 The Cavalcade of America, presented by Dupont. Prior to the American Revolution, English players held a monopoly on theatrical entertainment in this country. One of the first Americans who dared persist in the theory that American folk life and characters were worth portrayal on the stage was Joseph Jefferson, America's first great comedian whose name is synonymous with his most famous characterization, Rip Van Winkle. It is the story of Jefferson that we are dramatizing this evening. Everyone who is fought to gain an objective in business or music or on the stage should feel a certain kinship with a famed American actor. For example, I know a lot of research chemists who would be sympathetic. These men know perhaps better than any of us what it is to make literally hundreds of attempts before reaching a goal, or perhaps having to discard an idea altogether after working on it for years. But Dupont chemists and others the world over constantly are creating new products or improving existing ones for the greater comfort and convenience of us all. Their objective is aptly expressed in the Dupont Pledge, better things for better living through chemistry. As an overture, Don Vorreys and his Cavalcade Orchestra will play poor Piero from Jerome Kern's operetta, The Cat and the Fiddle. Traveling players, his mother a featured actress in the company, and young Joseph was born literally in the theater. Many hardships attended his father's pioneering efforts to bring drought within the reach of provincial Americans. A characteristic incident occurred when Joseph was nine years old. The company was journeying by packet boat on the Erie Canal, attempting to meet expenses by playing in the various towns along the route. The night after their Syracuse engagement, young Joseph, his mother and father and the actors are gathered in the cabin of the packet boat. The actors are obviously disgruntled. I tell you my worthy followers of Thespus, with one more disaster, such as we fell us at Syracuse last night. We shall not live to reach Chicago. Why do they say that? Do they feel the Indians will show us? No, Joseph. They're complaining because we don't make more money. Mr. Jefferson, as you know, we are all experienced actors of reputation. Why, of course. That empty house we played to in Syracuse last night was an affront to our dignity. Yes, and to our pocket books as well. It is not a matter for jest, Mr. Jefferson. I agree. I suspect we did not take in enough money to pay our full passage on this boat. Your suspicions are entirely correct, my dear ladies. Mr. Jefferson, this is not a time for liberty. The situation is serious. Good evening, Mr. Jefferson. Oh, good evening, Captain. Unpleasant weather on the eerie tonight. I ain't come to discuss the weather, Mr. Jefferson. I've come to discuss a matter of ten dollars passage money that's still on to me. And if that money ain't paid by the time we get the buffalo, I'm warning you. I'll hold all your luggage. You mean you'll hold our costumes and clothing? Why, that's ridiculous. Oh, Mr. Jefferson, yes. He's responsible. Please, please be reasonable, Captain. It is not our fault that it rained in Syracuse last night. I know nothing about it and care less. Acton's a devil's business. My parents' teaching don't permit me to see play Acton on a stage. But, I'll tell you, I've got a hankering to see what Acton's like. I'll make you a sport and proposition, Mr. Jefferson. Yes, Captain? If the folks in your troop will cut up for me here a bit in the cabin, just to give me a taste of what play Acton's like, I'll call it square about the passage money only. Now that is a sporting proposition. Ladies and gentlemen, you have heard the Captain's offer. Will you help me redeem your luggage by performing a scene from one of our plays? No, I certainly don't. I should say no. Captain's offer is an insult to our profession. Asking us to cut up for him. I shall retire to the upper deck. And I will go with you. Oh, stay, please stay. It'll be such an easy matter to oblige the Captain. I should say no. Oh, let them go, dear. We'll find some way to pay the Captain if I have to sign on as a deckhand. Father! Yes, Joe? Let me help. I'll give the Captain a show. What? A little shaver-like? What? A little shaver-like? What? A little shaver-like? What? A little shaver-like? What? A little slad-nobot play act. Well, I'll have you know, Captain, that my son is the fourth Jefferson in a direct line to adopt the stage as his profession. Has the lad ever performed on the stage? Our son made a successful appearance when he was but four years old with the great T.D. Rice. The black-faced minstrel who sings Jump Jim Crow and Zip Coon? Well, I've heard tell him up and down the whole length of the canal. I can sing Zip Coon just the way Mr. Rice sings it. He taught me how. Well, mind you. I ain't sayin' I'll take the lad's song and return for that ten dollars, Mr. Jefferson. I'll have to hear it first. Shall I sing now, Mother? Shall I dance, too? Yes, sing and dance the first dance of this. We'll see if the Captain enjoys it. Mother, you play the guitar. All right. Sandy Holler, a taller afternoon. And the first man of chances, he was Old Zip Coon. Old Zip Coon, he is. And now you follow forward. I'm satisfied. And your passage