Dogville was in the Rocky Mountains
in the US of A.

Up here where the road came to its
definiteve end near the entrance to the old,
abandoned silver mine.

The residents of Dogville were good,
honest folks and they liked their township.

And while a sentimental soul from the East Coast
had once dubbed their main street ELM STREET,

though no elm tree had ever
cast its shadow in Dogville,

they saw no reason to change anything.
Most of the buildings were pretty wretched;
more like shacks; frankly.

The house in which Tome lived
was the best, though,

and in good times might almost
have passed for presentable.

That afternoon the radio was playing softly,
for in his dotage Thomas Edison Senior
had developed a weakness for music of the lighter kind.

[Radio Presenter] Ladies and Gentlemen...
the President of the United States...

Tom, do me a favor, will you?
The radio!?

Just because the music's over and
you might risk hearing something useful?

I thought that's why we have the radio...
Well, I need a rest, as you know.
Mock me if you like.
[Narrator] Tom's father had been a doctor
and now received a modest pension,

so it was no great disaster for Tom
to drift about not doing anything in particular.

Tom was a writer. any rate by his own lights.

Oh, his output as committed to paper
was so far limited to the words "great" and "small",