 Being Carl Swenson, the cavalcade of America sponsored by DuPont presents the story of a great American inventor and mechanic. Eli Whitney, the man of design and original radio play by Peter Lyon. There are those who, from their earliest boyhood to the day when they can move no more, work with one single-minded passion, driven by one overwhelming compulsion, ignoring hardship, their minds intent on the goal they have created for themselves, denying themselves all the amenities, companionship, pleasure, comfort, relaxation. Those single-minded men are few, what they lack in numbers they make up in intensity. Such a man may be a soldier or a poet or a financier or a statesman, or such a man may be a mechanic. Tonight with Carl Swenson as the man of design, the cavalcade of America pays tribute to Eli Whitney, whose inventive genius created an empire, whose inventive genius defended a dream. In New Haven, in the spring of 1796, Napoleon Bonaparte was still no more than a name. The Americans were fourteen years at peace, and their minds were turned to the accomplishments of peace. Eli Whitney, as he stood being measured for a new coat and breeches in Townsend's Taylor shop, had never even heard of Bonaparte. His mind was on the cotton gin he had invented, on how the idea had been stolen from him, on how he might gain financial redress. Hold still, please, Eli. Oh, I'm sorry. Oh, you expect a man to tailor a good coat when you're forever fidgeting and waving your arms about it? I was thinking of something else, Mr. Townsend, I'm sorry. Your mind's down in Georgia, I'll warrant it. Yes, sir. My thoughts would be down there, too, if I were in your boots. How do you mean? Lift your arm, please. All right. How do I mean, Eli? Ah, no, don't you go trying to fool me. I know about your cotton gin right enough. Millions, it must be making for you, millions. Mr. Townsend, suppose I were to tell you that I haven't a penny in the world, that I owe my workman two months back wages, that I don't have enough to eat properly. You're joking, Eli. No, no, I'm not. My invention has been stolen from me by the planters, Mr. Townsend, and my only chance of getting money is in long and expensive legal proceedings. Well, then why are you here being measured for expensive clothes? Mr. Townsend, will these clothes be ready by Wednesday evening? Might be. You're in a hurry for clothes you can't pay for. Your tailoring is very important. If I'm to get my money, I must have these clothes by Wednesday. Oh. See, I go to Pierpont Edwards' house for dinner. I go to ask him for money, alone, for a capital till the court step in to protect my patents. Yeah, just slip the coat off, please. Can't go asking alone with patches on my britches, can I? Uh-huh. Then my clothes are important to your cause, are they? A man works hard with his hands and his brain, and he creates something of great value, bringing great wealth. And then he must order clothes on credit so that there'll be no patches on his britches when he petitions for a paltry loan. Never mind, Eli. I'm on your side. Your clothes will be ready on Wednesday, and don't worry about when you have to pay. And, Eli, just stop at the counter by the door on your way out and pick yourself out a handsome cravat. I'll throw that in for good measure. And, uh, don't forget, be upon Edward's daughter Henrietta's growing up a fine-looking girl. And then see Chucklehead. You're not likely to find out without opening the door. Why doesn't Cesar open the door? He's supposed to. Don't disturb Cesar now. He has more important things to attend to. He's mulling me some rum. You open the door yourself. Mr. Whitley. Good evening, Henrietta. Oh, do I deserve such a beautiful curtsy? She's been practicing nothing else ever since she heard you were coming for dinner with me. Oh, father. The incorrigible hussy at the age of 15. She's a father's daughter, I'm afraid. I count myself very fortunate that Miss Henrietta finds me worthy of her attention, Mr. Edwards. Will you take me to your shop one day, Mr. Whitley? I should like to see the machine. After your curtsy, I haven't the heart to refuse anything. You wouldn't understand the minute of it, Whitley. I advise you not to let her trespass on your good time and your good nature. I'm too occupied to have much choice, I'm afraid, sir. Are you fortunate? Come into my study, Whitley. There's just time for a little what-seizure is prepared before dinner. We can talk. Henrietta? Yes, father. See that Mr. Whitley and I are not disturbed until dinner. I'll wait till dinner for your invitation, Mr. Whitley. You shall have it, Henrietta. Well, Whitley. Here, this is Barbados rum. You should like it. Oh, no, not too generously, sir. I'm an indifferent drinker. Your health. Your, sir. I, um... I expect you to know why I accepted your invitation tonight, Mr. Edwards. I rather imagined it was to ask for money. You should wait until after I'm well fed, sir. Well, uh, tact and patience are not among my virtues. Just as well. All right, we'll consider the loan. Frankly, Whitley, I don't know. I don't know. Another rum? No, thanks. So unsettled. What do you think of this Frenchman Bonaparte? Bonaparte? I don't believe I've ever heard of him. You will, soon enough. And how does all this trouble find us? No guns, no ships, no army, no navy, nothing. We shall need a standing army and guns. Well, that all takes time. Time, yes. Tell me, isn't your cotton business a decline? No, I wouldn't say that, sir. Especially not if I get a loan to tide me over until... Until it's too late, eh? Too late for what? We need guns right now. I beg your pardon, sir. Bonaparte, Napoleon Bonaparte is showing his hand. He means to conquer the world, sir. But he's in