 The Cavalcade of America. America, the land of opportunity. The truth of this phrase is borne out time and time again by the stories in the Cavalcade of America presented by DuPont each week at this time. And it is fitting that DuPont should present a message of opportunity because the chemist in his laboratory today stands at the threshold of opportunity. Opportunity to perform new services for mankind to make life easier, safer and happier. It is our privilege on these radio programs to tell you something of the chemist's work and to illustrate the meaning of the DuPont chemist's creed. Better things for a better living through chemistry. The DuPont Cavalcade Orchestra rings up the curtain with a special arrangement of a popular favorite, Sylvia by the well-known American composer, Oly Speaks. Thousands of men have shown the energy and intelligence to find what opportunity America has held for them. It is an afternoon in 1723, a few miles west of Burlington, New Jersey, on a road bordering the river banks, a farm cart pulls up the side of young man who is walking by the roadside. The farmer driving hails a stranger. Most certainly, sir. If you can take a passenger. Yeah. Put your foot on the wheel and swing up. Here. That's too, eh? That's too, eh? Yeah, yeah. Thank you. Sir, you're pretty happy for a city lad. Get up. Go on. How did you know I was here, sir? Oh, tell it where you're told. Couldn't tell it by your looks for a certain. Seeing your fair covered up with New Jersey dust. I know that, sir. It seems either to rain all the time in this colony or else to be very dusty. Oh, no. See, no difference from other carnage. Where are you from? Boston, sir. My name is Benjamin Franklin. Being Franklin, eh? Well, you get a grown-up man around here for a lad. You don't look to be no more than 16, 70. Looking forward? Yes. But not in New Jersey and Philadelphia. I know of a position to be had there in a printing shop. You're, you're walking to Philadelphia? Well, lad, you can't get there and then shoot. Never mind. And you'll be there for it. Oh, I'll get there. Never fear. Because I've gone too far to turn back. Like Caesar, I have burned my bridges behind me. Yeah. Like who? Say, lad, you ain't been burning bridges in New Jersey, have you? Amazing, sir. I mean, I can't stop with opportunity, but 40 miles away. How much money, have you? You can't even find words. Wait until I see. Yeah. That's my treasury. Spanish dollar and copper shillings. My conscious, lad. Look, sir. Look back at us to the curve of the river. A boat goes up very fast. Aye, aye. Most likely farm folks go into the market in Philadelphia. Wait, please. Hold your horse. Let me down. Worry, lad. Worry. There's that private boat. Make the boat in to Shadney. I can jump down. There, don't you see? The boat is steering unevenly. There's one, two, three, four, ten oars on the port side. And one, two, six, nine on the starboard. They must have an extra order board and they need someone to use it. Ahoy there! Ahoy! Where does your boat go? Philadelphia! If you need another order, I'll roll. Thank you for the ride in your car. If I were a believer in omens, I should say that my sighting this boat was a good one. Yes, yes, yes. Shadney. Thank you again, sir. Hurry, boys. Step in. I'll take your bundle of boards first. Here you are, sir. Now step careful, boys. Look out, now don't slip. Thank you. I'm aboard. All right, give me his oars. Worker off. Benjamin Franklin, as a young man, arrived in Philadelphia with one Spanish dollar and a shilling. In 20 years, he had added to that slim store, his own printing shop and bookshop, his own newspaper, and the famous Full Richard Almanac. For Philadelphia, he initiated projects that gave her a city police, paved and lighted streets, a circulating library, the American Philosophical Society, a hospital, and a school that later became the University of Pennsylvania. But as a middle-aged man, Franklin had still not forgotten his interest in new opportunities. One evening, in 1748, at the Franklin Hall, Mr. Franklin, in his electrical laboratory, talks with Mr. David Hall. If he sees you, Mr. Hall, we will sign the papers tomorrow, and you may henceforth call my business half your own. I shall be delighted, Mr. Franklin. Now that this bargain is struck, will you satisfy my curiosity in telling me why you've done it? There is no mystery, sir. I fall in love with science. Let me show you my electrical bottle and its monstrous bark. Now, if you insist... It is none like it in America. Debbie, Debbie! What is it, gentlemen? Ah, good evening, Mr. Hall. Good evening, Mrs. Franklin. Debbie, will you help me move these jars to the table where the bottle lies? Another experiment. This goes on all day, Mr. Hall. We have as many electrical shocks to offer in this house, as the wizards at his country fair. I hope I'm more scientific than a strolling magician, Debbie. And what of interest have you found, sir? The repulsions and attractions are pointed bodies for electricity, a positive and negative charging, and of my belief that lightning is not but electricity. Lightning, then? But lightning is pious from the start. Well, whatever it is, I'm content to remain with the printing business. Well, I shall have no regrets, I am certain. Already, blow out the candle, Debbie, and