the makers of that good webber's bread presenter all-star western theater I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm oh home a as I travel on my way. Riding, walking, roping, grinding cattle all day long. Singing and swinging to a cowboy song. Riding, roping, in the blazing sun all day. Riding in the saddle all day long. To along in lonesome cowboy song. Riding through the burning desert sand. To the land and country where a man's a man. And I'll go riding, roping, in the blazing sun all day. Singing and swinging as I travel on my way. Riding, rocking, roping, grinding cattle all day long. Singing and swinging to a cowboy song. Riding, roping, in the blazing sun all day. Applause Thank you folks and a big western welcome to all of you listening in. This is Foy Willing asking you to relax and listen to the writers of the Purple Sage as they bring you the songs of the rangelands. Foy, we're all set for one of those western ballads right now. Well Terry, actually this isn't a western song. Really? It isn't even an American number. But it's just as pretty as a California poppy or a Texas gal. Well maybe we can put a little of our own western style into Now Is The Hour. Now is the hour When we must say goodbye Soon you'll be sailing Far across the sea While you're away Oh then remember me When you return you'll find me waiting here Oh then remember me While you're away While you're away Oh then remember me When you return you'll find me waiting here Ah, wasn't that nice folks, the way Foy and the boys handled that last number? Say, something else mighty nice is good Weber's bread. Naturally the bakers of Weber's bread feel mighty proud of their product. And while they might be tempted to brag a bit about the quality and flavor of Weber's bread, well they prefer to let each loaf speak for itself. You see, Weber's bakers figure this way. They turn out a mighty fine loaf. The very best loaf that long experience, fine ingredients, and pains taking care can produce. Then they leave the verdict up to you about how delicious the bread is, that good Weber's bread. They know that if you like Weber's bread, you'll buy it again and again. So do give Weber's a fair trial folks, will you? You'll recognize it by the bright blue and white checked gingham wrapper. Weber's bread. Good Weber's bread. Foy, Willing, and Sid Robbins wrote the words and music for the happy tune that's scheduled next. Here are the writers of the Purple Sage and here is Holiday for the Blues. You gotta start in a singing and you gotta shout. You gotta keep on a swinging kick the blues right out. Don't you let it get you, you got too much to lose. It's a holiday for the blues. You gotta start in a shout until you're feeling fine. You gotta keep on a tout and gotta rise and shine. Keep the rafters ringing till you set off a fuse. It's a holiday for the blues. The sun is out shining, the sky is bright and clear. It's no time to be pining, no time for having fear. Go calling on your neighbor, go out and spread the news. Oh, it's a holiday for the blues. You gotta start in a singing and you gotta shout. You gotta keep on a swinging kick the blues right out. Don't you let it get you, you got too much to lose. It's a holiday for the blues. I was riding on my pedal, not a cent in my jeans. It felt like it was weeks since I'd had pork and beans. I said, let's jump in the river. My horse said, I refuse. Cause it's a holiday for the blues. I went out to the racetrack, the horse gave me a smile. Leaned over and he whispered, I'll win this by a mile. I didn't feel unhappy, though I lost my shirt and shoes. Cause it's a holiday for the blues. You gotta start in a singing and you gotta shout. You gotta keep on a swinging kick the blues right out. Don't you let it get you, you got too much to lose. It's a holiday for the blues. You gotta start in a shouting until you're feeling fine. You gotta keep on a thousand, gotta rise and shine. Keep the raptors ringing till you settle for a few. It's a holiday for the blues. Well, boy, there's time for one more helping of that Western melody before we tell our story for today. Well, Doggoney Terry, it seems like every time you ask for a Western tune, we come up with one that isn't. This one's called Kentucky. Well, now that's a little east of what we call the west, but mighty fine country down Kentucky way. Let's roll out Western hospitality and Serenade, the land of the bluegrass. Kentucky, you are the dearest land outside of heaven to me. Kentucky, you're laurel and you're red bud tree. When I die, I want to rest upon a graceful mountain so high. For that is where God will look for me. Kentucky, I hear the darkness singing in the silver moonlight. Kentucky, I miss the hound of Chasen Coon. I know that my mother, dad, and sweetheart are awaiting for me. Kentucky, I will be coming soon. Well, it's time now for our story of the West, another real adventure of the great open country brought to you by Foy Willing and the writers of the Purple Sage. This story is one that could only happen in the West as it is today, and it's called The Jockey and the Cowpope. In the West of today, the old blends with the new. Very modern cars, airplanes, and very modern people move before a background of deserts, mountains, and plains that will never change. Between the ageless land itself and the things of today's world are full-time Westerners and their belongings. The cowboy and his horse still work the ranges as they did a hundred years ago. The prospector and his burro still follow the trail of gold and silver, and the small town storekeeper still carries a stock of long underwear, penny candy, overalls, hatpins, and a thousand other items reminiscent of days gone by. Usually our old and our new West get along beautifully together, but sometimes there's a bit of conflict. I'll explain some of it in the story brought to you by Foy Willing and the writers of the Purple Sage. Drifting along, staying home. Sometimes on a trip to the cattle country, the boys take along one or two of their Hollywood friends. Some of the folks from the movie city don't know much about the West. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Thanks, friends, for joining us 8 to 5. Refresh your busyines, printed sweet mind and Instead of an academic we just weren't made to go together Horizontaly We'll find a horse to fit you, big boy. Ah, great day in the morning. Noon is the time to be rolling out of the covers, not finishing a 30-mile ride. Ah me, why did I ever leave my list in lads and lassies and get myself shanghaied on this cow country caravan? Oh, you'll love it once you get used to it, Mike. Come on now, or those hungry cow hands will eat up all the breakfast. Yeah, me for that breakfast. Oatmeal, bacon, eggs, pork chops. Clap jacks, orange juice, toast, coffee, buttermilk, strawberry jam. Wait a minute, hold the phone, hold the phone, Chile. We eat all that for breakfast? Why, sure. This ranch life makes you hungry. Well, you won't eat again until noon. Breakfast like that and I won't eat again, period. Ah, you characters would have to take your horses, do a Paul Revere for the local croaker in his stomach pump if I did a swan dive off my diet with a collection of calories like that. Ah, just wait till you see that food. You'll do your share. Here we are, here we are. Hey, where's all the hungry cow hands? Oh, we're two minutes late, they've already eaten. Yeah, they don't fool around with formal etiquette here, Mike. Oh, wait, Hardway's still here, we can eat with him. Well, sure. Hi there, Hardway. Oh, oh, boy, when do they all get in? Oh, late last night. Mike Roy and me, Hardway Jones, a real cattleman. If you can't ride it, rope it, or sell it for beef, well, he's not interested. Well, right, glad to know you, Hardway, slip me the fingers. What's he talking about, boy? He wants to shake hands. Oh, well, okay, shake, aren't you? Ah, come on, come on, Essie. Fine, pass me the eggs. You take these four, Mike. Here's another plate full for us. Thanks. You must leave, huh? Well, you lead quite an interesting life there, Hardway. Battling the cattle, dogging the doggies, wrestling the rustlers. Pass the sausage out. Here you are. What's he talking about, boy? He wanted the sausage. No, no, not that. It sounded like he was talking about cattle, but it didn't make sense. Well, Mike doesn't know much about cattle. He's a disc jockey. Jockey, huh? Kind of heavy for that, ain't you? Well, Hardway, you see, disc jockeys are different. You can say that again. Pass the ham and biscuits, boy. Here you are. You probably never heard my program, but I'm known as your blue-eyed boy, rugged Michael Roy, protecting arm and guiding light to the working girl. I earn my moolah by flicking the biscuits, by spinning the platters, whirling the wax, weaving the words for the listening lads and lassies in the chilled still of the night. Oh, you're a dude. What's your language, partner? Pass the bacon and the rose and some of that strawberry jam. It's raspberry. Thanks. It's the first time I ever got the raspberry at 5.30 in the morning. Pass me some of that cantaloupe, will you, please? Oh, it's too bad you're not hungry, Mike. Can't understand it. Too early to eat a heavy breakfast, I guess. Hand me a couple of those pork chops. Uh, for you, what kind of business is this dude in? Why, he just told you all about it, Hardway. Oh, that's what he was talking about. Yeah. What'd he say? Pass the hotcakes and the honey and the milk pitcher, please. Coming up. Let's just say he works on the radio. Well, I knew he was a dude. Women and sheep and dudes. They'll ruin the cattle business. Oh, I don't know, Hardway. You're doing all right, aren't you? Oh, yeah. The price of beef stays up. We don't get a dry year, we'll make out all right. So, what do you fellas want to do today? Well, we thought we'd ride over to Cottonwood Springs. Mm-hmm. Well, I'll go along. Got some busted fences over there. I'll have the boys cut out some horses for you. Get a gentle one for Mike. And a great big one. Oh, I got one. It used to be a circus horse. Whole family of bareback riders used to use him in their act. If you could carry seven of them, you can carry this dude. Don't like the way you said that, my cow country chump. Seems to me the meals aren't the only thing to square around here. But I'll overlook it if you'll slide me a couple of slabs of that superb strudel and fill the cup to cheers with the jolt of that old jemoka. What'd he say for it? He wants some pie and coffee. Oh, oh, well here you are, dude. Here's a couple of donuts, a little whipped cream, a few bananas, one more slice of cantaloupe. In case you get hungry, you'll find some crackers and cheese in the cupboard. Gee, thanks, Hardway. Generosity like that makes the old ticker tap it out at eight to the bar. What a solid jack. Brings a tear to the eye and a lump to these here now smooth and mellow tonsils. What'd he say? He likes you. Oh. Well, I'll wrangle up your coyuses. First, I gotta cut out a few dealers, turn the rest of the critters into the South 40, put one of the buckaroos to work, twist and brunt, roll my poncho, oil up my hog leg, get a short rope ran a hand in this bread to riding. And I'll be ready to go. So long, boys. So long, Hardway. So long, Hardway. Boy, yeah, Mike. What'd he say? A great day in the moment. I haven't smelled so much fresh air since the day I got my belt buckle caught on the turntable. What happened that day? Snatched me out of my chair and spun me around like a brand new record of nature, boy. You were spinning around on the turntable? Uh-huh. You got the needle on me and I turned out three choruses of diamond before they got the darn thing stopped. Yeah, but what's that gotta do with fresh air? Well, I was rescued. All my listening lads and lassies heaved such a sigh of relief that they blew all the fresh air in Los Angeles County into the San Fernando Valley. No. It's a fact. Well, characters in Southgate collapsed with the bend. No air to breathe. Hey, boy, I know what you're gonna ask me, Hardway. What did he say? Don't tell him, boy. You'll never believe it. Well, Mike, for a dude, you do a darn good job of riding. Oh, thank you, Hardway. Matter of fact, I grew up as a farm boy before I got lured into the killer cycle jungles. Never forgot how to handle a horse. Can't say that I'm feeling no pain, though. It's not much farther, Mike. There's a spring right up ahead. Hey, what's that noise? Look up there. Hey, there's a landslide. Yeah. Come on, get in. Come on, get in. Come on, get in. Come on, come on. Hurry. Oh, we'll never make it. Hey, in here, guys. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wow, I don't like them that close. Look at that trail. Mike hadn't spotted this old mine tunnel. We'd have been spread from here to the bottom of the canyon. Oh, you're a kid. Now, don't go on it, Mike. I've been riding this here trail for 20 years. I never saw that old tunnel behind all that brush. Oh, the Dickens did just spot it when we were busting along in a full gallop. Oh, that's easy, Hardway. I got sharp eyes from reading the labels on phonograph records while they're going around and round and round. That's all right, Mike, but cut out the kidding. You just saved our lives by finding this place. I saved your life. Brother, I saw all that rock coming down on me, and I started looking for a place big enough for this blue-eyed boy and his fat old horse. I was looking so hard, I had to find it. Well, that's it. Now, from now on, Mike, you're a top hand with Hardway Jones. You ain't no dude no more. Come on, fellas, let's go. Come on. Come on. Come on. How are you? I'm fine. Yeah, Hardway, I want to thank you for them kind words, and I'm going to learn to talk like a cow hand, partner. Us varmints from the cattle country can't have no truck with that jive talk like them certified disc jockeys use on the radio. No, sir. Well, now I can dig you, Gate. You and me make a fair pair. I'm coming to town to watch you flip those biscuits and whirl that wax, and then we'll beat Pete around the village and hit the hot spots. Brother, we'll murder him. Hey, boy. What is it, Al? What did they say? Well, almost comes time now to ring down the curtain for tonight, folks. And with this parting thought, down through the years, bread has been a nutritional mainstay. And today in Weber's Bread, you get a smooth and tasty aloof of nourishment as has ever been baked. Thousands and thousands of housewives know that for uniformity and texture and tasty good eating, well, you just can't beat Weber's Bread. And say, is it ever fresh? Delivered bright and early each morning to your neighborhood grocer. So for bread the way you like it, soft, fine textured and satisfying, just get good Weber's Bread every time. Then you'll be enjoying really good bread. You'll find it at your neighborhood food store in the famous blue and white checked Kingham wrapper. That's good Weber's Bread. Now back to your all-star Western theater. Out of the Walt Disney Studios came a tune not so long ago that has all the Western feeling of a blue evening on a desert trail. The lonesomeness of a solitary rider, the yipping echoes of coyotes, the shadows that slide across the sagebrush as the sun goes down behind the buttes. You'll find them all in the melody and lyrics of Blue Shadows on the Trail. Blue Shadows on the Trail, blue moon shining through the trees, and a plaintive whale from the distance comes adrift in on the evening breeze. Move along, blue shadows, move along, soon the dark will come and you'll be on your way. But until the darkness sheds its veil, there'll be blue shadows on the trail. Move along, blue shadows, move along, move along, move along, move along, move along, move along, soon the dark will come and you'll be on your way. But until the darkness sheds its veil, there'll be blue shadows on the trail. Shadows on the trail. Moving along, singing a song under the western moon. Well, it's time for us to saddle and ride, folks. We're glad you could make the party and we hope you'll be with us next week. This is Boy Willings speaking for Al Sloey, Johnny Paul, Scotty Harrell, and Bud Siebert, the riders of the Purple Sage. Mike Roy and Tyler McVeigh helped us tell our story. Thanks to Jerry Vaughan, our musical arranger, and to Paul Pierce, who writes and directs our show. So long, everybody, and may the trail ahead be downhill and shady for you. From Hollywood, you've heard your all-star Western Theater, a desert radio production starring America's great western singers, Boy Willings and the riders of the Purple Sage. And with us is Terry O'Sullivan speaking. This is the musical Don Lee Broadcasting System. You're listening now to KHJ and KHJ-FM, the Don Lee stations Los Angeles.