money is paid, Mr. Jefferson. You're a real sportsman, Captain. Thank you. Thank you, Captain. Well, see you folks on deck. But Vicki liked it. Don't you worry about the applause, child. I'm proud of you. You earned more in these few minutes than my whole company earned last night at Syracuse. Ten dollars for one song. And you're only nine years old. Just keep that record up, my boy. You'll be a credit to your mother and father. And to the American stage. Joseph Jefferson followed the family tradition and became an actor. But despite his early practical training and inherent love for the theater, he had reached the age of 29 without having attained any more than the standing of a respectable member of a stock company. He was far from his goal of being a star. The year is 1858. We find young Jefferson and his wife on vacation in a Pennsylvania boarding house, whiling away a rainy afternoon reading and chatting. The bitter experience facing the fact that I'm a failure. Failure or nonsense, Joseph. Just this rainy afternoon depressing you. Tomorrow the sun will shine and you'll be making plans for next season. Plans for another season in stock. Well, I suppose I should be grateful for it. It's a living. After all, I'm only a comedian. But a great comedian, dear. I wish the public thought so, Margaret. You know, I'm still obsessed with the desperate longing to find a great comedy role. A role in which tears will alternate with laughter. Someday, perhaps years hence, a great dramatist will create such a character. But I'm afraid I shan't be alive to play the role. Hmm? Oh, I'm so sorry. What did you say, dear? It's just the same old dream, Margaret. You've heard it too often. I don't wonder you've returned to your book. Oh, forgive me. What are you reading? The Life and Letters of Washington Irving. Oh, it's fascinating, Joseph. His descriptions are so perfect. Hmm. What? Why, Joseph, here's your name. He mentions you. No, it can't be. It's my father, Douglas. Oh, no, no, it isn't, dear. Listen, he said, I saw the young Joe Jefferson at Laura King's Theater as Goldfinch in the Road to Ruin book. I thought his father one of the best actors I've ever seen. And the sun reminds me of him in look, gesture, size, and makeup. I was delighted with Young Jefferson's performance. But Washington Irving mentions only distinguished people, beautiful men and women. Oh, but... I feel practically immortal to think that he actually mentioned a lonely stock company comedian like me. It is thrilling, dear. Margaret, Washington Irving's sketchbook. Why haven't I thought of it before? It's an overpowering idea. Rip Van Winkle. Rip Van Winkle, Joseph. Why, it's the role I've been seeking. Don't you see, Margaret, it's the character I dreamed of. With the proper dramatization, Rip Van Winkle can be one of the greatest characters of the American stage. From that moment, Joseph Jefferson lived, breathed, and dreamed Rip Van Winkle. He discovered several mediocre dramatizations of Washington Irving's legend, and he labored day and night to improve them. In the fall of that same year, 1858, he persuaded the manager, Mr. John T. Raymond, to present his play, Rip Van Winkle, in Carousey's Hall in Washington, D.C. The curtain has fallen on that opening performance of Rip Van Winkle starring Joseph Jefferson. At backstage, Jefferson's fellow actors are gathered in small groups discussing the play. I told Jefferson the play would ever be success, but of course he wouldn't listen. You know, there were times during rehearsals when he nearly convinced me that he was right and we were all wrong. No. But you can't fool the American public. Why, certainly not. Scarcely any applause after the final curtain. The greatest failure I've seen in my 20 years in the theater. Well, after all, what is Rip Van Winkle? A story of a good-for-nothing village loafer and drunkard. What a hero. You know, I've almost begun to wonder if there isn't something wrong with Joe Jefferson. With his brain, I mean. Whenever he puts on that Rip Van Winkle costume as a queer look in his eye, he doesn't seem to be in this world at all. Here comes the manager. Yes, yes. On his way to Jefferson's dressing room, I'd give half a week's pay to hear what he tells Jefferson about this performance. Good evening, Mr. Raymond. Good evening. Mr. Jefferson still needs room. We haven't seen him come out, sir. Have I asked him to wait for me? Oh, I've been waiting for you, Mr. Raymond. Come in. Yeah. Well, Jefferson, there's no need in my telling you the play was a dismal failure. No. There's no need. I'm sorry, Mr. Raymond. Greatest failure I've ever seen in the theater. Here, you better close the door or some of the cast is outside. Oh, yes. I'm sorry for your sake, Mr. Raymond, that the play wasn't a success. Well, all I hope, Jefferson, is that this Rip Van Winkle failure has taught you a lesson. What's that? Go back to the roles you can play. Ace are clenched in our American cousin, Bob Bakers and the rivals. Caleb Plummer, those are the roles for you. Mr. Raymond, I won't believe that Rip Van Winkle need be a failure. What? Well, you know, every man has a dream, a goal which gives him hope. Well, my dream, my ambition, is to become as distinguished in the field of comedy as Edwin Forrest and Edwin Booth