 Ladies and gentlemen, tonight you are invited to listen to a new radio program. It's a program conceived by the people who furnish the wires that take this program and every other program to all parts of America and to all of you listeners overseas. We are the people. There are 275,000 of us, of your telephone company and the associated companies covering the rest of the country in the bell system. It is our job to transmit the human voice clearly, faithfully and quickly. Let you talk in person to anybody, anywhere, at any time. Would you like to hear somebody pick up the telephone here in New York? See how quickly and clearly he gets his number and listen into the conversation? You know, every night there are a lot of interesting people from all parts of the country in New York. A number of them are in the studio now to hear our first broadcast. Let's ask one of them to make a telephone call. There's a gentleman from Indiana here. His name is Paul V. McNutt and he's the first gentleman of Indiana because he's the governor of that state. Governor McNutt, is there anyone you would like to call? I'd like to call Indianapolis to see how my family is. Well, go right ahead, Governor. Just pick up this phone here and give the operator your number. I want to call Indianapolis. Riley 7441. Riley 7441, what is your number please? El Dorado 5, 5800. Hold the line, please. Indianapolis, Indianapolis, Riley 7441. Hello? Hello. Is that you, Kathleen? Hello Paul. I knew you were going to call us. Well, how on earth did you know that? I tuned in on the start of the telephone company's program and heard them say you were there in the studio. In fact, I can hear our conversation right now on the radio in the living room. Isn't it odd? It is rather unusual. I just wanted to tell you, things went very well here today and I think I'll be home tomorrow. Then we'll be able to keep our dinner engagements tomorrow night with the Davises? Absolutely. All right. I'll call them up, dear. Goodbye. Goodbye. That was pretty quick work. What would a call like that cost? Well, what do you think, Governor? Oh, I don't know. Quite a way. I'd say between two or three dollars. No, sir. It costs only a dollar and forty cents. The telephone from New York to Indianapolis after eight thirty, station to station rate. And if Mrs. McNutt had been in San Francisco, the same call would have cost only five dollars and fifty cents. Mighty few people realize how little it does cost a phone out of town, especially after eight thirty at night. Across country, across town, the telephone keeps abreast of the faster pace of life today. Take its social use, for example. We have another visitor here in the studio, Emily Post, author of the Book of Etiquette and foremost authority on good taste. What about making social engagements, issuing and accepting invitations by telephone? Is that good form, Mrs. Post? Most decidedly, it is. It's courteous to be prompt, and there isn't anything more direct than the telephone. Well, isn't it rather unusual to acknowledge an invitation to a formal dinner by telephone? Not at all. It's quite proper nowadays. You notice that Mrs. McNutt told the governor she would confirm their dinner engagement by phone. You see, the telephone is such a personal, intimate means of communication. And what's more, having a telephone has made it possible for many a girl and many a young man to be included, where someone without a telephone is left out. Now, if you were giving a dinner, Mrs. Post, just how would you extend the invitation over the telephone? I'd call up one of my friends, whether in the city or the suburbs. And after exchanging greetings, I'd say, Helen, I'm having a few friends in for dinner at 7.30 next Friday night. And I'd like to have you and John join us. I do hope you can come. You see, an invitation by telephone is more than just intimate and direct. You get your acceptances or regrets then and there, instead of waiting for them to come straggling in. Well, I'm sure that a great many people all over the country will be interested to hear these things from you, Mrs. Post. Thank you for coming down this evening. It has been a pleasure. Radio was born of the telephone, and the telephone was born of the American pioneering spirit, the American spirit of impatience with the barriers of time and distance. Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we are sending to you a radio program which we hope will mark a new milestone in American broadcasting. It's based upon the sense of pride and honest patriotism, which each of us feels for the achievements of our country from the earliest times to the present day. As the world moves, 300 short years represent a small span in the history of civilization. But in these years, everything that we think of as American has been created, fought for, achieved. We call our program the Cavalcade of America, and in the simplest fashion at our command, we plan to tell you a group of stories each time that you honor us with your attention at this time. Stories which illustrate the stamina, courage, the vital, solid attributes of the American people. Stories that are American through and through. Stories which we feel will reach the minds and hearts and pride of all Americans young and old. A group of distinguished educators, officials of the American Historical Association, are sponsoring these programs in the sense that they have worked with us to achieve complete accuracy in every episode. They are men and women whose names attest the historical truth and value of all these high adventures in the making of a country. The Cavalcade of America. As you watch the American Cavalcade pass in review, you find much that is