 The cry of a newborn child. A lusty cry signifying health. For babies born this year of 1941 will live 14 years longer than those born 25 years ago. For this triumph over disease and death, one American woman is chiefly responsible. She is Dr. S. Josephine Baker. Tonight the Cavalcade of America sponsored by Dupont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry, brings you the story of a great physician, a great humanitarian and a great citizen, Dr. Josephine Baker. On our program she will be portrayed by Agnes Morehead of the Cavalcade Players. Wednesday, August 3rd, 1901 at 21 John Street, Room 201. Civil service examinations for position of inspector, New York Department of Health. Salary, $30 per month. Open of health, isn't it? It is indeed, madam. I'm the commissioner. What can I do for you? I have a letter here from Supreme Court Justice... Okay, okay. Here's the lady, her appointment, O'Malley. Right. But don't you want to know about my qualifications? Have you a good stout pair of walking shoes? Why, yes. Then you're qualified. Give her the Hell's Kitchen district, O'Malley. That's 4 to 3rd Street to 59th and 7th Avenue to the Hudson. Right. You think you can handle all that? Well, yes, I suppose so. I'm not sure. I'm entirely clear on my duties, commissioner. As I understand it, I'm to make a detailed report on health conditions in these tenements. Well, not too detailed. Just ask the janitor of the building if there's any sick babies around. Do what you can for them. Well, commissioner, I'll do the best I can. Book agents on your way. Folks in this house can't read. I'm not a book agent. I'm the new health inspector. Yeah? I wish you'd report to Dave on the top floor for dumping garbage in a dumb way to shaft. You mean it's still there? Sure. Who's going to clean it up? Well, I thought you were the janitor of the building. Yeah. What can I do for you? Clean out that garbage. That's a good one. You think I want to catch one of them diseases? What diseases? How should I do? Listen, you don't know health's kitchen very well, do you? No, but I know something about diseases. Yeah. There's only one disease. That's brats being born in the first place. I don't think I'm going to like you very well at all. No? Well, when you see the rest of the hooligans in this flat, they make me look like a Fifth Avenue swell. I'm the new health inspector in this neighborhood. If you're looking for health, you come to the wrong neighborhood, lady. I thought I might be able to help you. Who's asking the likes of you for help? Helping people is my business. You see, I'm a doctor. You? A doctor? Yeah. But we ain't got money to spend on doctors and such. Well, you don't understand. I'm paid by the city. Oh, that's a new one on me. You shut up or I'll smash your bones. That's better. Well, may I have a look at that baby? She ain't no pretty sight with them blotches all over her. Well, maybe we can do something for them. All right. Come on in. Careful, you'll step into them slops. Oh, what's it new, lady? Did you think he was coming to call on Mrs. Vanderbilt? Of course not, but I hardly know where to begin. You've let things get into such a state. You said you wanted to look at the baby. Them things is between me and my old man, and he's too drunk to care. I stopped caring when the last one died. You lost one baby? Yeah, but I ain't sorry. She's out of the stink hole anyways. Well, you're not going to lose this baby, Mrs. Latter. Listen to who's talking. Madam Fifth Avenue. My name is Dr. Baker. Now get me a clean towel and some warm water. Clean towel? In this house? To make me laugh. Before running the streets and this brat howling all day long, this gauze will do for now, I guess. Before I go, you'll wash those towels. What is it, ma'am? What's wrong with your child? I'm afraid your boy is in Syria. He'll have to go to the hospital. For me, for no hospital. That isn't important. They don't do nothing for colored folks, know how. Hospital is just a place for us to die. I'll see to it your boy gets the proper treatment, Mrs. Ingram. And the rest of you, of course, will have to have antitoxin injection. He ain't going to stick no needles into us, folks. Oh, there's no need to be afraid. Listen, ma'am. The Lord himself was scared and cried out on the cross. Who are you to tell us folks not to be afraid? Who was I to tell them not to be afraid? That was a question I couldn't answer because I was afraid myself. Afraid that there was something terribly, desperately