 Presenting Anne Harding in Westward the Women with Walter Houston as Cavalcade's commentator on the Cavalcade of America sponsored by the DuPont Company. Maker of better things for better living through chemistry. Good evening friends, this is Walter Houston. Among those of us who are gathered in the studio to bring you tonight's Cavalcade play is our brilliant and well-loved star, Miss Anne Harding. A stately blonde and beautiful woman whom so many of you enjoyed in such hits as the Trial of Mary Dugan, the Animal Kingdom and recent films in one of which I had the pleasure of appearing with her. By the way, the dynamic characters our star portrayed in those hit plays had butch in common with the heroine on tonight's Cavalcade play. Abigail Dunaway, a woman who would envy that young niece of mine who recently exercised her right to vote in the presidential election, she'd be envious, yes, and proud because it was Abigail Dunaway who fought to win a number of the women's rights which we now take for granted. Abigail Scott Dunaway lived almost a hundred years ago in the burgeoning West and what was then the Oregon Territory? She defied the criticism of both men and women to run newspaper, to speak and argue and fight without let up for the legal political rights for women which were then reserved only for men. To begin Abigail's story, let's begin with the man in her life. I'm just Ben Dunaway who married Abigail Scott. I'm a plain, average man and I thought I'd marry that kind of woman but no sir, Abby wasn't plain and she wasn't average. I never could quite keep up with her but I always had to try. She was an Illinois girl but her father got the Western fever and took the long trek across to Oregon. When I started into court, Abby, she was teaching in a little country school. Now Ben, you've got to keep quiet. I have all these papers to correct and I have a headache. But Abby, you promised. Promise what? You promised to tell me this afternoon. Oh, oh yes. Oh, I don't know, Ben. This is a hard country for women. Not if you have a man with you. I'm not working now. Well, it's not much but still it's a living. But I'd always make a living for you. For me, yes. But I wouldn't have so much of a crust of bread in my own right. Why, Abby? If I married you, I'd always be beholden to you. To me? Well, you'd be my wife, Abby. I keep remembering my mother, Ben. What a hard life she had killed her, I guess. And I remember something she said about being a woman. Abby, you mustn't think this way. It was right after my little sister was born and mother looked down into the crib and she was crying and she said, poor baby, poor little baby, going to grow up to be just another woman. You know why you talk this way? You're tired, Abby. Well, of course I'm tired. You're tired of taking care of all these mean kids and worrying yourself sick. Abby, honest, it won't be like that, like your mother. If you'll only marry me. Honest, Abby, I'll make you happy. I promise I will. I talked her into it. I believed what I said and I tried. But Abby had it pretty hard, all the same. There was all the work of a farm and I, well, it was a lot my fault. I didn't always manage to do it. Yes, ma'am. I got a sinner's turn and it brought us all the men come in to supper to see about baby. Baby's all right, ma'am. He's just hungry. Well, he'll have to wait. Is father back here? No, ma'am. But there's some men riding up the road. Oh, Mercer. I hope your father hasn't asked anybody into supper. It's only a way hotel. That's what I call this place. I don't set the table, ma'am. Yes, and get some of those pear preserves and cut up three loads of bread. Quick, somebody's on the porch now. All right, ma'am. Yes, come in. Why? Why, good evening, Sheriff. Good evening, Mrs. Dunaway. Ben here. No, but supple be ready in a minute. Come right into town. I didn't really come for supper, Mrs. Dunaway. Oh, something wrong? I come to give you this. What is it? It's a summons, ma'am. Well, your husband went security for Ed Barton. Maybe you didn't know. Yes, I knew. Well, Ed skipped out and left the state and the notes are due now. Oh, then they're going to take the farm. I guess that's it, ma'am. I'm going to lose my home because Ben signed those papers. That's the law, yes. The law. I didn't sign those notes and I didn't want Ben to sign them. But he went ahead and now they'll take my home and I can't prevent it. What kind of a law is that? I'm just telling you how it is, ma'am. Yes, that's how it is. Now, we'll lose the farm and I can't stop that. But someday, Sheriff, things are going to be different, that's why. Things have got to be different. We lost the farm. But Abby didn't blame me. At least she didn't rub it in. The fact is I think she was kind of glad because we had to move into town. Abby always liked it, better in town. Then I had my accident with a runaway horse. That's why I'm still in the wheelchair. But Abby had to take hold and earn the living. At first, she taught school, taught for four years, but she'd always wanted to open a lady's store. She