Europe, Mr. Edwards, an ocean and more away. And on that ocean, his privateers are at work to blockade England and attack anyone who tries to run his blockade. Well, isn't the answer to mind our own business and stay at home? You ask that. You who depend on the cotton trade with England. And even if we could, with every passing month more French are landing in Louisiana. Colonists, they call themselves. Visitors, tourists. What are you? You know them land without a gun in their hand. We need to be prepared. Can you make guns in large lots? Well, that's a heavy foundry work. No, no, no. I mean shoulder arms, muskets. Oh, muskets? Well, a good musket is a pretty complex machine, Mr. Edwards. Nobody has yet learned how to make one musket exactly like another. It's not something that you can turn out in large lots. You can't make them with the interchangeable parts. You see, it's a question of whether or not they have a set geometrical pattern. Well, now, now. Maybe I could explain it better if I could draw a diagram for you. Never mind. If you want money of me, Whitney, you might think over very carefully the chances of manufacturing muskets by the thousands instead of one at that time. I'd be interested in a scheme like that. Yes. Well, I'm afraid I'm committed to my cotton gin to the present, Mr. Edwards, but frankly, I can't seem to share your anxiety over this. What's his name? Bonaparte. You hear his name often enough and soon enough so that you won't need to be reminded again. And meantime, about the loan, won't you help me? Not for any cotton scheme. No, sir. You walk me home from church, Mr. Whitney? Henrietta Edwards. Why, it would be a pleasure. I was with my father, and I saw you here alone, so I thought... I was kind of you, and I haven't invited you to see my shop yet, have I? You truly wanted to see it? Oh, yes. I hear father speak of it so often and of how clever you are at machines and of the work you might do there. The work I might do there. Everyone's the same. Anxious to divert me from my work and start me onto something new. Maybe it's simply a question of your confusing perseverance with obstinacy, Mr. Whitney. Just a moment. Your father has put you up to this, hm? Give me credit for some wisdom. What do you know of this affair? I only know that you once designed something very clever, a very good machine. And that, therefore, you should be able to design others. And that when your fortunes are lost on the first design, why... why, then, you should all the more bravely turn to designing a second. Your sight is very clear for a child, Ms. Henrietta. And you are very blind, Mr. Whitney, but I... I thank you for escorting me. I hope that when I'm invited to your shop, it will be busy with a new design, not dusty with the old. Good day, Mr. Whitney. What's this, Eli? Project for 10,000 standard arms. Because you are my friend, Senator Goodrich, and because you're permitted to come here in the evening after the workmen have gone, there's no reason for your prying into my personal papers. Eli, you're really out of temper tonight. I'm Eliza Goodrich, your friend, remember? Put that paper back. Well... Oh, I'm sorry, Eliza. Perhaps you can control myself better. It's just that at times the thievery, the law, all the lawyers and the judges expecting bribes if they're to do anything, and all the time cotton, new cotton, more slaves, millions and millions of dollars while I sweat and starve here, and Edward refusing it alone, I... Eli, you're overworked. You're too much with your problems. You should practice relaxation more. I... I had thought to ask you to take me to the tavern tonight and buy me drink after drink until I staggered home and thought no more about this whole thing for at least a few hours, but I know how false a method that is. Always worrying, always working too hard, living alone. Get married, Eli. There... there is a jest in bad taste. Oh, no, no, no. I'm serious. Serious? Yes. With what right? Under heaven with what right? Of course I should like to marry. I should like comfort and relaxation and children about me, but sometimes I feel I'd settle for three meals a day and enough pay for my workmen. Get married. Well, Eli, I'd like to come back to this paper about the 10,000 stand-up hour. Put it aside. It doesn't concern you. Am I not sent to Washington by this state? Is it not my concern? What the safety of my country is? Guns. They are what we need for our defense. If you can make 10,000 stand-up muskets, then it is decidedly my business. I am not a gunmaker. I am in the business of making cotton gins and trying to gain my rights. Washington has done precious little about that. Well, I wouldn't underestimate for those in the federal government think of you, Eli. They know how wrongly you've been done on your invention. They respect your skill. If it's money you want, they'd supply it to manufacture muskets. The federal government? Yes, men like Thomas Jefferson. Oh, no. Now, it's no good. It would mean hours and hours of thought and making over my entire plant. I could have had other work turn down contracts for sides and for plows, because as soon as I'd taken them something would have happened in Georgia. You see, that's the thought of a tremendous... Eli, please, please listen to me for a moment. For the sake of our national defense, right to Wulcott, the secretary of the treasury. Everybody talks of this defense, defense, defense, muskets. All right. All right, Goodrich. If you want me to, I'll write. You are listening to Carl Swenson as Eli Whitney in Man of Design, an original radio play on Cavalcade sponsored by Dupont. Makers of better things for better living and chemistry. As our play continues, Whitney has contracted with the government