wrong with what I was doing. So often it seemed I'd come too late to do any good. It's you. What do you come back for? Who tells you to come sneer to my house all the time? I just called to see how your little girl was getting along. My little Maria. She's a dead. Oh. And you kill her with your fine ideas. She takes it about when she's sick. She drinks it in milk. If you'd only been willing to let us take her tonsils out, Mrs. Benelli, she might have had a chance. Her whole system was being poisoned. I told you. You tellin' me. Go ahead, tellin' me. Doctor should cut on her throat with a bigger knife, my little girl, huh? Maybe you'd like to try now. Well, we've got another, you see. So get out. I'm sorry I spoke that way, Mrs. Benelli. I know how you must feel. You know how. You'll never hear a nothing in your whole life. You lift us up. You're supposed to clean that house. Maybe you bring your dead to life, but not a mind. So get out, like I say. Who are we gonna kill you? Sometimes New York seemed to me like some monstrous charnel house, each cubicle with its little coffin and the mourners grouped around it. Their faces gaunt with the premonition of deaths yet to come. When I returned from the rounds of my squalid district, I would sit in my office long and long, studying the results of my work. Results that added up to nothing. Oh, Dr. Baker, you still here? Yes, Inspector. Come on in. I'd like to talk to you about this tenement work. You've been here for some time, haven't you? Long enough to stop worrying about those slum people, Dr. Baker. You're wasting your time. You really think so? Yes. What's more, you're making it pretty tough for the rest of us here. You realize that? I'm making things tough for you. Yes. You're actually inspecting tenements and reporting sick babies, aren't you? But that's my job. I guess you just don't know any better. The boys asked me to tip you off. The boys? Yes. You want to keep your job, don't you, Dr. Baker? Not that badly. Well, what do you get out of it? Those people will never thank you for it. They hate you for it, don't they? But they don't understand. Precisely, Dr. Baker. They don't understand. And what's more, they never will. You are listening to the DuPont Cavalcade of America, presenting the story of Dr. S. Josephine Baker, the great American woman physician. Agnes Morehead is playing the role of Dr. Baker. I had failed dismally, and I knew it. I could help a few, but there were too many of them. What was the answer? I was not to know so soon. It was not long after this that an epidemic of typhoid broke out, and I was sent to a mansion on Park Avenue. Good morning. Good morning. I'm Dr. Baker of the Department of Health. Oh, it was good of you to come, Dr. Baker, but we have our own doctor. Of course, and I'm sure he's doing everything possible for your children, but I've come on other business. May I come in, please? Certainly. You'll forgive me if I seemed a little rude, but this whole experience has been rather shattering to say the least. Yes, I can understand that. But you can help us a great deal and perhaps prevent this happening to other families if you'll answer a few questions as honestly as you can. Do my best, Doctor. First of all, has anyone in your family ever had typhoid fever before to your knowledge? Emphatically, no. And what about the servants? There were three maids in the butler. I couldn't blame them for leaving. Naturally, they were frightened, but thank heaven there's such a thing as loyalty left among some servants. Then one of them is still here. My cook, Mary Mallon. Mary Mallon. Could I talk with her? Frankly, I'd rather you didn't. She hates and fears all doctors why she even threatened to leave rather than be examined by our own doctor. Hmm. That's peculiar. Not under the circumstances. She's never had a day's illness in her life, so naturally she thinks such things are foolish. Mm-hmm. Well, supposing we don't tell her I'm a doctor. Well, if you insist that I can assure you it will lead you to nothing, I'll ring for her. But please don't antagonize her. I don't know what we would do if she leaves, and I'll try to be as tactful as possible. You rang, Mum? Come in, Mary. This is Miss Baker. She wants to ask you a few questions. Well, be quick about it, Mum. I got a cake in the oven. Mary, was there illness in the last house where you were? What's that to you? Mary, please be civil. I'm sorry, Mum. But is it my fault if people take sick? I didn't mean to imply it