not pomp and circumstance, bugle call, or cannon roar. A certain doggedness and perseverance, a willingness to fight it out at all costs, is the most distinguished attribute of the American. Let us go to the vanguard of the American Cavalcade and turn the pages of history to the spring of 1621. To the pilgrim settlement of Plymouth, Massachusetts. The little group of men and women who have survived that first winter, assemble in their rude meeting house by special order of the leader, Master Bradford. In one corner, a young woman and a young man have gone a little apart from the rest. It is like the Sabbath. Is it not Master Winslow all gathering here at the meeting house? Except that Master Bradford will address us instead of Elder Brewster. Looks peregrine. Quiet. Quiet. Why is he called us together, do you suppose, Master Winslow? In the very midst of a busy working day? For some good reason you may be sure, Mr. Swight. When first I heard the sound of the drum, I thought of Indians. My heart went cold. I hurried to get peregrine from her cradle. There were any danger from attack. Indians, you'd not see Captain Standish resting on his musket as he is now. In truth, the Indians sooner send an arrow through your back as you work on the field and sally in the open. No, it's his other business that Master Bradford wants with us. Master Bradford looks stern and sad. It is little to make him smile these days. He grieves for his wife. Poor Mistress Dorothy. It was tragic, her drowning. Two weeks after we landed on these shores... They're about to close the doors. Everybody who's able is here, all but those who lie sick of bed. So many empty benches. They remain but half as many of us now as there were when first those benches were placed there. Look, Bradford is standing. Emotions to us to be quiet. Oh, they're closing the doors. We'll soon know now. Master Bradford's about to speak. My friends, I have called you away from your tasks this morning in order to speak a message of importance. A message which will shape the future of every one of you and the future of Plymouth settlement. For four months, the good ship Mayflower has lain at anchor in this harbor, unable to return to England by reason of the fearful storms and the mortal plague that took off many of its crew. But this morning, a master came to be and informed that, God willing, he will put off the voyage no longer. He is preparing to sail on the fifth day of April, just four days hence. Many of you who wish to return to England on the Mayflower has that privilege. Two of us who came here, only 51 remain. These of old England, we who are in command here, will not try to hold you. May we wish at least to send them back and consider well what we should do. Master Winslow. Well, Mistress White? Good Master Bradford's news seems to have pleased you. Yes, and yet I am sad at the thought of losing some of my good friends. You are sailing then? Perhaps. Why not? What is there for me here? I'm not a delver in the ground. I do not want to till the soil and then suffer death from scurvy. I've tried to do my best, but I don't like it. I've covered a more adventurous life. Is this not a mighty venture? Are we not periled every moment by the savages? The Indians, a narrow in the back, forms lurking in the forest. They don't fight us in the open. They do not meet us like an honorable foe. No, this is not adventure. This is merely hardship and a rude wilderness. True, a wilderness. It is free though, free and honest and God-fearing. And one can pray here in the new world as one chooses. One has time to pray here in the long dreary winters. Why do you stay here, Mr. Swight? What is there here for you? You have suffered much and buried your husband here. And born my child here, remember. The first child to be born after landing on these shores. Then for the sake of the child you should return to England. This is no country in which to bring up a child, particularly a girl child. And why should you be so interested in me and my child, Master Winslow? Mr. Swight, I hate to leave you here in this wilderness for many months now. I've thought of you, I've... You have been very kind, Master Winslow, but do not talk of this before these folk. The meeting house is not yet empty. I've thought of you in holy love, Susanna. These many months, I've longed to take you from this bleak place back to the lovely... That will do, Master Winslow. Please remember that I admire and respect you. And once I thought I almost loved you. But Peregrine and I stay here and leave you the wandering ventures. We will face our hazards here as stoutly as we may. But Susanna, if you only knew how long I've loved you, I... Good day, Master Winslow. But Susanna... I play not with wandering dreams, and I'm holding to this place in purpose. Susanna! Susanna! April 1621, the colonists of Plymouth again assembled. This time not in the rude little meeting house, but on the rocky shore of Plymouth Harbor. All eyes are turned eastward to where the Mayflower rides at anchor ready to set sail. On the shore, the captain, Thomas Jones, is bidding a last farewell to Governor Bradford. Well, sir, the tide will be turning straight away. I must be pushing off. We'll miss you, Captain Jones. I hate to go and leave you all stranded here, sir, in this God-forsaken country. The only country that God forsakes, Captain, are those where people have forsaken him. The fellow I turned to for protection against that Satan's brood of savages is Captain Standish. I mean to know your reverence, sir. I wish you had more real soldiers with you, like him. As yet the Indians have made no open sully, but truly, Captain Standish is doing much for us. Already many of us