 The Cavalcade of America, presented by DuPont. The American theater has been graced by actresses of charm, talent and beauty. Their names have become famous all over the world. But more than any other, one beloved woman, who reached the best years of artistic life after 60, remains supreme in the affection and esteem of our generation. Her career spanned an era, carrying her from one nightstands on road tours, through the fabulous wonder of old broadway at its best, finally to Hollywood stardom. Her name is a national memory, Marie Dressler. The Roverture, Don Boyce and the DuPont Cavalcade Orchestra play, This Is It, from Arthur Schwartz's musical success, Stars in Your Eyes. A woman born without charm, without duetial grace to make her lovable. Yet in the difficult profession she chose, no woman ever won more affection. The average success story is the struggle of intellect with adverse circumstances. This is the almost unplanned triumph of a generous heart. Marie Dressler was born Leela Kerber in Colberg, Canada, at the age of 14, joined a traveling operatic company. It was in the 1880s. Dear mother, married her the whole year since I left home. I still miss you, but I'm glad I can help out. What do you think happened last week? They've taken me out of the course and given me a singing part. Catashaw in the Mercado. So I'm sending eight dollars. Buy a turkey for Thanksgiving with all the fixin'. What Dressler wanted was to earn comfort for her mother. For herself. That elusive prize of success and happiness. One day at a rehearsal in Harrisburg. She came about a totally different matter. A year ago my son, the heir of the throne of Japan, boasted from our imperial court. Indeed. Had he any reason to be dissatisfied with his position? None whatever. On the contrary, I was going to marry him. Yet he fled. I am surprised that he should have fled from one so lovely. That's not true. Wait a minute. What's the matter anyway? Try that scene again. I'll put some punch in it. All right, go on, Mr. Dressler. Marie Dressler. Yes, Mr. Dressler. We're waiting. Go ahead with your speech. All right. Because my face is pre... But you know nothing. I can't. Oh, what's going on? I thought this was a rehearsal. I'm hungry. Sorry, what's the matter? Nothing, I've got to sit down. All right, all right. Cast the mist. Be back here till it's dark. Listen, Marie, what do you mean you're hungry? Anybody can live on $8 a week? Well, you give the rest of the cast $0.25 a day, bare money. Yes, but you don't drink there. Well, all I want is just a dollar advance on next week's salary. Well, what did you do with your pay envelope? Well, I sent it to my mother. Yeah, yeah. I only did it, Mr. Pratt, because the rest of the cast said I'd be getting a raise. A raise? Well, you've taken me out of the course and let me play cat-a-shawn. And now that I come on, people laugh. Oh, well, now don't get a swell head, kid. The test of an actress is her future. What am I going to do with you after the macabre? You ever stop to think of that? My...my voice is getting stronger. But I can't use you for heroines. I got to have good lookers. And for Sue Bretz, that's out, too, because you're so big. Well, I guess I am going off so fast. My feet are shaking. Yeah, I know, I know. You see the position I'm in? You told me you were 18 and you're about 14, aren't you? Now let's think this thing over, Marine. Say, I've got it. Have you ever done any work in a club or restaurant? Well, I played cupid once in a church supper. No, no, no. This would be different. Listen, Marine, I've got a brother, George, in Philadelphia. Do you ever hear of him? No. Well, George books singers for restaurants. Oh. And, Maria, I better tell you the truth. George was over here last week and he caught your number and thought you were just the girl for the job in Atlantic City. Oh, gee. You catch the night train to Philadelphia, see? Don't say a word. Oh, gee, thanks, Mr. Pratt. Oh, don't thank me. Run along, get tacked, kid. Glad to do your favor. George Pratt, now, he's left town months ago. Oh. Someone's bringing a kid in here, sister. And it began again, the endless chain of day coaches for 15-cent dinners, of cold-dressing rooms and snippy boarding-house landlady. That would have been the reality to an unromantic heart, with young Mary Dutcher, the reality with the theater, the plays themselves. Forty roles in 11 years. That was Mary's youth in the roadfarers of America. The big opportunity she'd waited for was the character part in Lady Slavery. It was a hit, the four-year hit, and Mary was a star. Not quite knowing how she did it, but supremely happy, she moved her family to Long Island and had a home for the first time in 10 years. But Mary never found life easy for long. Her mother died. And supporting her mother had been the chief reason for the girl's career. She was anxious for a change of scene, so accepted an offer of stardom in England. Stayed several disastrous