 The flags are singing the glory of the crown, The ears rambling of the vintage, Where the grapes of raffle store. Are you listening, Gresnan Lincoln? That's your theme song, sir. And you'll be hearing it plenty during these next few days. Because you see, sir, we still celebrate your birthday here in America. And that's why tonight a small group of us have gotten together to bring you a birthday present. The kind of present we know you like. It's a story, Mr. Lincoln. A story that's worth telling on this particular anniversary of your birth. Why, you ask? Well, you see, Mr. President, we're at war again. A group of men rose up in Europe to proclaim that they were going to enslave the world. They've said in effect that you were a liar, sir. They've said that all men are not created equal. That what they call the inferior and minority races can never amount to anything. And so we went to war with them. And we're beating them. And we're resolved that never again will their philosophy creep into the minds of men. But we know that it's not the color of a man's skin or the tenets of his creed that determine whether or not he can be great. And this story, one of hundreds we could tell you, proves that. It's the story of a man you freed from slavery, Mr. Lincoln, the simple story of a great American. The story of a man whose work in years gone by is now helping us to win this greatest of all wars. We hope you will like it, sir. The National Broadcasting Company, in cooperation with the Council on Books and Wartime, presents the 35th in this Words at War series. Tonight we offer a character study of a great American, based in large part upon Rackham-Holst's best-selling biography, George Washington Carver. Our story, told as it might be to Abraham Lincoln, will be presented by Frederick March, while Canada Lee will be heard as Dr. Carver. It happened just about 60 days before you entered the White House. And about five years before you made that last visit to Ford's Theatre. You remember? But it happened far away from Washington, sir. It was down in Missouri. And Diamond Grove, Missouri. There stood the Carver Plantation. It was rather a fancy name for the poor acres of farmer Moses Carver. And life upon them was made no easier by the Jungle Law, which then prevailed in Missouri. You remember that year of 61, Mr. President? The Missouri Compromise was a failure, and pro-slavery adherents in Missouri continued their bitter struggle with the Kansas Free Staters. Hatred was abroad, and bans of bushwhackers and gorillas, riding under the black banner, were a scourge on the land, plundering, pillaging, burning, and murdering. Deers were the order of the day. Well, there in a cabin of the Carver Farm one evening, sat a Negro slave woman, cradling her baby in her arms and gently swaying back and forth as she sang the infant to sleep. The raiders came, laying a lash of their cruelty upon God's creatures. They came to the Carver Farm and carried off the slave woman and her infant son, George. Farmer Carver gathered a rescue party and went off in hot pursuit. The trail led due south into Arkansas, and there Farmer Carver caught up with the kidnappers and for the ransom of a fine racehorse, recovered the child. But the mother, she was gone, and she was never heard of again. It cost kind-hearted Moses Carver a racehorse due to 300 silver dollars. Forget that little black baby back, Mr. President. And I know that never in American history has 300 dollars brought bigger returns to the nation. If you don't believe me, sir, wait and see. That wild ride into Arkansas gave the baby a desperate case of hooping cough. He recovered, but all through his childhood, he remained a delicate little boy. So instead of putting him into the fields, the Carver's, his white foster parents, let him busy himself around the house and in the garden. And that's how he began a lifelong practice of talking to the flowers. Some people might call that just plain silly, Mr. President, talking to the flowers. But when that little boy had grown into a man, he explained it to himself this way. In the beauty and aroma and variety of the flowers, I saw my first realization of the creator's great truth. The truth that there's room on this earth for all and that it's every creature's duty in life to serve the world and his fellow creatures to the best of his ability, to be as useful, to lend as much beauty to life as is possible. That's why I've always talked to the flowers. They are the little, little windows through which man can see the face of God. Now, wait a minute, Mr. Lincoln, sir. Don't go getting the idea that because this little fellow spent his spare time talking to the creator through the flowers. Don't get to thinking he was one of those prissy little children. No, sir. At times he was a little hellion on wheels. That's an expression that's probably new to you, Mr. President. What it means is that George Washington Carver was... Well, he was a very human kind of boy. One of his youthful escapades he used to delight in telling was this. You see, Mr. Carver, he used to go to bed when the chickens flew under the trees to roost. And I was supposed to stay in after dark. Mr. and Mrs. Carver used to tell me stories of raw head and bloody bones who would catch little boys if they went out after dark. But in spite of this, I would sometimes steal out to the persimmon tree. Then when I went into the house, there Mrs. Carver would be waiting for me besides a jar of willow switches. When she started toward me, I used to open my mouth and yell till I sounded like a frightened steamboat whistle. And then she'd walk away rather than listen to that awful yelling. When she turned her back, I would sob and stuff a persimmon in my mouth. Then almost always Mr. Carver would call down, What are you doing to that poor child? And she would say, I haven't done anything yet. And he'd say, well, see that you