 The Cavalcade of America, presented by DuPont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. Month of April in 1789, the hearts of four million people rejoicing with the swing. Grim years of fighting over, the long winter of their discontent finally done. Four million Americans preparing for their first national holiday, and every mile of the way along the Great Post Road from Mount Vernon to New York, the new citizens of a new nation winding garlands of flowers on bridges and mouth posts, toasting the future and eagerly, joyfully waiting to cheer General George Washington when his coach rolls by on its way to New York and his inauguration as their first president. Spring at Mount Vernon, but there's no joy in the tired soldier's heart. No eagerness in General Washington's step as he walks towards his inaugural coach and the beginning of a long journey. Everything ready, Sam? Yes, sir, General. Whoa, there, Betsy. Whoa. You get in, Mr. Thompson. Thank you, General. Colonel Humphrey, is your mind riding backward? Mind on it all, sir. Goodbye, Colonel. Goodbye, Mr. Thompson. Goodbye, Mr. Washington. My dear, you will take care. It's such a long journey. Oh, I've traveled the road to New York many times. It's only the end of the journey which worries me. General. Yes, my dear. Could you smile for me just once before you leave? You've not smiled since Mr. Thompson brought the news of your election. My dear. Oh, thank you. That makes me feel better. Is it so very dreadful to become the first president of these United States, my dear? I have been poor company these past weeks, but my mind has been many months and years ahead. I know. And it's so hard for you to leave home again. Yes, Mount Vernon is beautiful in the spring. Well, my dear, we're too old for sentimental partings, but my heart stays here with you. Godspeed you, General. Goodbye, gentlemen. Goodbye, Mrs. Washington. All right, get along, Sam. Godspeed you and guide you. Keep your gate code around you. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Good day for me, gentlemen. I can't bear to look back. Certainly, General. Goodbye. Goodbye. Well, General, this is the beginning of great days for you. Yet, Mr. Thompson, I feel almost like a culprit going to his execution. Oh, execution, sir. When a whole nation awaits you. There will be only a short time, General, before you'll be back in Mount Vernon. Perhaps, General Humphries. Who can tell? I waited these many years to settle down and raise my crops in peace, but there's still another arduous task to be done. Who can tell how long I'll be gone in this time? As when I rode up to Philadelphia for the Continental Congress, I was so sure I could return home in time for spring planting. It is well none of us knew in 75 how long a journey we were beginning. I kept on hoping for a speedy solution until the next summer. And we all suddenly realized how long a road we must travel. Remember, Colonel Humphries, that document we received from the Continental Congress on the 9th of July? Yes, General. When I read that paper, I knew many springs would pass before I should see Mount Vernon again. Remember, we were in camped in New York in the heat of summer, waiting and wondering what our next move might be. And the commander of the Second Connecticut Rangers wishes me to tell you he must have 60 more muskets, 100 new flints... Your pardon, sir. A message from the Congress. Thank you, Captain. I suppose it's another proclamation, another piece of parchment filled with fine words. Yes, we can state to that. It is the way of Congress to deal in words as we deal in arms, Humphries. Let us keep to our own tasks and see what they would have us do. Well, what have they thought up this time? Captain. Yes, sir? Order the men musted in on parade at once. Yes, sir. What is it? Sound assembly. Money, sir? No, Humphries. Not money. Well, is it flints, sir? No, not flints. Then what is it, sir? Your face, I... Listen, lad, these are words you shall not forget. When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bonds which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth the separate and equal station to which the laws... Yes, those were great words. The first time we heard them. They still burned with a brighter flame than any flint could start. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Yes, Thompson, when we heard those words, we knew we were beginning a long journey. General! General! Yes, Billy? There's a whole mile of people coming down the road. They're approaching Alexandria, sir. They'll head down the coach window. They'll all want to see you. Little enough to be looked at, Thompson, but if they wish it, my all means let them see me. My all means let them see him. Let Alexandria see him in Georgetown and Hyattville. Let them look their fill. After all, it's the first time anybody's ever seen an American on his way to become president. Let Riverdale see him in Elkridge, and then Baltimore, and more cheers and banquets, and toast after toast to the wisdom and courage of a worn man trying to pretend smiles for old friends and new countrymen. And then farewell to Baltimore and a troop of gentlemen on horseback riding along in a gray spring dawn, escorting the inaugural coach as it lurches and splashes