 The Cavalcade of America presented by DuPont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. The Cavalcade of America presents Carl Swenson in the story of Joel Chandler Harris, an original radio play written by Arthur Miller. Joel Chandler Harris, recognized throughout the world as one of our nation's great writers of folklore, whose tales of Uncle Remus have endeared him to millions. Supporting Carl Swenson and the role of Joel Chandler Harris are the Cavalcade players. Our orchestra and the original musical score are under the direction of Don Buries. DuPont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry, presents Carl Swenson as Joel Chandler Harris on the Cavalcade of America. Tom took him time and then he took this year, Tau baby, and he sat her on the big road. He put her on the road, Uncle Tau? Yeah, and then you see, he snuck off in the bushes and he waved. But not long, he's by and by here come Brure rabbit, pacing down the road, clippity, clippity, clippity, clippity, clippity. And he spied the Tau baby, didn't he? Yeah, and he fought you up on his behind legs like it was astonished. Morning, says he to the Tau baby. Nice weather this morning, says he. And the fox still hardly, huh? Yeah, so right in the bushes. Well, Tau baby ain't sayin' nothin'. So Brure rabbit he say, Is you deep? Cause if you is, I can holler louder. Says he. Tau baby stays still. And Brure fox, he lay low. You, you stuck up? That's what you is? Says Brure rabbit. I'm gonna learn you how to talk to speckable folks, if it's the last act, says he. And blip, Brure rabbit took her side of the head and his fist stuck, can't pull loose. Not his old uncle tail? Uh-uh. And Brure fox, he lay low. Then Brure rabbit, he watched the Tau baby or wipe with the other hand. And that stuck? Yeah, two hands stuck. And then he butted and his head got stuck. Oh, Brure fox got him now. He got him. Wait, wait, wait, wait. Wait up now. Brure fox, he sauntered over looking just as innocent as one of your mockingbirds. Howdy, Brure rabbit. Say Brure fox, you're looking sorta stuck up this morning. And then he rolled on the ground and laughed cause he couldn't laugh no more. Then he ate up real rapid, didn't he? Well, uh, that depends, Joe. Now some folks say that Brure fox laughed itself so sick, he just couldn't think about eating nothing. That boy listening was Joe Chandler Harris. In the shadow of that old slave's cabin, he spent his childhood listening to the strange adventures of Brure rabbit. And when he grew older, Joe took a job on the plantation helping Mr. Turner the owner who published a country newspaper on the premises. But always he was drawn back to Uncle Tarrell and together they'd pass the afternoons talking or following the trails in the woods nearby. Oh, look what you did now, Tarrell. You scared him all. Oh, that don't look like no biocup to me. It looked to me like a plain little pussycat. Shh. Listen to that. What the? Those birds. Oh, them fences, they all is talking. Talking? Huh? Yeah, well, don't laugh now. When the sun come out nice and warm, fences is talking this bird. Tarrell, you know what you never told me? What did I never tell you? Did you make up all the stories of Brure rabbit and Brure fox and the rest? Who me? Lord, no. Them stories is before my daddy and before most folks was even born. Well, who made them up then? How do I know? I know the fellow wants to say that Brure rabbit come over on the slave ships from Africa, he say. But I wasn't there, so I ain't vouching for the liability of the count. Joe! Joey! Oh, I better get back to the house. I come in! See you later, Uncle. Yeah, you come all around to the cabin and we see what we can find out about what them birds is talking about. I'll be there. Bye. Oh, the man went so far as to write you a letter all the way from Macon. He must be convinced you're good enough to hold a job. Yeah, but that's a big city newspaper. You've got to be a real newspaper manager. Oh, look here. You've got plenty of experience in all the ways that they ate. And many down there has read the books you have. Well, it ain't that, Mr. Turner. They're going to laugh at me. Well, I hope you know what to think of a man who would laugh at a boy because his little thing's got red hair. No, I mean my stutter. I can't talk well. I better stay here. Now, staying here ain't good. You're only going to get your no place. The