don't do anything to that poor little fellow. So consequently, I only got two licking in my whole life. But it wasn't because I was so angelic, but because I knew how to yell. And those persimmons did taste awful good. When he finished high school, George Washington Carver wrote to a college in Kansas and told them what his schooling had been. He said he was poor, but that he sure would like to go to college. You know what, Mr. Lincoln? They wrote back telling him that they had decided to accept him. I guess you can imagine his joy at that. Well, sir, he spent all his savings on railroad fare and arrived at the university. He reported to the registrar's office, spick and span and polished and cleans a new pin, a little flower in his lapel, and the joy of a granted prayer shining in his face. But the man said, oh, I'm sorry, I'm very sorry, but you forgot to tell us in your letter that you're colored. Well, President Lincoln, if any heart has a right to well with bitterness, I think you'll agree it was young Carver's. He turned away and walked till he found a bench in the sun. Then he took a little flower out of his lapel, and the tears came to his eyes, and he closed his fist to crush the flower, but he stayed his hand before he had damaged the little thing he believed to be God's window. He looked into its petals and beyond them, and he said, is that the way it's got to be, Mr. Creator? Is that the way it's got to be? Now then, Mr. President, maybe you won't believe this, but just then a young man came by and sat down beside Carver, and they got to talking. The problem was related, and the young man said, you know, I'm a student at Simpson College at Indianola, Iowa. I've been doing some summer work here at the university. Why don't you go to Simpson? They might take you. And they did take him at Simpson, Mr. President, with the bigness of spirit for which that little college has always been famous. They welcomed the son of unknown slave parents. He spent a happy year there. I was sorry to leave Simpson. That's what Dr. Carver used to say himself, Mr. Lincoln, but he'd always add. Yeah, but I was happy too that I was transferred to the Iowa State College of Ames because it was there four years later that I obtained my bachelor's degree in science. It was there too in 1896 that I received my master's degree. And it was there that they were kind enough to give me a place on the faculty. He never said what the Iowa State Records revealed, Mr. Lincoln, that it was his amazing scholarship that won him that place on the faculty at Ames. The first time in history that Negro was so honored. Later, they gave him more responsibility and honor. They put him in charge of the Bacteriological Laboratory in the greenhouse and made him a professor in the Department of Systematic Botany. I want you to note something, Mr. President. All of this happened just a few years after your assassination. So you see, some of the lessons you tried to teach were learned. Your life, your struggles, your death were not in vain, sir. Mr. Lincoln, sir, isn't it peculiar how sometimes the stray little threads of circumstance combine to make a pattern that is easily recognized when the tapestry of the years has been woven? For instance, when George Washington Carver was at Ames, a little white lad named Henry lived there also. This youngster used to delight in following the tall slender scientist from the south, tagging him about as he cared for his flowers, and that little boy now grown to manhood, often remembers the lessons he learned at George Washington Carver's knee, lessons that that gentleman chose to teach in parables. For instance, once the youngster asked, Mr. Carver, why do you hold that little flower in your hand so tenderly, caressing it and looking into it like that? And Carver said, When I touch this flower, I'm not merely touching a flower. I'm touching infinity. Infinity, the boy murmured. Yes, Henry, I'm convinced that in the study of plants and flowers, lie the answers to many of the world's problems. Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies. I hold you here root and all in my hand, little flower. But if I could understand what you are, root and all, and all and all, I should know what God and man is. Is it any wonder, Mr. President, that the child was so devoted to such a tender teacher? But soon these friends were destined to part. One day the little boy came running up to Carver, who was working in the greenhouse, and he said with the impetuousness of youth, Hey, my daddy says you're leaving here. And Carver said, That's right, Henry. I am. But why? Well, Henry, you see, it's like this. Down in Alabama, there's been a school established for people of my race. It's not much of a school yet, but I think it will be one day, Henry. I think it'll be a school the whole nation will be proud of. It's called Tuskegee Institute. And the man who founded it, his name is Booker T. Washington. Well, he wants me to go there to teach. I'm to be head of the agricultural department. Little Henry said, But Mr. Carver, my daddy says you'll be making a great sacrifice if you go to Tuskegee. He says the school is poor and that Mr. Booker T. Washington won't be able to pay you much. All up here it aims, everyone likes you and you're a respected member of the faculty. Then Mr. Lincoln, the scientist taught the little lad another lesson which the boy has never forgotten. He said, Yes, yes, yes, I know, Henry. All of what you say is true. In material things, Tuskegee cannot offer me much. But it does offer me one thing that's beyond price. The opportunity to serve my people. That's important. I'd be happy if you would remember that. But maybe you'll find it easier to remember if you learn one of my favorite little poems. It goes like this, Henry. It isn't the cut of the clothes that you wear, nor the stuff out of which they are made. Though chosen with taste and vestidious