You unlock this door with the key of imagination.
Beyond it is another dimension.
A dimension of sound.
A dimension of sight. A dimension of mind.
You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas.
You've just crossed over into the twilight zone.
Let's get with it, Conklin!
A tight office is a happy office.
Idle hands make for an unproductive poop deck.
Belay that, miss Abernathy.
Extraneous activity is nothing more nor less than sloppy seamanship, in a manner of speaking.
You there, fenstermacher!
Let's keep an even keel there, in a manner of speaking.
Let's keep an even keel there, man.
To all of you, bear in mind that we must all of us go aft, climb up the old mast, and in a manner of speaking, set our sights to a distant horizon.
Tight ship! A happy ship!
Damn the torpedoes of competition and full speed ahead!
Well sh*t, mr. Conklin.
Right between captain bligh's eyeballs.
He's an exceptional voice. My ears are sill ringing.
You know, that fat boy is headed for mutiny in a few hours?
Where would you find a plank heavy enough to hold him?
When I think of all the kamikazes they threw at us during the w*r, wouldn't you think that just one would would've hit him?
One of these days, one of these days, all that noise is gonna come back and bite him.
I hope I'm around to see it happen.
This is Roswell g. Flemington. 220 pounds of gristle, lung tissue and sound decibels.
He is, as you have perceived, a noisy man.
One of a breed who substitutes volume for substance, sound for significance, and shouting to cover up the readily apparent phenomena that he is nothing more than an overweight and aging perennial sea scout whose noise making is in inverse ratio to his competence and to his character.
But soon, our would-be admiral of the fleet will embark on another voyage.
This one is an unchartered and twisting stream that heads for a distant port called the twilight zone.
Hello? Hello?
Who? Oh, just a moment. I can't hear you. Please.
Roswell! Roswell!
Could you turn that down just a little bit?
I can't hear a thing on the telephone!
Do you know what that is, madam? Collector's item.
The actual sounds of the battleship Missouri bombarding Okinawa!
But I can't hear who's on the phone!
Lay on, gentlemen, and let 'em know what's what!
Fire at will! And by the good lord harry, we'll show them how the navy treats aggression!
And that, madam, was an act of utter abomination and the most callous vandalism.
May I remind you that those were the actual sounds of the battleship Missouri bombarding Okinawa?
And there were only 100 such records in existence.
Now there are only 99.
What you have done, madam, is an act of desecration not unlike the defacing of a statue of john Paul Jones.
What are you, madam, some sort of a fanatic?
Roswell, we've had this out before.
What was once an idiosyncrasy of yours is now an obsession.
This-this insistence on blaring noises and running a household like it was a destroyer escort on convoy duty.
The combination has now become quite impossible, and I can't live with it.
Stand, madam!
Oh, knock it off, Roswell.
You are an insufferable, noisy clown, but you are not stupid!
I have had you up to here, and my ears have had you, and my stomach lining has had you, and whatever part of the brain that keeps a person balanced, that's had you, too.
In short, Roswell, I have had you!
I am absolutely and completely thunderstruck!
Are you, now?
I am, indeed. My own wife. And after 20 years!
Twenty years ago, Roswell, I wasn't taken in marriage.
I was piped aboard. And after 20 years, the shrill piping has become absolutely unbearable.
So, at this point, Roswell, I'm leaving, in a manner of speaking, the ship's company!
You're deserting me!
In a manner of speaking, Roswell, you said it!
It wasn't locked, Roswell.
It might interest you to know, madam, that when I was a young chap, I had a mother who insisted she was ill.
She was a whiny, petulant, complaining female similar to yourself.
And when I would come home from school, she would make me walk tiptoe and whisper.
Whisper. Whisper. Whisper.
You know, in our house, we never had any cookies.
All we had were fudge brownies, because they made less noise when you chewed them.
"eat your brownie
"and run upstairs and change, but keep it quiet." and I tell you, madam, I had quite enough of that!
And that is why I went to sea!
And that is why I've spent my life in the very wholesome, healthy and quite understandable pursuit of the free and the unfettered.
And that is why I am the owner, manager, chairman of the board and president of the Roswell g. Flemington model ship company.
Second to none in the field!
Whose motto is, "damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead for fun and profits."
I know the company, I know the president, I know the motto.
And I respond, mr. Roswell g. Flemington, with the following nautical phrase which I have now taken to heart and will proceed to implement.
The phrase Is, "lay aft, and dump the garbage!" so, in a manner of speaking, consider yourself dumped!
"flight deck sounds of aircraft leaving the carrier hornet."
good riddance, madam! I have never liked you.
I have simply suffered you.
Well?
Nothing abnormal, mr. Flemington.
No excess wax, no obstruction of any kind, no inflammation.
By the great lord harry, candor dictates, doctor, that I tell you that as a ship's surgeon, you wouldn't make a cabin boy in a manner of speaking.
Frankly, I think consulting another physician might be an extremely practical idea.
I only wish you'd had a modicum of professional ethics and given me this advice before you went through the motions of this perfunctory examination.
As it is, I shall be dunned with your bill as well as the bill of another ear specialist.
In point of fact, mr. Flemington, I wasn't gonna recommend another ear specialist.
