 The Cavalcade of America, presented by Dupont. In the long line of noble and distinguished men and women in the Cavalcade of America, there is one who has been called a perfect citizen. Although Stephen Gerard is well known as the founder of Gerard College in Philadelphia, people of today are not so familiar with his activities as merchant, philanthropist, banker, and patriot. Stephen Gerard worked always for the good of general public. Similarly, research chemists are working for the public good. The many luxuries that we of today call necessities, such as automobiles, telephones, airplanes, and the like, would never have been perfected if it hadn't been for the contribution made by the science of chemistry. Throughout the country today, we find men unselfishly and sincerely in chemical laboratories working to provide us with the comforts and conveniences of life which are summed up in the Dupont Fledge. Better things for better living through chemistry. As an overture, Don Voris and the Dupont Cavalcade Orchestra played Jerome Kern's popular favorite from the Cat and the Fiddle. The Knight was made for love. A varied interpretation, but careful research seems to affirm the facts of Stephen Gerard's life substantially as we present them. Stephen Gerard was born in France in 1750. Our story begins in the year 1764 when he was 14 years of age. At Bordeaux, a seaport of France, young Stephen Gerard is watching a small sailing vessel loading at a fork. Well, I look lively there. You'll be loaded in the hole with those barrels if you don't get out of the way. Oh, pardon me, sir. What do you want around the dock anyway? I want to see the captain of this vessel. Oh, the captain, huh? Well, I'm the captain. Seek up. I hear you're sailing for the West Indies, sir. Yes, we're casting off at the turn of the tide. Oh, that is great, sir. I was hoping you would. Well, what's it to you, if I may ask? I'm sorry to get to go to sea, sir. I've been looking forward to it for a long time. And you have a mind to go with us, huh? Yes, sir. I want to ship aboard this cabin, boy. Well, how do you know I need one? I keep my ears open, sir. Well, even if I do need a cabin boy, I need a good one, and you're only a half-pied lad. I'm 14, and I'm strong, see, sir? In short, have it and lose the use of another man who would have to keep my own you. I can keep an eye on myself, sir. Yes, but you only have one eye. You seem to be blind on the other side. But they say I can see more of my one eye, sir, than most men account with two. Well, you seem likely enough and set on going. Yes, sir, I am. And I do need a cabin boy, and... Wait a minute, now, I'm not getting into any trouble with your folks helping you to run away to sea, am I? No, sir. My mother's dead. Oh, so you're an orphan, huh? Well, almost, sir. My father's a merchant and an officer in the Naval Reserve. Well, no wonder you've got a mind for the sea. Yes, sir. And I even got a little money to buy a share in the cargo. Well, if you were set on being a merchant adventurer, you come along, then, and be done with it. Come on, now. Get on board and store your done it. Aye-aye, sir. Right away, sir. Wait, wait. What's your name? Steven Gerard, sir. And thank you. Here's young Steven sailed the Atlantic from France to the West Indies and up the coast of the British colonies in America. He lost no opportunity to improve himself, and in the next 12 years became a licensed pilot, a ship's officer, and finally, at 26, master of his own ship. In 1776, we find him on his own quarter-deck, sailing north past Cape Henle Open into Delaware Bay. Captain Gerard? Yes, mate? Pardon, but are you not putting too far up into the bay, sir? Well, mate, I don't know any way of going up the river until you've gone all the way up its bay. Ah, but our cargo is marked for New York. I am putting a shore in Philadelphia. Philadelphia, sir? What will your ship say? They'll say, thank you. And lucky to get the cargo landed safely. Ah, I did not realize the ship was so badly battered in that Cape Hatteras storm not to make New York. This storm was bad enough, but there's worse lying ahead. What? What could be worse? A British blockade. Are we? I had forgotten the blockade. Do you suppose the colonies will try to become independent of Great Britain? Yes. They have a chance of succeeding. As long as the British are out sailed, are you really believed that, sir? So much so, mate, that I am planning to settle in this new country and throw my lot in with hers. Ah, that ship we out-pointed to Windward rounding the Cape was a British blockade. Are we? Passing her like that was an omen. You didn't know it, my friend, but I was saving my own property. I am no longer working for the shippers. Very much. This is my own vessel. The cargo is mine. When we land in America, you and the rest of the crew can return to France at my expense. But I am going to settle in Philadelphia till the blockade is over. For a time, Gerard settled at Mount Holly, New Jersey. Then he opened a store in Philadelphia. Gradually, his business grew and he yearned for peace so he could again send cargoes to sea in his own stout vessels. One day in the spring of 1777, Gerard is browsing around the shipyard on the banks of the Delaware. It is warm and he is thirsty. At a pump nearby, he sees a young woman. Let me work the pump handle for you. Thank you, but I've got the water flowing. It's no trouble to keep it going. Oh, please. It is easier for me than for you. All right, thank you. Why is a lovely young woman like you fetching water in