The Waltons (1971–1981): Season 1, Episode 11 - The Literary Man - full transcript
When John Boy meets a writer passing through Walton's Mountain, he impulsively asks him to come home to meet his family. Staying a few days and helping in the mill for his room and board, the writer fills John Boy's head with tales of travels and stories about famous authors he has known. When John Boy's interest in these tales causes him to shirk his duties at the mill, he begins to question whether he should abandon his own writing aspirations and concentrate on his duty to his family.
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.
You think we'll make
our deadline?
We got three good days and three
good men. We'll make it.
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.
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.
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.
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.
-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.
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.
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.
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....
"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?
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.
-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.
"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.
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.
You think we'll make
our deadline?
We got three good days and three
good men. We'll make it.
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.
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.
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.
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.
-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.
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.
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.
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....
"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?
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.
-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.
"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.