was your fault, Mary, but you see, we're trying to find out what is causing this sickness. Well, what do you want me to do? I want you to come with me downtown and submit to an examination. I won't do it. If you promise me you'd keep these people away from me, Mum. I'm quitting. No, Mary, don't talk like that. Please, you can't leave me alone at a time like this. Please don't send her away. I'm quitting. Dr. Baker, I'm afraid I'll have to ask her to go. Doctor, so it's one of them doctors. Mary, I'll handle this. Go on back to the kitchen. With pleasure, Mum. You see how it is, Dr. Baker. Yes. But I've been assigned to get some samples from the laboratory tests in Mary's case. If she won't give them willingly, we shall have to take her to the hospital by force. Have you the right to do that? Mrs. Smith, if necessary, that is what we shall do. But surely just because it may have been typhoid, the last place Mary worked... It may have been typhoid everywhere Mary's worked. I've made sure of that. But she's never had typhoid. She says she can prove it. It may be possible for some people to carry typhoid bacillus and never contract the disease themselves. That's what we have to find out. Will you cooperate? Very well, Doctor. I'll do what I can. I'm back again, Mrs. Smith. Oh, come in, Dr. Baker. I told Mary... Oh, don't be alarmed. I'm sure that there won't be anything for these officers to do. Well, I hope not. Boys, maybe it would be better if Mary didn't see you at first. Sure, Doc. We understand. We'll wait around back. Call us if you need us. All right. Thanks, boys. Mary's in the kitchen. Come this way, Doctor. Were you able to reason with her at all? You saw how she is. It's a pity she feels it. Well, here's the kitchen, Doctor. Why, Mary! Don't come no closer. If you know what's good for you. Mary, put down that butcher knife. This is no way to... I'm warning you. Both of you. Don't come no closer. Mary, listen to me. I know it's hard for you. Maybe you don't even believe it, but it's true. Every time you cook for people, they'll get typhoid bacillus. It's a lie. I've never been sick in my life. But you've made other people sick. Deep in your heart, you know that's true. It can't be just an accident. Remember the Harvys Mary and the Layton? It was their twin babies that died. Remember them and all the others. Every place you worked. It ain't true, I tell you. It ain't true. Yes, it is, Mary, and you know it. Now put down the knife, Mary, and come with me. You want to put me in jail. Like a criminal. And I never done nothing wrong in my life. Now you've never done anything wrong. But if you cook for people again, now that you know it, it will be wrong. It'll be a crime, Mary. Cookin' is all I know. What can I do? He'll help you to get other work, if you'll help us. He'll tell people. I'll never get to work again. I won't tell anyone if you'll help us. You better do what she says, Mary. It's a trick, I tell you. They want to put me in jail. I'll have your pictures in the paper, Mary. Typhoid, Mary Mallon, that's what they'll call you. You don't want that, do you? No. No, I'll come with you. Good. All right, officers, you can come in now. Police. Police, you lied to me. You brought the police. They're not going to take you to jail. No, I should say they ain't all the way to there. Where's she going, Dr. Baker? To that window. Take the alleyway, Casey. I don't catch her right enough. Yes, we must, but be gentle with her. She's not a criminal, you know. And what is she? She's the most tragic person I've ever known. Well, Dr. Baker, I want to congratulate you for your part in this Typhoid, Mary case. Control of these carriers will save thousands of lives. Commissioner, how would you like to save not thousands, but millions of lives every year? That suits me just fine, Dr. Baker. How do you suggest we go about it? Well, the Typhoid Mary case set me to thinking, Commissioner. Why do we wait until people are sick to pay some attention to them? Why not catch them when they're well and try to keep them that way? Mmm. Sickness among the poor starts in the cradle, Dr. Baker. And they stay more or less sick the rest of their lives. That's why I want to catch them early, the moment they're born, even before they're born. Dr. Baker, there's a child born in this city every three minutes. Every three babies born, one dies before the age of five. Mmm. Pretty discouraging, anyway, you look at it. Give me a staff of 17 nurses and one neighborhood as an