a shipyard? No one has a better right. My father is a shipbuilder here. Oh, well, then we ought to know each other better. My name is Stephen Gerard. I'm Mary Lum. Well, Mr. Gerard, you can stop pumping now the pail's running over. What? I mean, it is so it is. Oh, where shall I carry it for you? Oh, I can manage very well myself. Thank you. You Americans are all alike. So independent. Aren't you an American? No. Is there a reason why I should be? I can think of many, but it's none of my business. I wish it were. I can think of one thing that would make an American of me. What's that? If I had a home here. Why haven't you? It needs a wife to make a home. There are plenty of girls in America who can do that. I only look for one. Well, sir, I hope you find it. I have a strange definition that perhaps I have. Gerard and Mary Lum were married that June, and the next year Gerard became a citizen of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. After American independence had been recognized abroad, he bought and built several fine breaks and sent his cargoes to every port in the world. And through good judgment and skillful organization, he amassed a fortune. It is 1793. Philadelphia is the capital of the United States. And Washington is president. Gerard, a widower now in vigorous middle age, sits in his office on Water Street. One of his supercargos, a young man who acted as his commercial representative during a voyage, has just landed. He enters Gerard's office to make his report. Well, Brent, welcome home. How was the voyage? Very successful, sir. But the safe conditions in France are very bad. And where is the detailed report from my agent in Bordeaux? We didn't touch it for those, sir. What? For those who are my orders? Yes, sir. I know, sir. But when we drew near France, we exchanged news with a ship returning to Boston and heard that the revolution there had burst all bounds and that everything was in chaos. So I ordered the captain to change his course to the north and we put in a famous oven. You disregarded my orders? Yes, sir. And the lucky thing I did, the market conditions were wonderfully favorable in Germany. I disposed of the whole cargo for three times what it could possibly have brought in France. But my ship Bordeaux was in famous oven? Yes, sir. We divided the cargo between because there wasn't enough for both of us. Because you disobeyed orders? But I made you a fortune, sir, and perhaps even saved the ship and cargo from confiscation in France. But you've muddled my plans for my fleet. It'll take over a year to straighten them out. Well, the profit was so great I couldn't see how it could possibly be a mistake. I overlook mistakes. But I have built up my business on absolute obedience to my orders. My success is built on my organization and on the speed with which I can act on shifting marks in every part of the world. I'd rather lose a whole cargo in a ship too than feel at any time that I didn't know where that ship was bound and what she'd do when she got there. There was a letter waiting for you in Bordeaux that would be worth six cargoes. I'll get it, sir, on the next voyage. There will be no next voyage for you, Mr. Pointe. You mean that you have no further use for me? You would get your account settled and be paid off at once. But, Mr. Girard, what would you do? Try to get your own ship. Your own cargo. Perhaps then you will be able to follow your own judgment. But have you ever sent out a super cargo of your own? I'm sure you tell him what I tell you. Break the owners, not your orders. I think I understand now, sir. Then I'll be glad to put in a good word for you or help you with your own venture in your own ship. Oh, thank you, sir. Oh, that's very generous of you, sir. Well, it's what I consider a good business. On your own, I believe you'll be a keen merchant. If you need my help, let me know. Well, thank you, sir. I will. Is Mr. Girard in there? Yes, Mr. Helm, but I don't think he wants to be disturbed. He must be disturbed. Oh, Mr. Girard. Yes? Oh, Helm, come in, come in. A shout the door as you go, Brent. Well, Helm, how is business? How are you? I'm well, thank heaven. I wish I could say as much for our fellow citizens. What do you mean? Yellow fever. Yellow fever again? I've been so busy I didn't know. Is it bad? Looks like the worst we've ever had. The overseers of the poor have more than they can handle already. They've asked us merchants to help. I volunteered. Yellow fever. It's over two months till force. By that time, the Lord knows what'll happen. Already the people are in a panic. The government is moving far out of town along the schoolkill, keeping to the high ground, and the streets ought to be cleaned at once. What is being done to clear up the filth under Waterford? Nothing. You must help us, Gerard. You must do something. What has been suggested? There's to be a meeting tonight to discuss ways and means. Ways and means? What we need is action. What we need is volunteers. People who have some knowledge of this pestilence from the West Indies. Men who can take things calmly, not go around filling those who are well with panic and those who are sick with despair. We need volunteers like you, Gerard. I am ready. But Gerard, your business... That can wait. The yellow fever will not. On September 12th, a special meeting of citizens organized an emergency committee of 21 to augment the overworked overseers of the poor. Stephen Gerard volunteered for the most dangerous work of all. The management of the city hospital on Bush Hill are the pest houses