In the parlance of the twentieth century, this is an oddball. His name is James B.W. Bevis, and his tastes lean toward stuffed animals, zither music, professional football, Charles Dickens, moose heads, carnivals, dogs, children, and young ladies. Mr. Bevis is accident prone, a little vague, a little discombooberated, with a life that possesses all the security of a floating crap game. But this can be said of our Mr. Bevis: without him, without his warmth, without his kindness, the world would be a considerably poorer place, albeit perhaps a little saner.
Should it not be obvious by now, James B.W. Bevis is a fixture in his own private, optimistic, hopeful little world, a world which has long ceased being surprised by him.
James B.W. Bevis, on whom Dame Fortune will shortly turn her back, but not before she gives him a paste in the mouth. Mr. James B.W. Bevis, just one block away from the Twilight Zone.
Mr. Bevis loses his job, wrecks his car and gets evicted from his apartment, all in one day. Bevis then meets his guardian angel J. Hardy Hempstead, who assists him. Bevis starts the day over, except now he is a success at work, his rent is paid, and his car is now a sportscar, instead of a jalopy.
However, in order to have his new life, Bevis must make some changes: No loud clothes, no zither music, no longer can he be the well-liked neighborhood goofball. Realizing all these things are what makes him happy, Bevis asks that things be returned to the way they were. Hempstead obliges, but arranges for Bevis to get his old jalopy back. However, when Bevis is about to be ticketed for parking next to a fire hydrant, the hydrant suddenly moves a few feet over. His guardian angel is still with him.
Mr. James B.W. Bevis, who believes in a magic all his own. The magic of a child's smile, the magic of liking and being liked, the strange and wondrous mysticism that is the simple act of living. Mr. James B.W. Bevis, species of twentieth-century male, who has his own private and special Twilight Zone.
Next week, you'll see our friends here along with Anne Francis and Elizabeth Allen in one of the strangest stories we've yet presented on The Twilight Zone. It's called "The After Hours," and concerns the shadowy time when normal people go back to their homes, and concurrently, what happens to those who are perhaps not quite so normal, or perhaps not quite so human. Intriguing? I think you'll find it so next week on The Twilight Zone.