The House of Squibb presents Academy Award. Tonight, Ronald Coleman in Lost Horizons. Every week, Squibb brings you Hollywood's finest, the great picture plays, the great actors and actresses, techniques and skills chosen from the honor roll of those who have won or been nominated for the famous Golden Oscar of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Science. For generations, the House of Squibb has been known for the high quality and unfailing dependability of its products, each the result of a never-ending quest for perfection. Today, the great family of Squibb products reflects the tremendous advance of science in its contribution to human health and well-being. The name Squibb stands for progress through research. Squibb is a name you can trust. Tonight, Squibb brings to Academy Award James Hilton's famous story, Lost Horizons. As our star, you will hear Ronald Coleman, who as Best Actor of the Year, has three times been nominated for the Academy Award. You are now deep in the mountains of Tibet, the highest part of the Earth's surface. That snow-capped peak above you is Karakal, and below in the valley of the blue moon lies the Lamasari of Shangri-La. It was a strange and incredible sight, a group of colored pavilions clinging to the mountainside like flower petals impaled upon a crag. Overhead, a dazzling pyramid of snow, beautiful, terrifying. From the stormy cliffs on which we stood to the serene peace and quiet of Shangri-La was like a descent into another world. I came to this world across the mountains from India. We had been flying from Baskool to Peshawar on the northwest frontier. I was the British Consul in Baskool, and my vice-consul, a young fellow named Mallison, was making the trip with me. Besides us, there were two other passengers and the pilot. Our plane should have landed in Peshawar at about 5.30. We never arrived at our destination. Conway? Say, Conway, are you asleep? What's that? What's the matter, Mallison? Anything wrong? I'm not sure, but I think our pilot's off his course. Off his course? None. Look down there. Nothing but mountains, as far as you can see. I don't recognize this part of the world at all. Yes, I should say you were right, Mallison. The man's lost his way. What, that Conway? Did you say we were lost? Lost? Good heavens! Oh, it's quite all right, Miss Brinklow. There's nothing to be upset about, I'm sure. Still, there's nothing like finding out, is there? Shall I speak to the pilot, Conway? Oh, don't bother. I'll do it myself. You there. Pilot. Open the panel. Now open up. I want to speak to you. I advise that you answer the question. Yes, sir. I advise that you ask no questions, please. Oh, certainly. Look here, we want to know where we are. I advise that you be seated. I will not be seated. I want to... But Mallison, I don't know whether you've noticed it, but there's a revolver pointed directly at my chest. Under the circumstances, I think you'd better do as the gentleman suggests. For hours after that, we sat in the darkness. Leach was pretending to sleep. Something to the plane lurched sharply. There was a loud rushing sound in my ears. I realized the river coming down. It was hot. Much too hot. We stumbled from the plane, badly shaken, and the wind was blowing. The cold was intense. A solid icy cold that you could touch with your fingertips. I knew we must be somewhere in Tibet, a vast barren region of windswept uplands. Conway, come here. There's something the matter with this pilot, fella. There was little we could do for him. And as the early rays of the sun caught the summit of the mountain, the man died. I say, Conway, what's the matter with this pilot? He's not a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. He's a man. As they drew near, we saw they carried among them a hooded chair, and in it a heavily robed figure, an elderly Chinese. Grey haired, clean shaven. I come from the Lamasery of Shangri-La. My name is Chang. You, sir, would you be good enough to present me to your friend? Oh yes, of course. This is Miss Brinklow. How do you do? Mr. Barnard and Mr. Mallon. How do you do? My name is Conway. Conway? Yes. Your ship is beyond repair? Yes, I'm afraid so. In any way, our pilot is dead. Yes. You will come to Shangri-La. It is a hazardous journey, and the only place of habitation within a thousand miles. I shall be happy to accompany you. Very kind. Thank you. We'd like to hire some of your porters to help us on the journey back. We want to return to civilization as soon as possible. Are you so certain you are away from us? There was a pass at 20,000 feet, which we managed with the aid of long ropes. When we had struggled breathlessly to the top, I saw above us, shimmering in the rosy twilight, the loveliest