have mastered the use of arms. Well, Bradford, it's all right for you, I suppose. But me, I'd rather be in a hurricane in a good tight ship than live the bleak and barren life you'll have here. When I reach London, I'll have some peace from worry and a chance for merriment. But you, you must fret with trouble all the time. You like this true, Master. If not these serpent Indians, there'll be puny crops or violent colds, starvation or the scurvy. Master, it falls on the crew how well the ship behaves, does it not? That it does. Well, I have an apt and loyal crew working here for me on the shore, uncomplaining, sharing what they have and facing each new hardship with godly courage. That you have, Bradford. My four months here have taught me that. Do you think any of them will leave with me? That young fellow's low standing over there by the cliff. He might go. He has no stomach for grubbing earth. He'd rather be a sailor like yourself. Marry with only half a crew and some of them not fit to stand. I could straightway put some more hands to the ropes. We need more hands ourselves. A spring planting to be head. A new building, woods to be cleared. I only hope most of the younger men decide to stay. I think they will. She'll be a grievous thing to lose one man. We may need every fighter we can get. That you may. For sooth I, I still dare hope that none of them will leave. They have to as folly, but already I'm proud of our little settlement in the new world and I miss like to see, to see anyone turn back. Yes, I know your heart. Sort of like dessert in the ship. Well, if you have any to take the passage, I hope they'll hasten. The tide's turning. I told them to come here to the boat. I see none yet. Winslow seems to be undecided. He and God must choose his path. I must take leave, row out to the ship and be quick to sail in a moment's notice. But before I weigh anchor, I'll watch sharp for your signal. I'll wave a white cloth. But if any of our people change their minds, I'll fire a shot. I must give them every chance to read their own purpose. I shall wait the signal. Good hope, sir. I hope the next few months will be easier. We'll be praying for you. Good hope, Captain. And Godspeed. Oh, Master Jones! Oh, Master Jones! Oh, just a moment, if you please. Well, surely, Mr. Swight, have you and your little baby decided to be our passengers? Oh, no, Master Jones. I would not leave here. But I have a little packet for my dearest friend in London. Would it be too much to ask you to take it for me? Why, surely not, Mr. Swight. It's all superscribed. Here it is. I will bear it safely, Mr. Swight. Never fear. I must hasten weigh anchor while the tide is right. Godspeed. Godspeed. Godspeed. Good matter. Push her off, boy. Oh, thank you. Good bye. Oh, yes, Master Winslow. I thought you were leaving us. I saw you standing near us, and I waited for you to step forward. I do not go, sir. Oh, peregrine hush. It is not yet too late. I shall signal the boat if you wish to leave. Master Bradford, I yearn to go. Then as I came down to the shore, a word you spoke turned my heart to a better purpose. It will be wrong to cousin you, Master Winslow, and mark you there is yet time to change your mind. I am going now to the others. Master Bradford looks blighter than I have seen him in many a month. Ah, Mr. Swight, you have speech with me once more. Since that day at the meeting house when Master Bradford broke the news of the Mayflower leaving, you've scarce bathed me good morning. I beseech you, Master Winslow. I was angry because... because you were leaving. But what made you change your purpose? You angered toward me when I set my heart for England. Susanna, let me speak of... Meet my question first, Master Winslow. Why did you not leave? It was a brave word. I heard Master Bradford speak to the master of the ship. He said, I misliked to see anyone turn back. That's what I was doing. Turning back. I see it now. Edward, I too. I want not to turn back. I want to press on and make a new life here. Susanna, might we not press on together here in Plymouth? Master Winslow, take care. There are many people here. All the folk will hear you. They give no heed to us. Their eyes are fixed on the Mayflower. Oh, here comes Master Bradford. He seems bent upon a word with us. Men and women of Plymouth. Our good friend, the master, is at this moment boarding the ship. All sails are set. A sign from me and the Mayflower will hoist anchor and turn her course for England. Before I give that sign, let me ask you all once more. For the last time, do any of you wish to return? It is not too late to change your minds. One word. Your last chance, Edward. I have made my choice. Then I give the Mayflower a sign to sail. Oh, God. They're pulling up the anchor. I can see them. You're a gay sailor. You are, Master German, full of their weariness. They are not their hoisting. I can see them. All line of men. The ship is veering round now. The sails are filling. How white they gleam in the sun. Glad I am. The sun is shining so fair today. The earth feels warm and rich at last. Look, the Mayflower gains its headway. Look, Peregrine. Look, baby. I wish she might stand this morning on her memory. She's looking landward. She's right, too. While, look back, when there's so much ahead. Would I could see what is ahead? All that we dreamed of when we came here. All that anyone could ask for. Work. Good friends. The worship of God. And love. Yes. I think so. Now. Elder Brewster has read the burial service over many of our number, but the marriage service never. We'll be the first. Look, the Mayflower's flag is dipping. And there goes the last salute. Pilgrims made their choice and flung defiance at the