are in the field of tragedy. You're deluding yourself, my poor Jefferson. A comedian will never be recognized as a great actor. The public accepts only tragedians, as artists. A wise man knows his own limitations. Well, permit me my dream, Mr. Raymond. I granted it that my dramatization of Rip Van Winkle was poor, but tonight's performance has proved to me that the character of Rip Van Winkle is all that I'd hoped. From this moment, I have but one goal, to find a playwright capable of creating a strong play for this great character. It was five years before Joseph Jefferson's dream approached fulfillment. Failing in his attempts to interest playwrights in the story, he was obliged to accept a four-year stock company engagement in Australia. Finally, upon his arrival in London from Australia, he persuaded the brilliant playwright, Dian Boussico, to dramatize the appealing tale of the lovable, shiftless Dutchman of the Catskill Mountains. Now at last in the year 1865, the critical moment in Joseph Jefferson's life is at hand. He is on the stage of the Adelphi Theatre in London, preparing for the final rehearsal of the new play, Rip Van Winkle. Dian Boussico, the author, has just entered the theatre and Jefferson greets him eagerly. Oh, Boussico, I fear you'd never attend a rehearsal. I'm so anxious for your opinion. Well, I hope the play's a success for your sake, Jefferson. Thank you. I'm sorry, it's to open a Webster's theatre. What? Is the gossip true then about your quarrel with Webster? True. Certainly it's true. Webster's a pompous, strutting and compoop. An ignorant who buys a theatre and considers himself an authority. An acting, writing, stage-sets. The fool should never be permitted to manage a theatre. Should be hawking fish to housewives. Well, here, rally-round by fellow Thespians, the great Mr. Boussico, the second Shakespeare, is delivering himself of an opinion. That's enough from you, Bedford. Now, listen, Boussico. Can't you and Webster declare a truce till after the opening night? We three must work together while it's your play, his theatre, and my first great role. There'll be no truce, Mr. Jefferson. Glory, it's Mr. Webster himself. So I must strutting and compoop. Am I, Boussico? You've known my opinion of you for some time, Webster. Well, in the present, please, actuals, I'll tell you my opinion of you and your plays. Your Rip Van Winkle will not open here on Monday night, nor will my theatre ever gain the harbour of play of yours. Rip Van Winkle won't open? If you think I'm dependent upon your patronage, well, sir, you're mistaken. I'll be well pleased never to set foot within this so-called theatre of yours again. Good day to you. Boussico, wait! You're not called upon to interfere, Jefferson. The cost is dismissed. What? Mr. Webster, you can't mean this. It's been rehearsed for weeks. The play's been advertised throughout London. I don't care if it's been advertised throughout the entire world. No vain hot-tempered dramatist will call me a clown, and ignorant... Mr. Webster, will you hear me, sir? Nothing you say better will change my mind. You will clap, Mr. Webster, that I'm one of the oldest and the most popular stars in the British Isle. Yes, but what's that got to do with the situation? Just this, sir. Mr. Jefferson, in a manner of speaking, came here to London to compete with me in my own field. My nose was a bit out of joint to be offered a secondary part in this play. But after Mr. Jefferson's very first reading, I lost all my resentment in honest admiration. Mr. Jefferson's ability has nothing to do with the case. It's still Boussico's play and I refuse to produce it. It's true, Mr. Webster. It's Boussico's play. And that's the only reason Mr. Jefferson consented to open here in London, because Boussico had a contract with you. Mr. Jefferson was anxious for the American people to hear if Van Winkle first. Neither Mr. Jefferson nor Mr. Boussico will be the losers if you refuse to produce this play. What do you mean by that? You and the people of London will be the losers. I beg you, let London have the triumph of first producing this great play. Or shall I say, for Miss Joseph Jefferson to score his greatest success in our country? That's a significant praise from a British actor for a Yankee. It's the honest praise of one actor for the talents of a far superior artist. That is the greatest compliment I've ever received. I shall never forget your words. Mr. Webster, Rip Van Winkle must open Monday night. Believe me, 100 years from now, 50. In 25 years, your quarrel with Boussico will be forgotten. It's of no importance if you'll pardon the liberty of an old actor. If your name survives, Mr. Webster, it will survive as the man who first presented the great American comedian Joseph Jefferson in his greatest role, Rip Van Winkle. Joseph Jefferson in Rip Van Winkle did open at the Adelpe Theater in London on that Monday night, September 5th, 1865. The curtain rises on the fourth act. Rip Van Winkle has returned to his native village, Falling Waters, in the Catskill Mountains after his strange sleep of 20 years. His hair and beard are long and white, bleached by the storms that have rolled over his head. The villagers, believing he's an idiot, taunt him. Even young Hendrik Wetter, who loves Rip's