care, it isn't the price that you paid. It isn't the servants that come at your call whether many or few or none at all. It isn't the things that you possess. It's service that measures success. And so Mr. Lincoln, the threads were woven into the pattern. That little boy never forgot the poem nor the lesson it teaches. He grew up to be the vice president of the United States. His name is Henry A. Wallace. So Mr. President, George Washington Carver went down to Macon County, Alabama to Tuskegee Institute to be head of the agricultural department. But there was no agricultural department. No laboratory, no apparatus. And for experimentation, just 19 acres of the worst land in Alabama. Sandy, eroded, impoverished. His heart nearly broke. He needed help as he had never needed it before. So he went out into the woods and he talked to the flowers and to his creator. And his breast was filled with anguish as he cried out, Mr. Creator, what am I to do? I want to help my people. I want to help the whole South. Only you know how it needs help. It's impoverished because it's a one-crop country. Cotton, cotton, year after year has ruined the land. And the fortunes and the faith of its people. I must help them. With your help, Mr. Creator, I can help them. Of course I. It would be easier, Mr. Creator, if I had a laboratory and some apparatus and maybe some good land. And Mr. Creator answered him. He said, start with what you have, little man. There's more around you than you see. And as for the land, make something of it. Never be satisfied. This you must do. For there are no greener pastures. Well, Mr. Lincoln, George Washington Carver did as he was told. He made tin cups into crucibles, old ink bottles into alcohol lamps, and used a heavy kitchen cup for his first mortar. A flat iron became his pulverizer, and the tops of old bottles were his beakers. And other equipment he made in like manner from articles found on the junk heap. Thus did he equip the laboratory in which he was to teach his students. Then the students said, All right, sir, what do we do now? And Carver said, Now, boys, now that we have our own laboratory, we'll create the laboratory in which we'll teach the whole south. Here, now, take these pails and baskets. But what do we do with them? We'll go into the swamp and woods and bring them back full of muck and leaf mold. We're going to cover our land with it. But, Professor Carver, it'll take us an awful long time to cover the whole 19 acres that way. Yes, I know, boys, but time is something of which we have plenty. Let's use it wisely and work hard. You see, together we can show the south that its very worst soil can be made to produce. We can teach them the diversified farming. Show them how to plant vegetables, to smash pelagra. We'll demonstrate on these 19 acres how to produce a bale of cotton to the acre and how to double the yield of the sweet potato crops. And we'll show them that there's money in such things as peanuts. Together, boys, we can bring southern farmers both black and white, emancipation from the one-crop tyranny of cotton. Mr. Lincoln, I know that sounds like an awful lot of bragging and wishful thinking. If a man could accomplish all that, he'd get to be one of the greatest men in the South, if not in all America. What did happen? Well, so many years later, when the House Ways and Means Committee announced an extremely important business of the Fordney-McCumber tariff bill, the man banged his gavel, or whatever the man does in the House Ways and Means Committee, and announced the names of 12 distinguished witnesses who would appear before the committee. He ended the list by announcing to represent the south and the peanut Dr. George Washington Carver. Yes, Mr. President, George Washington Carver, a former slave, was to represent the south. They sent a fella down to a union station in Washington to meet him. When the train pulled in, a bent old colored man in a $2 black suit got down from the train and approached this fella and said, Sir, I wonder if you would be kind enough to tell me how to get to the House of Representatives. And the fella said, You need to be shown all the time, but I haven't got time to show you now. The great scientist from the south. Yes, I thought that would tickle your sense of humor, Mr. Lincoln. Well, the great scientist from the south found his own way to the House of Representatives. They told him he was the last speaker on the list and that he would be allowed just 10 minutes to make his plea to have the peanut protected by a high tariff. But once he started to talk, they wouldn't let him stop. They kept him on the stand for nearly two hours, and this briefly is the story he told them. Many years ago, gentlemen, I preached crop diversification to our southern farmers. Instead of cotton in the south, you began to see more and more peanuts growing. After a few years, there were so many peanuts that not all the circuses or peanut butter makers in the world could use them up and the price dropped to rock bottom. After all those years of hard work, we were right back where we started from in poverty. It looked to me as though there just wasn't any order in this old universe, so I decided to find out about it. I went out into the woods and there among the flowers, I spoke to the creator. There, Mr. Creator, I said to him, please tell me the whole scheme behind the universe and the great creator answered me. You want to know too much for that little mind of yours. Ask for something more your size. Then, Mr. Creator, tell me what was man made for. A little man you still are asking for too much. Cut down the extent of your request and improve the intent. Well, then, will you please tell me why the little peanut was made? Please, Mr. Creator. Well, that's better. But even then, it's infinite. What do you want to know about the peanut? Well, well, can I make milk out of the peanut? What kind of