dark forests of New England. Their will to persevere became a cornerstone of American character. And from such people came the power to conquer a continent. Nearly two centuries later, settlers were still battling for their homes and their freedom. This time it was a brave band of settlers who had penetrated the forests of Kentucky and directed a crude settlement called Bryan's Station. Not far from what is now the city of Lexington. With crude implements, they had built a palisade with a blockhouse at each corner. On the evening of August 15th, 1782, a messenger brings word that another party of settlers only a few miles away have been defeated in a fight with the Indians. Prouding about the messenger, the men of Bryan's Station hear the story of the encounter. They vote to avenge the defeat, although they know savages lurk in the forest just outside the stockade walls. William Reynolds, a young pioneer who has been scouting, reports to Captain John Craig, commander of Bryan's Station. Well, I tell you Captain Craig, there ain't a doubt of it. I saw Indians everywhere. And if the men leave for Hoy's now, every woman in this station will be scalp cleaned. You think it's a trap, Reynolds? I reckon they're just waiting for you to march out of here to blow you all the kingdom come. Where do you think most of their force is? I reckon most of them hiding around that there spring down the hill, the one where we got our water. Yeah, what are we going to do for water? We can't hold out that water. Well, there's just one thing in our favor, man. The Indians don't know we've discovered him. We've got to act like we don't know they're out there. Reynolds, gather all the women of the station here at once. Have them bring all their noggins and pales. Sure, Captain, I'll get on. Oh, well. Yes, sir. Captain. You coming, Captain? Yes, sir. What can we do? Well, now, you think you could trick yourselves two good horses to get from here to Lexington? Yeah, sure. We could try. We'll get a move on. And when you get outside, don't run unless you're shot at. Yes. Like you was going hunting. I don't think you'll be stopped. The Indians won't risk shooting until they find out how strong we are. Reynolds, are we okay? We're okay, too. Say, Captain Craig, my Lucy and the baby there had my cabin outside the station. How about I get them in here? All right, Morgan. I'm going to send the girls down to the spring. Have Lucy join them and bring her water back here. Yes, Captain. I'll send her and bring our baby to the fort himself. Hurry up. And when you get back, take charge of the West Blockhouse. Now hurry. You can count on me, Captain. Here come the girls. Captain, full force. They're not afraid of the Indians. Good, good. Is everybody here? Sure, we're here. Now, ladies, I want you to listen carefully. Come on, girls. Quiet down, girls. Well, what is it? Outside the stockade, there's a large force of Indians. Well, hush, hush, girls. Now, for some reason, they're lying low. I think they're waiting for us men to march on to Hoy's. Then they can get us from ambush. Now, we don't want them to know our strength. So we've got to stay here and pretend we don't know there's an Indian in the country. The longer we fool them, the better chance we have of being reinforced from Lexington. I've seen Thomason and Bell, and they may get through. If you're figuring on playing possum in this hole, you'd better hike down to spring and draw some water. My husband didn't leave enough whiskey to last for all of us. All right, your mamma Johnson. I'm going to ask you to lead the women down to that spring, and you better draw all the water you can. Lord Captain, we ain't Indian fighters. Why don't you lead the men down there? Sure. Because that would be playing into the Indians' hands. If you women go down there just as you do every morning and pretend that nothing is wrong, I don't think you'll be touched. The Indians want to capture the station and kill the men in it. They'd gain nothing by killing you, only give themselves away. Come on, girls. Show some spirit. You're cocking up around here. That'll do for me, child. More like it. Would you go, Jemima? Well, I can fill two noggins, but I can't haul water for the whole station. Who's going with me? We have to have water, don't we? We can't live without it, and the mayor's worst is no way for us to have food and drink. He'd say Jemima's learn never turns back. Look frightened to death, you girls. Forget water every morning. And the blessing of God almighty, the Father, the Son, the Holy Cross. You usually sing, girls, when you're going for water. Now act just the way you always do, so the Indians won't suspect we know they're out in the bushes. Come on, now sing. I'm Zustin Warden. My, she's pale. James Storm had come and helped me carry Warden to the stocking. Oh, Lucy, ain't you scared? Yes, but we've got to make believe we ain't. Let's talk loud. It's nice living outside the palace. They eat on a lovely morning like this. Oh, my baby. I hate it to leave him even for a minute. Yes, must be fun to see the sunrise and everything. Oh, how could you do it? You may never see him again. Oh, let James pack him up. He's driving the baby to his back. Brush the other side of the spring. They're not to know how to carry him. We must protect them. Don't look over there. It's all right. Well, that's a mighty, pretty white hanky you're wearing, Lucy. Don't mean much. James Morgan can't be mollycoddling you much in this country. He gave me this kerchief when we were married. Well, let's be getting back. I saw something move. If your mama would stop singing, she'd be able to walk fast. I'll open the gate. My baby, I must be sure he's safe. Oh, don't