daughter, does not recognize the old man, but he attempts to be friendly. Just tell me where I live. What's your name? Well, I don't know, but I believe I know what it used to be. My name, it used to be Rip Van Winkle. Mr. Winkle, are you there? Mr. Winkle, impossible. Well, I wouldn't say to it myself. I tell you how it was. Last night, I went very up into the mountain, and I met this strange kind of man, and we got drinking, and I guess I got pretty drunk, and then I woke up this morning, I was dead. Well, tell him he's crazy. Rip Van Winkle's been dead these 20 years. Send him away. Are we so soon forgotten we are gone? No one remembers Rip Van Winkle. And then Rip's wife Gretchen invites Rip to dine at her house, although she does not know him. And at Gretchen's house, Rip is in despair because his daughter, Meanie, does not know him either. Why do you gaze so earnestly and fondly on me? I'm afraid to tell you, my dear, because if you say it is not true, maybe it would break my heart. But, Meanie, either I dream or I am mad, but I am your father. My father? Yeah, but put the tear me, my dear, and then you will know I... Now, this village here is the village of falling waters. Well, that was my home. I have here in this place my wife Gretchen and my child Meanie, little Meanie, and my dog Schneider. That's... That's all the family what I got. Oh, try and remember me, dear, won't you? You see, this night there was a storm and my wife drives me from my house and I went away. And so I got back now and my wife is gone and my home is gone and my child looks in my face and don't know who I am. I do, father. Oh, my child. Somebody knows me now. Somebody knows me. And at length as this great American folk play ends, Rip produces from his old game bag a document which proves that the scoundrel Derek has unlawfully seized his property and at last Gretchen knows her husband, Rip Van Winkle. Oh, Rip. I drove you from your home but do not desert me again. I will never speak one unkind word to you and you shall never see a crown on my face. Rip. You may even stealth all night if you like. No, thank you. I had enough of that. Oh, Rip. It is often as you please. No, I don't touch another drop. Oh, yes, you will, father. But see, there are all the neighbors coming to welcome you home. Well, and the neighbors and the dogs and everyone... Have a drink, Rip. No, thank you. I small hope, you know. I won't count this one. But this, this will go down with a prayer. I'll drink all your good health and your families and may they all live long and prosper. Then Winkle became Jefferson's whole existence. It was never necessary for him to play any other role. Jefferson was the first American actor to dignify the art of comedy in this country. Through his superb artistry and through his persistent efforts to raise the social and intellectual standing of the actor, Joseph Jefferson helped gain undying prestige for the American stage. And he has accorded the American actor an honored place in the cavalcade of America. When you attend a theater or a movie, the actors on the stage or on the screen will hold your attention. Without them, there would be no show. But they'd be the first to tell you that without the people behind the scenes, directors, writers, cameramen, musicians, electricians, scenery experts, stagehands and countless others, there would be no play or movie. And strange as it may seem, among those backstage people are the research chemists. You can see evidence of their work on every hand. For example, the amber, blue, red and other lights which bathe the stage in warm colors are projected through feats of gelatin, products of chemistry. The colors and costumes and curtains and background drops owe their brilliance to dyes developed by the chemists. Many a costume itself is fashioned of fabrics made possible by that beautiful man-made yarn Rayon. Even the makeup used by actors and actresses on stage and screen was born in the chemist laboratory. Speaking of the movies, it was the chemists who developed the modern motion picture films now in universal use. While in many a picture palace in regular theater, the seats themselves are covered with handsome coated fabric. Of course, you've noticed how colorful and gay modern theaters are. Much of this beauty comes from long-lasting finishes, also products of the chemist skill. Many other examples of the chemist's contributions are to be found in the entertainment world. But these suffice to feel that research chemistry is giving its share to help us enjoy our lighter moments too. Just as chemistry's contributions to commerce and industry in the home are helping to make our lives more productive, happier, more comfortable. Though you seldom see him or hear very much about him, the research chemist is constantly at work backstage, so to speak. If you'll simply look about your home at work, or wherever you are, you will see products which he has created or improved. And his goal, aptly expressed in the Duchamp pledge, is to continue to provide better things for better living through chemistry. John W. Hyatt, the father of plastics, will be the subject of our broadcast when next week, at the same time, DuPont again presents the Cavalcade of America. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.