time's changing, Joe. It's the big cities where a man can make something of himself. You've got too much in you to be hiding that out here. There's just one thing I want to tell you, though. They say now that if a man's got money, there ain't nothing else he needs. I just hope that if I didn't teach you anything else, you'll learn to be yourself, just what you are and what nobody will pay you to become. I guess there's a lot of things I want to thank you for, Mr. Turner. Go on, pack your trunk. Stop thinking that a man only is as good as he looks in the mirror. It ain't so, Harris. I don't guess it ever was. Hello in the house again. I'm all right, Miss Stark. Just let me be. What's the matter with you? Everybody in Lincoln's at the dance. Well, I just feel like sitting here. That's all. I've paid my rent, don't I? I don't understand it. You've been known all over the South, a famous newspaper man, and what you do but sit shut up by yourself. Yeah, I guess it sounds all simple and stupid. But maybe you can tell me how being famous helps any when you got red hair and when you talk like a cricket and you look like a fins post. Did Estie turn you down, Joe? No. She didn't get a chance to, because I didn't ask her. Oh, you said you were going to. You've been saying that for three years, in fact. Well, I couldn't. I just couldn't get myself up to do it. Then why not go over now? Right now. She's gone back to Canada. She left this afternoon. Oh, Joe, you're poor. No, I ain't a poor nothing. I'm a fool. That's what I am. Estie loves me. I know. I mean, I bet she does. Everybody knows she does. Well, sure. Here I've been sitting around for three years eating out my heart for her and living right next door. Now, who ever heard of such a thing? That's the way to talk. You go to Canada. Sure. I'll write her a letter. Oh, Joe. That's no way to propose why you were... No, no, no, no, no. I couldn't. I couldn't ask her straight up to her face. I just can't do that. I know the trouble with you. You never practiced how to meet people. It's something you've got to learn just like writing. No, I just wasn't meant to be seen. That's all there is to it. Joe, let me teach you. Well, that's visitors for you. I'd better go upstairs. Here's your chance. They're two lovely young ladies. Let me out. Joe, people want to see you. They're all talking about you. Let me through that door, Mrs. Dahl. You can't get out without passing the front door now. And I'm going over there. No, let me go upstairs. No, you're going to meet these girls. No. Joe, come away from that window. Joe! Oh, Lord, you've got to jump clear down to the wall. Ever since you come back from Canada, I've wanted to bring you out to the park here. You like it? It's very nice, Joe. Yeah. Now, I never thought there'd be so many birds in Savannah. There's probably even more than you've seen. Yeah. And there's a grass. Isn't the grass there? Yes, Joe. Yeah. Oh, then you know, I see. Know what, Joe? Well, what I'm trying to... You know what I did my first day here in Savannah? I ran for a trolley car. Everybody turned around to see a man running in Savannah. Especially for a trolley, you know. Yes, Joe. Now, I'm making $40 a week. That's a lot of money, isn't it? Well, it's just about twice what I need, see. That is for myself alone. Well, we'll just have to figure out how you can spend more. Oh, yes, see, I know I look like a fence post. Oh, Joe. And you're so pretty I could cry tears. Joe, in the past. Well, I just feel that I can say it now, Essie. Please let me. I don't have a slightest idea what you... Essie, I love you. I'm glad, Joe. Well, you don't mean that you kind of like me, Essie. Kind of? Essie. Now, I know I ain't much, but my stuff is being reprinted all over the country now. And a lot of people think I'm going to turn into a kind of a writer someday. And I was sort of thinking that it wasn't too selfish of me to ask you to marry me. All right, Joe. Essie. Joe, we're in the past. Yes, I did it. I did it. I just want to ask you one question, Joe. And I want the answer from your heart. Essie, you know I couldn't lie. Then tell me, why do you love me? Why? You ought to be able to answer that, Joe. Well, principally because I can't help it. Don't care how good he is. If a man can't tend to his job, he's got no place in the Atlantic Constitution. Well, maybe you're right. I just said that... Oh, here he