leave us, Lucy. Hey, Lucy, come back here. Don't go back to your cabin. Come back. Oh, Jemima, stop Lucy from going. It's too late now. She'll do what James did. See any Indians, Jemima? I didn't see any, but I could sort of feel them out there. The birds were quiet, and there was quite a bit of movement in the cornfield. Reynolds, you better close that gate. Jemima, you and the girls take that water to the central cabin. Then it's crammed behind the men of the loopholes and help them reload. All right, Captain. Do you see anything in the Morgans? They aren't in from their cabin yet. Lucy Morgan went to the spring with us. James told her to draw water and come back here, but she got scared about a baby and went back to her cabin. Oh, that's bad. I wish they'd heard of you. We need everybody here. The Indians will attack those outside cabins first. I tried to stop her. You and the girls have a real target. Look, look, they're creeping up on Morgan's cabin. Look, he's got the baby strapped to his back. Come back, William. Good work, Morgan. I thought we'd lost you. Reynolds, take that baby to Jemima. Get back here as fast as you can. Yeah? Where's your wife, Morgan? I left her under the cabin in that little cellar. There was no time. I thought she'd be safer there until dawn. Won't they find her there? No, I don't think so. We were just about to make a break for it when I saw the Indians coming. I put Lucy in the cellar and moved a big piece of slab rock over it. Then the Indians broke down the door and found me there alone. That shot one of them and dropped my gun on Randford. Good work. I'll get a gun and take charge of the northwest block house. Yes, sir. I'm going to get back. Lucy, she'll suffocate in that cellar. It's too late, Morgan. You can't go back now. The whole thing is a blade. She'll burn to death, I tell you. Get out of my way, Captain. I'm going back. Drive on Reynolds. Hold it. Get away from that gate. Let me go. I've got to go back. Oh, steady, Morgan. It's too late now and we need you here alive. Go on a revenge, I tell you. I'll kill every filthy wretch in this side of Bullock. And so the battle raged. The Indians attacking from the woods by the spring were fought back with desperate courage. Some of them even reached the stockade and threw burning torches out of the rough clapboard roofs of the cabins on the western side. For a while as the blaze raged, the pioneers lost hope. Then a breeze blew across the settlement, blowing the sparks away from the walls. And the fire, finding no more fuel, gradually died out. Now and then a flaming arrow fell on a roof of the settlement. But the boys of the garrison, lying on the inwards sloping roofs, plucked the arrows and threw them away before damage was done. At sunset, all firing stopped. A figure came out of the forest, bearing a white flag. It stood on a stump and hailed the station. Plung his desperate defiance at the enemy, Morgan crept from the stockade. He could wait no longer. He must see for himself what lay under the ashes of his cabin. Whether there was any hope that Lucy might still be alive. The lurid light of Indian campfires shone against the forest, but no shots disturbed the silence. In the station, the pioneers waited for the attack, waited for the cannon that would blow the stockade to pieces and put them at the mercy of the scalping knife. In the early dawn, Reynolds stood by the stockade gate and tried to keep awake. Crazy? No. I had to see. I had to make sure. Your wife was sheep. Did you find her? Or anything? Lucy's dead. I found bones, charred bones. That's all. There was an Indian sneaking around the ruins with her handkerchief. He's dead, too, now. If we ever get out of here alive, we'll get every man in the territory and we'll wipe them engines off the face of the earth. If we get out of here alive. The water's most gone, too. Captain says if help doesn't come pretty soon. Who's there? Thompson, any looks in the woods? Are you sure it's not a trap? Clearly sure, Captain. I rode all around over Yonder and they're all gone down the track called Blue Lake. I picked up their tracks and followed them a mile or more. No sign of cannon? No, sir. So that cannon threat was just a trick? Well, folks, I guess we've out guessed them once again. Travel isn't over, don't you believe that? We've got to join forces with hoys and the other stations and run the Redskins clean out of the country. They'll strike again and this time we must strike first. I'm believing right now before we're cut off again. Oh, that's... you've shown a lot of courage. Courage? No, it isn't that. What have I lived for without Lucy? Well, look down by the spring. There's something's moving. But Lucy, I went to the cabin. There were charred bones. I thought all that arrest has failed, James. She's been through enough. I'm all right, your mama. When you left, James, two engines came in and fought over those two bright dresses of mine and those English knives. Oh, darling. I could hear them fighting and rolling on the slab above me. It scared me, James, and I... Then what I saw were the bones of the dead Indians. Yes, James. I was tied to a tree till this morning when the Indians retreated. They moved fires and left me. I got the songs loose. And now... Mission, sir. Take my wife and boy back to Lexington as soon as possible. Certainly, Morgan. Take two good horses. And, uh, maybe others who care to go back. I'll send an escort. Thanks. Ryan's station and other forts along the frontier did much to win the revolution and American freedom. Then slowly, but surely, the cavalcade moved westward, winning a continent, battling doggedly against nature and the Red Man. After the pioneers came the