mountain on earth. The snow-capped peak above you is Karakal. And below, in the valley of the blue moon, lies the Lama-sary of Shangri-La. I never exactly remembered how we arrived at the Lama-sary. The thin air had a dreamlike texture, and I was conscious of a strange sensation, half mystical, half visual, of having reached at last some place that was an end. The finale. Shangri-La, I learned, was a sort of monastery whose inhabitants ruled the natives in the valley below. Those in full Lamahood numbered about 50, and their prevalent belief was in moderation, the virtue of avoiding excess of all kinds. These things I learned the first night as I stood with Chang on the broad balcony overlooking the valley. There is something more you would like to know, Mr. Cotton. Please. I want to know, this morning, when you found us, were you sitting out on a journey? No. Then you came there deliberately to intercept us. Now, how did you know we were coming? You are very clever, but I should counsel you not to worry your friends with these abstract discussions. Oh, no, they want something more concrete. They want to know exactly how long you're going to keep us here. There will be certain unavoidable delays. How long? The difficulties of the trip, securing the necessary porters. How long? Please. You may tell your friends a few months. But you don't guarantee it, huh? Is that what you mean? For myself, I can't actually mind a great deal. It's a new and interesting experience. In time to come, you may find it even more interesting. Good night. The Day of the Changerie In the days that followed at Shangri-La, I gave myself over to a rich and growing enchantment. In the petal-colored buildings which dotted the mountain, I recognized priceless treasures of art. Paintings and sketches, exquisite ceramics, preserved for more than a thousand years. In the spacious library, I discovered the great literature of the present and of centuries past. The Day of the Changerie One morning, I stood beside a lotus pool in an open pavilion of the Llamaserie. In an archway behind me, a young girl was seated at the harpsichord. A girl in Chinese dress. Her jet-black hair was drawn with tightly-backed and braided. Her mouth was small and pink. She looked like a delicately painted miniature. That was very lovely. You are pleased? More than pleased. Oh, my name is Hugh Conway. They call me Lord Sen. Lord Sen. And do you live below in the valley? No, I live here. At the Llamaserie? Yes. But as yet, I have not attained the full Llamahood. You mean you are a lama? Yes. I'm a bit confused. I thought only men could be lamas. They will tell you when you have been here longer that in the Llamahood, there are no distinctions between a man and a woman. Oh, but you, you are hardly more than a child. Shall I play for you again? Please. Good morning. Good morning, Chang. You are pleased with Lord Sen? Ah, she plays beautifully. She has studied for many, many years. How good she, how old is Lord Sen? I'm afraid I cannot tell. One night the moonlight fell on Shangri-La, bathing the pavilion in a sea of blue. I am sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I bring you important news. Yes, Chang? I congratulate you, sir. Tonight, you are to be received by the High Llamah. As I followed Chang through the Llamasery, I knew I was on the threshold of some great discovery. Pattering in front of me, he mounted a spiral staircase to a door which opened noiselessly before us. Chang left, silently. As I became accustomed to the gloom, I saw sitting before me a small and wrinkled man. He was motionless, a fading antique portrait in Chinese dress, his face thin and drawn tight over the frame of his skull, and his eyes, I felt dizzy beneath the gaze of those ancient eyes. You are Mr. Conway. I am? It is a pleasure to see you, Mr. Conway. Please sit down. I'm an old man and can do no one any harm. I feel it a great honor to be received by you. Thank you. Chang tells me you have been asking many questions about our community and its affairs. Oh, yes, I am very much interested. Then if you can spare me a little time, I shall be pleased to give you a brief account of our foundation. There is nothing I would rather hear. The history of Shangri-La begins rightly in the city of Peking in the year 1719. For it was then that four friars set out on a long and perilous journey. They traveled southwest for many months by Lanzhao and Nokonor, facing many hardships. Three died on the way, and the fourth was not far from death, when by accident he stumbled into the rocky defile that remains today, the only practical approach to our valley of the Blue Moon. There, to his joy and surprise, he found a friendly population who bared him welcome, and