wasn't satisfied until she did. She wangled $1,200 credit with a Portland wholesaler and opened a fine millinery and notion store. She did good too. Paid back that $1,200 in three weeks to build up a thriving business. Of course, a lot of folks disapprove. Delia, I don't want to go in here. Good mother, Mrs. Dunaway has the nicest things in town. Let's go with my arm, Delia. Don't have to drag me. Delia. Good morning, Mrs. Dunaway. Now, what can I show you? These new problems, they've just come in very newest patterns. Well, I really don't need any biscuits. Oh, mother, let's look. I'll be right out, Chet. Meet you at the feed store. All right, but don't find nothing else, Judith. No, Chet, I won't. Abby, quick. I want to change these hats. Excuse me, just a minute, Mrs. Cain. Go right ahead. I want to get those others you showed me, Abby, the blue one and the pink one. Chet doesn't know a hat from a horse collar, and I'm not going to have my little girls going around looking tacky. Oh, but these hats will be four dollars more, Judith. Well, here's two dollars and thirty cents. I'll get the rest by next week, and don't read a word to Chet. Well, all right, Judith. Here, I'll just put him in the same bag. Thank you, Abby. And please don't say anything. No, no, I won't. Chet will pay only. He won't know it. Goodbye, Abby. Goodbye, Judith. Well, Mrs. Cain, see something there you like? No. And I think it's scandalous, Mrs. Dunaway. What's that? Listening to you plot for the woman to rob a husband. What do you mean with Julia just now? Yes, I think it's terrible. Oh, Mrs. Cain, it works for the little tricks women play on their husbands. I'd go bankrupt, so would every other storekeeper. Well, it's just not right. No, no, it isn't right. Every woman should have money of her own so she could have some self-respect. A good Christian woman has self-respect anyway, Mrs. Dunaway. Well, I've seen a lot of women in this shot, Mrs. Cain. I'll tell you what I think. Half of us are dolls. Half of us are drudges. All of us are fools. Mrs. Dunaway, I won't be such a... Why, hello, Annie. Come in. Good morning. Good morning, Mrs. Beasley. We're just leaving. Come be here. But, mama, I want some of that rick-rack great for my mulberry cake. We'll get it somewhere else. What's wrong with her, Abby? She looks awful mad. Oh, just another woman who thinks I'm cramping on the sacred rite for husbands. Say, you look tired, Annie. Oh, I am. I walked all the way in. All the way from your farm? Yeah. Well, why don't your husband bring you? Oh, he's out riding his new horse. Oh, I hate to tell you what that horse cost. More than me and the girls had spend on ourselves in five years. He took all my butter and egg money to help pay for it. He took your egg money to pay for a horse? And I've been promising the children new coats for so long. I told them that they worked hard and helped me make butter. They could have those coats this winter for sure. Annie, I'm so sorry. Oh, so I thought, well, you've helped out so many women in this town, Mrs. Dunaway. I thought maybe you could give me some sewing to do so that I can make some money. Well, I don't know, Annie. I can't think of anything right this minute. But I'll give you the cloth on credit and I'll cut it out for you, Michelle. Oh, he won't let me buy nothing on credit. Oh, there must be some way. Oh, look, Annie, there's your husband coming in now. Now, don't let him see you then cry. Annie, I told you he doesn't want you hanging around bothering Mrs. Dunaway. Well, I just came in for a second, Florence. And he's going to do some work for me, Mr. Beasley, and I'm going to make new coats for your little girl. My girls don't want no coats from you, Mrs. Dunaway. No, please. Seems like you're doing too much meddling around this town anyway. I've shown a few poor women how to make a living, Mr. Beasley, if you call that meddling. I do, ma'am. And my wife don't need any help from you. She's got everything she needs. Including a fine riding horse, too, I see. What horse? I mean the horse you bought with your wife's money. The horse you ride while your wife has to walk all the way into town. Now you look here. Mr. Beasley, why don't you give her her money back? Why don't you give her a chance? The boy began to look like Abby just couldn't keep her nose out of the folks business. She wasn't a nosy woman, not really. But she was the cause of a lot of tongue wagging. They had a rhyme, they said about her. Fiend devils him for what you will. You surely, your poor man, will kill with luckless days and sleepless nights, arraigning him with women's rights. Yes, Abby, that's what they said about you and about me. Or Ben Dunaway, they said. They wasted a lot of sympathy on me, all right. Well, I suppose you just got to put up with it, Ben. Well, I don't put up with anything. Oh, I mean sitting there in that wheelchair. You can't keep a tight reign on your wife. Shame on the way she takes advantage of you, Ben. What? See, are you talking about Abby? Why, who else? You got another wife? Well, I