I think your son has appendicitis.
Acute appendicitis.
What makes you think that?
I've seen these symptoms before.
If there's even a possibility that I'm right...
it could be very serious.
What about Dr. Brooks down in Scottsville?
I think what you need now is a surgeon...
not a country doctor.
-Thank you, Mr. Covington. -Quite all right.
We get him to the hospital right away.
We'll stay with him till he's fixed up.
I don't know how long that's gonna be...
but I'll get back home as soon as I can.
-We'll be fine. -You all behave yourselves here.
Don't worry, Daddy.
John-Boy, we still got a chance to fill that contract.
We're gonna try.
Bye, Jim-Bob.
Don't cry, honey.
Crying's not going to help Jim-Bob feel any better.
It's going to make me feel better.
Into the house, all of you
before somebody catches the grippe.
Here, Grandpa.
One Walton at a time in the hospital is enough.
I've seen your symptoms before, too.
Acute depression.
I let them down, A.J.
We were chopping out adjectives
when we should've been chopping down trees.
Never thought of anything else but the writing.
I just never give a thought to anyone else but myself.
I'll shoulder the blame.
No, it's my family and it was my job.
All right, we'll share the blame.
A.J., I've been thinking a lot about what you said.
You're right. If a man wants to be a writer...
then that's got to come first before anything else.
At a certain point in his life.
You know, sometimes I talk a little too much.
I don't think I'll ever be able to turn my back
on the people I care about.
The people that depend on me.
Wait a minute, John-Boy.
I wasn't suggesting you make such a drastic move...
tomorrow or the next day. I was just talking generally.
Today, tomorrow, next year. What does it matter?
I've been fooling myself with this dumb idea
that I'm gonna be a writer!
You're right. A writer's gotta be able to cut off those ties.
He's got to be able to just go looking for that story
he was meant to write.
I admire you and all the great men who've done it.
But I honestly don't think I'll ever have the courage.
I guess I know I'll always be looking back.
Just be tied to what's here.
John-Boy, we got a big day tomorrow and you're tired now.
We sure do have a big day tomorrow.
I may never be a writer...
but I'm going to be the best logger
in Jefferson County tomorrow.
-Good night, A.J. -Good night.
90 cents, 95 cents, $1. There you go. You all come back, now.
Well, Mr. Covington, what can I do for you?
A little information.
I understand the Tabor place
could belong to any man that paid the taxes.
That's correct.
It's a shame. Nice little place like that falling to pieces.
Do you know how much the taxes are?
I do. I was thinking of buying the place myself.
$58.76.
Why? Do I take it you'd be interested in it?
Well, I've got to admit, I am a little tired of traveling.
It'd be an honor to have a person of your reputation
in our neighborhood.
There's one problem, though. I'm a little bit short of cash.
A lot of folks are nowadays.
I do have this watch, though.
Although I hate to part with it...
I have to have a down payment on the taxes.
She's a beauty.
How much?
$40.
I'll give you $25.
This is one of a kind, Mr. Godsey.
$35.
How's that work again?
$30.
It's yours.
The assessor's office is over at the county seat.
And let's see, that's $5, $10, $20, $30.
How're you doing, A.J.?
Okay.
Sure is taking a long while.
I wish I could've stayed with him.
Livie, he's getting the best care.
He looked so small on that big white bed.
I'm just glad we got him here on time.
We have Mr. Covington to thank for that.
If anything had gone wrong, they surely would've told us
by now, wouldn't they?
Hadn't you better go on home?
We'll just sit this thing out together.
What about the contract? If we don't make it?
Just gonna have a long winter.
You and the mules have done real well.
We sure have.
Couldn't hardly see the sun for the chips
flying up there today.
-Come on, Jason, give me a hand. -Sure.
-We'll get this one first. -All right.
-Got her? -Yeah.
Okay, let's go.
We're way behind on this order.
Trouble is, this old machine will go
just so fast but no faster.
You can make it go faster, Mr. Walton.
How's that?
You change the ratio of the pulleys.
Ratio?
How can we do that?
You just replace that large pulley with the small one, see.
I fail to see it.
It'll make the blade go twice as fast...
so you'll be cutting twice as much lumber
in the same amount of time.
I say let's try it.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
[sighs]
-Mr. Walton? -Doctor.
Your boy's appendix has been removed...
and the operation was a complete success.
How long before we can see him, Doctor?
Shouldn't take more than a couple of hours
till the ether wears off.
I'll have the nurses call you so you can be with the boy
when he wakens.
Thank you, Doctor. Thank you very much.
Well, how about that?
I don't understand it.
It's simple.
What your ratio's done is to burn out the roller bearing.
But it was working.
For a while, anyway.
That'll be Daddy.
I hope his news is better than ours.
I'm sorry, John-Boy.
It's not your fault, A.J.
How's Jim-Bob?
Minus one appendix and doing just fine.