quickly he recovered his health. His name was Father Perot. For more than half a century, Father Perot labored with his hands like any other man, killing his own garden and learning from the inhabitants as well as teaching them. Then in the year 1789, news descended to the valley that Father Perot was dying at last. He bade his friend farewell, but the end was not yet. He lay for many weeks without speech or movement, and then he began to recover. He was then a hundred and eight. The Ancient Lama Paul. What he had told me was not beyond belief, but as he went on, I was held speechless with wonder. It was fourteen years later, he told me, that a wanderer found his way to Father Perot's monastery, an Austrian named Henschel. A great friendship sprang up between the two, and Henschel stayed on. It was then they had a wild, fantastic dream. Art treasures from Europe and Asia were purchased with the valley's gold and stored at Shangri-La. The library was filled with all the great works of the world, and later it was decided to admit travelers and strangers who had lost their way. Yes, Mr. Conway, strangers might come as freely as they wished, but with one important proviso. And what was that? In nineteen-hundred and ten, Henschel died. He was killed. In nineteen-ten? But you said he came here in eighteen-three. Yes. And he was killed, you said? Yes. A traveler shot him. There had been a quarrel about some porters. Henschel had just told him of the important proviso that governs our reception of guests. Perhaps you are wondering, my dear Conway, what that proviso may be? I think I can already guess. We are to stay here all of our lives. And can you guess anything else after this long and curious story of mine? It seems impossible, and yet impossible as it may be, I know that it's the truth. What is, my son? That you are still alive, Father Perot. 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["The Star-Spangled Banner"] And now the House of Squib presents Part Two of Academy Awards, starring Ronald Coleman in Lost Horizons. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Conway learned the secret of Shangri-La that night, the secret of prolonged human life. For the high lama who sat beside him had lived for nearly two and a half centuries. Conway's coming was no accident, he said. There had been no travelers to Shangri-La for twenty years. Many lamas had died, and the pilots had been sent out into the world to bring new life to the lama story. Then there is death at Shangri-La. Yes, my son, there are many of us who live no more than a hundred years. And if one of your lamas were to leave the Valley of the Blue Moon? He would die. His ears would fall on his shoulders like a great burden. And he would die very soon. An old, old man. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Miss Lhotzen? You have seen the high lama? Lhotzen, when did you come here? When did I come here? I was betrothed to a prince of Turkistan. We were traveling to Kashgar to meet him when my carriers lost their way in the mountains. When did this happen? I was eighteen. Eighteen? Then now you are... The missionaries of Shangri-La found us. They brought us here. I never saw the man I was to marry. Then in all these years you have never known the meaning of love. Lhotzen, is there no love at Shangri-La? She didn't answer. But I saw a faint flush rising in her ivory cheek. And then I was aware that someone had entered the pavilion and was watching us. It was Malinson. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] One night at midnight I was summoned to the presence of the high lama. Tell me, my son, have you been happy at Shangri-La? Quite happy, Father Perot. And what of your friends? Will they learn to be content also? I'm afraid Malinson is going to be a problem. Why mine? Because, my son, I am going to die. You... Father Perot? Yes. We are all mortal, even here in the Valley of the Blue Moon. But I must feel at rest before I die. That is why I sent for you tonight. You do me a great honor, Father. I have waited for you, my son, for a long time. My son, there is a great storm gathering in the world, a black fury which will not spend itself for many years. It may rage till every flower of culture is trampled and all human things are leveled in vast chaos. But I believe that you will live through the storm. I see a new world stirring in the ruins, seeking its lost and legendary treasures. And they will all be here, my son, hidden behind the mountains in the Valley of the Blue Moon. And you will be here to give them to the hopeful world. My son, I place in your hands the heritage and destiny of Shangri-La. The High Lama stopped speaking. The glow in his eyes faded. Presently it came to me as in a