the bottle ready for the charging. You cannot see, Mr. Hall, but I connect wires, and now... What? Why, it's amazing. For brilliance. The light and the bottle. It's beautiful, isn't it? It is more than beautiful, Debbie. It's useful, too, I'm sure of it. And it offers to some brave searcher a chance to find how to use it. Franklin's fame and political standing in Europe made him the logical ambassador of the colonies when they found themselves facing perilous times. It is 1778 in Paris. The American delegation sent to France to enlist help in a struggle for independence is about to be presented at court. In a room in Paris set aside for them, Franklin, his colleagues, and the court barber have an anxious consultation. Mr. Franklin, this is a tragedy. On the day of all days, we are to seek the aid of the French court. Mr. Franklin, the week it did not keep you, I tried this way, I tried that way, no matter how I think there is no help for it, gentlemen, and my wig will not fit me. We may better look for a way to mend matters than to grieve over them. I believe you scarcely see the gravity of our plight, sir. Here's a dean and I are dressed in court costumes. But you. You are the chief American delegate to Louis XVI. You're wearing that plain brown suit and without a way... Masseille barber, would it not be better if instead of wearing a ridiculous wig, I went without one? You can't have it, you can't have it, you can't have it. You dare not challenge French tradition, Mr. Franklin. I should not challenge French tradition. I should merely assert the existence of an American tradition for going without wig. Oh, dear, oh, dear, what a problem. I am the court barber. It will all fall on me. I will be the man who owned the friendship of nations. My customers will leave me. Oh, not necessarily, sir. Once many years ago, I entered Philadelphia most informally with my pocket stuffed with soil linen and munching a roll as I walked. A lady noticed my appearance and laughed. Yet she later married me. I would remind you, sir, that Marie-Atranette's standards in dress are not those of Philadelphia. No, but dwelling on that trivial matter has given me time for my decision. I shall go as I am. Oh, but you can't do that, sir. I don't wear this plain brown suit and my own hair. I'm sure she's proud. She's noble and she locks deeply and long. I know you better, sir, than to try to dissuade you. Though I remind you again that you are an ambassador from America. Aye. Now I bethought me of another unsuitable item of dress. This sword. It will go like a plain gentleman. Toddlers? A plain and democratic gentleman. If the carriage waits, let us leave for by safe. A short time later at that time. A huge crowd packs the shady alleys in the courtyard and presses near the white stairway. As Benjamin Franklin and his four delegates walk into the palace, a drum corps stands in attention. The drums roll. The palace flag is dipped and long files of troops present on. The doors to the king's apartment swing open. And for the waiting courtiers, the major of the Swiss guard calls. Ladies and gentlemen, this train is at Rajune. Welcome to your time, Mr Franklin. Your majesty. I present my credentials and my embassies from the United States of America. I pray you make it not your people, but I have been most satisfied with your conduct during your sojourn in my world. Please assure your Congress of my friendship. I thank you, sire. My countrymen will rejoice greatly in this news that our new nation has been recognized in Europe. Benjamin Franklin became the idol of France and the skillful builder of his country's diplomatic forces. As a young man in his middle age and as an old man tired by his strenuous life, he was always alert to grasp an opportunity. The second episode in this evening's Cavalcade of America, presented by Dupont, brings us up to the 1800s and tells the story of another famous American who appreciated the possibilities of an opportunity. It is the 4th of July, 1862. In a small, modest home in Portland, Maine, Mrs Curtis hears her 12-year-old son, Cyrus, calling. Yes, Cyrus. What is it? Ma, will Gawton's house brought me? Sir, I can come to the eighth grade picnic. If I bring some fireworks with me. Could I please have 15 cents? Cyrus, I tried to explain to you. We haven't any fair money as the neighbors have. We have enough to live on, but there is no money for picnics and fireworks. But I do hate to have you miss all your good times. Oh, Mother, I don't care about picnics as much as all that. Don't you worry. Forget about the money. Will, hurry up, Cyrus. I'm coming. Hey, say, Will, you go on on the picnic. I don't know as long as I'll get there, because I got to earn some money. Earn some? How are you going to earn money on the 4th of July? Let's cross the street. I got some capital on my own, but I got to increase it. How much you got? You got it? Three cents. I want to talk to this seller who's selling newspapers. Hey, mister, mister. Buy a paper, young seller. Not about the big 4th of July, parade. How many papers you got left there? Three. Take your pic. Yeah, you'll never sell those papers now. Getting late in the day. Most everyone's out driving or something. Oh, you think you're telling me something? I've been peddling this neighborhood an hour without