The following transcribed program is rebroadcast by the Armed Forces Radio Service to our fighting men overseas. Good Year presents the Roy Rogers Show. Friends, tonight as usual, Good Year brings you Roy Rogers. But because of the great news we've all been hearing, we want you to know that we will interrupt this program instantly for any late news flashes. Meanwhile, you'll hear Bob Nolan and the Sons of the Pioneers, Pat Friday, the Far Brothers, Perry Botkin's Orchestra, Good Year's guest tonight, motion picture villain Porter Hall. And now the greatest name in rubber, Good Year, invites you to meet America's greatest Western star, Roy Rogers. I've got a locket in my pocket, a plain golden locket, got a locket in my pocket, right next to my heart. I've got a picture in this locket, the locket in my pocket, got a picture in this locket, which I'll never part. The face in the picture is beautiful to see, and the girl that the face belongs to, she belongs to me. Got a locket in my pocket, my sweetheart's in that locket, got my sweetheart in my pocket, right next to my heart. The face in the picture is beautiful to see, and the girl that the face belongs to, she belongs to me. I've got a locket in my pocket, my sweetheart's in that locket, got my sweetheart in my pocket, right next to my heart. Howdy folks, and welcome from me and the gang to tonight's Good Year Get Together. We've rounded up a few new and some old songs for the occasion, and one of the West's most amazing legendary stories. But right now it's time for you to meet our guest for this evening, one of the swellest actors who ever foreclosed a mortgage on poor little mail, Mr. Porter Hall. Hiya, Porter. Roy, Roy, Roy, that's a nice welcome after you asked me to come over to your get together. Well, shucks, don't mind the folks, Porter. They've seen you as a villain in so many pictures that they just can't keep from booing at you. Well, I'm so misunderstood, Roy. To everyone who's ever seen me in pictures, I'm a no-good lowdown unprincipled crook. No, honest, Roy, you know I'm not that way at all. Much. Well, Porter, I'm surprised at you. Well, I think I'd much rather play your part than my own. They have you in the picture all well. He always gets his own way, and you get most of the close-ups, you know, where you sneer and twirl your mustache and make everyone in the audience hiss at you. Well, that's a real trouble, Roy. I never know if they're hissing the character or the actor playing the part. Well, when Porter Hall is playing the part as a villain, it isn't the actor they're hissing, you can believe me. But just to give you a break, Porter, we've got a sketch for you to play in tonight about one of the West's most amazing characters. And just to prove that you're the star and the hero, I'm not even going to play in it. How's that? Well, that's what I call really being a hero, giving a whole story to a screened bad man. But what are you going to do, Roy? Well, first of all, Porter, I'm going to keep an eye on you and make sure you don't forget yourself and steal the ranch. Then I'm going to just sort of keep the get-together moving, like now when I call on the sons of the pioneers to dedicate a song to you. He always sings raggy music to the catalyzed swing, back and forward in a saddle on a horse, that is sick of painting gators and such a punny meter to the roar, this will be for how to run. When they hear this fellow's gun, because the Western folks all know, he's a high-polluting scootin' shootin' son of a gun from Arizona, right gun cowboy Joe. Out in Arizona where the bad men are, the only thing to guide you is an evening star, the roughest of the bad men. The roughest, toughest man by far was ragtime Porter Hall. He always sings raggy music to the catalyzed swing, back and forward in a saddle on a horse, that is sick of painting gators and such a punny meter to the roar, this will be for how to run. When they hear this fellow's gun, because the Western folks all know, he's a high-polluting scootin' shootin' son of a gun from Arizona, ragtime Porter, ragtime Porter, ragtime Porter Hall. Today, when congratulations are being offered all over the world to the millions who worked and fought for victory in Europe, Goodyear would also like to propose a toast, a toast of its own and to its own, a toast to the 24,783 of its men and women in the armed forces. It's well done to those in Europe. It's good luck to those in the Pacific. And here's a toast, too, to the 100,000 Goodyear employees at home who with their war work have contributed and are continuing to contribute to final victory. To them, good work and let's keep punching hard till the Japs get theirs. It's the Farr Brothers' Furious Fiddle and Galloping Guitar in Cajun Stomp. The Farr Brothers' Furious Fiddle and Galloping Guitar in Cajun Stomp. The Farr Brothers' Furious Fiddle and Galloping Guitar in Cajun Stomp. The Farr Brothers' Furious Fiddle and Galloping Guitar