months, fell ill, and came back to New York. In the New York hospital, Lou Fields of the comedy team, Webber and Field, calls to see her. Well, how much you... Quite a bit, Mary. Blow it back out, sir. Are you in the way up to your neck? Oh, way over. Honestly, Lou, there must be a jinx on me. I guess it's part of us. Part of the game. Well, let's not talk about it. My room is never talk about your headache or your sprained ankle. Keep the chatter cheerful. Well, how does this take you for cheerfulness? I found a good script. You the star, me the manager. Oh, Lou, if I could count on a new show for a sure run, I have to play safe. The minute I'm out of here, I want to take some Broadway hit out on the road. Follow some other star in the park? No, I'm not proud. Suicide. You're a star. You can't take over an old park. Yes, but my relatives don't stop reading because I'm in a hospital. Mary, I've got the play of your dreams. What? Tilly's Nightmare. It's wonderful. Comedy. Oh, great comedy. But a kind of sadness under it. You know, a little servant girl with a big dream. I'm not even going to attempt it without you. I don't dare, Lou. I'm giving you some good Broadway chances. Read it all right with hanky-panky. Oh, dear, why did the nurse let you win? Well, go on, Lou, tell me about the little servant girl. In the end, her dream comes true. No, better. It's real life. It doesn't come true. Tilly's Nightmare opened with Mary Dessler in Albany, New York. It received bad reviews and a cruel reception from a likely non-committal audience. You're in more ways than one. After a performance, Mary and Lou stand on the stage of the Albany theater, looking out at the dark and deserted house. Mary, I feel like a dog. I don't know what to say. I talked you into this. What a show. A perfect bust. Oh, what does that mean in Albany? We may not get into New York, Mary. Well, anyway, what's to you? You will often get a good night's sleep. I'm going to do some work. Work? I'm going to make all my own costumes. Now I'm going to fix them up for the whole company. Brand new costumes. But darn it, when I finish with this thing, we'll open on Broadway. InterNew York came married Dessler with Tilly's Nightmare. And no one from the topmost row in the gallery to the first row of airmanage in Chiller in the orchestra ever forgot the moment when Mary Dessler, standing by the footlight, sang... Detective Working Girl. It was a song to suit the period and it struck the popular fancy. From Bangor to Los Angeles, Detroit to Key West, everyone sang Tilly's song. Mary Dessler was no longer married to her public. She was Tilly. Kind, generous, lovable Tilly. One of the brightest stars on Broadway, an unpredictable but flashing comet on the horizon of the American fifth. Oh, Mr. Dessler, may I have your autograph? Please sign here, Mr. Dessler. Just one picture, Mr. Dessler. Hold it. Thank you. There's one more question, Mr. Dessler. It's awfully personal, but my editor insisted. Oh, yeah, that's a terrible cough. You're doing anything for us? I just got it. The question is, have you ever been in love, Mr. Dessler? Oh, every woman's a little bit in love all the time. I've only been deeply in love once. I don't mind any more of that. It's one of those personal things. Of course. I'm going to get something for that cough of yours. I'll send syrup in my medicine chest. But don't bother, please. None of you young people take care of yourselves. This isn't going to hurt you. What's that, a thermometer? Just want to see if you have a fever. But it's just a cold. Close your mouth and keep it closed. Yes. You silly kids. When I was your age, I was just like you. Studied more roles all the time. I never took any care of myself. A terrible food ruined my stomach. So you be careful. Well, really? Yes, yes, yes. I know. It was your first interview and darned important. I'm going to tell you the way you asked the question. Open your mouth. Let's see. A hundred degrees, I thought so. Well, I don't feel sick. Maybe I was just excited to meet you. You get home to your family this minute. Why are you cold? It wasn't rainy when I started out. Here, take this one. I couldn't let you. Put it on. It looks beautiful on you. I can't take it, Mrs. Desmond. Do me a favor and take it. My friends all laugh at me in it. I must have thought I was 20 when he sold it to me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you very much, Mrs. Desmond. Very home now. I'll put a mustard plaster on that chest. That fee will be a hundred and two. And keep that coat as a souvenir of your first interview. All the years of Tilly were gala years. The triumphant retracing of the old shabby paths. No day culture for the private car. Not eight dollars a week, but 1600. All kids in adulation. But when Tilly was over, Mary sensibly looked right away for other words. Anything. She never stood on her dignity. She was even willing on a trip to California to listen to Max Sennett talk about these new moving pictures. And one day on the studio lot, the senator showing Mary around. Miss Bessler, I'm being honest. If I make the first full length comedy and motion pictures, I've got to have a big star in it. How about it, Miss Bessler? Me? Me in the movies? I think you'd be great. But I don't know anything about the motion picture business. As for being great, I... Miss Bessler, I heard you on the lot today. I wanted to meet you for a long time. This is Maple Norman, Miss Bessler. Well, how do you do? I remember you and Tilly's nightmare. It was grand. I thought it was simply perfect. Thank you very much, my dear. Now that you're out here, I hope you'll stay with us. I'm trying to persuade her to come to the new production. But I don't know it. You must. What a wonderful idea. Mr. Senate, what's the name of this picture you planned? Tilly's punctured romance. Well, if we're going to do it, let's get busy. Tilly's punctured romance was a compound of many people's space in a new medium of drama. The Encyclopedia Britannica gives mention of Tilly as the first long motion picture comedy. To audiences, there's only a screamingly funny show which kept people standing in line to see it. Mary Dressler became an international figure. During the exciting days of the World War, Mary Dressler made 146 speeches for the Liberty Lone in 29 days. A record. None of her audiences were ever under 5,000 people. She financed her campaign by selling her Vermont farm which she'd bought for her old age. Then seven years passed, and in those seven years, Mary Dressler never found a single manager who'd give her a part again. Vainly, when they talked of age, she reminded them that she had been nearly 40 when she made her biggest success. The years passed, slowly draining her savings. And one night in New York City... I'm leaving tonight, Jim. Got the cheapest cabin on the Île de France. Running away, eh? How about all your friends? Fine friends I have. Two of you all day long looking like a chorus of mourners. Poor Marie. You'll starve over there, Marie. A woman of your age, Marie. And a girl of 50 or so will find something besides the funeral procession. And now you want to go abroad. All this talk about running an American boarding house in Paris. Well, I'm not sure I can swing it, but once I'm there, I thought an American function with ham and eggs for breakfast and all the hot water you want. Yes, yes. An every deadbeat American in Europe hop-putting it to get a free setup at Marie Dressers. Marie, you wouldn't even know how to collect a room rent. I have some sense about these things. I'm sailing at midnight. Marie, call for a Hollywood call. Someone else is saying goodbye, I suppose. Thanks, Nella. Pretty planning to get a call from California. Excuse me, Jimmy. Is there make any headway with her, Jim? Not a bit. She's utterly sunk. I've never seen her so low. She could get scared. She's pride. How's she pride? I know. Made the rounds of the casting offices time and again, and after all, she hasn't had a part for seven years. No matter how much money you save, you can't plan to be out of work forever. She hasn't a sense, Jim. All the more reason why she shouldn't go abroad. That was the darndest telephone call I ever got. What was it? It's got for Hollywood tonight. I can get a small part in a new picture. I don't know. Woman won't let me give her a name, but you know it. One of the best-known scenario writers in Hollywood. I gave her my coat one. Jimmy, you call Grand Central and find out about the trains to Los Angeles. You're back. Now, wait! You've got to get it from the French line dock. It was a different Hollywood now to the one Mary Dresser had known. The rickety little outdoor sets had been replaced by mammoth studios. The business that Mary had helped distinguish in an early day was a billion dollars enterprise, hiring a thousand. Indifferent to one solitary old woman. But it was the same old story. For three years only bit parts. But Mary Dresser had the kind of patience that comes from consuming ambition. She wanted to live, to work at acting, to have friends. Finally, she got a chance. Take your places, everybody. Take your places, Mary. It seems cold in here today. How do you feel, Marie? Well, if one more person asks me that question, I'm going to slip right into a case of double pneumonia. Ah, that's the girl. What's that little cold water? Right after that chin, eh? Have to work in the water again today? I don't know. Maybe not, Marie. They might take the land shop store or before the storm on the bar. All right, let's go. We'll retake the scene we entered on yesterday. You wait on the bar's deck, assistant. All right. Careful. Why careful? You think I'm an old lady? Why didn't I get a job in an aquarium doubling for the whale? Hey, Marie, when we start to fight, I don't like to hit you so hard now if you dodge a little faster. How will the scene look if I start to dodge? Okay, go do it, trooper. Hit