experiment, Commissioner. I think we can change that. Well, I suppose we could finagle some money by juggling the items on the budget here and there. How much would it take? Very little. Give me three months. After that time, I can't show you concrete results. Then there'll be no need to go on with it. The results of that modest experiment were amazing. In the first year, 1,200 fewer children died in my experimental neighborhood than the year before, while the death rate for children in the rest of New York remained the same. Such was the beginning of the world's first bureau of child hygiene. New York City advanced from the highest death rate of any great city in the world. I like to think that I had something to do with that. It is the year 1918. In a tenement to New York's Lower East Side, two little girls are giving their baby brother his bath. Their mother looks on fascinated. Mmm. Such a beautiful sight. Regular little mothers I'm bringing into the world. That's what they call our club by PS92, little mothers. Oh, and by the school, they're teaching you to give the baby a bath, huh? Such a thing. And by whom may I ask is this big idea? By Dr. Baker. And by the doctors know about raising babies, might I ask? Have they been a mother? But, Mama, you're not getting the idea. Dr. Baker's a lady. She might be a mother under the proper conditions. Let's hope she's getting a husband soon. Okay, Rosie, get ready to tell. Now, Mama, look. You drive the baby like this. Oh. But gently like blotting paper. Not rubbing and rubbing like this. Oh. Oh. See, see, see. Making crying. Uh-huh. And what makes the baby cry is a bad condition. So don't make a bad condition. Ah, but now comes the diapers. So we'll see how they're teaching you lesson number one. Rosie, Rosie, no, no, not like that. Remember how they said the two corners together like this. And we slip it through like this. This. Oh. It's not too tight, Mama, and it's not making a bad condition. So now the baby sleeps, but with the window open. Sophie, the best I will take in the fancy diaper I will take. But the open window, the baby will catch a death of cold, so I say no never. Oh, but Mama, just this one. So why is today the best day the baby should catch pneumonia? Mama, he will catch pneumonia. And besides, we want everything to be the best today because I didn't tell you sooner, so you should wait and see what final idea she has. Dr. Baker's coming here to see us. What? And the house upside down. Important company, and she doesn't call me so I should hear about the idea of a fine thing. Mama, Mama, Mama, come on, Rosie and I are winning the prize from the little mama's club. And why? Because we say, don't mind the house, mind the children. Mmm. So I explain to you having the family already, huh? Don't for the baby. That's the name of our competition. Sophie, tell Mama about it. Oh, all right. Tell me. Well, Foy, don't give the baby herring and don't give the baby beer to drink. Yes. And don't let the baby run in the mud gutter. Don't let the baby eat dirty things in the floor that he threw down at Foy's. And don't leave the baby alone in the carriage and play with your friends. Why? He'll jump out. Mama, don't give the baby sour cucumbers and don't leave the baby sit on the stove. And don't... Oh! Oh! Oh! Come in, come in, Dr. Baker. Oh! Excuse me, please, my house is just a little upside down. I don't think it is at all. I see you have the window open. That's fine. The children should get plenty of fresh air. Just like I'm telling always to my husband, Doctor, don't go around closing the windows all the time. It makes a bad condition. But Mama, you said you should keep your big mouth shut with making a good impression on the doctor, no? I know everything is being done for the baby in this house, Mrs. Rabinowitz. And when you're too busy, these girls of yours will make very good impressions. Yes, yes, yes. Such bright youngsters. Yes, doctor. Tell me, is all over the country such ideas nowadays? Yes. Yes, I think pretty nearly all over the country. To such simple focus these, Dr. Baker herself brought a great new idea. That children are the most important people in the world. To her profession, she brought a new science, the science of preventive health work for children. And through bureaus of child hygiene patterned on Dr. Baker's pioneering in New York slums, her ideas have spanned the civilized world. A child born in the United States this year of 1941 will live 14 years longer than one born 25 years