want you to know I couldn't ask for a better wife than Abby. You know, the children for a better mother. Well, that's true, Ben. But the way she gallivants around. Well, she does that. It may surprise you, but I like it. Well, I got a woman with gumption and ideas. Well, you know what she's going to do now? And she thought of it all herself. Something in town I wish she hadn't thought of, I'm sure. She's going to publish a newspaper. Yes, she's going to be a publisher. It'll be hard for folks to swallow, but I'll bet it'll be a good newspaper. The New Northwest published in Portland, Oregon, May 5th, 1871. Publisher and editor, Abigail Scott Dunaway. Well, Betty, what's to do now? Well, we need more items. The advice to read is calling Mrs. Dunaway. And here's a whole sack of letter. Oh, yes. Well, now let's see some of them. Oh, I'll answer this one. Dear Jemima K., you need not make yourself a skirt with a train. Hope you're going to be a sensible help me to your future husband. And if so, you must begin by dressing sensibly. Dressing sensibly. Oh, Mrs. Dunaway, I have two dresses with trains. Yes, dear. Well, you are the farmer's wife. Well, now, here's no smart woman want something to do. Experience seems crisp on business experience. Oh, yes. Well, why don't you consider opening a shirt factory? We could assist you to buy linen, muslin, buttons and thread at wholesale prices and can give you exact pattern of the most celebrated style. One hour just a minute, Betty. Come in. Morning, Mrs. Dunaway. Come to get my sister. Oh, but I'm not through, Prentice. I got all these letters. I'm not sure to come home right this minute and never set foot in this office again. And why, young man, if I may ask? We don't want our sister associating with a woman like you. Prentice! Young man, I've raised five sons. And I'll tell you this. If you were five years younger, I'd give you a good spanking. Be so kind as to read the editorial and the chronicle, Mrs. Dunaway. I must tell, but I'll never speak to you again. Pa, neither. I'm 18 years old and I have a perfect right to... Who wrote this terrible thing? The editor of the chronicle, ma'am. And Pa says every word of it must be true. Let me see. The sort of woman who travels about the country, living in hotel rooms, smoking and drinking and... Oh, Mrs. Dunaway. What's a bat? Batch in nearly an orgy? I can't tell you, Betty. I've never seen one. But I'm going home now to talk to my son. And then I'm going down to that editor and ask him to give me his definition. If he has one. A listening to Anne Harding, as Abigail Dunaway in Westward the Women. On the cavalcade of America, sponsored by the department company of women can Delaware, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. Made Abigail's blood boil when the sheriff came around to foreclose the mortgage on her Oregon farm. All because of a note her husband had gone security on. Abigail couldn't do anything about it because in those days, during the last century, her husband had a legal right to nearly all his wife's property. But Abigail's Scott Dunaway was different. She did something about winning rights for women and her fight took her thousands of miles. As our story continues, Abigail, now the editor of a woman's newspaper, has read a libelous attack on herself on the editorial page of another newspaper. It has taken the editorial home to discuss it with her husband and five sons. Clied. Clied. Yes, ma. In here. Who are those men on the porch, Clyde? I don't know them. They're waiting for me, ma. Are the other boys around? I want to talk to you about something. No, they're not, ma. Well, it's about this newspaper. It's got an editorial. You don't call that dirty piece of fly spec wood bulb a newspaper. Then you've seen the editorial. Yes, ma. I'm sorry you read it, son. I wanted to talk to you first. But go find the other boys, Clyde, before they read it. They've read it. Oh, no. Where are they? I've got to talk. They're in jail, ma, all together. Jail. And that's where the gentleman on the porch is taking me. Oh, Clyde, what have you done? Well, we read the editorial, ma. We couldn't stand it having those lies told about you. Yes, son. So we went right down to the chronic on. Pay a little call on the editor. We won't be writing any more stories about you. Maybe you won't even feel well enough to publish the paper for a few days. Oh, Clyde, how good are you at raising bail, ma? Abby raised the bail all right. And she got all the boys off with just their scolding from the judge. After all, everyone in town knew they were in the right, defending the name of their mother. But Abby was always in hot water. She said, if I stopped to worry about what people think, I'd never get anything done. But there were lots of things women didn't do in those days. Nice women, anyway. Nice women didn't ride alone on river steam. You can ride, lady, but you make no speeches and take up new collections on my boat. Very well, captain. And the front section up there is reserved for first-class passengers who've made reservations