dream. The High Lama was dead. Conway, I've been waiting. What's the matter, Conway? Are you ill? No, just tired. Well, just pull yourself together, man. The porters are waiting for us. Porters? It's all arranged. Take us back to Peshwa. Miss Brinklow and Barnard are staying here. Who's been making all these plans? Lhotse. She's with the porters now. She's waiting. No. I'm in love with Lhotse and she loves me. She's coming with us. Lhotse mustn't go. It's impossible. Why? Why is it impossible? You must take my word for it. Lhotse must never leave here. Conway, we need your help. We can't manage the cliff without you. I want to get away from this place and Lhotse too. She's young, doesn't she, Conway? Lhotse is not young. Not young? What a raving man. It's the truth. There are fragile things that can only live where fragile things are loved. Malinson, listen to me. I tried then to tell him the secret of Shangri-La. He looked at me as though I were mad. And as I read the disbelief in his eyes, I began to doubt myself. And then Lhotse came to me. You will help us, please. We need you. Lhotse, do you wish to leave Shangri-La? Yes. You know, you understand the risk. If you leave this valley, you will fade away like an echo. Oh, you have been listening to the fables of these old men. You mean... I love him. If he is not with me, I would die here. For hours I paced the balcony. I couldn't tell whether I had been mad and was now sane or had been sane for a time and was now mad again. But always before me were the wistful, pleading eyes of the little Manchu girl. And I knew that whatever was her fate, I must share in it. That morning, with the wind roaring through the jagged cliffs, we made the descent from Shangri-La. For weeks they traveled to the east. Malinson, Lhotse and Conway. Then the porters began to desert. One by one they disappeared. Then there were just the three of them creeping like snails across the desert wilderness. Then for a long while there were only two. Malinson had died. At first, Conway tried to believe it was the hardship of the journey which had changed Lhotse. I am tired. I can't go no further. We must go on, Lhotse. I am tired. There, look at that, must be the last range. That mountain, you see, Lhotse? It is too far. I cannot see so far. One more step, Lhotse. One more step. One more. One. No. More. No. You must go on alone from here. Her eyes were depthless shadows, her skin drawn in the color of ancient parchment. The cheekbones. Lhotse, Lhotse. I am old. I am so old. They found us on the road to Chungkang, and we were taken to the hospital there. Lhotse, they told me later. Lhotse died that same night. The oldest woman they had ever seen. The storm of which Father Perot warned me still rages. Not yet has the Christian ethic been fulfilled when the meek shall inherit the earth. But Shangri-La has a heritage to cherish and bequeath, with such wisdom as men will need when their passions are spent. Soon I hope I will return, somewhere beyond Lhasa on the high roof of the world I seem to picture a long plateau running north, and far away a mountain rising white against the sky. I hope to find it again, for this I think is Karakal, and beyond is Shangri-La and the valley of the blue moon. Like the cool crystal clear air of a high mountain valley, squid dental cream invigorates and refreshes. That's why millions call squid dental cream refreshment in a tube. The very instant you touch squid dental cream to your teeth and gums, you'll sense a sparkle and a zest you've never known before. Then, as squid dental cream bubbles into exhilarating action, you'll enjoy a delightful new sense of freshness. Your mouth feels clean because it is clean. And that puts you so much more at ease when you're meeting people. So use squid dental cream whenever you want to look and feel your best. Try it yourself tomorrow. Ask for squid dental cream. Taste, feel, and see the refreshing difference. Next Wednesday, another great story. The House of Squib will present Academy Awards starring Joan Fontaine with John Lund in Portrait of Jenny. The script for today's broadcast was adapted for radio from the DECA record album of Lost Horizons, which also stars Ronald Coleman. Our writer is Frank Wilson. The original musical score was composed and conducted by Leif Stevens. Our producer-director is Dee Engelbart. Tuberculosis can often be prevented with your help. Buy and use Christmas seats. Remember, you're giving the greatest good to the greatest number when you help to fight tuberculosis with Christmas seats. This is Hugh Brandeis bidding you good night until next Wednesday at the same time when you're invited to listen again to Academy Awards, presented by the House of Squib, a name you can trust.