ago. This is the gift of Sarah Josephine Baker to her countrymen. I like to stand at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street in New York City and watch the crowds pushing and milling back and forth. But sometimes seeing more set expressions and determined faces all bent on getting somewhere at the cost of the men and women at their elbows. I've stood there and wondered, wondered deeply and been sadly perplexed. Should we bring more and more babies into this troubled world? Yet I have faith in the ultimate decency of mankind. I can still see the light in the mother's eyes when her baby was assured of health. Of course, I would do it again. At this time we bring you Dupont's weekly story of chemistry at work and our world. For centuries men looked wistfully at the fragile beauty of a spider web in the sun, sparkling and silvery as a dragon flies wing and wondered about the marvelous little mechanism with which a spider spins his thread. How did the spinneret work? It was a wonderful way to make thread. Could we learn the trick? Today, man makes and uses spinnerets. In the Dupont rayon plant at Richmond, Virginia, thousands of these man-made spinnerets are at work. You've seen pictures of old-fashioned stovepipe hats, the kind Abraham Lincoln wore. Imagine a miniature stovepipe hat the size of a dime made of an alloy of precious metals. In this tiny hat the man-made spinneret are holes so small you can barely make them out with a naked eye. You have to look at them under a microscope. Although the metal is only eight-thousandths of an inch thick and although the holes are only two-thousandths of an inch across each hole is drilled out from the back to form a little funnel. Compared with tool work of such precision the mechanism of a wristwatch is as cumbersome as that of a locomotive. How do metal spinnerets make thread? In the Richmond plant they operate in a shallow bath of brownish liquid called a coagulating agent. If your eyes are good you can see something flowing out of them that might be smoke. Actually it consists of filaments of a syrupy liquid coming out of the spinneret holes. A fraction of a second later these filaments harden just as a spider's thread hardens when it touches the air. A workman called Spinner picks up the strand of filaments so fine you wonder how he can catch it between his fingers and tosses it deftly over a whirling glass wheel. At the same time with his other hand he pours some of the brownish liquid over it. The filaments whirl away over the glass wheel twisting into yarn. Man has learned the spider's age-old spinning secret. Man-made spinnerets are at work for us today. Are they as good as the spiders? Yes, better. Man's spinnerets produce a fiber that is uniform, smooth and strong. The tremendous practical future benefits of these spinnerets man's improvement on nature are only beginning to be felt in our time. But already millions of women are wearing lovely fabrics only a few could afford not long ago. And in a time of national emergency when sources of supply vary almost from day to day it's a comforting thought that Americans can have cloth made from cellulose in the case of rayon and from coal, water in the case of nylon. For nylon as well as rayon is made with a spinneret. Nor does a spinneret's job end with textiles. From nylon spinnerets we can draw materials for webbing, cordage, filters, surgical sutures, racket strings and bristles for brushes. Man has learned how nature spins. Another achievement has been chalked up by the chemists who bring us better things for better living through chemistry. Next Monday night the Cavalcade players bring you an exciting radio drama adapted from the new novel Red Lanterns on St. Michael's by Thornwell Jacobs. It is the story of the first submarine exploit in the history of the American Navy of Perry White a young Southern idealist and his effort during the Civil War to smash the federal blockade of Charleston, South Carolina. In our story of chemistry at work in our world we will tell you how cellophane cellulose film is helping to conserve and protect the nation's food. We hope you'll listen next week when DuPont again presents The Cavalcade of America. Josephine Baker was written by Robert Tallman for the Cavalcade players. The orchestra and the original musical score are under the direction of Don Voorhees. On The Cavalcade of America your announcer is Clayton Collier sending best wishes from DuPont. The work of the National Broadcasting Company.