Now, I had in mind perhaps some, uh, well, some psychiatric help.
I presume you are being humorous, sir.
It is only that charitable outlook that prevents your being called to accounts.
Psychiatrist, eh? Well, let me tell you, doctor, and I use the term loosely, there are few people walking this earth as sane as I am.
I bid you good day, sir.
Good day.
What do you suppose happened to lardhead?
Count your blessings, honey. I've been here four years, and this is the first time he's been late.
Wouldn't it be marvelous if his car fell off the ferryboat with him in it?
The millennium, the absolute millennium.
Thus endeth the dream.
Good morning, Mr. Flem.
I've been here five years and that's the first time he's walked in without telling me that the smoking lamp was not lit and that we had to move full speed ahead toward the shores of prosperity.
Maybe he's sick.
Something incurable, like barnacles on the brain.
Very good. Barnacles on the brain. Conklin, you'd better get out your darts.
Only forget the portrait. sh**t for the record.
That's odd. Very odd.
I've been here ten years and that's the first time I've seen him look frightened.
Let's keep it quiet out here.
I was just...
With your permission, mr. Flemington, new shoes.
What have you got in them, pipe organs?
This ship has got to shape up. Repeat, shape up.
Noise is not efficiency.
Let's secure now. And watch this noise.
Yes, sir.
Unless I'm very much mistaken, it is one of those very odd phenomena. Auto suggestion we call it.
A person talks himself into believing occurrences take place when indeed they are pure figments of imagination.
Beyond that, Mr. Flemington, there is very definitely some suggestion here that you are very resentful of your mother.
And have a preoccupation with her imaginary aches and pains.
My guess at least for the moment would be that this particular feeling extended itself to your wife who provided you with a similar mother image.
But I can tell you this, mr. Flemington, and forgive me if I repeat myself, these occurrences are pure figments of imagination.
I believe that, doctor.
Now, snap your fingers.
Well, do you think I, uh...
Go ahead, snap your fingers.
Any abnormal sound?
Normal!
Stamp your feet.
Normal again?
Happily, delightfully, comfortingly normal.
You've cured me, doctor.
By the good lord harry, if admiral nelson had had you at Trafalgar, he'd have saved both his eye and his arm.
In naval parlance, sir, you're 4.0.
Four point oh, sir, in a manner of speaking.
That's all right, mr. Flemington.
Slam it at will, be my guest.
You, sir, have the soul of a seaman.
Bless you.
Incredible. Absolutely incredible.
Mind over matter.
My wife obviously the culprit a miserable preoccupation with noise literally planted the seed in my head.
Incredible what one crew member can do to a whole ship's company.
And the whole business, mind over matter.
Madam, you are not welcome on this particular quarter deck.
Nor shall I stay here, admiral.
I forgot some of my jewelry.
I will retrieve same and then, whether you pipe me ashore or not, that's precisely where I'll be heading.
And might I add this, madam, despite your efforts to capsize this worthy vessel, in a manner of speaking, against the rocks and hidden shoals of petulance and petty dissatisfaction, the ship remains tight and all your efforts, worthless and wasteful.
Horatio, old pal, let the following be my final comments:
You are an overgrown sailor boy with an undermanned head.
You are so full of incredible neuroses that I wonder that you haven't cracked before this.
Belay that, madam, belay that.
It just so happens that I have had a psychiatric examination, and if there is one thing wrong with me, it is you.
It is simply you. And furthermore, madam, I can tell you one other thing:
The whole business is mind over matter.
Totally and absolutely mind over matter.
Do you know what I can do to you?
I can shut you off.
Do you realize that?
I can literally shut you off because I am a man of such incredible will that I can do anything I want to do.
Now, go ahead.
Yell at me.
Go on, yell at me.
Because even now, at this moment I am in the process of exercising mind over matter.
I am shutting you out.
Flemington, I really do wonder about you.
I wonder why no one has committed you. I really...
See! See!
I have shut you out.
Go on, talk some more.
Really, Roswell, you do need help.
You really do need help.
Incredible. Mind over matter.
I want to shut her out, I simply shut her out.
Now, then, what shall we listen to tonight?
Anchors aweigh?
Midshipmans' march?
Let's see.
"actual sounds of Japanese destroyer exploding in lady bay."
"complete with boiler hissings, fantail cracking and smokestack exploding."
Great, great.
Better get ready out there.
This will galvanize you properly.
Louder! Louder!
Make more noise.
Let's hear it.
Come on, let's hear it.
Louder! Louder!
When last heard from, mr. Roswell g. Flemington was in a sanitarium pleading with the medical staff to make some noise.
They of course believed the case to be a rather tragic aberration.
A man's mind becoming unhinged.
And for this, they'll give him pills, therapy and rest.
Little do they realize that all Mr. Flemington is suffering from is a case of poetic justice.
Tonight's tale of sounds and silences from the twilight zone.
And now, Mr. Serling.
Next time out on the twilight zone we move into a very dark corner of the odd and the unpredictable with a story called Caesar and me.
It's written by Adele t. Strassfield, and it stars one of the most talented young men on the acting scene today, Jackie cooper.
Here's one that may stay with you after the lights are out.
It's a story of a ventriloquist and his dummy, and this one is designed for the cold chills and the hot fevers.