him! All right! Take one. There was a chance that illness brought on by years of hard work might have kept Mary Dresser from winning a final triumph. She was ill. But she finished the picture for others dependent on her. She had never let anyone down. And that year, at a banquet in Hollywood, the first award of the Motion Textural Academy of Arts and Sciences will go to the player of the year who has given the best performance in a motion picture. And the trophy will be awarded by Miss Norma Shearer, winner of last year's award. Mary has decided that the best performance of the year was Marie Dressler's In Men In Bill. See, before I give her this trophy, I want to tell you something. I will be in my dressing room some mornings making up. And I'll hear the weary tread of Marie Dressler's feet carrying her to her room. I'll know that she's tired. She's not been feeling well and that she has perhaps been working the previous night. I'll hear her dressing room door slam and in a few moments the boy will shout, calling Miss Dressler on the set, Miss Dressler. The door will open and charging down the long corridor will come that grand old fire horse, Marie Dressler, made up, ready for work, ready to carry on. Thank you, Norma. And thank you all very much for being so good to me. After all these precious years, you don't know what it means to find myself in a fix like this. I guess I'm a fire horse, all right. I'm certainly not a glamor girl. Maybe... maybe I got to be a fire horse from traveling over cobblestones all my life. The name of Box Office Receipts was Marie Dressler's knowledge that in her old age a character meant something special to millions of Americans. It stood for courage, an uncomplaining refusal to lay down the load at an age when most people are ready to design themselves. And it stood for inspiration, the ugly duckling with the kind, generous and lovable heart, Marie Dressler. And now we have a story which is told by Basil Reisdale speaking for the DuPont Company, a story from the Wonderworld of Chemistry. My story tonight tells about the teamwork of medical and chemical science and the defeat of certain death-dealing germs. It really starts a long time ago when Pasteur, the great French scientist, divided bacteria into two classes, aerobic and anaerobic. Aerobic bacteria grow freely in the presence of oxygen, but anaerobic bacteria are destroyed by oxygen. These anaerobic bacteria are the villains of our story. The surgeon found that they're the cause of certain unusual infections and long have resisted all kinds of treatment. Infections are kept on for weeks or months or years, causing extensive destruction of body tissue and frequently ending fatally. The surgeon called upon the chemist to suggest some oxidizing agent that would give off oxygen slowly and over a long period of time. The chemist suggested such a product and the surgeon, experimenting with it, found that it destroyed the germs in the test tube. Then he applied it to a human case and tried to find that it halted the progress of the infection. But when he started to apply it more generally to anaerobic infections, he found that it wasn't uniformly effective. The material apparently varied from time to time. To find chemists set out to standardize it, and the job wasn't simple. Here was a challenge to the brains and patients of research. And so, in 1935, they started experimenting, making batch after batch, testing and rejecting, every discouragement with a fixed determination to find the answer. Many months passed, but at last the chemist succeeded in making a product that the surgeon found consistently reliable. Used by skilled physicians, it was a new and valuable weapon against the fearful germs in all kinds of anaerobic infections, promoting the healing of wounds that wouldn't heal before, putting many a sufferer back on the higher road to recover. Physicians all over the world are now asking for this material. In one emergency case, DuPont chemists sent some by airplane to far off Hawaii to help save a woman's life. Now arrangements have been made through two manufacturers of medicinal products to supply all physicians and hospitals that need it. Well, here's a story of chemistry that may give you a new concept of the spirit of chemical research. The product is costly to make, and its uses are limited. A large sum of money was spent on this particular research, with little chance of profit. Yes, here is an achievement to be measured not in dollars, not in fame and glory, but in terms of human welfare and the relief of suffering. Another expression of the DuPont pledge, better things for better living, through chemistry. Next week, the Cavalcade of America will present the story of the American Clippership, a picturesque era in our maritime history. So until next week then, at the same time, this is Thomas Chalmers saying good night, and best wishes in tomorrow. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.