is. Sit down, Harris. Oh, thank you. Harris is the third-day hand-run that Sam Smalling showed up here to write his Uncle Sy column. Everybody in his mother's writing and asking, where is Uncle Sy? We've just got to have an Uncle Sy column for tomorrow's paper. Oh, well, I could go look for Sam. He's usually over... No, Joe, no. I want you to write it. Me? Oh, no, I'm... I'm only a newspaper man. Sam Small is a writer. You're a writer, Joe. Unless I'm a bigger fool than I think I am, there ain't a better writer than South today. Well, that's not the point. See, I'm... all right at a short paragraph and at editorial page jokes, but this, you know, this needs a story-maker and artist. Well, why can't you write stories, Joe? I... Well, I... it's like asking an aunt to fly. No, it's too bad I don't agree with you, Joe. Now, just sit down. You can have my aunt. Now, Captain Howell, it just ain't... Joe, Harris, take your head in your two hands and knock me out of the story for tomorrow's paper. No, not just a minute. Now, good luck, Joe, and make it good. Yeah, but I... what do you think I am? Pull a story out of the air just like... I can't write a... maybe something about the plantation that our... maybe... maybe Brar Radd. There was an old man, and his name was Uncle... Uncle Remus, and he liked to sit with a little boy eating hotcakes around an old duck's nose. Why don't you smile? Now, look at this mail you're getting. Oh, it's... wonderful. I... I think it's just... wonderful. Oh, look at him, will you? Old country going crazy about Uncle Remus, and the office stands there like an undertaker. Now, what's wrong, Joe? Why don't you read the mail? Yeah. Well, I looked at a lot of the letters. I'm... I'm just so grateful. I... I don't quite know what to say. Grateful. Man, you ought to be proud. Look at these sacks of mail and all for you. Well, no, Captain Howell. I kind of think these letters are for Uncle Remus and Brar Radd. Uncle Remus. Hundreds of people have heard stories about Brar Radd. Who took a writer. Yes, sir. And a great writer to put him down. Oh. I... I don't get the feeling I'm writing stories when I write Uncle Remus. I... I feel like I'm saying what millions have said in the darkness of night around open fires, you know, or in the noon-day rest in the fields or in the orchards of a thousand farms. It's like my hand is kind of helping America to remember a time in her history that's passing away now. When the world had room enough on the old colored man, the little boy, to set half the clock around talking and listening while the red fox sniffed behind the old smokehouse on a summer afternoon. See, that's what I want folks to find in these stories, Captain Howell. Kindliness and comradeship. That's Uncle Remus. Music Amy, we've got to clean house before Mr. Harris gets home. Better come here and help me get this furniture out into the hall. Mr. Harris ain't going to like moving to furniture. Dad man's terrible ginspring cleaning. Well, hurry and let's get it out before it comes back on the post office. Now, Izzy, watch that corner. Gotcha. Joe! Joe, you scared me near to death. Put that table down, Assie. You're snuck up behind my back, but sure as I'm alive, there ain't going to be no spring cleaning again this year. But Joe, the house has got to be clean. Assie, I don't see nothing dirty in this house. Because you don't look. Well, if you stop looking, then we'd both be happy. Assie, no, I can't stand it. It just makes me feel like you're turning me upside down and shaking me out. Oh, Joe, I don't know what I'm going to do with you. Well, you just sit down and let's look over my mail. Maybe you can go and see how the roasters come in and don't move nothing. It's a nice warm day and fine for just taking it easy. Yes, sir, Mr. Harry. Assie, got a little surprise for you. There's a letter here from Mark Twain. No. Let me open it. No, no, no. Now, we're going to leave that one for last. Now, here's one I started to read. It's from London. Professor from Cambridge University. There's, uh, there, Mr. Harris, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh. We have, uh, discovered that your identical Brea Rabbit stories are told by natives in India, Burma, the Amazon country, the Congo. Well, what do you know about that, Assie? Brea Rabbit sure done a mighty traveling, huh? Isn't it remarkable the same story? Well, it ain't so