 The title of tonight's Devon Savokate is, I Can and I Will. And here's our star, Lee Bowman, as William Underwood. They call me the father of the tin can, father of the tin can indeed. I'll thank you to know I had nine children, all of them Americans, like me. I was born in Ealing, England. But I came on a golden journey to the shores of your, of our country in 1817. I landed in New Orleans with my new buckle shoes and a new vestib and a brand new idea. And I started looking for a place to set up in business. Uh, yes, it was then that I started walking. Our New Orleans, just after the war, was not very receptive to a stranger with a new idea. My friends were too precious to spend on a stagecoach, so I had to depend on my own good feet. One eerie moonlit night, as I was trudging along, I heard a thin, unearthly sound of bells. Hello there! Who are you? Oh, so close! Who goes there? Be your ghost! Not me. I look you with a ghost. You scared me half to death. Where are you bound for? Baltimore. They're almost here. Poppin' a wagon, I'll get you a ride. Oh, thank you. Very kindly. I'm glad enough for your company. I get tired of hearing not by the sound of these bells. Get up! Uh, what are we for? Well, I'm a traveling tinkerman. Cowley Mitchell is the name. William Underwood's mine. A tickle peddler from Ealing, but a tickle peddler no longer. That's good. So there's no tickle, please, open these words. There's wheel and diesel if you're a good hunter. All I'm hunting for is a place to settle down and start up a business. And what business would that be if it's an El Mar business? Mr. Mitchell, I've just finished an apprenticeship in the art of blending rare spices with fruit and vegetables. Oh, no, yes. You're making me hungry. Ah, then you'll be one of my customers. For my business is to put up food. I eat? No. In field jars. I just carry them right in the back of this wagon and have a bite to eat at any time. Oh, but I'm sometimes on the road for these. The food in my jars will keep for months. Months? No, that is not possible. Ah, but it is. According to a new method I've learned. Food in field jars. Are you sure you're not been walking on the moon like too long, Mr. Underwood? How far do you come from? New Orleans. New Orleans? But that's 1,100 miles. And 14 blisters away. Okay. Yeah, what? Except when I met up with a party of Indians, then I ran. Mr. Underwood, you're a clean duff. And may I have the honor of buying you a tank of ale at the nearest coven. You're certainly made. Ah, yes. We look like the Coven's a wee bit crowded. Yes, not a free table anywhere. Well, come on, pull up a chair, gentlemen, and join us. Yes, help yourself. Oh, thank you. Only a dope order of the food. Well, hung venison indeed. It's the cook who should be hung. My name's William Underwood. This is Charles Mitchell. How do you do? We've been doing some traveling. Well, I'm A.C. Higgins. Wouldn't travel myself these days with the hard brothers plundering along the trail. Well, I have a little worth stealing. Except for an idea that was given me by a Frenchman, Nicolette Dacher. Oh, never heard of the name. Well, he has invented a method of preserving food in sealed jars. Got Napoleon's army to try it. And you know how important Napoleon's thought food was to an army. And that sounds like a tall tale to me. I tell you, Appair discovered a way to put fruits and berries into sealed vessels and keep them fresh and sweet for any length of time. Oh, they smell as crazy. People said Galileo was crazy, too. And listen, everybody. Here's a fool who knows how you can embalm berries. Look at him, gentlemen. He hoards the fruit of the harvest like a squirrel. He stalls it away in jars. Then I'll mark him. Strange things have been done in a mind of mine. Yeah, we won't mark him along. He'll die of a bellyache. Everyone knows you can't keep food like that. It's unnatural. Well, sir, I plan to do it. And right here in Baltimore. Here in Baltimore, we figure our food ought to be cooked and set on a plate and chewed up and swallowed. And it's good or bad, depending on the cook. In a jar, there's only one cook. And that can be the best. Gentlemen, let's get on with our meal. I don't know how they do where you come from, Mr. Underwood, but I'll tell you this. Americans will never eat their dinner out of a bubble. This meat isn't fit for a dog. My chance at Quentons wasn't the only one in Baltimore who seemed to have no interest in preserving food. So I kept on walking. About a year later, I found myself in Boston. And with the Atlantic Ocean in my way, I could go no further. So I took the last of my funds to set myself up in a room and start preserving. Then I haunted the duck, talking to everything Captain I could find. It was bound for foreign ports. What if Americans wouldn't take to my preserved food? Maybe Europeans would. There was a certain Captain Hale in the brain of God. Well, there's plenty of meat for food where I'm growing with Mr. Underwood, but I don't know. Maybe we ought to try out one of your jars of milk on the ship's cat. Oh, I've already experimented with her. Uh, on what? Myself? What's the matter with your wife's cooking? I'm not married, Captain. Oh, perhaps you