it was called. In his usual, efficient, practical way, he immediately orders many changes made in the treatment of the sick, and this quickly brings a protest from William Curry, a member of the committee. Mr. Gerard, I must protest against your giving orders for the treatment of the sick. Indeed, Curry. I was not aware that you were opposed for the being cured. Why, of course, I'm not opposed to that. I'm opposed to your methods. My dear sir, that is heartless. I have spent many years in the West Indies. Quents as horrible as sickness comes to us. Perhaps carried by your own ship, sir. Yes, perhaps by my own ships. And because our waterfront is filthy and neglected, the yellow fever breathes easily there and spreads. Like any contagion? The yellow fever does not spread by contagion. How then does it spread? I don't know. But in the Indies, we know it is not contagious. You are wrong. It is so contagious it can be caught at a distance of ten feet. The doctors may... They can say a thousand things I can't prove are wrong and they can't prove are right. Meanwhile, nothing would be accomplished. It isn't decent for us to quarrel when so many people are in agony. Then you persist in ordering this treatment here? No. I merely forbid harassing and disturbing poor people that are fighting against the ravages of this malignant fever. I must still protest against a mere merchant giving orders to physicians in a hospital. This is an emergency. I shall take this up at the next meeting of our registered physicians. As you wish. And meanwhile, please notify them that I am appointing Dr. Jean de Vez as head physician on the hospital staff. Who is he? I never heard of him. You will carry. He is a refugee from the later pricing in San Domingo. And he knows more about yellow fever than all of us put together. But he is not a Philadelphian. You can't put him in charge of our staff. They'll resign. They will not be so rash as to refuse to help the sick on that account. Your mind is set on appointing Dr. de Vez. It is. Please tell your committee. I shall. They'll never stand for this. I assure you, sir. I think you underestimate our humanity. And besides, not all of them are ambitious to be head of this hospital. Mr. Gerard, I resent that. Please be so good as to accept my resignation effective immediately. My dear curry, I shall do nothing of the sort. Nor can you. And why not? Because, sir, from our duty to our fellow men, no man can resign. During the two months, the scourge was at its height. Stephen Gerard not only supervised the management of the place, but personally tended the same, often doing the most humble duties of a hospital orderly. When the danger had passed, he returned to his neglected business. He built new ships, bought real estate, and extended his banking connections. One morning in the spring of 1810, his fellow citizen, David Parrish, calls on him. Good morning, Gerard. Hello, Parrish. What brings you downtown so bright and early? Because I knew I'd find you at work no matter how early I'd be here. Don't you ever rest? No. I spell rest with a U. To rest is to rust. Given you money and power enough? It isn't the money I'm after, it's sleep. I work hard so I can sleep at night. It's a habit I learned as an orphan. I had no other education but work. Well, I hope you're not too occupied with business this morning. No, but I am. I have just received a dispatch from Amsterdam. What's the news? Napoleon has annexed Holland. What? But then all Europe is closed to our commerce. Yes. And my friendship Montesquieu is loaded and ready to sail. You're lucky she isn't already on the high seas. She soon will be. But where do you send her? To Valparaiso first, then to Canton. Good heaven, Gerard. What daring! No, Parrish. Hardly any risk at all. I have already had excellent results in the Pacific trade from the Voltaire. You certainly know your markets. Tell me, why do you name ships after French philosophers? I admire Voltaire, Montesquieu and Rousseau above all men. Because they're Frenchmen? No. Because they had the vision that we in America have made of reality. Don't you intend to go back to your native land when you retire? Why should I? I am an American citizen by choice and I'll die one. And I have news that may make you change your mind. You cannot bring me any news that will do that. Remember our petition to Congress about renewing the charter of your United States bank? Yes, of course. Well, the petition has been denied. There will be no national bank? It must be dissolved when the charter expires next year. But we must have a bank. A strong, powerful bank. How else can the merchants of Philadelphia maintain the huge credits needed for doing our business all over the world? We'll have to use one of the four state banks here. That was strong enough. Scarcely known abroad. You see how your country acknowledges your loyalty and runs you out of business. Not so easily as that. What do you propose to do? When the United States bank is forced to close. I'll buy its building and all its assets. That will cost over a million dollars. It'll be worth it. I can't think of any better way to spend the money. Who'll head that bank? I will. I'll call it the Bank of Stephen Girard. In that case, sir, it will have unlimited credit in every corner of the globe. The immediate and great prestige won by Stephen Girard's bank naturally invited the envy and hostility of the four principal banks in Philadelphia. They tried law to close him out, but the state courts have held his right to engage in private banking. In 1812, the