Just a Really Good Episode: “Bud The Philanthropist”

In a previous blog I wrote, “There’s something remarkable about Father Knows Best. You can watch any dozen episodes and be entertained by the wholesome charms with which this 1950s sitcom is identified. And then you’ll discover a story that is so compelling in its content that you could write a term paper about it.” 

That piece singled out some of the series’ most memorable episodes, and one of these days I’m going to do an “Unshakeables” piece on “Twenty-Four Hours in Tyrantland.” It is one of the most unique moments of television in the medium’s history.

But the other night I watched “Bud the Philanthropist,” a comparatively typical series offering, and was struck once again by how smart and perceptive and entertaining an “average” episode of this 60 year-old series can be.

When you think about TV shows from that time, and how different life in America is now compared to back then, it may seem unlikely that today’s teenagers could see themselves in their 1950s counterparts. But the situation Bud finds himself in here, and the range of emotions it generates, would be as familiar now as it was in 1954. “Bud the Philanthropist” won’t stay with you for days like “Tyrantland” or “The Bus to Nowhere,” but I found it remarkable nonetheless because of the universal truths it contains.

The episode opens with Bud and his father waxing the family car – or more like Jim waxing and Bud daydreaming. This is not an uncommon scenario on the series as Bud was a quintessential slacker. Five minutes with him in any episode will dispel any latter-day stereotypes on how 1950s sitcom kids were all perfect.

In this case, however, there is more to Bud’s distraction than laziness. He recounts for his dad events from Sunday school class earlier that morning, where the teacher launched a “good deed” project to help a young newspaper boy, who suffered a broken leg in a hit-and-run car accident. The idea is to raise money to buy him a radio, to help him pass the time while he’s laid up in bed.

A box is placed at the front of the classroom to collect the donations. “No one has to contribute,” the teacher says. “You only do this because you feel in your heart you want to.”

Bud has a $10 bill in his pocket that he had been saving to buy new track shoes. Ten dollars in 1954 is about $100 now, so we’re not talking spare change. He has nothing smaller he can give so he walks out, feeling the stares of his classmates behind him. But a few moments later, after the room has cleared out, he returns and, reluctantly, donates the $10.

Jim expresses his pride at such generosity. “Yeah, but nobody saw me!” Bud protests. “Nobody knows I put in anything!” He wants some recognition for giving all that money to a kid he doesn’t even know.

And as the conversation continues, we hear some of the writing (by the brilliant Roswell Rogers) that makes this series so wonderful.

Bud: “Is that so wrong? To want people to say you’re a nice guy?”

Jim: “No, of course not. But if you put in that money merely to get credit, that is wrong.”

Bud: “Yeah, but…even if I do get credit, the money still does the same good deed, doesn’t it?”

Jim: Well, yes, materially…but with that attitude it’s no longer a good deed on your part. It’s a bargain you’re making. You’re using your money to get a good name for yourself.”

Bud gets the point, but still feels a little cheated. “I wish they knew so they’d know I’m the kind of guy who didn’t want them to know.”

Jim laughs. “You want too much for your money. The real reward is something you feel inside of you.” As they go into the house for lunch, he tells his son, “The two most important ones in the world know: you, and (glancing toward heaven) the one who made up all these rules.”

At lunch, Betty mentions sitting next to the Sunday school teacher in choir, and learns about the good deed project. The teacher was delighted, she says, because the donations amounted to…$10.39. The reactions of Bud and Jim are priceless as they realize the other eight boys in the class couldn’t come up with 40 cents between them.

Now Bud is really steamed, but he keeps his contribution anonymous. The following week, the teacher announces that the money has been raised to buy the radio, and that he could tell by “the arrangement of the contributions” that “most of the credit for this project belongs to one of our members. I’m especially proud of this boy. I don’t know who it is, and I’m sure he doesn’t want it known…but his blessings, his reward, is what he feels inside.”

The rest of the class immediately jumps to the conclusion that it was another boy who gave the $10, and he in turn is given the honor of representing the school at a youth conference, and delivering the radio to its recipient. Once again, Bud protests the injustice of it all to his dad: “What do you think we ought to do about it?”

Jim’s response: “Nothing." He reminds his son once again that the good deed itself is all that matters. 

What happens next? I shouldn’t tell you everything, though I’m constantly amazed at how much story can fit into a 25-minute script on a series as well-written as this one.

“Bud the Philanthropist” is a perfect little morality play, of the kind that was prevalent in prime time in a bygone age. Situation comedies don’t seem to care very much about life lessons anymore. And when you see how boorish behavior in our culture is often applauded instead of condemned, it’s easy to see why such stories have fallen out of favor. And why some of us prefer the old shows to the new ones.

A classic TV moment? Not really. Just one of 204 episodes of Father Knows Best, each having something to say about the human condition – what makes us noble, what makes us flawed, and what sometimes makes us inexplicable, even to our fellow humans. But the message, always, is one that reinforces the actuality of objective moral values and why, if we’re all going to get along, it’s important to pay attention to them.

That, to me, has always been the most appealing aspect of Comfort TV.