remarkable at that, you know. I guess when people get to feeling low, it's just as natural to make believe that they are a rabbit always escaping from the fox in India and Burma's it is anywhere else. What's this from the publisher? Oh, yeah, he says the Hungarian edition of Uncle Remus is off the press. Hungarian? Yeah. That's 27 languages, Remus, isn't it? Oh, Joe. Yeah. I almost feel like a somebody, Assie. You are, Joe. You're a famous writer all over the world. Oh, well, not really. Look what Mr. Riley said about you. Don't put. James Whitcombe Riley thinks I'm a great writer, mainly because I don't press my clothes either. Come on, Joe. Let's see what Mark Twain said. You're all right now. Now hold your breath. Let's see. Uh, uh, I guess I'm not the only one who thinks your work is worthy to live. I can tell you confidentially that within the next day or so, you'll be getting an invitation to visit Teddy Roosevelt at the White House. Joe! Now wait. Now look what else. I'll be there myself. So it'll be a fine chance to meet and talk things over. Joe, you're going. Oh, I can see in your face you don't want to go. Well, now look. Look, nothing. All your life you shied away from coming out and showing yourself. Why, you're famous, Joe. You're an important man. Yes. You're crying. Well, I want you to take your honors, Joe. So many do that don't deserve them. Well, I got my honors, eh, see? Uncle Remus is making kids laugh all over the world. That's enough for one man. And anyway, I don't feel at home with famous men. Literary men. Ain't it good enough knowing that they invited me? Joe, if you don't go, I'm never going to speak to you. Joe, now, Assie, don't talk. And I'm starting spring cleaning this minute. No, Assie, it takes ten years off my life. Maybe? No, all right, all right. I'm going to Washington. And if you ain't finished hair in the house apart when I get back, I'll burn it down over the both of us. Mr. Trayman, the president forgets how to laugh. Yeah, and haven't helped the president when the country forgets how to laugh. Mr. Harris, we were beating around the bush all evening. So I think it's time I got to the point. I want you to do me a favor. Oh, well, you know, anytime I can help out the president, and I got the time to spare, of course. I want you to tell me a rare rabbit story. Oh, now... I mean just the way they ought to be told. You know, when you read them, it's not the same as hearing them spoken with all the richness of the dialect. Come on now, Harris, tell me the one say, about how rare rabbit nips the cow. Go ahead, Joe. The first thing you know, you'll be raising your taxes. Yeah. What in the world is that? To the end of the window, Mr. Harris. Huh? My, my, the whole lawn is covered with children. Yes, they're calling for you, Mr. Harris. Oh, I can't go off there. You've got to say hello to them. Go on, Harris. You're the best friend some of them ever had. You're like a god to them. They've been brought up with rare rabbit in their cradle. Yeah, but they'll be disappointed now. They'll be expecting to see some kind of a great man or something. Oh, nonsense. They know you just as I know you. Not having seen a man's face in his hair, heard his voice doesn't mean you can't know him. Go on, go on, you're old friends. Take him to the door, Mr. Twain. Oh, why did anybody tell him I was here? Howdy, children. Don't nobody say howdy to me? You can't flip nothing over on you, can you? He must have down in Georgia just where he always was. And I'll be sure to tell him that you asked after him, and I'm sure that he sends you his most kindly regard. Funny. I, I wasn't nothing to him. Oh, that's not true, Mr. Harris. Yeah, yeah, it is, Mr. President. I might just as well be a streetcar conductor coming out the hair. It's Uncle Remus they know, and it's Uncle Remus they love. Why are you smiling, Mr. Harris? Well, Mr. President, I just realized that I finally got what I wanted. You know, in all of my work from beginning to end, I've been saying one thing. America has got to remember her roots, the plain people. She must never forget good neighborliness. Because this is more than a country, you know. It is the hope and the vision of all the people in the world. And I've tried to say that in the heart of my stories, and it looks now like the people have understood so well and made it so much their own, that Joel Chandler Harris has been