farmers, and they too rank high in our history, a century and a half have passed. It is the summer of 1931. The scene is the kitchen of a small South Dakota farmhouse. Sarah Winslow is busily preparing supper. Well, I'll give the biscuits just about five minutes more. That time, your father ought to be here again. Mom, uh, I... Yes, Ned? This is July. Anybody who's been canning tomatoes over a hot stove all day don't have to be told that. College opens in September. September 24th, the catalog says. What's the chances do you think am I getting to go? Well, it's too early to say yet, son. The summer has started out good. Crops are pretty promising. Nothing happens. I guess your father will be in a position to spare you in the fall. Take on a hired man, your place. I won't ask a cent from Dad. With what I've saved and what I can earn, I'll get along fine. Well, we'll see. I don't want to make any promises like we did last summer and then have to break them. Gosh, what a summer that was. Not a drop of rain for 17 long weeks. Hmm, can't even bear to think about it. Waking up morning after morning to see that sun look a great ball of copper. And the crops drying up, shriveling, shrieking for water. That's the worst of farming. You work and you worry and you break your back for months. Then along comes a drought or a freeze or a flood or some kind of a blight. Where are you? Worse often when you're started. I know. Yeah, we keep on farming just the same. I'm not so sure that I will. When I finish college, I might get myself a job in a... Now, your family been farmers for generations, isn't it, Winslow? Well, I guess you're not going to give it up for any white-collar city job. You're great, great, great. Well, I don't know quite how many greats it was, but your grandfather was one of the first white men to plant corn in this country. The Indians showed him how. Yeah, and his fool descendants have been planting corn ever since. Be burned up by the sun or rotted by rain or eaten up by pests. What is your saying about pests? Your son was just getting in practice for the college debating team, that's all. All I mean while I like is not my biscuits are burned to a crisp. Well, as a matter of fact... How you two get your hands and faces washed, now I'll have things dished up in a jiffy. All right. Hold on, wait a minute, Father. What? You got a couple of grasshoppers on your coat, see? Oh, don't brush them off in here. Go outside. I want them nasty things to start hopping around my kitchen. There's an awful lot of grasshoppers around lately, just in the last few days. Have you noticed? Yeah, I picked half a dozen of them off for cucumber vines this morning. They were eating the leaves as greedy as anything. Now, if they don't eat anything more valuable than your cucumber vines, we'll be lucky. You talk, sir, if my cucumber vines didn't matter. Well, we don't depend on cucumbers for our living. My cucumber pickles taking second prize at the State Fair for three years now. And if it don't take first prize this year, I... Oh, there's one of those pesky creatures under the sink. What of it, Mom? They're harmless. Oh, no, not this variety. What do you mean, Dad? Well, these ain't the regular, ordinary variety of grasshoppers that you get every summer. They're a special breed. Yeah, they got a couple of stripes down their backs. Have you noticed that? They're an appetite that's never satisfied. An appetite for what? Anything, everything. Why, Chad Sunderland was telling me today they had the same thing in Colorado one summer, about 10 years ago. When they got through the barn, the crops, they even made the binder twine. Oh, father, I can't believe it. Well, if you don't mind holding supper a few minutes, Mother, I'd like to put in a phone call. Everything will get cold. Couldn't it wait till after supper? No, no, I want to get hold of the county agent and ask him what to do about these grasshoppers. Well, is there anything you can do? Chad tells me they used poison form in Colorado. Poison? Uh-huh. Made some kind of a mash and mixed arsenic with it, spreading around their fields. Nice job for a hot July day. You dish things up and get started. I'll be right back. All right. Come on, son. See, you got cucumber pickle on the table, Mom. We always have cucumber pickles with cold hands. You may not next season, according to Dad. With these grasshoppers, I mean. Oh, I'll protect my cucumber vines, don't you worry. I'll cover them over so the grasshoppers don't see them. The green color that attracts them. Yeah, the grasshoppers will probably all be gone a little while though. You know, Dad's an awful alarmist. Always expecting the worst. Worst has happened so many times. That's why. The drought last year just about ruined it. Oh, here he comes now. Ned, don't say anything to him this evening about college. He's not in the mood to talk about it. I can see. All right, Mom. Well, Father, what did he say? It seems just about every farmer in the county is calling him all of a sudden. Find out how we're going to fight this grasshopper plague. Grasshoppers darkens the sun and settles over the fields leaving them barren of crops and the farmers in desperate poverty. Finally, one hot August afternoon, we find Sarah in her kitchen. Hello, Jane. Hello, Sarah. I just dropped in for a second. We're on our way to the prayer meeting. I'm Joan's field. Are you going? Yes, just since Edward and Ed get in, they've been working day and night, scattering poison mash. There's so much ground to cover and only the two of them to do it. How about your cucumber vines? Are we able to save them? My cucumber vines, goodness me. Didn't they tell you what happened to them? No. Last I heard