 The Cavalcade of America presented by DuPont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. Some years ago, Cavalcade's historian, Dr. Frank Monahan of Yale University, discovered a little-known story of amazing significance in the development of civilization and of particular interest to Americans. Through Dr. Monahan's further research, Cavalcade is able to bring you that story tonight. It is an example of this nation's pioneering spirit in the achievements of aviation. It's about the first successful aerial flight in America by a Frenchman, Jean-Pierre Blanchard. Our play was written by Garrett Porter and starring in the role of Jean-Pierre Blanchard is Edwin Jerome of the Cavalcade Players. The orchestra and the original musical score are under the direction of Don Buries. DuPont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry, presents Edwin Jerome of Jean-Pierre Blanchard on the Cavalcade of America. December 9th in the year 1792, the city of Philadelphia. At Oler's Hotel, the tavern door opened, admitting a chilling blast of wind and a thin dark stranger. Outside the doorway, a stagecoach driver and three husky porters struggled with a huge wicker basket, painted blue and studded with slang on. Easy, easy, my friend. Here is the innkeeper. He will help us. Welcome to my inn, stranger. Monsieur, I regret the inconvenience I caused, but your doorway seems to be too narrow for my basket. I'd say because you're basket, that's too big. What is it that makes it so heavy? There is a balloon inside. A balloon. A balloon? But certainly, my friend. Here, you see, it is a balloon, as I say, all folded up. And what is a balloon? You have not heard what it is a balloon? Oh, well, then I have arrived in America just in time. You shall see, my friend. You shall see me rise majestically from the earth and vanish into the clouds. You, you vanish into the clouds? Indeed, Monsieur. And now that that settles that, I desire a room. Very well, sir. You will register in my book. Ah, but of course. Meanwhile, since your balloon is too large for my door, the stable might be a safe place for it. You mean to soil my beautiful machine in your stable, Monsieur? The machine that is thrown like a bird across the English Channel? Across the Channel? Of course, Monsieur. As you say, sir. Of course. But in the stable, I assure you. Now be so kind as to go over to the desk. Ah, but of course. To the desk. Yes, my lad. Yes, sir. As soon as it's in the barn, set your men to guard it and notify the constable. Understand? Yes, sir. This one's a little bit. Take it if I've ever seen one. Yes, sir. Come on, lads, all together now. The law requires me to ascertain your name, residence, and occupation. You will sign here. Ah, but of course, Monsieur. Jean-Pierre Blanchard. Ironaut, citizen of France. So far so good, Mr. Ironaut. Ahem. But your occupation? My name is Jean-Pierre Blanchard, Monsieur. B-L-A-N-C-H-R-R-D. Ironaut is my occupation. Ironaut. You know, it is derived from the Latin. Iro, meaning air. I fly through the air in my balloon, you see? In that case, sir, I'm afraid I must ask you to pay in advance. Monsieur Blanchard. Hein? Votierre? I am Jean-Pierre Blanchard. And you, Monsieur? Your host informed me I might capture, that is, find you here in a stable, Monsieur Blanchard. I represent the city authorities of Philadelphia. Oh, well, I was fortunate enough to meet your good doctor Franklin in Paris, Monsieur. It was he who encouraged my ambition and invited me to come to America. Dr. Franklin's been dead and gone these two years or more. Alas, yes. I had hoped the one who drew the lightning from the clouds might live long enough to witness my first ascent to them in America. Eh? Well, now this about Dr. Franklin does put a new light on the matter, I admit. But even so, you'll have to come along to the city council to straighten everything out. Oh, Monsieur, I have not yet earned all these armours. I shall bring my Iro stuff. That is to say my balloon to your council, eh? Well, I don't know, sir, that that'll be necessary. But, Alas, my balloon is damaged, though not beyond repair. Could you recommend to me a competent sailmaker? Oh, sailboat, eh? In a way, yes. But I require a sailmaker to mend this rip you see here. It must be repaired if I am to fly. Oh, I can see that. Yes, sir, but first about the council. Oh, yes, Monsieur, of course. The official, welcome. Well, let us go at once. But on the way, I would like to see a printer. Oh, yes, I must see a printer. A printer, Monsieur? If you'd help. Ah, good. Well, I wish 500 of these cards printed. Oh, you're the balloon man. I've heard of you. Ah, yes. Well then, Monsieur, I need 500 subscriptions at $5 each to cover the expenses of the balloon as sent I propose. Ah, $2,500. Yes, Monsieur. Ah, cost a mint of money down at... Oh, it's spectacular. It's cheap at that. At any price. But the printing, eh, come here. Ah, if I print them for you, it might hurt my business. Huh? Ain't possible to fly. I know Wilcox. Wilcox? Wilcox? Yeah, Wilcox. She tried to fly once. Oh. Not on the banks of the school till it was. Oh. I don't know what ever possessed him to try it, unless it was a devil, as they say. Or what amount of the same thing, the American Philosophical Society? Do you... Uh, this, uh, Wilcox, attempted an assent in a balloon. One balloon, you say? Uh-huh. 47 of them tied together. 