United States government tried to float a huge loan. The loan failed dismally and the government was in a bad position. The Secretary of the Treasury at that time is the famous Albert Gallatin. Early April, Stephen Girard and his friend David Parish enter Gallatin's office and are stopped by a clerk. Is there anything I can do for you, gentlemen? We want to see the Secretary of the Treasury. Your name, please. David Parish and Stephen Girard. Oh, yes, sir. I'll tell him at once, sir. Please, take chair. Thank you. Excuse me. Apparently, money talks. Yes, Parish. But maybe our dulcet banknotes will fall on deaf ears. Maybe you brought me on a wire goose case with a rumor on the exchange yesterday that the government is practically without funds. That's almost unbelievable. The credit of a country like this ought to be unlimited. Excuse me, gentlemen. Mr. Gallatin will see you at once. Ah, splendid. This way, please. Right through this door. Mr. Parish and Mr. Girard. Gentlemen, I am glad to see you. They're glad. How do you do, sir? I don't believe you've met your former fellow countryman, Mr. Girard. I have looked forward to it. I am delighted, sir. We are still fellow countrymen, I think, in America. I am honored to make your acquaintance. I am afraid I will soon be quite without honor in this country, sir. The new government loan is a complete failure. Perhaps it's too soon to say that, sir. No, Mr. Parish. We have raised only six million. There is yet another ten million to raise. We might as well try to raise the bottom of the ocean. All possible sources have been exhausted. All except one, Mr. Gallatin. Indeed. Yes. A private syndicate I have formed with John Jacob Astor and Stephen Girard. What? The two richest men in America were prepared to bid on the loan. Though the largest burden falls on Girard. How much of it will you subscribe? All of it, Mr. Gallatin? The whole ten million. Yes. We'll finance it through Girard's bank. You believe you can sell it to the public? Girard's endorsement will go a long way with the people. What is not disposed of, I am perfectly willing to hold. I have no words to express my gratitude. The government will be eternally in your debt. I mean, in that figuratively, of course, for the loan will be paid off in full when due... Both Astor and I am competent of that. I believe there is no better investment in the world than America. And I agree. It is strange that we three, you, Parish and I, who were born on the European continent, should have more faith in our adopted country than many whose families have lived here nearly 200 years. You at least have served the mission well, Mr. Gallatin. But I am only a private citizen. Many of us serve the government as best we can in public office, Mr. Girard. But you serve your country better than us all, as the perfect citizen. When Stephen Girard died in 1831 without wife or children, he left an immense fortune and the result of his extraordinary judgment and endless labor to be used for the good of the general public. Today, Girard College in the city of Philadelphia stands as a lasting and living monument to its founder, whose life of service and devotion to the public good still lives after him in the lives of others. As an ideal citizen and loyal American, he holds an honorable place in the cavalcade of America. More than 135,000 people gathered near Columbus, Ohio last summer to see a young farmer from Iowa defeat all rivals and win the Corn Husking Championship of the United States. His winning speed was 1,472 pounds in an 80-minute period. That's fast work. Yet if he could carry on at top speed eight hours a day, it would take him 28 years to supply the corn products needed by the DuPont Company in a single year. What you may ask happens to all these corn products. One of the most important uses is in finishes such as Duco. These finishes protect and beautify your furniture and household appliances such as clocks, washing machines, scales and carpet sweepers. They make the gleaming beauty of your automobile last longer. They serve business on all sorts of office devices such as typewriters, bookkeeping equipment, cash registers. Chemists have developed more than 100 commercial uses for corn products ranging from the dry ice that keeps ice cream from melting to dynamite. That mighty worker that builds our dams and tunnels drains swamps, mines, coal and ore and clears fields of stumps and boulders. And corn is but one of many agricultural materials which the chemist has utilized in creating valuable new products. For example, every year DuPont turns more than 65 million pounds of cotton and cotton linters into plastics, photographic film and other articles that don't even remotely resemble a piece of cloth. Thousands of acres of land are now engaged in raising soybeans, flax seeds, tongue nuts and other agricultural raw materials for chemical products. Indeed, chemistry has become one of the farmers' best customers. Yet the benefits of this new partnership extend far beyond any single group. The chemists using farm crops to create new comforts and conveniences for everyone. Improving existing products or creating new ones. Thereby continuing to provide, as DuPont phrases it, better things for better living through chemistry. The life of James Fenimore Cooper, pioneer among American novelists with dramatic scenes from one of his most famous stories will be the subject of the broadcast when next week at the same time DuPont again presents the Cavalcade of America. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.