you were keeping them covered with dish towels. You won't believe it, but those grasshoppers ate the vines, dish towels and all. Well, I can believe it. You heard about the experience the Lindstroms had, didn't you? What? You know, the Swedish family that leased the old fuller farm. Yeah, yeah. What happened? They decided the best way to get rid of the grasshoppers was to send their turkeys out into the fields to eat them up. Yes. They figured they'd do two things at the same time. Clean out the grasshoppers and cotton up the turkeys. I must say, the idea of eating a Thanksgiving turkey that's been stuffed with grasshoppers kind of takes my appetite away. I should say so. Well, when the turkeys came back home to roost that night, them grasshoppers would script them as bears if they'd been plucked in your own kitchen. How can you laugh, Jane? I think it's dreadful. Well, if I didn't laugh at some of the things that's happening these days, Sarah, I'd go crazy. John's a worried, sticky cat, eat your sleeve. If something don't happen pretty soon, I don't know what we'll do. There's nothing we can do, but go on. We can't quit. How does young Ned feel about it? I hear he ain't so crazy about farming. Oh, he's all right. Well, Ned don't set much store of a prey in him, Fred. He says the only thing that'll bring relief is sprayin', sprayin' poison and big enough quantities to really kill the pests. We can't just pray for rain and for relief from famine and war and pestilence. If the Lord can send relief for them things, I guess he can send relief for a plague of grasshoppers. Well, the folks are waitin' out in the car. I better be goin'. You see, it's service. Sony's stepped for us. Walkin''s better than drivin', anyway. Well, I just come in the short distance we did. Our car got stalled twice. Grasshoppers cloggin' up the radiator. Good. Well, goodbye. Goodbye, Jane. Come on as soon as Mother's ready. See you there. Goodbye. Goodbye. I'll be ready in a minute, Edward. Just let me get my hat. My, but it's hot. It must be 110 the shade. The weather report over the radio said it was the hottest August 14th, and I don't know how many years. Hmm. Seems hotter when there's no green in sight. Well, I'm ready now. All right. Comin' to the service, Ned? Oh, well, I suppose so. Well, it won't hurt, Jenny. Well, let's start. Yeah, come on. Even hotter out here. Yeah. By the way, Mother, I saw Miss Granister in town this morning. Told me to tell you goodbye. They're leavin'? They've left. She said she's drivin' over here to see ya before they went, but it was all decided to sudden. Where they goin'? Some place, she says, where there's no grasshoppers or droughts or floods. Then they're givin' up farming for good? Looks that way. Well, they show good sense. The rest of us oughta do the same thing. You don't really mean that, son. Sure I do, Dad. What's the use of breakin' your back and breakin' your heart, farming? Well, somebody's gotta do it. Somebody's gotta plant and cultivate and harvest crops, feed the rest of the world. Your cities are all right and fine, but where would they be without the farmer? Where would they get their bread and their butter and their milk and their other food stuff? Well, they'll get from us this year. Look, Dad. Look at that field we're passin' now. Just stubble. Not a thing left. There's always another year ahead of us, though. That's the great thing about farming. No matter how bad one season it be, there's always the hope and the chance that the next year will be a good one. If you can live till the next year on nothin' but hope, we've still got our cows and chickens, a few acres of corn. We're fightin' a losin' battle, Dad. What can you and I do, scatterin' poison by hand against billions of grasshoppers? The government may provide aid to us. The government, they promised help, but where is it? When does college open, son? College? Why, 24th of September. Better right. Send in your application. Why, I... I... Dad. I know how you feel about farming, boy. I know how bad you wanna get away. I'd be the last person on Earth to try and keep you here. But, Dad, I... I couldn't go and leave you in a jam like this. We can get along. Would... Would you and Mother leave too? How about it, Mother? Leave the farm. Our lease expires this fall. But why should we leave? Because times are bad. Oh, that's no reason. Well, there's a quittin'. Not this family. Our folks have been farmers for generations, Father. Yours and mine both. The Winslow's and the Morgan's. They fought all the things that we've been fighting. And they won out. Well, looks like the service is about to start. Oh, my, look at Jones Field. Just a lot of stubble. Last year it was waving corn. And now everybody in the county must be there. Seems funny, don't it? Begathering for prayer in a field. No church in the county big enough to hold this congregation. Anyhow, it's... it's more fitting to pray out here. It's our fields that have been laid waste after all. Farmers do have courage. Look, the minister's standing in front of that great wooden cross. Let's stop here, where we can see him. All right, yes. We can hear just as well here. Sure. Oh, there's poor Mrs. Nardquist. She's crying. Well, you can't blame her. She lost her whole property. She's only been out here two years. I must speak to her after the service. Maybe there's a little something we could do for her. Yes, yes. I hear she's almost starving. Gee, there must be over a thousand people here. And every one dog tired from fighting grasshoppers. You know, it's funny. A lot of them are worse off than we are. But somehow, they don't look as if they were licked. Look, the minister's holding up his hand for quiet. You