through the mud of Maryland. Mr. Thompson, these excellent gentlemen should not be escorting us so far. Oh, they feel honored, sir. They've come from several states to salute you. Are you all right, sir? Are you hurt, General? Only a bruiser, too. Are you gentlemen? Is you all right, Mr. General, sir? That lazy Joe, he ain't fixed to axle like I told him before we left, and the wheel come right off. Open the door, Sam. Let them see me. Don't disturb yourself, sir. I was most honored to be able to serve you. He'll just remain seated, General. We ain't just have that wheel back in no time. Hey, you'll catch hold, eh? One moment, sir. We Marylanders can tend to this without any help from our side. There ain't no strength in you, sir. They would wrap up the axle. We would enjoy their serenades more comfortably. Should we stop there wrangly before they're at each other's throat, sir? I gave up hearing that long ago, Thompson. He's always been like this. He wouldn't at the Constitutional Convention. Day after day of the bitterest jealousies and wrangling you've ever heard, states seemed unwilling to get together on anything. Yet they ended up by writing us the Constitution. Yeah, come on. Tighter. He's fixing this wheel. Yeah, that's what I want to know. Who's fixing it? New Yorkers. Marylanders. Gentlemen. Well, anyway, there she is. They got it all fixed, General. It's all fixed now. I'm going to tell you, we Marylanders have the wheel on, General. All patched up, sir. She will come off again right away. Yes, sir. She's fixing the car. You see, Thompson, the way it works, everybody wants to help. There's confusion and out of chaos comes order. So we see our democracy function right at our coach door. Gentlemen, my thanks to all you Americans. You're welcome, sir. Good along, Sam. Good afternoon. Good afternoon. Good afternoon. See, Mr. Thompson, the wheels do get put on. The coach does move forward. Yes, day by day, the inaugural coach moving forward, rolling closer to New York, closer to new responsibilities and fresh problems. And all along the way, men who yesterday were rebels or loyalists, Virginians or New Yorkers, today stand shoulder to shoulder, cheering a tired man, jumping along in his coach. On past Aberdeen and Wilmington, over into Pennsylvania and down a winding, rutty road to Malloy's Tavern. And an old friend comes out to meet the coach, an old friend of Union and of the people, witty, wise, much the same for all his 83 years as he climbs gruntingly aboard and sits back smiling as the inaugural coach rolls on toward the nearby bells of Philadelphia town. Sound much as they did when we rode away from the Constitutional Convention. God has granted us our Union, Dr. Franklin. Well, and with you at the helm, we shall keep it. Your Highness. Highness? What sort of language is that? New York language. Now, there's been real commotion over titles and preeminences. Did they call you Highness? May it please your Excellency, or merely the President of the United States in protector of their liberties. But no one could agree, so I believe we'll simmer down to play in Mr. President. It'll be harsher names before the year is out. Oh, come, come now, my old friend. Don't frown so. The days of 76 are forever gone. It'll make me ashamed, Dr. Franklin, to be a grumbling old man at 56. When you were 70, you were cheerfully voyaging to France to find this aid, and to be loved by the foreigners. To become an object of curiosity, looking like a fat old Quaker in a plain-brown suit. All right? I was quaint, sir, quaint. It was a wonder they didn't clap me into a carnival play. But they sent us supplies and ships and money we could not have done without. Ah, yes, and men, like Lafayette, I almost forgot. Mistress Washington will have my scalp if I don't thank you again for that Parisian bonnet you sent her. Well, she wears it still with the indignant admiration of all the women. A nice piece of fripper, eh? Copied from one design for the Marquis Jean de Troyes. Marquis? Madame de Pompadour. Oh, ah, clever woman. Oh, here we are, of Mr. Robert Morris. See, a candle in every window. Ah, how brilliantly they've lighted the house in your honor. Surely not brilliantly lighted after seeing the colors of their side. It may be monstrous patriotic, I mean. But somehow the smallest candle in Philadelphia sheds more light than a thousand of King Louis Candleau. You're welcome, General. Thank you, Mr. Morris. You too, Dr. Franklin. Thank you. You follow me? My pleasure. Give the horses an exclamation of old Sam for a long day. Yes, sir. Will you come in, gentlemen? Our humble home is yours. Humble home, Mr. Morris? He's the most elegant in the state. Ah, Mr. Morris. It's a pleasure to be here with you and your wife in happier circumstances. Each time we met during the revolution, sir, you were near bankruptcy because of your loans to us. I remember. Will you take chairs, gentlemen? Thank you. Yeah. Mr. Morris, may I? Yes, thank you, General. Ah, it's a curious thing, Dr. Franklin. But whenever I see this charming lady, even at her most bewitching gowns, I can think of nothing gallant to say because my mind prosaically reverts to shirts. Yes, General. Oh, yes, those shirts. There were hundreds, weren't there, General? Yes, Mr. Morris, there