in advance. Oh, I don't mind. I guess there's room back here for me. May I sit down beside you, ma'am? There reckon you can. You're hard traveling with children, isn't it? Yes, ma'am. There are lots to manage, even staying in one place. But I can't give them away like that old Mrs. Dunaway did with her. Is that what they say about her? Well, then, let old Mrs. Dunaway hold your baby for a while so you can get some rest. Nice women didn't travel alone on river steamers or on stagecoaches, either, if they could help it. Or if they did ride on stagecoach, they didn't sit up in front with the driver. First time I ever had a lady set up here. Well, I like it. Keeps me out of the dust and I can get a good look at the country. If I get to heaven, I'm going to ask St. Peter to let me be an usher. So I can sell hard-working stagecoach drivers the best seats. Well, ma'am, if you put it like that, I reckon I'll have to come and hear you talk tonight. If we're there in time, I never did see a woman get up and talk in public. I'll do my best, Mr. Driver, especially for you. But I'll tell you how I feel about the women making speeches. Like a hen, I saw one stand on a fence trying to crawl, but she didn't do so good. Well, sir, once I saw Rooster trying to set on a nest of eggs, and he didn't do so good either. Nice women didn't travel around the country making speeches, but Abby did. She had one idea, and she wasn't going to let anything stop her. But she had all kinds of trouble. Sometimes it wasn't a place to sleep or eat. Lots of times she had trouble even finding a place to sleep. I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't find the key to the hall nowhere, and you can't get in without it. Well, last week you rented the hall to an Indian medicine show the week before to the Pixley sisters, and their daring song and dance act. Key wasn't lost then. It's lost now, ma'am. That's all I know. Well, we'd be glad to venture the ladies' aid problem. This is done away. But we have to know how you stand in regard to the temperance movement. Well, I'm a temperance woman myself. My husband's a sober man, and so are my son. But I don't think that temperance should be linked with women's rights. Don't you believe in prohibition, Mrs. Dunaway? I don't think we should try to impose restrictions on others when we're seeking freedom for ourselves. Oh, well, Mrs. Dunaway, in that case. I know. In that case, I can't speak in your hall. Mrs. Dunaway, Mrs. Dunaway. Yes? You're looking for a hall to seek in, aren't you? Oh, yes. You know of one? Well, I'm one of the girls who dances over at Joe's place. And Joe has a big back room in his place that I know he'd let you use. Yes, but, well, Joe's place is a saloon, isn't it? But you have to speak somewhere, Mrs. Dunaway. And I'm sure it'll be hunky-dory with Joe. Well, the Lord preserved me from the ladies' aid, but I guess it'll have to be hunky-dory with me. Call me a bit here, Joe. An awful quiet here tonight. Why does everybody have? They're in the back room listening to a lady make a speech. A lady? That's right. That's Mrs. Dunaway woman. She's talking on women's rights. Well, come on, let's listen. It might be fun, but I'll be back for that beer, Joe. You can drive a horse to water, but you can't make him great. And you'll never get any man to grant you rights unless you first convince him that you won't crample on his rights. And now I'll be glad to answer any questions. Yes? Mrs. Dunaway, if women had equal rights, they'd have to serve on juries, wouldn't they? Sometimes. But what would a woman do shut up in a room with 11 men? Well, most women have learned how to handle at least one man, so I don't think the other 10 ought to give them much trouble. If your teeth were right, you weren't, you got to have equal duties. You ready to shoulder a gun and fight men? I'd shoulder a gun if I had to. Women are mothers, you know. There's not much you can teach them about pain and suffering and danger. We don't want women to be men. I wouldn't be a man if I could. Better watch out, boys. First thing you know, she'll have your wives are walking out on you. I'm shown very good judgment. I got a husband and five sons. Well, congratulations, boys. Gentlemen, I know better than anyone that a home without a man in it is only half a home. But I'm here to convince you of one other thing, that a government without women in it is only half a government. Abby had one idea and she worked hard for it. Finally, she won. One after another, the states of the union voted for women's rights, Oregon in 1912. But maybe because I'm just Abigail Scott Dunaway's husband, I remember best of all a day years before Abby's long fight was finished, a day when Abby had to talk with me. She'd wheel me out in the back garden in my wheelchair. Oh, there's a lot of sign over here by the nurses, Ben. Yes, it's good. Abby, I wonder how you find time to do so much. So much? Why, just do what any wife and mother does. You stop right there, Abby. You do what every wife and mother does and you run a business and you