a sale. Tell you what? I'll buy your three papers for three cents. Three cents, eh? Well, oh, sure, I'll take them. Give me the cash. Thanks. Did you hear him say he's been peddling an hour with no luck? Well, I'll peddle two hours, as long as I have to, because I'm going to work regularly from now on and help my family. I figure the sooner you start, the farther you go. So I'm starting now. Young seller's HK Curtis, looking about for any means to make money for his 4th of July fireworks, got his first taste of newspaper business. Through peddling papers and clerking in a department store, he had saved enough money to start two newspapers of his own, but he lost both his printing plants in fire. To the shop of his kindly old Scotch printer, W.C. Allen, to whom he owed a large bill, Cyrus brings his fiance, Louise Knapp. You and Miss Knapp are going to be married, Cyrus. Well, I congratulate both of you. Well, thanks, Mr. Allen, but we felt that we... we had to have a talk with you first. Cyrus says he owes you a great deal of money for a printing bill. All right. Eight hundred dollars. But I have perfect confidence in his abilities to pay me back someday. Well, that's kind of you, Miss Allen. But what I have to admit is that right now I... I haven't any money at all, except what I make from one week to the next. Louise is willing to chance it with me and get married, but I thought we should explain this matter to my largest creditor. You had more real luck than any man would normally expect. Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Allen, I've developed a great longing to start once again in Philadelphia this time. I believe Cyrus has been reading Benjamin Franklin's autobiography, and he went from Boston to Philadelphia. Well, I know of an opening there, but you spent so much money printing the people's ledger for me. I was afraid you'd say I should stick it out here. No. No, Cyrus. Take your chance when you see it. Do the best you can, pay me what you can, and pay the rest when you can. Thank you, Mr. Allen. You've given me spunk to go on with this game, and I'll never forget it. Cyrus Curtis and Louise Knapp married on the proverbial shoestring. A few years later in Philadelphia, where young Curtis is publisher of a struggling little paper, The Tribune and Farmer. At his home, Curtis is having a talk with his editor, Thomas Mien. I can't understand why we don't do better, Mr. Curtis. Neither do I, Mr. Mien, but we must figure out a reason, too. I have a wife, I think. I can't make her suffer extra privation while every cent I have goes into a dead magazine. It seems to me that The Tribune and Farmer is well-written, useful, dignified. I know my articles on agriculture are scientific, and not for dates. Oh, Cyrus. Cyrus, dear. Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were busy. How do you do, Mr. Mien? How do you do, Mrs. Kelly? I see you're reading The Tribune and Farmer as one of our little jokes. Excuse me? Well, no, it wasn't that. I was laughing at Cyrus' woman page. Well, that's exactly what struck you so funny, Louise. I don't want to hurt the feeling, Cyrus. Well, look at this. Economic dinners. Yes. And it advises a huge roast of beef for four people. And it takes 12 eggs. Where in the world do you get these recipes? Why, I get them out of an old cookbook. Well, then you ought to pick them with more care, dear. Why, suppose some young bride should try to use one. Anything else wrong with the page, Louise? Well, nearly everything. Nearly everything. Well, now look at this pattern, Cyrus. But would you really want to wear a skirt like that? Well, I... Tell me if you were right. Not in my right mind, no. Hey, Louise. Louise, suppose you take charge of our woman page. Oh, don't be silly. But considering Mrs. Curtis has had no experience, sir, isn't your suggestion a little unusual, Mr. Curtis? That's why it's good. Why don't you take over our woman page, Louise? Sorry, I'll be glad to help you in any way I can. Well, now how would you change this page? Well, first of course, I'd have recipes that really meant something. Either brand new ones or very economical ones. Or very delicious holiday dishes. And, uh... Well, why not have contests on recipes and make women feel that the page was really there? And then? Well, then I'd have the latest Paris fashion, and I'd always be careful to show how you could copy them right at home. This doesn't sound like one page to me. It sounds like ten pages. Well, why not me, and it sounds almost like a whole new magazine, and a good one, too. From Louise Curtis' page in The Triton and Farmer, Praying the Ladies' Home Journal, one of the first great financial successes of the publishing business. But Cyrus Curtis' success had come to him in his thirties, and for an active man, this was not enough. In his office, in 1897, Mr. Curtis and his assistant, Mr. Wilton, are talking. This is the best financial statement we ever had, Mr. Curtis. Certainly made the Ladies' Home Journal the envy of the publishing business. Yes, I suppose so. But I believe I liked my magazine better before it learned how to run itself. Oh, Mr. Curtis, I meant to ask you. I've run across an odd thing in the books. Standing order for $800 to be sent every six months to a man named W.C. Allen. It's a mark in payment of a