47? Eh, when he got off the ground, he cut the balloons free with his knife. Come down quicker than he went up, I can tell you. Well, what else could the fool expect? Huh? But his whole procedure was wrong, my friend. Come, come. Print my subscription card. Here. I shall pay you, as I pay the in-keeper. In advance. Uh-huh. I might, but it'll be five dollars. Oh, miss you. You drive a sharp bargain. That is the price of the subscription, but, uh, I suppose you must have it. And a free ticket? Oh, yes. Yes. Yes, of course. All right. I suggest it's been. Man. Yeah. Well, here comes the undertaking. Yes. Well, thank you, sir. In that case, may your pardon please. Thank you. Yes, sir. This being is an outrage, a crime and sin gentlemen investment in stagecoaches, if this monsieur, or whatever he calls himself, Blanchard, sets up his absurd aerial vehicle and makes the matter under advisement. He undersigned due hereby protest to his excellency, Governor Thomas Littlin, against the proposed balloon ascent of Monsieur Blanchard, the said ascent being in defiance of all laws, scientific, philosophic and divine. Mr. Thomas Jefferson, Secretary of State, Excellency, as Minister of the Republic of France to the United States of America, allow me to intercede in behalf of my countryman, Monsieur Blanchard, being at present in sanctuary at the delegation of France because of danger to his very life and limb, Monsieur Blanchard craves audience with his excellency, George Washington, President of the United States, believe me. Thank you, Monsieur Le President. It seems, Monsieur Blanchard, that we Americans do not understand your experiments. It is all very discouraging, Mr. President. I myself have become confused. In my own mind, you understand. Indeed. Yes. And I hoped you might explain it all to me, for I confess I understand it no better than anyone else. Oh, but it is all very simple, Excellency, very simple. If I could only explain the balloon to you, perhaps I might win your support. Tell me, what makes it go up? It is the gas called hydrogen, Monsieur. I obtain it by pouring oil of vitriol and iron filings in a huge retort. Hydrogen, you see, is released and kills the balloon. It is lighter than air, you see, and a soy rises. It's unbelievable. Oh, but not at all. Oh, no doubt. It's all true, Monsieur. I do not really doubt your words, sir. Still, I don't see how you steer it once it is up. Well, Monsieur, I have tried wings. I have tried all. But best of all are the different air currents at different levels. That may be very clear to an expert, Monsieur Blanchard, but to me, I... But, Excellency, it is simple. Very simple. I throw off ballast to ride. I release gas to descend. Well, no doubt it will all seem perfectly clear when we see this remarkable ascent. Oh, you mean that I have won your Excellency's support, that I may proceed with my plan? Of course, Monsieur Blanchard. Get on with your arrangements, and if you encounter any more difficulties, refer your critics to me. I'll see that your opponents are denied the privilege of witnessing this marvel of the age. The city of Chester invites the great Monsieur Blanchard to land his machine here. Our royal welcome is assured. Why, your wonder of the age, the beautiful landcaster, Monsieur Blanchard, our town council will declare a city call. Trenton, where our illustrious President George Washington routed the foes of liberty, begs Monsieur Blanchard to guide his balloon here. Do not fail to descend upon the fair city of Camden, Monsieur Blanchard. Our citizenry is preparing for your arrival with all of you. Monsieur, when and where I land my balloon is in the lap of the gods of the wind. Monsieur Blanchard's aerial flight is positively fixed for Wednesday, January 9th, 1793, in the prison courtyard at 10 in the morning precisely, weather permitted. And remember, Monsieur Blanchard. Oh, yes, Dr. O'Shea. Your pulse is 84 on the ground. We did that the climax of your offense. Of course. The difference will be of considerable interest. Of course. The balloon is raining at our office. Yes, yes, I shall disconnect the hydro-agenda apparatus then. It is 10 o'clock precisely, but where is General Washington? Oh, let us check my equipment again, Francois. Let me see. Mr. Becher's barometer. Dr. Wister's bottles to sample the upper air. Ballet. Refreshment. Who? Oh! Monsieur le Président arrives. The President of the United States. Monsieur le Président. Monsieur, don't come and forgive me for being late. Oh, of course. You're more prompt than I. Cars and cakes to the balloon, everything is in readiness. Everything in your excellency. And every roof and tree. Candles, spectators, persuaders. Yes, Monsieur. You see, Monsieur, I was right. People have accepted you. Here, at least. But of course. But who knows where you will land or what reception is in store for you. And so, against this unknown danger, I have prepared a document for your protection. Oh, and what is that, General Washington? Any situation. Being without precedent, a passport was the best thing I could think of. Oh? I trust it is effective. Oh, thank you. And goodbye, Mr. President. Goodbye. Good luck with this, Monsieur. I have obtained an altitude of one mile, God willing. Pressure, let Lucie open. An idiot, Monsieur. Pressure. Pressure, that little dog. He is trying to leap into the basket. Keep him away. I cannot send the dog and the rope. Go, Monsieur. Pressure. Back, back, little dog. Go away. Go away. Oh, man, here he comes into the basket. Careful, Monsieur. The last rope is ready. But the dog, the dog. No, no, no, no, Monsieur. Do not throw the dog. Keep him away. By the ascent, little one. So easy and majestic. And what is your name? You are an American dog, so you must have an American name. Jonathan. Two hundred patterns up we are, Jonathan. Look, Jonathan. There is the Delaware River below us. You see? Oh, no. Defend you. No, no, no. Do not try to climb over the side of the basket. Here. Pull you up to see the white cloud over the city. You notice? Our ascent is faster and faster. Oh, then, my Jonathan, we have tossed away all our ballast. We are now at 5,812 feet. The highest level the beautiful machine can reach. Oh, we are a success, you and I. Yes, of course. You notice? Of course you don't. My pulse is faster, Jonathan. 84 on the ground. 92 at the climax of our experiment. Now, Jonathan, we open the valve. You notice? Our ascent is gradual and uniform. But to the east is a mist to the south before. Where shall we land? A few miles east of Woodbury, New Jersey, a few minutes before 11 o'clock on the morning of January 9th, 1795. What's going on in this mayor, Martha? Look out, you neighborhood. The musket's no good against the devil. And that must be the devil himself climbing out of that basket. Oh, damn, my friend. Who and what be? I am John Pierre Blanchard. And you're not. I have just come from Philadelphia in 45 minutes. So? Talks like a man, Joseph. Not like I've ever seen. And I've been clear to Elizabeth Town. Philadelphia's 15 miles, stranger. Don't sound within reason. Go ahead and stand your ground while I keep his attention. But tell me, where are your friends? Oh, come. Come, you are not alone. Oh, thank heaven, I'm not alone at that. All right, let's all get out of here. Now, let's have a look at him. Now, look here. He does look like a human being, Ibrahim. But of course, Monsieur. I am a human being like yourself. Let me up if you please. No, no, hang on for a minute. Don't let him get away. I have a paper here from General Charles Washington. Working here? Yes. Supposing he has less? Yes. All right, where is it? It is here. Let me up. Here is Monsieur Le Président's passport. Well, read it, my friend. Trouble is stranger. None of us can read. You mean you are all illiterate? I wouldn't know about that, stranger, but Ibrahim... That's right. Oh, that's right. Here, my boy can read. Oh, then take this passport, my boy, and read, read. The bill, Mr. Blanchard, a citizen of France, proposes to ascend in a balloon from the city of Philadelphia at 10 o'clock a.m. this day. You see? These are therefore to recommend to all citizens that they receive and aid him with that humanity and goodwill which may render honor to their country and justice to an individual so distinguished by his efforts to establish and advance in art in order to make it useful to mankind in general. Given under my hand and seal at the city of Philadelphia the ninth day of January, 1793, and of the independence of America, the 17th, sign George Washington. Oh, big old George Washington himself. It's all right, that's enough, that's enough. Well, Mr. Blanchard, General Washington says you're all right, you are. That's right, thank you. I shall convey those sentiments to your President, Monsieur, and now I should like you, all of you, to escort me to the nearest tavern where you are to be my guest. Well, that'd be the tavern in Woodbury. Come on, let's harvest Terry's basket on the shoulders. One, two, three. But this thing was, it's a blue, says I. Yes, says she. Glory be, says I. It's an age of marvels. No, those were marvels in my very words, Joseph. Yes. Well, you know, you know it is fortunate, my friend, that I land in such an enlightened community. I am indeed fortunate. And now I ask of you, some of you, a favor. I must hurry back to the city. But before I go, I would like you to sign this deposition that I did indeed land in. Let me put my mark first, Mr. Blanchard, where I was first to see it. You were not, either, huh? It was me. Gentlemen, gentlemen, please, please. It is not so important who was first. It is only important that I may prove the wonderful success of my experiment. Therefore, if some half-dozen of you be so kind as to attest this document, and in any other, I assure you, I shall be most grateful. Would you be so kind as to read this deposition as you did the Mr. Washington's passport? We, the subscribers, saw the bearer, Mr. Blanchard, settle in his balloon in Deptford Township, County of Gloucester, in the state of New Jersey, about 15 miles from Philadelphia, about 10 o'clock, 56 minutes a.m. this day. Witness our hands the ninth day of January, A.D. 1793. That, Mr. Le President, is the story of my flight. Well, I am happy, Mr. Blanchard, that it was so