travel around making speeches and you publish your newspaper. And you can find time to plant Mr. Sheen. Oh, I just have to have a gardener. Remember, Abby, when I asked you to marry me? Now I told you I'd take care of you? Yes, then of course I remember. Honest, Abby, I meant it, Ben. And it doesn't so well, have I? Ben Dunaway, you listen to me. Yeah? I think all the foolish talk goes on about me finally beginning to worry you. No, it isn't, Abby. Really, it is. Well, just in case it is, let's understand things, Ben. You have taken care of me, better than any man. It isn't earning a living that counts. Would have been easier for you. I didn't have enough work taken off a woman's shoulders. It's having a husband who knows and understands, who knows marriage is a partnership, who knows that God created both men and women and gave them dominion over every living thing in the world, but didn't give them dominion over each other. Thanks to you, Anne Harding, and to all the cares that tonight departs Cavalcade. Rapid action is being taken at the Remington Arms Company to meet the War Department's recent request for increased production of small arms ammunition. Military schedules sharply reduced by the government earlier in the year have been partially restored. Now here is Gail Whitman with a statement from Mr. C.K. Davis, President and General Manager of the Remington Arms Company, an affiliate of the DuPont Company. As Mr. Davis says, I quote, it is understandable that the public may be somewhat confused by the recent developments with respect to small arms ammunition requirements. Brigadier General James Kirk, Chief Ordnance Department, Small Arms Division, recently pointed out that there's been no frontline shortage of such ammunition. The supply line to the battlefronts has been kept full. The small arms ammunition industry has met every test and come through with flying colors. But with stockpiles now being drawn on more heavily, than had been anticipated, an immediate increase in production is imperative to prevent even the possibility of a shortage. So said General Kirk. And Mr. Davis goes on to say, about a year ago the government reduced its program substantially because of the large inventories of small arms ammunition then existing and considered adequate for future needs. We received orders to discontinue ammunition manufacture at four government-owned ordnance plants which we operated, also to reduce production activity, greatly, at the Bridgeport Connecticut plant, and at the Remington-operated Lake City Ordnance Plant in Missouri. With reduced military requirements, the War Production Board ordered a limited quantity of commercial types of ammunition for essential civilian requirements, such as controlling predatory animals and pests, preventing damage to crops and forage, and increasing the nation's food supply. Remington and other manufacturers who had facilities for making such ammunition were told how much to make and how to distribute it. It is part of industry's war job to expect and deal promptly with changing military requirements caused by the fluidity of war. The Army's request for increased production must and will be met. We are moving ahead rapidly on plans to expand the production of military items. At the government's direction, we have discontinued all essential civilian ammunition manufacture, and employees are moving into military operations. To produce and deliver what the Army calls for, we have gone back to round-the-clock operation at both the Bridgeport and Lake City plants. The men and women of these plants have a record second to none in producing high-quality ammunition for the armed forces and delivering it on time. They have always met production scheduled in the past, and I'm confident we'll continue to do so." And now, Walter Houston. Next week, the Cavalcade of America will bring you Lieutenant William Holden with Army Air Force personnel in name-rank serial number, a story of an enemy weapon less known but more deadly than the robot bomb. Based on authentic records of G2 of the Army Air Forces and released for the first time to the general public, name-rank serial number illustrates graphically how Nazi intelligence officers gathered bits of information from captured American air crews, which, when put together, tell the story of future Allied operations. There's a startling inside picture of what can and does happen when one captured crew member relaxes for just one instant, when he makes one slip, thus bringing down death on his comrades. This next Monday, the name-rank serial number on the Cavalcade of America. This is Walter Houston thanking you and wishing you health and happiness in this new year. Tonight's Cavalcade play was based on Nancy Wilson Ross' book West with the Women and adapted for radio by Turner Bullock. The music was composed and conducted by Robert Ambruster, which is Gain Whitman sending you season's greetings on behalf of Cavalcade sponsor E.I. DuPont de Nemours and Company of Wilmington, Delaware. This is the National Broadcasting Governor.