-That's wonderful. -Tell the others.
Daddy, we're not gonna make that contract.
It's my fault.
That's not what Grandpa told me.
I was so anxious to make up for the time I lost...
that I had A.J. try to speed up the saw.
It worked for a while, then it burned out the bearing.
At least you gave it a try, son. It wasn't such a bad idea.
But I lost.
We're just gonna have to...
put our shoulder to the wheel a little harder.
It'll be slim pickings this winter.
That operation cost $22.
We'll get by somehow.
Thank you, Chance.
I feel a terrible aching emptiness...
but I will fill that empty place in myself...
with what I feel for my father and mother
and brothers and sisters...
instead of living in the private world
of my thoughts and feelings.
See you later, girl.
After this writing, I will lay aside my journal forever.
I will try to accept this
and learn to live with the knowledge...
that I can never follow in the footsteps of those
who gave their lives...
to search for the one great story they were born to write.
Come in, son.
-Am I disturbing you? -No.
I was just thinking.
Piecing out a story in your mind?
Yeah.
If you'd like to talk it out loud, there's nothing...
I'd rather do than listen.
That's what I've done with all my stories, John-Boy.
Talked them all away instead of putting them down on paper.
What do you mean?
I've yarned my yarns at boarding house tables...
in saloons, hotel lobbies, street corners...
just about anyplace I could get anybody to listen.
Then when I sat myself down alone
in front of a blank piece of paper...
it was all gone.
I was drained. I'd talked it all away.
So I couldn't write.
But you did write.
Very little, son.
This story I was piecing out in my mind...
it was about...
a young boy growing up on a farm.
Me?
Or me.
Maybe even both of us.
This boy wanted to write. So he did.
He wrote about his family, the farm...
happenings in a small town nearby.
People read what he wrote and liked it...
because they sensed it came out of his own feelings.
You know what I mean?
I think so.
Then he got a little recognition.
Where's your watch?
It's in a safe place.
Then he got a little recognition and he went to the big city.
He met other writers.
He talked about writing and the literary life.
Came away with a lot of bogus notions.
One, he told himself that to be a writer...
he had to cut all of his family ties. So he cut them.
Then he looked at...
the small but honest things he'd written...
and decided that they were trivial.
He had to go searching for the big story.
But didn't Melville and London do the same thing?
What they saw and felt, they set down...
without asking themselves if it was "the" story.
As long as it was "a" story. That was good enough.
But this fellow I'm telling you about...
he used the wandering and the searching
as an excuse to keep from writing.
-You know how he ended up? -No.
With nothing to show for 45 years of living
but a few tall tales...
and some secondhand memories of working writers he'd known.
But he could still write if he wanted to.
He tells himself that from time to time
but he doesn't really believe it anymore.
Moral stories are out of style, John-Boy.
But then, so am I.
But my story has a moral.
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, 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.
Thank you, A.J.
[instrumental music]
"It needs new paint and shingles
"And the vines should be trimmed and tied
"But what it needs the most of all
is some people living inside"
It was about so long and it looked sort of like
a fishing worm.
Mother!
Jim-Bob, I think Erin is getting a bit squeamish.
I am glad we are not eating at the table.
-But it's interesting. -It's scientific.
It's disgusting.
It's all gone.
It's the most interesting thing that ever happened to anyone.
Some folks think that a forest fire is entertainment, too.
Stop picking at them.
You were as curious as a magpie when you were young.
Whenever that was, I wonder.
I am the only one around here who can recollect back that far.
What's the matter, son?
A.J.'s gone.
-What? -Where?
Without so much as a good-bye?
He left me a note. I'd like to read it to you.
"Dear John-Boy, time for moving on.
"I'm leaving you something. This is not a gift. It's a loan."
$22.
Where would he get $22?
I think I know, Grandma.
"I've got no good use for this.
"It will help to cover the loss of the contract.
"This is the most I've written in years.
"My road calls me, lures me
"West, east, south, and north
"Most roads lead men homewards
"My road leads me forth'
"Affectionately, A.J. Covington.
"Andy."
We never saw nor heard from A.J. Covington again.
He wandered into our lives...
touched them, and wandered away.
Often when I face the silent challenge
of a blank piece of paper...
I remember the literary man and the advice he gave me.
I struggle to keep faith with him
and set down the small things...
the seemingly trivial things
which perhaps taken all together...
will eventually give at least some suggestion...
of the love and sacrifice and joy...
that sustained one family who lived out the Depression...
at the foot of Walton's Mountain.
Mama?
Yes, Jason?
I got a sharp hurt in my side.
You reckon I could be getting appendicitis?
I hope not. Try turning on your back.
It's all right, Mama.
Hurt gone?
I was laying on my harmonica.
-Good night, Jason. -Good night, Mama.
In a moment, some scenes
from the next episode of The Waltons.
[theme music]
[music continues]