were. Simple articles worn by all manner of men, rich or poor, yet, when I think of you and those shirts, Mr. Morris, I think of the time when our men had none to their backs. And it was at the place they named after you, sir, Morris Town, in the winter of 1780. Morris Town. We'd believed the winter before that nothing could be as bad as Valley Forge, and it was. Poor remnants of the army were struggling to ward off. General, I can no longer stand by and watch the sufferings of the men. Surely there is something. If the men can stand it, Colonel Hamilton, we must stand it, too. What snow and ice and below zero weather, and the men wrapping tattered pieces of blanket around their bare shoulders. How can you sit there so impassive? This is not new to me, lad, nor to them. You were not at Valley Forge last year. I heard of the bloody footprints and the snow, but I didn't believe it. We've got to help them find supplies, issue something. Issue? In God's name, issue what? Without money, without provisions, without clothing. Our troops are fast approaching nakedness. Our hospitals without medicine, our sick without nutriment. In short, sir, we live upon devices and expedience. Somehow we must go on. For years it may be we must go on. We must go on. Yes, my friends, that's the way it was then. Men and long after. Devices and expedience. Yet here we sit, drinking wine before a fire. And the days of the revolution seem so far off. Yet Morristown went on and on. While you, Mr. Morris, were pledging your own credit to keep the colonies growing, your good lady and her friends somehow scraped up money for the army. An incredible sum to be spent on shirts for the naked backs of soldiers. So you see, Mr. Morris, when I see you, I see shirts. I hardly know what to say. I do. A toast, Mr. Morris, to the women of Pennsylvania. With your permission, Mr. Franklin, a toast to the women of the United States. And more toasts at every stop as the inaugural coach rolls up through the green hills of Pennsylvania to Coven's ferry with Trenton just across the wide Delaware and thousands lining the banks on the Trenton side, cheering and waving to the inaugural coach, slowly moving towards the Montefairy boat. Decked with blue Liberty caps and an unfamiliar new striped and starred flag. A wonderful scene for a man to see. Even a tired man. What do the people and the sun striking on the Delaware water seem to fade away? Does the wind and sleet of another crossing blow instead? And the sound of oarlocks muffled with woollen and the ice scraping and bumping along boats. Boats filled with ill-clad soldiers stealthily crossing the Delaware. Crossing on Christmas night to swoop down on the Hessians roistering in Trenton taverns. Does another day look down on this joyful inaugural crowd at Trenton? General, may I fetch your great coat? You're shivering, yet the day is warm and sunlit. And on up through New Jersey, through Princeton, Kingston and New Brunswick and finally Elizabeth Town, out of the coach and away from so many ghosts and grim memories, out onto New York Bay aboard a special inaugural barge down for the foot of Wall Street. Past ships and rowboats and frigates full of cheering people. And now, another boat drawing alongside the inaugural barge. And Washington's old aide to come, Alexander Hamilton, coming aboard. Very pleasant to see you again, Colonel. I couldn't stay away, sir. Would you expect a vain man not to be where all could gaze on him? With you, they should be cheering, lad. Your Federalist papers which brought New York into the Union. Then how, Mr. Vice President, John Adams must be cursing me. Why, he's worried himself into a prostration over the inaugural problems. His latest will to the Senate goes something like this. Gentlemen, I am President of the Senate. Yet, when the President comes into the Senate, what shall I be? I cannot be President then. I cannot, I cannot. Exactly the voice of Mr. Adams. Look ahead there to New York and all those people. Sir, you should be laughing with joy. Yes, it is a miracle indeed. Settled by Belgians, seized by the Dutch, conquered by the English, full of Scots and French. Yet today, all Americans. Well then, Mr. President, smile, laugh, enjoy life. This is only the beginning, smallest beginning. The real struggle is ahead of us. Now we must build on the freedom we've won and heal hatreds, learn unity. At a time where a statesman and a politician, young Madison or Tom Jefferson, dear wise, political Ben Franklin, you should not have chosen a rough, untactful old soldier. It shouldn't be. You're wrong, sir. Listen, they sing to you aboard that suit. Had to begin the long journey of these United States. April 30th, 1789, the final day of this journey up from Mount Vernon. The first day of a new nation. At high noon, a procession is starting from the presidential mansion toward Federal Hall. Troops of horses and artillery, companies of grenadiers and infantry, battalions of sharp shooters, soldiers in full regalia, in a hollow square facing Federal Hall, straight lines of soldiers, impassive, uniforms glittering in the sunlight, and then behind them the new citizens of a new nation see the great, open coach and the brilliant parade moving up through cheering crowds up Wall Street, past Trinity Church in St. Paul's, where he worships. And now they see him. See him standing in the sunlight, a tall, loose figure, clad in simple brown. And now the parade comes to a halt in front of Federal Hall, beneath the great golden eagle, poised among 13 shining stars far up on the cornice. And in a few minutes, Chancellor Livingston stands on the balcony at the party of gentlemen. Behind them, doors open, and the chancler's voice rings out to the throngs below. You do solemnly swear that you will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States and will to the best of your ability preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. I solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of the President of the United States and I will to the best of my ability preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me God. Long live George Washington, President of the United States. The invisible hand of the almighty being guide the people of the United States to wise measures. For our free government must win the affection of its citizens and command the respect of the world. The preservation of the sacred fire of liberty and the destiny of the Republican form of government are justly considered as deeply, perhaps finally, staked on the experiment entrusted to the American people. For their portrayal of George Washington's momentous journey that ended in New York with his inauguration as our nation's first president and our DuPont brings you news of chemistry at work in our world. Everyone has seen pictures of Mount Vernon, Washington's home, white and gracious among its stately trees. Its white paint was once a mark of distinction but not a lasting one for the paint of those days had to be replaced with discouraging frequency. Washington, the practical economist would no doubt have been pleased with modern house paints which actually clean themselves. DuPont chemists now make a paint for out of doors which starts white and stays white for it literally washes itself. You put it on and a few months later or a little longer if there are unusual climate or dirt conditions in your neighborhood a fine white powder forms on the surface. The first heavy rain washes off the powder and takes the dirt along with it. Few people have any idea how much progress has been made in paint chemistry. Take a single color, ivory. Ivory is one of the simplest colors. Old-fashioned painters used to mix it by stirring a little raw umber into a bucket of white. Here's how DuPont chemists mix interior gloss ivory. It is made from titanium oxide and calcium sulfate in a mixture of vegetable drying oils, lead naphthenate and a mineral solvent, a reaction product of lead and manganese with linoleic acid and a petroleum solvent, chrome yellow ground in linseed oil, chrome orange. Well, that gives you some idea. DuPont paint chemists have to be familiar with over 900 raw materials that are used in present-day manufacture of paints. In its preparation, a modern paint is complicated. Miles of pipe, tanks the size of houses, tons of material that must be carefully weighed, months of research, the labor of dozens of chemists and hundreds of operators, the pretesting of every ingredient, the testing of intermediate materials, the testing of the finished product. All of that goes into a quart of interior gloss ivory that costs you a few cents more than a dollar. Modern paints aren't better just because they last longer, although they do last longer. Paint chemists are proud of today's paints because they sit up and do tricks. Tricks of specialization. Automobile lacquers, for example. Thanks to DuCo Lacquer, the finishing of an automobile has been cut from many days to a few hours. Because this helps speed up production, it is one of the reasons why you pay less for your car today. And because DuCo is made to match all current automobile colors, you pay less money if you bump a fender and need to have it touched up. And a word about variety of color. The old masters knew only about 30 pigments all told. DuPont makes 12,000 colors based on blends of pigments and lakes that once were never dreamed of. And from DuPont laboratories comes a steady stream of new pigments to improve the permanence of appearance of finishes and widen the range of attractive colors. America is a brighter, gayer place to live in today because paint chemists make their contribution to the DuPont pledge better things for better living through chemistry. And now the star of next week's program, Carl Swanson of the Cavalcade Players. Ladies and gentlemen, next week our play is taken from the life of the great American writer Edgar Allan Poe. It's a story of a dramatic walk through the rain on a night in 1849 when this strange, talented genius reviewed the story of his life. A life of shattered dreams out of which he created his masterpieces in poetry in the short story. We hope you'll join us for this broadcast next week. In support of John McIntyre as General Washington on this performance of the Cavalcade were George Cullorus as Colonel Humphries, William Johnstone as Alexander Hamilton, Carl Swanson as Dr. Franklin and Jeanette Nolan as Martha Washington. The narrator was Richard Stark. On the Cavalcade of America, your announcer is Clayton Collier and Best Wishes from DuPont.