debt. Because there's no mention of how much the debt is? No, that's a standing debt, Wilton. That can't ever be paid, no matter how much money it's sent for it. I don't quite understand, Mr. Curtis. W.C. Allen is an old man now. He's poor and bad health. Lost his wife. But he gave me money when I badly needed it. So now I pay my debt to him again and again. Because in a way, you see, he invested in me. And I must prove that I was worth it. I see. Mr. Curtis, there's a Mr. Brady here to see you, a lawyer for the late Alfred Smith of State. There's a surgeon. Yeah, show him in, please. Come in, Mr. Brady. Thank you. Now, Mr. Curtis, I only take a moment of your time. You were a good friend of my late client, Mr. Smith. About all he left was a little weekly newspaper the Saturday evening post. But in settling his debts, I find I haven't enough left to send the post to press this week. I wondered if you'd loan the estate enough to help. Well, um, how much of a plan did he got, Mr. Brady? Well, you've seen it, Mr. Curtis. Warned out presses, battered types. How much of a staff? No staff. We just hire a reporter to flip out the papers. It's all clipping. No, I'm afraid. If you'll loan any money on this security, Mr. Curtis. I'm not thinking of a loan. I'm thinking of an outright purchase. You surely don't want to buy this little paper, Mr. Curtis. Why, I've seen it. It's nothing but... Wilton, the Saturday evening post was a successor to the Pennsylvania Gazette, Benjamin Franklin's newspaper. I knew you were always rather sentimental about it, Mr. Curtis. That's why I came to you. You think the heirs would sell for, say, a thousand dollars? A thousand dollars? Why, I'm sure they would. Could I go out right now, Mr. Curtis, and try to settle it? I'll come back later this afternoon. I'll be waiting, Mr. Brady. Oh, if you've got a copy of the magazine, I'd like to see it. Here you are, Mr. Curtis. Last week's copy. Then thank you a thousand times. I'll see you later. Mr. Curtis, you wouldn't take this flimsy little rag and publish it along with a lady's home journal. Indeed I would. In fact, I'm going to. Wilton, look at that heading. Founded by Benjamin Franklin. This is an opportunity, Wilton. And I'm going to take it. The Saturday evening post consolidated the success of Cyrus Curtis, who influenced American publishing more than any man's since Benjamin Franklin. In Philadelphia today, there stands a memorial to Benjamin Franklin, largely made possible through the generosity and personal effort of Cyrus Curtis. This is the Franklin Institute of the State of Pennsylvania, a great scientific and technological museum, which has been contributing to the advancement of science for more than a century. The new home of this museum, which Mr. Curtis contributed a million dollars, perpetuates Franklin's scientific ideals for the education and inspiration of all men, an active symbol of opportunity in the cavalcade of America. When the name Ben Franklin is mentioned, one thing that immediately comes to mind is printing. For Franklin was America's first great printer and publisher. Thus it seems fitting to tell a few interesting facts about printing ink, especially since chemistry plays an important part in their manufacture. Most printing inks are composed primarily of varnish in which color is suspended, plus the addition of some drying agent. Unlike dyes, colors used in printing ink are powder like pigments, which do not actually dissolve in water or varnish. These dry colors are ground into varnish on steel roller mills to form smooth inks for various types of printing. The matter of drying is most important in the making of ink, as you may know if you've ever had to get delivery of a printing order in a hurry. Research chemistry by developing quick drying agents has been a great help to printers. Without these dryers, high speed production of modern newspapers and magazines with their tremendous circulation would be impossible. Franklin did practically all of his printing with black ink. He used a simple press and had very few colors to work with. Before chemists went to work on these problems, colors came entirely from natural sources, such as early from natural sources, such as early from natural sources, such as early from natural sources, such as early from natural sources, such as earth and plant and animal extract. These old-time colors were relatively dull. Chemistry has given us the numerous brilliant colors of today, creating them from coal tar and from various minerals. With these and the vastly improved methods of printing, the printer can now reproduce painting or natural color photographs in their full beauty. DuPont is an important supplier of color materials to ink manufacturers, and DuPont research chemists are constantly creating improvements in these colors and in other chemical products used in ink. Whenever fine printing delights your eye, you may well be reminded of the phrase that guides the work of DuPont chemists. Better things for better living through chemistry. Railroad builders. Stories of the building of the Husak Tunnel and the First Transcontinental Railroad will be broadcast next week at this time when DuPont again presents The Cavalcade of America. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System. Review ABC, New York.