know, Dad, there's something about these farmers all out here. Praying. It gets me. There is something in farming. I guess that's why your mother and I are staying. I'm staying too. No, no, no. Don't you do it. You go to college like you plan. You've already put it off one finger. Don't hurt me to wait a little longer. Dad, I've got some money saved. I...it's yours. I want you to have it. What? What, son? We'll see this thing through together. You and mother and I. Boy, I can't tell you how I feel you're saying you'll stick with us. Listen, what's that? Oh, it's a plane, Mom. The mail plane. Why, the mail plane ain't due here for three hours. Father, Ned, look. What? The plane, look. Gosh, but it's flying low. That cloud, that's following it. What is it? Why? Poison bait. It's a government plane. Scattering poison. It's manna from heaven. That's what it is. Our prayers have been answered. Our fields are already white with it. He's flying towards Venice this farm now. The farm they live. Yes. I'm glad I stayed. I'm glad we stayed. Country's history. The face new and even greater problems with the courage and fearlessness of those who went before us in the cavalcade of America. The pioneer spirit of today faces new fronts with the old courage and within the organizations of such companies as your telephone company, men strive toward making life fuller and better. This urge to go forward, the determination to stick it out in the face of overwhelming odds is the attribute which describes perhaps better than any other. The life of one of America's great industrial pioneers. Theodore N. Vail. A man whose whole life was dedicated to making a dream come true. A dream that someday American men and women would talk clearly to each other across this continent. Mr. Vail pushed the long distance telephone in every direction in spite of opposition and the most appalling difficulties. With his great friend General Carti who solved his engineering difficulties he welded the entire nation into a closer communion than had ever been thought possible. But still he was unsatisfied. He had been unable to get a really clear connection between San Francisco and New York. That is to say, clear enough to satisfy Mr. Vail. There are many legends about the actual opening of the transcontinental line. All telephone history is a little clouded in myths but the version we like best is this. Time and again Mr. Vail said, Carti, your connection with the coast is still not good enough for the American people. And then one January night in 1915 well Mr. Vail at that time president of the American telephone and telegraph company was at Jekyll Island off the Georgia coast the telephone rang. Mr. Vail picked up the receiver. Hello, this is Vail speaking. Hello Mr. Vail, this is Carti. Hello Carti, where are you? I'm talking from New York. Why, it sounds as if you were in the next room. Do you think the quality is good? Yes, but how are you getting along Carti and linking New York with San Francisco? We're coming along fine. Well, when you get this clear connection between New York and San Francisco you and I have now between New York and Georgia I'll accept it. Well then Mr. Vail, it's already accepted. What do you mean Carti? I mean that this conversation we're holding is not going direct from New York to Jekyll Island. It's going by way of Buffalo, Chicago and Denver to San Francisco and back through Kansas City, St. Louis, Cincinnati and Atlanta to Jekyll Island. That was a great achievement. And the 20 years since that first coast to coast telephone connection have brought forth even greater achievements. Nations have been linked with nations. Continents with continents. In 1921 radio broadcasting came into being and the telephone company had a new set of problems to conquer in another field of communications. Indeed this very program to which you are listening is made possible by telephone equipment with thousands of miles of lines which link together the widely scattered stations in this coast to coast network. Today's president of the American Telephone and Telegraph Company is Mr. Walter S. Gifford. He is here tonight and he would like to say a few words. Mr. Gifford. Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you've enjoyed this program. We want it to be more if possible than just an hour of radio entertainment. We want it to be a real contribution to broadcasting and we believe the radio public wants an hour of this sort. Particularly do we hope that the younger people will feel an interest in this program and with that purpose in mind we will hold a series of nationwide essay contests which we are going to call the Bell Systems Scholarships. Mr. Utel will tell you about them now. Thank you. The Bell Systems Scholarships will be awarded each month to two groups of students. Boys and girls from 14 to 19 years of age and boys and girls from 8 to 13 who write the best essays on the American attributes and the national characteristics dramatized in the cavalcade of America. For the older group, they will be each month a first prize of $500, a second prize of $200, a third prize of $50 and 25 prizes of $10 each. For the younger group, there will be these prizes, $250 first prize, $100 second prize, $25 third prize and 25 prizes of $5 each. For full information about these Bell Systems Scholarships apply to your telephone company or to the station to which you are listening. You will receive an entry blank whether with a booklet in which you will find printed. The episodes presented in the cavalcade of America. We invite you to join us again next Friday evening at the same hour when your telephone company in the Bell System will continue the cavalcade of America.