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",

followed by question mark,
but nevertheless meticulously archived
in one of his many bureau drawers.

'Bye, Dad.
Evenin' Master Tom.
Good evening, Master Olivia.
Don't forget about the meeting tomorrow.
[Narrator] In order to postpone the time
at which he would have to put pen to pater in earnest,

Tom had now come up with
a series of meetings on moral rearmament

with which he felt obliged to benefit the town.
- Hi, kids.
- Hi, Tom.

Good evening Chuck.
Will we see you at the meeting tomorrow?
Well, I could do without your lectures.
You know Vera.
Wouldn't give me moment's peace
till I said yes.

Who gave Moses that bone?
It's still got meat on it.