don't fancy our American lesson. Oh, very fancy. Well, he takes a good living to support a wife. And so far, all I've got is a good idea. And you think I can dispose of these foodstuffs for you? That's my idea. You'll be sailing to land where people are really hungry and desperate. What are your prices? $1.50 a jar. But I'd sooner trust your judgment, Captain. I'll let you can pass the test. And if I can't unload? Well, then, barter it for molasses. Hamster or whatever you think that. Oh, I don't know. But let's talk this over at the dinner table. For there's my daughter down there in the wharf. Come to bring me home now. Betsy, come aboard. All right, Father. Your daughter, Captain? She's beautiful. Yes. She favors her mother's looks more than mine, I'm afraid. You're late, Captain. I've been cooking all day. I'll meet you six. Betsy, this is Mr. William Underwood. Oh. How do you do? Mr. Underwood's trying to sum your cargo of his new merchandise, but I'm not sure. Anyhow, I've asked him home to dinner. Please, to have you, Mr. Underwood. And just, what is your merchandise? Miss Hale, may I present you with these dams and plums? They were preserved eight months ago. Eight months ago? But are they edible? Fresh as the data were picked. But that's magic. I assure you it's very practical. Whenever a meal is needed, just call them a cook in a jar. You mean women might someday be sleeping in the hours and hours of cooking? But women will love you for this, Mr. Underwood. I mean, Father, it sounds like a wonderful idea. Yes, it's all right, all right. You've convinced me. Now, do you mind if we go back to the house and have one more meal and the old-fashioned one? So it was that Captain Hale took my confinement of preserved edibles. And as soon as his ship sailed, I went to work with renewed vigor. Uh, I, uh, I did not neglect meanwhile, however, to court his daughter Betsy. For my mind and my heart were made up. And I'm a very determined man. William? Yes, Betsy Darling. I think we should be engaged. Yes, Betsy Darling. There were times when this became so deserving that I couldn't tell a current from a cranberry. William? Yes, Betsy Darling. I think we should be married. Uh, why don't you let me make my own speeches, I? I wanted to ask you in my own way. I was always a girl for short cuts. Betsy, we, we can't get married till we find out how your father disposed of my shipment. And it may be months before we hear. Is that how you were going to ask me? Well, I don't know. No one ought to get married simply on hope. No one ought to get married without it. Betsy, I, I love you only. William? Only all my prospects are tied up on your father's vessel. I can't ask you to risk what's happening at an ocean away. Darling, it would be a poor partnership and a poor marriage that we couldn't share the risk together. And share them, we will. Yes, Betsy Darling. Thank you for you. We're going to cut the wedding cake. Come back to the dining room. All right, darling. What are you hiding there? It's a wedding. You look very beautiful in your wedding veil. Please, let us know. What's wrong? It's from your father, darling. Has anything happened? Oh, no, no, no, he, he's all right. Only, there was a hurricane and my whole food consignment was lost. Lost? The jars were broken in passes. Oh, darling. Betsy, you're tied to a failure. At every turn on board, rejected. It took me six months to have those jars imported from England. Another six months to finish the preserving here. And now there's nothing left. The future's left. Oh, darling, you've got to continue. It's too late. No, it's never too late for the future. But all my dreams, Betsy, if what I could give you... You can give me a slice of wedding cake. I'll dream on that when we can start. Until we make a new start. Darling, we can do anything because we have the future together. Betsy, I'm glad we were married. Come on inside. We'll cut that cake. You are listening to the Cavalcade of America starring Lee Bowman as William Underwood, sponsored by the DuPont Company. Makers of better things for better living through chemistry. We resume our DuPont play as William Underwood, seeking to establish a way of preserving foods in America, continues his story. Oh, I had lost my chance of security as my first shipment of food stuff was destroyed in a hurricane of steam. But I badgered the bankers for more credit, then set to work again, preserving food in steel containers this time with the help of my bride. Within a few years, we were doing our small business, but only in the foreign market. I couldn't find any way to expand. Then one day, my old friend Mitchell Lee, the tinker from Baltimore, turned up. When you must tell me all about you, Mr. Mitchell. How are you, Mitchell? And what are you doing here in Boston? Well, you might say I'm feeling fine, but I'm in uncommon need of $2. Anyhow, you stopped working, I see, and you got your business on its feet in state. Uh, I wish that were true. But what about all the jars you got on these shelves here? That's my problem. The jars cost so much to ship from England. And there are the delays. If only I could get jars made right here in America. Hey, hey, I can see you got a problem. We'll never make any real headway till we conquer it. I wish I could help. But I'm not but a tinker. And all I could offer is more tin pots. Thank you anyway, Mitchell. If it only was jars I could make, I'd have me a job now, and I wouldn't have. William, listen, why not? Why not what, darling? Why couldn't we use something like tin pots? Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Not pots. Something smaller, something with a cover that we can seal up like this jar. Oh, darling. Oh, what do you say, Mitchell? Could you make a tin canster about the size of this? For two dollars? I could try and come and have. Will you hand me those scissors there, Mum? In a hurry. Thank you. And my soldering copper? I have it. We'd be putting it on the seams here. All right. This way? Cigar, Mum. Cigar. At least a quarter of an inch thick. You want the body tight, don't you? Hand me that, Mullet, if you'll be so kind, Mrs. Underwood. Oh, this? No, no, no. There's a small one. And that, the heating stick over there. Thanks. We've got to be in your own business, doing for the button and the lid. Oh, wait, Mitchell. You're putting on a top. I am. Oh, how are we going to get the food inside? Oh, we're... I never thought of that. Hmm. I'll tell you what you do. Leave a cap hole in the cover, and we'll seal it later. Good, Mum. Good. There. It's done? You've got the little canister you wanted. It's fine, Mitchell. Fine. I never saw anything like this. And we can make it ourselves. We don't have to send to England for the job. Yes, but... But can we make it ourselves? That's the question. Can we? Darling, we just did. Mitchell, how many of these canisters could the three of us make if we worked at it all day long? Well, I don't know. With some practice, we might make as many as 60 a day. 60 a day? But that's nothing. It takes time for good craftsmanship. But is there no way to make them faster? My wife is a great one for shortcuts. There'll be no shortcuts for work of the hands. Oh. Then we'll simply have to get more hands. The call went out for help. Men who would take a chance on a big idea with little pay. Soon, more than a dozen hands were hammering out the strings, but practical little Tim Cannister. When Captain Hale returns from one of his Indian voyages, he was astonished at the looks of his new cargo. What in the name of the devil's beard do you call thee? Tim Cannister, Captain Hale. I have 16,000 of them ready to go. They'll only take up half as much space as before. What's the good of that if nobody'll buy them? Well, why shouldn't they buy them? Son, you have no idea the resistance people have to anything new. You could fill them with gold, and everyone would still be shaking their heads and spitting up their noses. They are filled with gold, Captain Hale, if we handle them right. I believe in these tins. For the first time, I can see a real future in preserved food in Tim Cannister and all of it done right here in America. Ah. Well, how do you get the gathered things open? Easiest thing in the world. You just take a chisel or a good strong pocket knife. You know what you're trying to do? Send your wife and children to an aunt's house. I'm telling you, you'll never sell these abroad. Captain Hale, I walked 1,600 miles across American soil to start this business, and if you can't dispose of this stuff abroad, then I still have to sell it right here. Well, I spoke very bravely, but it was an uphill road. We were able to get some of our tin canisters into the local stores, but people were deathly afraid a grocer had to open and sample a tin from every case before he could sell it. Hey, open the canister if your peaches, Mr. Underwood. They're spoiled. They smelled something dreadful. The derriels got into this canister, Mr. Underwood. The salmon is spoiled. Boiled. Boiled. Yet our process was the same. We packed with great care. We made all kinds of tech. The daughter, the tin, the way the food was cooked, but we couldn't get at those invisible devils. We thought it might be changes in climate or temperature. We even thought it might be cholera in the atmosphere getting somehow into the tin. Finally, I found the best remedy was excluding all the air and cooking the canisters at maximum heat, but nothing was sure, and our sales dwindled. I saw bankruptcy looming ahead. William, what are you staring at? Stop looking so grim. I'm sorry, darling. Don't you know what day this is? Wait, not our anniversary. Your birthday. Oh, maybe that's why I feel so old. There's going to be a celebration for you. A public plan back down at the beach, dozens and dozens of people. We're going to sing and laugh and stuff ourselves with chicken and plans, and you're going to forget all about business, you hear? Yes, Betsy, darling. Well, it was a walkin' down Paradise Street. You're all over the land down. I'm ready on the national line. Can't you please? Well, what a surprise to find you down here at the beach, Mr. Meadowclaw. I never miss a public clam bake, Mrs. Underwood. Since it's for my husband, I guess I just didn't expect one of his serious critics would want to come. I just came along to see what next he'll be up to. You know, I'm not the only one in town who thinks