milk do you want? Good jersey milk or plain boarding house milk? Good jersey milk. And then, gentlemen, the great creator revealed to me how to take the peanut apart and put it together again. And out of this process came forth these products, all of which I have here in these boxes and jars. Face powders, printer's ink, butter, shampoo, vinegar, jandruff cure, instant coffee, dyes, rubroid compounds, soaps, wood stains, gasoline, cooking oil, a whole variety of things, all of them made from the lowly little peanut. All together, gentlemen, they represent a new industry worth $200 million, an industry the South needs. Please let us protect it. Needless to say, Mr. President, the peanut was put on the tariff list. Oh, I suppose you're wondering about the honor recorded this son of a Negro slave and being invited to appear before an August congressional committee. But that was only one of the honors that came to him. He was made a fellow of the Royal Society of Arts of Great Britain in 1916, and six years later was awarded the spin-gone medal for the most distinguished service rendered by an American Negro during the year. In 1939, he was awarded the Theodore Roosevelt medal for being a liberator of the white race as well as the black. Henry Ford built a fine laboratory in his honor and endowed the George Washington Carver School for Negro youth on the Ford plantation in Georgia. And Thomas Edison invited him to join his staff at $100,000 a year. Dr. Carver preferred to continue the work to which he had dedicated his life, bringing freedom from want to the people of the land he loved, both white and black. His peanut protean is today helping relieve the shortage of meat. The peanut oil replaces edible fats that now have gone to war. His research of the process of dehydration helped to give our soldiers and sailors the fresh food they need, though thousands of miles from home. From Macon County's multi-colored clays, he made pottery, wallpaper inks, and house paints. He turned cotton, corn, and sorghum stalks into insulating boards, produced paper from the branches of wisteria, sunflowers, and wild hibiscus. He wove decorative table mats from swamp cattails, made table runners from feed and seed bags, using bright clay dyes for color. With the things God put in the earth and the earth itself, Dr. Carver showed the poor how to make money and how to provide their homes with beauty. And yet the most beautiful and most expensive thing he ever owned himself was a black suit made out of homespun cloth. Value $2. Not long before he died, Mr. President, and that was just about a year ago, by the way, a visitor came to see him at Tuskegee. The old man was working as hard as ever, and the visitor said, Tell me, doctor, why do you work so hard? You yourself never take any money for what you do, and as for fame, well, you have that and to spare. And the old doctor answered in his own typical way, An old man going a lone highway came at the evening cold and gray to a chasm vast and deep and wide. The old man crossed in the twilight dim the sullen stream had no fears for him, but he turned when safe on the other side and built a bridge to span the tide. Old man said to pilgrim near, You're wasting your strength building here. Your journey will end at the ending day. You never again will pass this way. You've crossed the chasm deep and wide. Why build this bridge at evening tide? The builder lifted his old gray head. Good friend, in the path I have come, he said, There followeth after me today a youth whose feet must pass this way. This chasm that has been naught to me to that fair-headed youth may a pitfall be. He too must cross on the twilight dim. Good friend, I am building this bridge for him. Mr. Lincoln, sir, I hope this story of mine hasn't rambled too much. Maybe you'd do us a favor, Mr. President. If you ever run across the old doctor, you might tell him that his hopes for the contributions his race might make to the good life are coming true. Tell him the robesons, the andesons, the manors and the waters are still lifting up men's hearts with the eloquence of their songs. Tell him the julians, the forts, the droves and the hintons are still the slaves of all mankind in the fields of chemistry and medicine. Tell him the great poets of his race are following in the steps of Dunbar and that its novelists and sculptors and painters are winning world acclaim. Yes, and tell him too that when the tyrants screamed their challenge, it was answered for his people by a young man named Paul Lewis, who in one minute and ten seconds at Madison Square Garden vanquished the best the Nazis had to offer. And his answer was, we're going to do our part and we'll win because we are on God's side. Tell him, Mr. President, tell old Dr. Carver that that's why millions of his people now proudly labor at lathe and bench and assembly line, turning out the weapons that will save the people for which he lived. And that's why hundreds of thousands of their sons have under the service of the Lord and are trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored. Yes, and tell him, Mr. Lincoln, tell him that in the America both of you loved. God's truth goes marching on. You've just heard a character study of Dr. George Washington Carver, based in large part on Rackham Holt's biography by the great Negro scientist, presented as the 35th program in our Words at War series. The script was written by Richard McDonough of the NBC staff. The storyteller was Frederick March and Dr. Carver was played by Canada Lee, with the music by Juanita Hall and her singers. William Meader was heard at the organ and the entire production was under the direction of Anton M. Lieder. Words at War is presented in cooperation with the Council on Books in War Time by the National Broadcasting Company and the independent radio stations associated with the NBC network. This is the National Broadcasting Company.