 The Cavalcade of America presented by DuFont, maker of better things for better living, through chemistry. Millions of American men and women who have labored, and today labor still, with hand and mind and heart, to build and to preserve a great, free nation. The Cavalcade of America proudly dedicates the unending story of a new way of life in a new world. Ladies and gentlemen, to our Cavalcade microphone as special guest comes Alexander Wolcott, who from time to time, since the fall of 29, has as the town crier been ringing his bell at the crossroads of the world. On this program of the Cavalcade of America, he'll give you the biography of a masterpiece, telling its story with the help of the noted composer, Deems Taylor, who has composed and will conduct the original musical score. Ladies and gentlemen, Alexander Wolcott on the Cavalcade of America. This is Wolcott speaking, the town crier coming to this network to serve as a courier on a journey. A journey not through space, but through time, backward through time. A hundred years ago, or nearly that, through the magic of a man of genius that was given to an immortal named Scrooge, a friendless old miser named Ebenezer Scrooge, a chance at a change of heart, a chance while still in this state of life to be reborn. It came to him because on a certain Christmas Eve, he was allowed to go back through the years and see himself as he used to be. He was suffered to stand invisible and look through a grimy schoolhouse window at the lonely little boy he used to be. The change this wrought in Scrooge is one of the ageless miracles that warn the heart. What would it do to us, not to you and me as individuals? What would it do if in this anxious hour we, the American people, could go back through the years and see ourselves as we were, to look at the people we used to be? Shall we try? I propose that all of you who have in your hearts a concern and a wonder about our country should journey back and eavesdrop on a momentous night in American history, a night long ago which saw the birth of a masterpiece, a masterpiece which is still one of the most treasured of our possession, an incalculable part of the national wealth. Shall we start back now? Are you ready? Let's go. In another moment, the years in reverse will be whistling past us, back through the Depression, back through the boom, armistice day 1918, the world war, the Spanish-American war, the gay 90s, faster, faster, faster, the 80s, the 70s, the 60s, what's that I hear? The crack of a pistol? Why should anyone be firing a pistol in the box of a theater? Oh, so that's who it was a moment ago, that man on horseback we saw riding through the night as though the devil were after him? It wasn't the devil. It was the verdict of history, implacable, forever unforgiving. But we cannot stay to watch, you and I must hurry, hurry, hurry, Appomattox, Gettysburg, 1862, 61, December, Christmas, November, November 61, Thanksgiving, November 10th, 9th, 8th, 7th, November 7th, 1861, we're there. Look around us. We're standing, you and I, on a ledge outside of time, holding our breath, will they hear our heartbeat, looking at the world as it was on a night in November 1861. Let's look at the world from where we stand. Face west, that ocean, the Pacific, and those little islands, Japan. That's the harbor of Yokohama. Tall ships with towering masts and great white sails. One flies an American flag, another English. Japan has just been pride-open by the eager world outside. Such a fascinating little people, so amusing and picturesque. Now, face east. Beyond the Atlantic lies Europe. At peace for a change, but not for long. Europe, a continent 10 days away from us, 10 days away from battleships, 10 days away for words even, 10 blessed days away by the fastest boat afloat. On the throne of England, Victoria, young Victoria with Albert still beside her, but not for long. Before this very year is out, she will enter upon her tremendous widowhood. Gentlemen, the queen. Next, Germany. Planning a little war with Austria, Germany. Who's that on the floor of the royal nursery? A four-year-old boy with a shriveled arm playing with soldiers. The mischief in that arm and in those soldiers. For contrast and comfort, let's turn back and look at another boy. The five-year-old son of an obscure household down in Georgia. Call him Tommy. These two boys, Tommy Wilson and Willie Hohenzollern, will never in this world come face to face, but they'll meet in history head on. Willie Hohenzollern and Tommy Wilson. Later, Tommy will use his fancy middle name. Woodrow. Woodrow Wilson. November 1861. Where are we standing? What is this city spread at our feet? Sprawling, country-fied, filthy. Geese, ducks and goats roam its footway. Pigs, root in the mud of its streets. Open sewers befall the air. The crazy, broken promise of a city. Here and there, a marble temple half built amid myasmic swamps. Stately dwelling with the white columns, that white house just across the way is the white house. Can this be Washington? It must be Washington in 61. Then that street there with pigs rooting in the mud must be Pennsylvania Avenue. Pennsylvania Avenue. A country lane with pigs rooting in the mud. Washington in 61. But where's the capital? That fraction of a building with a skeleton dome. Is that the capital? But the monument, the Washington monument, where's the noble shaft that for remembrance should stand forever silhouetted against the sunset? Now it's just a stump. It's memorial blocks still in their packing cases scattered on the ground. This is November 61. The white house. Let's look inside. Who's that standing there at the window? That tall, shambling figure standing at the window. He's looking across the Potomac at the stars and bars. The rebel flag snapping defiant in the breeze. Now he's turning toward us. Do you recognize him? This lanky midlander with haunted eye. Of course, of course, Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln with his great work still to do. Will he do it? Will he have time to do it? How many years has he? Three? Four? No, not four. See, he's walking toward his desk. He's sitting