he's daft. Him and those tin canisters stealing up all that fine food away from air and sunlight and spoiling it for a body. Why, there are menace to the community. I told you something ought to be done about this, Mr. Meadowclaw. Today is a day for festivity. Here, look, look, Betsy, what Mitchell found on the beach. Oh, this isn't it. It looks like one of our tins. That's just what it is. The label's often extended, but it's still feel tight. I found it caught in some wreckage. Must have been from the wreck of the planning time. Hey, it was right on these shores. Oh, but that was almost a year ago. Mr. Meadowclaw, my work will hold up for many a year. Well, toss it away. We don't want any ghosts at this feast. I'll just keep it as a souvenir, if you don't mind me. Kind of a miracle, bobbin' up here at our feet. A miracle? Well, just a minute, Mitchell. Let me have that canister. Has anybody got a knife? Oh, no wonder what would he do with that. Well, yeah, you canna eat from this tin. Why not? It's feel tight. But the food inside, who knows? I know. Don't be a fool underwood. You can't risk eating that stuff. It'll poison you. You'll die right here before us all, probably in convulsion. Mr. Meadowclaw, I'm going to prove you're wrong. This canister is over a year old. It suffered the worst possible changes in conditions and hard usage. Mitchell, give me that knife. Oh, man. Underwood's been a lover of heaven. Oh, cheer up, Mr. Meadowclaw. I'll live to see you agree with me that a man can eat food out of a tin canister and live to a rightful age. Watch. Looks fine to me. What is it? The red sour-looking mess. This is a canister of tomatoes. You mean those love apples? I'm willing to stake my life on these love apples because if they're no good, then my life isn't worth much. I'm sick of all this fear and talk about spoilers. Please, darling. It's a short cut, as you'll find it saying. Give me that spoon. Well, well underwood? How is it? Delicious. Somehow, that day marked a turning point. Within a short time, orders for tin canisters of preserved foods came pouring into my shop. They came in almost faster than Betsy could write them down as I dictated. Not so fast, William. 144 canisters of lobster. 192 canisters of milk. 96 canisters of tomato. 144 canisters of... Wait a minute, slower. 120 canisters of cranberry sauce. 168 canisters of salmon. 144 canisters of... Hey, what word are you writing down there? Cans. Cans. It's a short cut, William. Instead of canisters? But, darling, who's going to know what cans are? Who doesn't know now? A hundred years later what tin cans are. And all because a man with an idea would not give up. Underwood's own business has continued without interruption and now lives as one of the great names in industry. The William Underwood Company of Watertown, Massachusetts. Scientific research has gotten rid of the spoilage devils that plagued William Underwood and today wholesome economical fruit, vegetables, baby food, meat, fish, poultry, soups, and many other foods are available in abundance for every American housewife everywhere. Under the competition which Underwood predicted and did not fear, over 25 billion cans and glass jars of food are packed in America each year, more than in all the rest of the world. So, we're glad you took that 1,600-mile walk, Mr. Underwood. Glad you had an idea, persisted, and glad that you believed America was the best place to make it work. Because William Underwood, it is working. It's working very well indeed. We thank you very much. Thanks to Lee Bowman and to our Cavalcade players for tonight's story. Next week, the DuPont Cavalcade will present the popular star of stage and screen, Martha Scott. Our DuPont play tells of a forest ranger's wife and her family's life of excitement, danger, and accomplishment in the mountains of the West. Be sure to listen. We would like to express our appreciation to the William Underwood Company of Watertown, Massachusetts and to Harper Payne of the National Canards Association for assistance in preparing tonight's DuPont Cavalcade, which was written by Doris Frankel. Lee Bowman may currently be seen starring in House by the River. Music was composed by Arden Cornwell and conducted by Donald Voorhees. The program was directed by John Zoller. Today's home builds tomorrow's world. Well, that's the theme of National Home Demonstration Week, which is being observed during this first week of May. Now during this week, communities throughout the nation are centering their attention upon the work of home demonstration agents. These women are home economists, employed jointly by a local county government, state agricultural colleges, and the United States Department of Agriculture. There are about 3,516 of them working with the help of volunteer leaders to bring to organized groups of rural and urban homemakers the latest developments in research that contribute to better living. To them, all America owes the voice of thanks for their contribution to the American home and to the nation. The DuPont Cavalcade of America comes to you from the stage of the Belasco Theater in New York and is sponsored by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemists.