 The Cavalcade of America, presented by Dupont. This evening, the Cavalcade of America presented by Dupont brings you two dramatic stories about a part of American life that touches nearly all of us every day, journalism. Right now, there are nearly 2,000 newspapers published daily in the United States. Their combined strength, of course, represents a tremendous national influence. And their methods of news gathering, printing, and distribution are models for publishers throughout the world. It may be news to some of you that chemical research, as carried on by Dupont laboratories and others, has played no small part in the growth of publishing. The chemist has helped with improvements in ink, in paper, in the making of the metal plates from which the printing is done, in the improvement of photography, which makes the news pictures of today so much better than they used to be. In fact, most of the objects you see and touch and use every day, owe either their improvement or existence to the untiring work of the research chemist. His work is well described by the Dupont pledge, better thing for better living through chemistry. The Dupont Cavalcade Orchestra plays as an overture, selections from Sigmund Robberg's operetta, Maytime. 31, 6 o'clock in the morning, Mr. Cooper, journeyman printer, opens the printing shop of John T. West, and finds on the step a gawky, strangely dressed young man. Step into one side, will I unlock this door? No, sir. If you work in this print shop, maybe you could help me. We'd be glad to. What are you doing sitting on the doorstep anyway? Been here all night? Only for the last hour. I thought if I asked your print shop early this morning, I might find a job. I'm sorry, we've got an errand boy. I want work as a printer. You're a printer? I'm a good printer. I cure it in fast. I'm sorry, young man, we've got all our hands. All right. Hey, come back here. What's your hurry? Say, are you the lad they was telling me about who was going up and down this street yesterday to all the print shops? Asking if they needed a hand and then walking right out? Guess I was. You're from the country, aren't you? I'm from New Hampshire, myself. Thought I ought to know that walk of yours, the way you talk? But your clothes threw me off. Where'd you get those funny clothes? These are stock clothes, made five dollars for them. You can't imagine a store that would sell them to you. Some merchants have got no conscience. How much money you got left? Three dollars and ninety-eight cents. I gave myself a week to find a job in New York. How far is it from here to your home? About 300 miles. Of course, walking back, I'll stop and ask for jobs on the way. Of course you wouldn't bother telling folks just what experience you had at printing. I wouldn't like to brag unless I had to. Well, I'll tell you something. We New Englanders all feel that way, and I kind of understand you. Come on in to shop. I don't want to waste your time. See that further door over there, the one that's open? You go on through it. You'll find a case all set up. It's a Bible in different languages, parallel columns. Don't sound so hard. All right, you try it. Yesterday I fired the fifth man who'd worked on it. What is he, right away? Through this door? Maybe I've done something smart, maybe something dumb. Morning, Mr. West. Good morning. What do you think? I've hired a new hand for you already. Splendid, Cooper. We get him through an agency? Well, no. He was sitting on the doorstep just now as I come in. Sitting on the doorstep? He's gawky and thin and queer looking, Mr. West. A regular hayseed, but... Well, there he is in the composure room. Take a look. You hired that... that scarecrow? Oh, well, look, Mr. West. He's starting to work like he knows his way. Where are you going? Well, I'm going to fire him. Look here, young man. Go right on talking. I can talk while I'm sitting, friend. You were doing that column very fast. I've been reading the scripture since I was six years old. I don't even have to look at this copy. Listen, I can quote it from memory. For as much as many have taken in hand to draw up a narrative concerning these matters which have been fulfilled among us. What's your name? Horace Greeley. I'd like to be newspaper editor. But right now I want to be a good past printer. It looks to me like you're that old-ready, young man. I'll go and put your name right on the payroll. From the time Horace Greeley started working, John T. West shopped. The ambitious young printer managed to stay in New York. It meant long hours and small pay with frequent chains of jobs. But Horace Greeley finally succeeded in saving enough to start a small printing business. He then began to publish a newspaper at one notice for its fine style and its honesty. The New York Tribune. Two years after the Tribune's establishment in 1841, in Horace Greeley's office, a man from his circulation department waits to speak to it. Uh, Mr. Greeley. Huh? Mr. Greeley, sir, I've been standing here for 20 minutes. Oh, Edward, I think it's too busy writing. I don't notice when people talk. Oh, how shall I darn, sir? The composing room said you'd written so much on the local elections that your arm had gone bad again. It's holding up all right, Edward. It flakes my fingers every hour. Only five more columns to write tonight. Good. I hope you'd go out to dinner with me, sir. Well, I think I've had dinner. Oh, no, no, no, you haven't. Honestly, Whitey says you haven't been out of the building since eight this morning. I don't see how I can take the time, Edward. Well, what's the matter? Trouble in the business department? Well, uh, you're hiring too many dispatch riders. We can't carry them. Edward, news in the Tribune must be fresh news. More recent than any other sheet in the city. That means fast horses, and dispatch riders sent with reporters to cover all big news at any distance. With the help of railroads and fast horses, we'll give our readers the very latest news. What's the leader on the front page tomorrow? I'm waiting for the Washington dispatchers right now. For whom may have given a speech? A speech in the Senate. Listen, Mr. Greeley, there were three robberies in town today and a murder. I hear the gush of Edward, but I only printed on the inside pages. Well, it was an interesting murder, Mr. Greeley. It was sordid, jealous man shooting his wife. The other papers are going to give a big space. This isn't the other papers, thank you, man. Oh, Mr. Greeley, won't you listen to us, please? Won't you try making this paper over to appeal to a big general public? No, Edward, I've got a bigger scheme. I'm going to teach everybody in the cities, on the farms, on the frontiers, to like important news. This country's growing up, Edward. It doesn't want any more colonial gazettes with local gossip with big newspapers, with news of the world. All right, Mr. Greeley, but I don't... Who's there? Well, which of you is Horace Greeley? I am. Why? You write most of the stories in your newspaper, don't you? At least those that insult people? I only insult people who need it. In this paper this morning, you say that our political club, the Spartan Band, beat up several people over by the Poles in the Sixth Ward. So you did? It was a disgrace. We want a retraction tomorrow. Oh, you do, eh? Where do you want it printed? Right smack on the front page. Fine, fine. You evidently believe in the freedom of the press. Now, uh, if anything happens that it isn't there, you know the Sixth Ward, Mr. Greeley. The boys will drop up here and smash this office till you outnow it from my heap of sawdust. I warned you. There's our leader for tomorrow, Edward. A retraction? No. A bold-faced list of the leaders of this so-called Spartan Band who started a riot in the Sixth Ward yesterday. What? And an attempt to suppress what they were up to. But, Mr. Greeley... By tomorrow, my men should have the story. Election fraud, probably. I'm tired of the hoodlumism and graft of the Sixth Ward, Edward, and so is New York. This is what the Tribune is for. To serve the public. Threatened by the hoodlum element in New York's then notorious Sixth Ward, Greeley's reporters were frightened, but the editor himself paid no attention. Gathering evidence at the so-called Spartan Band had been engaged in election frauds, he frightened them out of attacking his office. A few days later, at the Tribune... Well, Mr. Greeley, you won this time. The story on the Sixth Ward election riots sold out the issue. And did it outsell the other Penny Papers crime news? This time, yes. You bluffed out the Spartan Band, and I suppose a few uncovered election frauds. Well, that'll take care of the next week or so. But, you know, sir, we ought to have something, uh... Down to worth. For the public at large. By the public at large, you mean the policemen at the corner, your wife's pressmaker or stalkler? No, I mean anyone who isn't trained to understand politics like you do. The general public. You underestimate the public, Edward. Now, if there was just some way we could settle this argument, once and for all, all right? Here, come. Till it works. I'm afraid so, Bridget. You don't need to clean my office tonight. Sure, I never get it cleaned, because you're always in it. But I'll show you again tomorrow. Oh, uh, Bridget. Bridget, is that a copy of this morning's Tribune you have there? Yes, sir. Would you mind leaving it here, please? We're short on office copies. Well, I bought this copy myself, Mr. Edward. Oh, I'm sorry. Here's your penny. But I've not read it yet, sir. Are you bound to make a profit, Bridget? Here you are. I heard two cents. But my brother will want to read it to my uncle Tim. And Mr. Ahara, next door, he always wants to... Yes, yes, yes, I know. How much will you take for that paper, Bridget? Mr. Greeley, do I have to sell? You know, my family's lived on the edge of the sixth war for years, and the neighborhood's been getting worse all the time. Now that the Tribune's set out to clean it of rioters and grafters, sure it'll be a decent place to live in. Bridget, you may keep your Tribune. Thank you, sir. I was hoping you'd let me keep. Good night, sir. Good night. Well, Edward, does Bridget stand for the general public? She does. You're right. I'm wrong, Mr. Greeley. I'm sure that I'm right, Edward. Every day the public's getting more appreciative, more alert for real news and its effect on their lives. The New York Tribune's going to proceed on the theory that the American public has grown up. America paid tribute to the greatest journalist she had known to that time. The president, vice president, the cabinet members, and hosts of other officials, as well as the great American public that Greeley loved. Recall that Horace Greeley had made American journalism into a force for popular education and moral leadership. America, presented by Dupont, moves on. Within a few years of Greeley's death, the rapidly developing network of telegraph and cable line changed journalism from a moderately leisurely art into a rapid-fire dynamic industry. Through men like Greeley, America had set an example of editorial force. Now men like James Gordon Bennett and his sons were to show the world brilliant high-speed reporting. In 1869, in a hotel in Paris, young Henry Mortimer Stanley, foreign correspondent for the New York Herald, enters the room of the Herald owner, James Gordon Bennett, the younger. Yes, sir? Who are you? I'm the reporter who's been working for you in Spain, sir. Mortimer Stanley. Oh, Stanley. Glad to see you. Thank you. You've done some fine work to the Herald. Well, I'm glad if it suited you, Mr. Bennett. I called you to Paris because I have a new assignment for you. How much do you know about David Livingston, the African explorer? Why, the usual facts. He's a Scotch missionary. He's done more to make the interior of Africa known to Europe in the last 31 years than anyone else. And he's disappeared somewhere along the course of the Lua Lava River. Do you think he's dead, Stanley? Well, I don't know, Mr. Bennett. I'm certain he's only lost. Go and find him. I did. That's your next assignment for the Herald. Get what equipment and what men you need. Go into Africa. I know nothing about Central Africa, Mr. Bennett. You'll know a great deal more by the time you've found it for Livingston. If he's dead, bring back proof of it. The whole world is worrying about David Livingston. And the English don't seem to be doing much about finding him. But Mr. Bennett, an expedition to Africa costs money. How much? Well, Britain and speak must have spent nearly $20,000. I'm sure I couldn't get equipment and men for less than $10,000. You can have all the money you want. Anything else? Well, I don't know, Mr. Bennett, but I hope you won't lose interest or forget about me after I start. Listen to me, Stanley. You think I'm capricious because I want to send any amount of money to get this story. The whole world wants to know what happened to Livingston. People will pay to find out. If the Herald gets the story, they'll pay the Herald in money and increased respect. Will you head an expedition to Africa? The trouble is, Mr. Bennett, when you give an order, a man doesn't dare fall down on it. If I got to Central Africa and couldn't find Livingston, I'd never dare come back. I suppose not. Well, are you going? Yes, I'm going. Knowing that if the story could be obtained, it would hold the attention of the entire world, Henry Stanley departed for Central Africa to hunt for the lost explorer, David Livingston. In Zanzibar, he gathered together an expedition of two other white men and a party of natives and started on the grueling journey. Occasionally, as the months passed and they struggled on, Stanley heard from friendly African tribesmen faint rumors that an older white man had preceded him into the jungle. But the way became more difficult and precarious. One white man died en route and the other grew desperately ill. But Stanley kept on with his assignment to find Livingston. On the African belt, Stanley and his white companion, Shaw, talked together. Stanley! Stanley! Yes, Shaw? Let's go slower. I can't bear the jogging of this horse. Your fever must be worse, Shaw. You feel badly shaken up? My...my head's swimming. But I suppose I ought to get down and try to walk. We only have two back horses left. No, no, no. Don't get down, old man. We're not moving very fast, but I'll slow our pace a little. Seems...seems like we've been moving through this tall grass for months. How many natives have stayed with us? Only 40, deserted. 60 are still marching with us. If they stay, I think we're safe. Safe for what? To go on, sticking it out? Just marching over Africa. We've been on the way nearly a year, isn't it? Yes. I can't go back until we find David Livingston. Don't you just say that automatically to help you stay on your feet? I don't know. My head's whirling from fever to day two. I never guessed that Africa was quite like this. Determinable grasslands, jungle, swamps, terrible distances, and the feeling that we're alone in a lost world. We are. Nobody remembers us. And that fellow who hired you's forgotten about you, too. No. No, Bennett's a real newspaper man. He won't forget me while he's waiting for my story. We've been hundreds of miles now. We might be hunting a needle in a haystack. How long will we keep on marching? Well, Shor, we'll pitch camp for tonight, now. Jungle boy! Whoa! Whoa, boy! Whoa! Wait a minute, Shor. I'll hop you off. Put your hand on my shoulder. Take it easy now. Down we go. I'll read my Bible tonight, Shor. That brings me peace. By morning, I may know whether we should go back or carry on. Meantime, as Stanley pushes his way through the tropical jungle, thousands of miles away in his New York office, James Gordon Bennett Jr., owner of the New York Herald, compares with one of his editors. There's no word from Stanley yet, Mr. Bennett. I noticed some of the English papers think Livingston won't be found. Our New York rivals are beginning to laugh at us too, Mr. Bennett. They won't be so amused when the Herald breaks one of the best stories of the century. I hope so. Beginning to lose your nerve? Well, we're giving this story a terrific play, Mr. Bennett, and the public's going to expect a complete solution of the mystery. We'll give it to them. We might ease up a little, admit how many months it's been since we had work from Stanley, that it looks as if he's lost two. Africa is the unbeatable continent, the place white men can't fathom. You've suggested an angle for today's story, Dennis. What would be, Mr. Bennett? Describe again the problem presented by the African climate and topography, yes. List the difficulties that unofficial spokesmen of British government have foreseen in any attempted rescue of the lost explorer, yes. Find any despairing statements you can from the members of the Royal Geographical Society that sent David Livingston out, yes. Then close the article with a statement that a herald reporter can find anything. All right, Mr. Bennett. You win. I hope so. But none of us win if we don't get a cable tram from Stanley fairly soon. A few weeks later, in Africa, Henry Stanley and his company march into a native village and are hailed by excited tribes. Big native village, Mr. Stanley, yes. They're excited to see you. Yes, Mr. Stanley, a crowd out to meet us. All right, tell them, ask them the usual questions. Have they seen an elderly white man, gray-bearded, called Livingston? Native come with crowd to speak. Maybe he bring welcome from village headman. I love good or how about us? How about us? How about you? I love good or how about us? White man. Oh, you speak English. Who are you? I servant to white man. He come. Look, there. Tell him. See that white man coming to us? Tall, with a white beard? It must be. Good day, sir. Ah, this is a welcome meeting. Dr. Livingston, I presume. Yes. Thank God, doctor, that I've been permitted to find you. I feel thankful that I'm here to welcome you. The whole civilized world has believed you lost, doctor. That's fear that you'd never appear again. I'm sorry if I caused anxiety. I've been so near my goal. Yes, yes, I know. I have letters from your family, Dr. Livingston. Would you care to read them? I've waited years for such letters. You learn patience here in Africa. I can wait a few hours more. First, tell me the news of the world. One of the greatest reporting assignments in the world's history was achieved by the finding of Livingston. The interest in Africa and the spirit that was roused in Henry Stanley by his assignment from the Herald resulted in his becoming a world famous explorer. But the breathtaking feats of the Herald in the field of collecting facts has remained in the spirit of American journalism. In America, many modern newspapers have imitated the energy and enthusiasm of such journals as the Herald and the enlightened tones of such papers as the Tribune. So that American journalism holds the respect of the world. Living has been aptly called an age of chemistry. Nearly everything that we buy or use has been transformed or improved in some way by chemistry. This applies not only to big spectacular things like streamlined trains and new ocean liners, but also to little inconspicuous things to which we scarcely ever give a thought. For instance, sometime today, you very likely look to the newspaper, magazine, or book without realizing that chemistry contributes to the pleasure you get from reading. Chances are that the page was pleasing to the eye and easy to read, but everything was done on white paper, making the type stand out clearly and distinctly. DuPont supplies paper makers with a pure white pigment called titanium dioxide, which is used to brighten paper and make it opaque, which means preventing any printing on the other side from showing through. By making the use of thinner paper practical, titanium dioxide creates another important benefit. Thin sheets are lighter in weight, so that money is saved on postage when sending out booklets, catalogs, or other publications. Titanium dioxide also serves you in many other places in your home. The brilliant white gloss of your refrigerator may be due to the use of this pigment in the finish. Your kitchen range and bathroom fixtures, as well as the walls, ceilings, and woodwork of the house itself may also owe their clean, bright appearance to its use. Possibly even your sports shoes are whitened by titanium dioxide. Strangely enough, this whitest of all white pigments comes from a black sand. Research chemists worked for years on a process to transform this black sand called ilmenite into a brilliant white pigment. Today, more and more uses are being developed for titanium dioxide. This is one of the little-known, nevertheless important contributions of chemical research. It is a good example of what DuPont means by the phrase, better things for better living through chemistry. Mr. Herbert, master of melody. Stories in the life of America's greatest white opera composer will be the subject of the broadcast when next week, at the same time, DuPont again presents the Cavalcade of America. It is the Columbia Broadcasting System. ABC, New York.