down. He's writing. Notes. Notes for a speech. For a message. Can you look over his shoulder as he sets the words down? Perhaps if you hold your breath you can actually see the word. Try. Try. We shall nobly gain nor meanly lose the last best hope of Earth. November 61. All day and all night. A ramp of marching feet. Hustbeats of cavalry. Rumble of artillery. Troops from the North. Troops from the West. Indiana. New York. Massachusetts. The 20th Massachusetts. Parades. Parades. Parades. McClellan on a horseback. While pretty ladies in crinoline ride out to watch him and applaud. Open carriagey. Tilted parasols. Covering handkerchiefs. How handsome he is. McClellan. Little Mac. All eyes around him. And on Lincoln? Oh no. Nobody looks at him. Nobody notices him. Nobody thinks of Lincoln. Not yet. November 61. If we wait for sundown we shall see a myriad lights winking in the meadows round about. Tents pitched in the vacant lines. Ghostly in the moonlight. Pickets on duty. The watch fires of a hundred circling camps. It's the army of the Potomac. Young and undaunted most of them. But untrained. Marked for disaster most of them. Defeat after defeat at first. Is it always so at first? Must it always be so when a free people goes to war? A democracy limbering up. Good troops. Fresh troops. Young troops. But untrained. Inexperienced. Unequipped. Unled. The army of the Potomac. It must have a leader. Are all the able officers on the southern side? In all the north is there no one to match thee? The army of the Potomac. It must have a leader. All right, let's get one. Where's Pershing? Oh, there he is. Out on a farm in old Missouri. John J. Pershing. What's he doing? Can you see? Yes, you're right. He's lying in a cradle and sucking his thumb. This remember is 61 and Blackjack Pershing is under military age. He's only one year old. Sherman then. Where's Sherman? William to come see Sherman. Oh, home in Ohio. Having the jitters in Lancaster, Ohio. Sherman has kept squawking about the poor secondhand muskets issued to his troops. Kept insisting that the south would be mighty hard to beat. Even kept saying that the war between the states might last for several years. So the bigwigs in the war department has packed him off home. Poor Sherman, they said. He must be crazy. The army of the Potomac and no one to lead it. Where's Grant? He's the man. Where is he? Oh, out in Kentucky. A mere brigadier and glad of the chance. Why? Only a year ago, he was a clerk in a leather store. Shipless and shabby in a Illinois town. A few weeks ago, he was miserable in civilian clothes with only a red sash and a sword to show he was an officer. No uniform. No money to pay for one. But a great soldier. Ulessing S. Grant. Why doesn't Lincoln spend for him? Why doesn't he spend for Grant? I'll tell you why. He's only just heard of him. He'll hear of him again this very week. Grant is just around the bend in the road of history. But this remember is 61. November 61. Three months ago was Bull Run. Only the other day, the bloody skirmish of Ball's bluff. Bull Run. Defeat. Ball's bluff. Defeat. Pretty bad. But worse is yet to come. Worse? Oh. Look ahead. The peninsula. Fredericksburg. Chancellor's Bay. Blood that will be spilt in the next three years. Blood and pain. Pain and blood. Well, never a child is born without them. When it was over, rookies who had paraded here in Washington until the other day were bodies floating down the Potomac. Dead bodies in blue floating down the Potomac. Only today one of them was cast up on the shore here in Washington itself. Look at in line there. Just a kid. A youngster in blue. The red stains gone from the blue. His uniform washed by the Potomac. An unknown soldier. No papers in his pocket. Just a testament and a lock of hair. Well, down to this wartime city we've just been looking at. There came in that long ago November a visitor from Boston. Up there the governor had asked the great Dr. Samuel Gridley Howell to check up on the care of the Massachusetts wounded and with him on his mission he took his wife. She had been a Miss Ward of New York. Thus it befell that Julia Ward Howell arrived in Washington in November 61 lodging at Willard's Hotel calling upon this uncouth Mr. Lincoln in the White House visiting the hundred circling camps talking with the pickets along the road and hearing everywhere she went in every camp on every road from every detachment slugging through the mud the song the troops like to sing John Brown's body. The soldiers had fitted words of their own to an old camp meeting tune. No one knew then. No one knows now who wrote it. What a tune said Mrs. Howell wistfully. Howell said a friend, if only you could find the right words for it. And she replied, I have often prayed that I might. That night while she slept her prayer was answered. In the hour when the dawn showed gray at the window she awoke with the words on her lips such words are the stuff that dreams are made of and can vanish like the dew with the rising sun. Before these could vanish before there was light enough for her to see what she was doing she rose and put those words down on paper. They were there legible enough for her to read them when the day broke and pretty much as you and I know them now they are part of our great inheritance. Oh yes, you know them. My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes have raffled her stone. He have loose the faithful lightning of his terrible sweet soul. His truth is marching on. Thus was born the battle hymn of the Republic. When she had finished it she sent the manuscript to the Atlantic then edited by a neighbor of hers named James Russell Lowell. He accepted it and in a lavish moment paid her five dollars. It was published in the February issue. In no time it was hers no longer but common property the whole north knew it by heart. Today it is part of the national wealth. The battle hymn will be sung in this program not for you or me but we may listen in but for a single listener now sitting in the gentle, fire lit living room of a house in the state of Maine a yellow house that stands at the top of the hill in Gardner, Maine. This