in Cajun Stomp. Oh, boy, gee Ray, I'm sorry I'm late. Have I missed much? Well, hello there, Pat Friday. You have missed a couple of good songs, but you're in plenty of time for this story Porter Hall and I are going to tell tonight. Porter Hall? Do I know him? Are you my uncle every? Yes, every Friday. I am now fabulously wealthy and I intend to buy you the finest ranch in the West. Oh, but I already have a ranch. Oh, you have? As if I didn't know. But you deserve a much bigger one. Now, if you would just give me that piece of paper you're holding, which I assume to be the deed to your present property. Here you are, sir. Aha. My proud beauty, now I have you in my power. Doggone you, Porter Hall. Unhand that girl and give her back that deed. Aw, shucks, Roy. That isn't the deed to my ranch. It's just a song I'm going to sing tonight. Curses foiled again. Not exactly, Porter, because if Pat will forgive you and sing the song right now, you'll get the treat of your life. Folks, Miss Pat Friday singing close as pages in a book. We'll be closed as pages in a book, my love and I. So close we could share a single look, share every fire. So close just before I hear your laugh, my laugh breaks through. And when a tear starts to appear, my eyes grow misty too. Our dreams won't come tumbling to the ground, we'll hold them fast, darling. As the strongest book is bound, we're bound to laugh. My life is your life and wildlife feeds the way in my heart. We'll be closed as pages in a book, never look back. See them tumbling down. You know, you hear a lot about a cow man's pony, but there's another little animal. I guess the West would never have been made without him. You find him packing loads twice their own weight, where grubby prospectors work tirelessly in the desert sands. You'll find him high up in the mountains where a less sure-footed animal will plunge his rider five thousand feet down a sheer drop. Oh, maybe their voices aren't as musical as a cowhound's song as he sings and quites his herd, but I've yet to see the true Westerner who didn't cuss them and love them, the gentle, sure-footed little braying burro. See, our wonders of the wasteland, my long-deared mule, my broken-down horse and me. Always traveling, going nowhere. Across the plains and over the hills, go we. When I was young, I used to be A highfalutin' shootin' son of a gun up in Wyoming. I loved a gal, she loved my pal. So I packed my bag and saddled my nag and then I took a ramen. Now we're only a lonely trio. Without a friend, we trail along endless seas. Three old wonders of the wasteland. My love feared mule, my broken down horse and me. Applause. Now it's Roy Rogers, the king of the cowboys, in a new western ballad, Don't Flame It All On Me. If our love should fade like a cold winter's day, don't flame it all on me. If our true love has flown, might have known friends will say, don't flame it all on me. There was a time dear when we were so gay, I heard you say, I love only you. Someday with the dawn, all our love may be gone, but don't flame it all on me. For after all dear, I too have a heart, you have it now, don't break it apart. Someday our romance may break up just by chance, but don't flame it all on me. Applause. Say Roy, you've got both Pat and me busting with curiosity about the yarn you and Porter Hall are going to tell. What's so different about it? Come on, Roy, don't just stand there with that twinkle in your eye. Well kids, tonight's story is about the greatest cowboy who ever rode a bronc, shot a sixth gun, or roped a steer. As a matter of fact, he's the man who taught broncos to buck, who invented the six shooter and considered the lariat one of his unimportant inventions. Oh no, wait a minute, Roy. Now you wait a minute, Miss. Don't accuse Roy here of exaggerating. But Roy, anybody knows the sixth gun was invented by Samuel Colt. That, Vern, is just a rumor. The sixth gun was definitely invented by Pecos Bill. Pecos Bill? Never heard of him. Female tenderfoot. Bah. But who was Pecos Bill, Roy? He sounds as fantastic as this Hall character here. He's much more so, Vern. Pecos Bill is the most fantastic character of the imaginations of thousands of cowboys ever dreamed up. And if you'll all just make yourselves comfortable, Porter Hall and I will tell you plenty about him. Now I'm not saying that Pecos Bill is dead even today. To be honest, I don't know if Bill was ever born. They say he was born in Texas, and he was quite a baby. Weighed 73 pounds and stood more than four feet tall. He got lost out on the prairie one day and didn't have anybody to play with, so Bill wound up living and playing with the coyotes. Well, just about Bill's ninth birthday, a cowboy who'd wandered off the trail came upon Bill just as the big kid was having a morning exercise. Hey there, son. What you doing? Praying, fination, don't you use your eyes. Can't you see I'm rattling? Now hold on. That ain't fair. One young man like you dead only two bears? Let up on him, Billy. Well, I don't like to be picking on somebody who ain't moon size, but, chucks, there ain't more than two bears left around these parts. It gets a blade too rough. Most of them die of a busted neck. Well, what in tar place you doing out here in these hills anyhow? Running around shameless like that with no stitch of clothes on your body. Clothes? Don't you know us coyotes don't wear no clothes? You been chewing loco weed, youngster? You ain't no coyote. You're a human being. I ain't no human being. I'm a regular natural born coyote. Don't I live with environments? Don't I talk to them? Don't I howl like them? I got fleas. Now looky here, Button. There ain't no proof your environment's wise-sakes alive. Ain't a human being in these parts that don't howl and ain't got fleas? Well, don't you call me no human being. Well, that's what you are. Look, ain't every environment you ever see got a tail? Now, ain't they? Well, sure. All environments got tails. That's natural. Down tootin' it is. Then if you're a environment, where's your tail? Well? I will door blast it to lightning. You're right. I ain't got no tail. Course you ain't. So you see, son, you're not a environment at all. You're a human being. I don't want to be no human being. I don't want to be no human being. Now, looky here, Father. You is a human being, and it's my duty as another human being to take you back to civilization. Well, that's just about the time that Texas started to make its place in the world, just when Pecos Bill was dragged back to civilization. What with eating regular, Bill started to grow. And inside of a year, Bill was more than eight feet tall and weighed better than a half a ton. But Bill was lazy and hated to work. But Roy, what kind of work did Pecos Bill do? Almost any kind of ranching, Pat. Roping, branding. And, well, you know, when he'd do the branding, he'd do it with his bare hands. He'd just grab a yearling, tuck it under his arm, and stuff his ears up so he wouldn't hear the cats bawling. You know, Bill was kind of a soft-hearted cuss. You mean he wasn't tough, Roy? He wasn't a bad man? A bad man? Pat Pecos Bill was so bad that he killed off everybody in his part of Texas that had enough spunk to stand up to him. Then he got so tired of the peace and quiet that he finally started heading west. Well, he finally ran out into the... run into an old fella and stopped his horse. Hardy stranger! Say, can you direct me to some place where I might find myself a real man? You know, the kind what takes a real joy in a killing. Well, just keep heading up this canyon about 200 miles, and you'll find him right enough. Yes, sir, he sure will. Oh, thanks, old timer. Pecos Bill is much obliged to you. Did you say Pepe Pepe Pecos Bill? Yes, sir, he did. Pecos Bill's my name. Oh, for daisies, I gotta get out of here. Get up there! If he was really in a hurry, I wonder what took the old goat so long. Oh, right, for goodness sake, don't stop there. What did Pecos Bill do? Did he go... did he go the 200 miles up the canyon? Well, yes and no, Pat. You see, old Bill turned his horse and started, but after riding only about 20 miles, a doggone horse stubbed his toe on a cottonwood tree and busted his leg. Well, all Bill could do was follow the code of the West. He covered his eyes with one hand and pulled out his rifle, which he used as a pistol, aimed it at the poor horse's head and with tears running down his cheeks. Goodbye, old page. Someday we'll meet again, you and me, over on the tether side of the Great Horizon. But before Bill could squeeze the trigger, the horse looked up and with tears streaming from his big brown eyes, he said, Now, wait a minute, Bill. You ain't gonna shoot me just cause three of my four legs is busted, are you? Well, I reckon I was, but if you got any last words... You ain't... you know I ain't one of them regular undersized scrawny little horses. Just leave me alone for a bit and I'll get well. Well, doggone if I don't believe you. Well, I'm gonna take the saddle off you and leave you here. Then I'll leg it up to where that bunch of tough ombres are, and when you feel well enough in about 20 or 30 minutes, just cart up and join me. Well, I hadn't gone two miles further, saddled over one omb, when I spot a little rattled snake no more than 18 feet long. So I put down the saddle and I reached out and I grabbed the sneakin' sidewinder, and after cuffin' him good fashion a few times, the snake told me he'd give up. So I coiled a little fella like a lariat, stuck him on my saddle horn, and I started on up the canyon. Hanna Boybill, tell him the rest of the story. Start and stop me, you movie cowboy, you. Well, a little piece further up the road, a catamount jumped me. A what? A catamount, a mountain lion, don't you know nothin'? Anyway, he knocked me into the ground, and that made me soar. Don't, don't you, you dead bloody pig, don't... Don't, don't... clap me up like that! Take that! Take that! No, no, quit Bill, quit. Can't you take a joke? Oh, so it was a joke, was it? Yeah, but it didn't turn out so well, Bill. Honest, I'm the sorriest cat-a-mout out of captivity. Well, at least you're the dumbest cat-a-mout I ever see. Just for that, I'm gonna throw this saddle on your stupid back and ride you up the canyon. No. Yeah, using this rattlesnake for a whip. Now get over there, go on. Now, let's get started, or else I'll break you in two and only eat the best piece. Well, as soon as Bill got the saddle... Hey, just a minute, Roy, that's a fib. How come the horse and the cat-a-mout actually talked to Pecasillus and Bill answered them? Well, heavens to Betsy Pat, wasn't the lad brought up with coyotes? Why, shucks, he had more trouble talking straight Texan than he did chewing a rag with them varmints. What happened then, Bill? Well, I rode into the camp where all them hard-bitten old hoots were sitting around eating chow. So I hauled up my cat-a-mout and I walked over to the cook pots and I looked in. What's this? Beam. Nothing but six quarts left. Well, I'll start on those. Well, ain't so bad, but they make me thirsty. Give me that coffee pot. Look out, stranger, that pot is a-bawling. Shut up! Now, someone hand me that porcupine to wipe my mouth on and we get down to business. What is your business, partner? Who's boss of this gang, that's what I want to know. Who's boss around here? Stranger, I was. But you be. And did anyone ever hear of Pecos Bill after that, Roy? Well, sure, Pat. A few years later, someone bet him he couldn't ride a cyclone. Well, Pecos Bill was the kind of a fellow no one could dare. So he went back to Kansas to get a job. And when one came along, he climbed aboard. And was he killed, Roy? I mean, did the cyclone throw him? Throw a legendary character like that? Well, not at all, Vern. By the time that twister crossed Colorado, he had it as tame as a lamb. But then he got a little bit overconfident, you know. He rolled himself a cigarette and when he couldn't find any matches, he reached up and grabbed a piece of forked lightning. Oh, I see, Roy. And the lightning electrocuted him? Yes, it did. Shucks, no, Pat, but it tickled him and got him to laughing so much that he didn't look where he was going. So he slipped off the cyclone and dropped 97 miles to Earth. Oh, Roy, that doesn't seem possible. But it happened, Vern. And where Bill landed, he weighed so much and fell so far that he knocked to the Earth 150 feet below sea level. Folks called the place where he landed Death Valley because they figured he'd never survive such a bump. Fact is, I was surprised as you were when Pecos Bill walked out of the house and I was surprised as you were when Pecos Bill walked in here tonight. It's the Whole Goodyear Gang led by Roy Rogers, the king of the cowboys in Skies Are Bluer. Skies are bluer in Oklahoma, Oklahoma where my heart lies. Songs are newer in Oklahoma, Oklahoma as the crow flies. That's where the yellow corn is brighter and cotton's whiter than snow. Just listen to the weed a-swayin', it sounds like it's sayin' hello. The bells are ringin' and boys are singin', oil is gushin' and the folks are rushin' now to Oklahoma, USA. Songs are newer in Oklahoma, Oklahoma where my heart lies. Songs are newer in Oklahoma, Oklahoma as the crow flies. That's where the yellow corn is brighter and cotton's whiter than snow. Just listen to the weed a-swayin', it sounds like it's sayin' hello. The bells are ringin' and boys are singin', oil is gushin' and the folks are rushin' now to Oklahoma, USA. Well, it looks as if our time for tonight is like the water in a stream in the middle of the summer. It's all run out. But we've got more time again next week and we'd like you all to be back sittin' with us at our Goodyear get together. We have some songs and music and a little chatter, western style, and a rip-roarin' story about the old days that should please everybody. We've got a little bit of a brotherly little story about the old days that should please everybody. So, till next Tuesday, this is Roy Rogers thankin' Porter Hall for appearing with us tonight and sayin' for the whole gang goodbye, good luck, and may the good Lord take a likin' to you. Don't forget smiles are made out of the sunshine and the frown from a rainy day. Now this is Vern Smith saying, goodnight for Goodyear, the greatest name in rubber. If you like the songs and stories of the west, don't miss tuning in next Tuesday. Same station you're tuned to now, same time of the day on your clock, when Goodyear will bring you another get-together with Bob Nolan and the Sons of the Pioneers, Pat Friday, the Farr Brothers, Mary Botkin and his orchestra, and starring the King of the Cowboys, Roy Rogers. The Roy Rogers program was transcribed. This is VE Day. Don't forget to buy another bond. A war half won is a job half done. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.