great a success. I would have gone for nothing, Mr. but for the magic of your name. Oh, no, no, sir, the magic is yours. Oh, you call it magic, Mr. President. And so, indeed, does my poor printer friend, who even I say the poem as a preface to my journal, it is a most remarkable poem. More remarkable than any verse I ever read. The ocean he crosses to our surprise, no human has ever before, invaded the Britons without ships or sails from France to the Britannia shore. So he whisked you even across ocean. But, Mr. President, that is not as distant as you think. When men can fly, they can do anything. Dr. Franklin seemed to think so too. When I delivered the first letter to him by air on my flight across the channel, he prophesied that possibly the balloon will convince sovereigns of the folly of war. I'm afraid I lack, Dr. Franklin's imagination. Well, he said, where is the prince who can afford so to cover his country with troops against 10,000 men descending in half the looms from the clouds? Landing in many places, these might do an infinite deal of mischief before a force could be brought together to repel them. Possibly, Monsieur Blanchard. Possibly, as for myself, Mr. President, I am not a prophet. Who knows to what use the balloon will be put in generations to come? Should you ask me what good it is? I would answer you, as Dr. Franklin answered the same question. I would say to you, what good? He's a newborn baby. For their performance of the story of Jean-Pierre Blanchard and the first successful flight in America, the Cavalcade of America thanks Edwin Jerome and the Cavalcade players. And our DuPont brings you news of chemistry at work in our world. In our time, an army doesn't march on its stomach as it did in the time of Frederick the Great. It rolls on wheels and it flies on wings. And the fuel that rolls it and flies it is oil hidden away in the earth in geological epochs that never knew the sound of a marching footfall. Oil for battleships and airplane carriers. Diesel oil for tanks, trains and submarines. Hundred octane aviation gasoline. And the industry behind the army uses still more oil. Not only that, but National Defense calls for the petroleum hydrocarbons that are one source of TNT and other military explosives. It isn't hard to understand why petroleum products are so vital to American defense plans. Where in the last war, an army division used 4,000 horsepower, today the same division, mechanized, uses 187,000. Luckily, the United States is responsible for 61% of the world's oil production. Within its borders, along with 400 odd refineries in 36 states, there is more crude oil and natural gas than in any other country. If necessary, 2 million gallons of 100 octane aviation gasoline can be made per day. Gasoline that flies a plane 30% farther and faster enables it to carry 20 to 30% more load, lets it climb 25% more rapidly and doubles the working life of the motor. If it becomes necessary for America to ration her oil it will only be because it is agreed that oil for defense and transport for defense are more important than for pleasure and comfort. In the production and processing of petroleum, chemistry is an invaluable partner. DuPont Nitromon S, a new safer blasting agent for seismic prospecting and other special DuPont explosives help prospectors to discover hidden oil deposits, saving millions of dollars that used to be wasted on dry holes. Skilled DuPont technicians called shooters place explosive charges in oil wells to make them more productive. DuPont neoprene chemical rubber with its superior resistance to oil is used in drilling equipment and in the great hoses that fill ocean going tankers and railroad tank cars. A whole list of DuPont chemicals is used in oil refining, among them solvents, acid and doctor solutions as petroleum engineers call them. DuPont inhibitors stabilize the high octane gasoline made by modern cracking processes. DuPont addition agents reduce the oxidation of lubricating oils and increase the strength of oil films. DuPont chemical serve as bases for extreme pressure lubricants designed to stand up under tons of pressure. DuPont plastics protect the underground pipelines that carry oil across country. And DuPont finishes protect the storage tanks, the trucks and the oil tankers at sea. Service to the petroleum industry, a service doubly vital to us at this time, ranks high indeed among the better things for better living through chemistry. And now Ted Joyce of the Cavalcade Players to tell you about next week's program. Next week, the Cavalcade Players present a radio play called The Mystery of the Spotted Death, the story of a group of men whose lives were devoted to fighting a plague called Rocky Mountain Fever, caused by ticks, a scourge, wrecking death and desolation among the people of the mountain regions of western America. We hope you'll join us for this broadcast next week. On The Cavalcade of America. On our program next week, our story from the wonder world of chemistry will tell how modern chemistry is carrying on the battle against insect pests in our world today. On The Cavalcade of America, your announcer is Clayton Collier sending best wishes from DuPont. This is the National Broadcasting Company.