listener's name is Laura E. Richards. The English speaking world is thronged with her friends friends who may never have seen her in all their lives but who are greatly in her debt for it was she who wrote Captain January. She wrote that dear story more than half a century ago but to this day it comes to every boy and girl who reads it as a personal kindness. Yet that is not why we honor her tonight. This serenade will be sung under her window because she is the daughter of Julia Ward Howell. Are you listening Mrs. Richards? My eyes have seen the glory of the calling of the Lord he is trampling out the vintage where the grapes have wrapped the store he has loosed the faithful lightning of his terrible sister his truth is marching on though I have seen him in the watch-fire of a hundred circling camps they have builded him an altar in the evening doos and dance I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and glaring lamps his day is marching on. Let me tell you one fact about Mrs. Richards she has reached that point in her journey where no woman minds if the neighbors know her age frankly she is going on 91 on her birthday last February she insisted on having three parties and so helped me she had them the third was held in the dusk of the winter sundown with all the clan gathered about her the great cake got blazed with 90 candles the birthday messages which poured in from every corner of the country were too much she protested for one small and ancient woman in answer she was content to quote the words her mother had said when she was 90 I want you to hear the message Julia Ward House sent on her 90th birthday indeed I've come to this microphone just to pass those words on to you when she was 90 the author of the battle hymn said this I march to the brave music still I march to the brave music still can you and I say the same under every American roof from coast to coast in every anxious American heart today those words stir a question the answer to that question also lies just around a bend in the road of history the next few years perhaps the next few months will bring that answer do we do we do we march to the brave music still the battle hymn of the republic born in the dark of a troubled night nearly 80 years ago born to become a common heritage of the millions carishing or ramparts of freedom born to the America of the Mississippi River and the Gettysburg address where the fires of liberty are glowing in a world of darkness this is the spirit of the battle hymn of the republic the spirit we salute on the cavalcade of America America thanks Alexander Wolcott for his radio presentation of the battle hymn of the republic and for being our guest on this special program and to Deems Taylor who composed and conducted the original musical score our deep appreciation and now the DuPont company brings you its story from the wonder world of chemistry America is being built out of time and out of the hearts of men and those of us who go up and down the country into the many places where the business of America is carried on know that we build on a sound basis in the DuPont rayon plants there is a phrase that guides every hand a challenge that helps to fashion every small strand of yarn and it is the integrity of our yarn and this integrity is as much a part of it as the molecules of which the threads are made it is this integrity of manufacture that has carried American rayon yarns to a top place among the yarns of all nations the integrity of our yarn what an encouraging symbol this is of the care and pride with which American products are made again on a sun bleached strip of sand in southern Florida is a battery of colored panels tipped tilted full south at an angle of 45 degrees so that they have maximum exposure to the blazing sunlight on these panels are DuPont paints and finishes among them day after day research chemists walk noting the effect of continuous exposure periodically the panels are removed and sent into the laboratory for a complete checkup on their resistance to the ravages of sun, storm and wind once again, integrity building into a can of paint some householder will use the sure knowledge that it will give full measure of service another example of this watchfulness this zealousness is to be found at the plant in which neoprene the new chemical rubber is made the gases, liquids and finally the dole-like solids taken from various points along the production line are subjected to constant and meticulous tests to make sure that DuPont integrity is maintained DuPont chemists have busied themselves in the orange groves of Florida and California in apple orchards where is grown wheat, corn and rye among all the green things nurtured from the good brown earth treating the seed fertilizing the soil guarding the growing crop against pests protecting it in storage bins and en route to your table the chemist's work follows it patiently and surely through all the days of its growth and its harvesting up and down and across America you will find numberless duplications of this watchfulness this zealousness let no one say unchallenged that America sleeps that this republic is not moving steadily forward advancing on all fronts with an integrity of mind and purpose and will to do that inspire all the world it is this integrity that stands behind every product bearing the DuPont opal behind all the workers of DuPont who are ever diligently striving to bring you better things for better living through chemistry and now the star of next week's program Ray Collins of the Cavalcade Players ladies and gentlemen next week the Cavalcade of America pays tribute to Theodore Roosevelt our radio play The Big Stick is the story of a fearless hero as rough rider and as president Teddy's courage and brilliance with the great legends of his era but to our time he has entrusted an even greater heritage the security and strength of the western hemisphere I am honored to portray the role of Theodore Roosevelt on our broadcast next week thank you on the Cavalcade of America your announcer is Clayton Collier sending best wishes from DuPont this is the National Broadcasting Company