dropped like a husk. You mustn't be that way, Joe. No, no, I see now that's what I wanted. See, I listened to the people, and I told them what I heard. And they given me back enough. There's only one thing that I seem to see before me now. The smiling faces of thousands of children. Some young and fresh, and somewhere in the friendly marks of age. And I seem to hear a voice above all the rest saying, you made some of us happy, Joe Harris. You've written Uncle Remus into history, Mr. Harris. Yeah, yeah. I guess I kind of wrote myself out of it. Carl Swenson and the cavalcade players for their performance of the story of Joel Chandler Harris, whose gentle stories of Uncle Remus have enriched the folk literature of our people. While to millions of readers all over the world, the popularity of this American author is exceeded only by the Bible, Shakespeare, and Pilgrim's progress. And now Dupont brings you news of chemistry at work in our world. In your home, you have at least one bristle brush. With a toothbrush, it may be a hairbrush. And if it's a new one with nylon bristles, you'll agree it's a better brush. Something like 90% of the toothbrushes manufactured in the United States during 1941, retailing at 20 cents or more, will be bristled with nylon filament. And bristles of nylon filament went into more than half of the white hairbrushes bought last year. But do you have any idea of how much industry depends on brushes? 50 million brushes a year are used in washing bottles alone. Just as nylon yarn revolutionized stockings, nylon bristles have revolutionized brushes. In electroplating, for example, silver and cadmium solutions eat away natural bristles in a short time. But nylon bristles are practically untouched by any normal plating solution. Vacuum cleaner brushes with nylon bristles, whirling around 3,000 times a minute, rubbing against heavy fabrics and gritty particles of dirt, are used for bristles four times. The textile industry makes use of shuttle brushes, tenter brushes, and any number of other kinds. In printing a fabric, a brush called a furniture carries the dye to the engraved metal rolls. Tampico fiber from Mexican cactus used to be best for furniture brushes, and even so, the printing rollers sometimes wore them out in a week. A nylon furniture brush has been on duty for more than a year now in one textile plant, and it's still working. The cleaning and dyeing industry related to textiles uses still more brushes. Whole batteries of them operate in rug cleaning machines, and there are spotting brushes that must resist carbon tetrachloride, ether, alcohol, chloroform, ammonia, oxalic acid, hyperchlorite of soda, a dozen strong cleaning solutions. Nylon brushes, because they stand up and don't fray out at the ends, give four times the service of old-style brushes. Do you know how they wash milk bottles? Two big whirling brushes scrub the outside of the bottles as they move past, and smaller power brushes scrub them inside. Bringing the sparkle back to three billion milk bottles a year, these brushes used to wear out because they couldn't stand boiling water and the strong acid and alkaline solutions that ensure sanitation. One large milk bottling plant reports nylon brushes in use for four months with no sign of wear. In fact, nylon bristles wear so long that in some cases today wooden brush handles and wooden cores go to pieces before the bristles do. The brushes have to be rebuilt with metal handles. Nylon bristles are serving industry today, saving time, energy, and money. They deserve honorable mention along with the other achievements of the chemist who brings us, in the words of the Dupont Pledge, better things for better living through chemistry. And now the star of next week's program, Edwin Jerome of the Cavalcade Players. I doubt if many of us know that the first time anybody ever flew in this country was during the 18th century. George Washington and Benjamin Franklin knew about it. In fact, they expressed themselves keenly about the future of American aviation as far back as 1796. This unusually astonishing story Cavalcade brings you next week in a play about a man Jean-Pierre Blanchard and his balloon. We hope you'll join us a week from tonight for his story on the Cavalcade of America. On the Cavalcade of America your announcer is Clayton Collier sending best wishes from Dupont. This is the national broadcasting company.