for an order of 10,000 muskets and has started to work in a new plant in Connecticut just outside New Haven. Down the street, one of his workmen is now entering the town tavern. Well, Matthew, you're in early this afternoon. What'll it be? Strong drink. Strong drink. That's what I need. Oh, here's man. What's the trouble? Hey, drinking heavy for the afternoon, man. That's what it takes. Another please, Toby. Hey, what's up, man? Why are the celebrations? Boys, I've just been overworking at the new Whitney plant. Yes, sir, and I walked out. Yes, sir, I walked out not 15 minutes ago. Too much for me. Well, here's confusion to Royal Leap. Well, hey, tell us, man. Tell us. What's the trouble? Get the sack. Oh, not me, Tom. Not me. I walked out my own legs. I know what I've had enough. I never saw a machine shop like that one in my life. I'm going out of my head. Toby? Coming up, Matthew. Worm gears, ratchets that generating cycle of the epicycloid. A mechanic's got to know geometry just to hang his head up and back of the door. Cams, poles that generating cycle of the epicycloid. Well, what's Whitney doing? Don't search me. I think he's going off his rocker. He thinks he's going to turn out muskets. I'm exactly like the other one. Word on! Mr. Whitney. Yes, yes, Roger. About our wages, sir. It's been there three months now, Mr. Whitney. Yes, I know. The shop's like no other shop in the state, I know of. Mr. Whitney, we want to help all we can, but we feel the work has gone far enough so we should get our back wages. Or else, or else we quit. Boys, I... All I can do is ask that you wait a bit longer as I'm doing. There's a man here to see you. He insists on seeing you right away. With so much to be done, why must visitors always be... Who is Eli Whitney? I'm Eli Whitney. I'm from Washington, from the ward apartment, and the government agent come to inspect your muskets. Yes, muskets, muskets. Oh, yes. Maybe I could have one of the workmen and one of the experimental models. Mr. Whitney, may I remind you that the time for your contract has expired, sir, but you have been extended thousands of dollars of the government's money and completed nothing. I should be forced to report that you've not lived up to your end of the contract. Well, you see, I... I... I must apologize. Mr. um... Gansford is my name. Mr. Gansford. My time is so filled I have so many... Have you the guns as contracted? Well, not the full ten thousand, but very soon... Mr. Whitney, I'm afraid I shall have to report that you may hold to meet your contract. But wait, Mr. Gansford. Well, that's enough for me, Mr. Whitney. I'm getting out of here. I'm with you, Roger. Let's go. It's I, Henrietta Edwards. I saw a lantern burning. Well, you should never come out like this at night alone. Do you still insist on thinking of me as a child? I... No. No, you're not a child any longer. But, uh, still... I was more eager than ever to visit your shop. And I saw the lantern and they told me you often worked late. You look tired, Eli. Tired? Well, I guess I should. My men are leaving me. I can no longer get an extension of time or money on my contract. I missed something. What? Something you had even when you had patches in your clothes. Do you mind my mentioning them? No. Then there was strength and determination in your voice, Eli. I don't hear that strength anymore. That's what I meant. First, my cotton gin. And do you know what they're saying now? They're saying that I stole it. I stole it from some planter. And now there's bad luck with a government contract. My men leaving me just when it seemed... Yes. I thought I would surely succeed. Should the government give you more time and money? Why? Well, because with ever so little more money, I'm going to have to pay for it. Well, because with ever so little more time and some more money, I could complete the contract. My machines are all built. I don't understand the mechanical problems, Eli. Well, it's very simple. See, all I'm trying to do is to design machines that make guns with parts that are interchangeable. See, nobody's ever done that before. Nobody's ever dreamed of doing it. But now I'm sure that it can be done. Then you should fight as you used to fight and not give up. You should go to Washington and show them yourself that you can work. Every year, though. I... I must talk to you. I think I know why, Eli. But this is not the time. Now you must stay at your job. You must go to Washington and fight and make them give you the time and money you need. Yes. Yes, you're quite right. Go to Washington. You still have your design to think of. You can talk later. And when you come back from Washington, Eli, I shall be waiting to listen to you. Gentlemen. The President of the United States. Good afternoon, gentlemen. Alex, will you just shut the door to the hall, please? Mr. Jefferson, I didn't expect to see you this afternoon. Tracted by the same curiosity that brings you, I expect, Mr. President. Well, you mustn't expect too much. It's about Eli with me, gentlemen. He's outside now. For those of you who don't already know, he has contracted to supply 10,000 stand-up arms to the government. And the contract time, of course, has expired. How many guns has he delivered? How many was it, General North? 500. He contracted for 10,000. And yet Whitby has a gall to ask for more money and more time. But were those 500 good pieces, General? I have a special interest in asking. Yes, sir, they were, Mr. Jefferson. The mic is made by a watchmaker. I should think they might be after 18 months. Well, I'm in favor of cancer. In the contract, Mr. President. Mr. President, I suggest we ask Mr. Whitney to come in. I think we will all form a fairer conclusion by talking to him. Have him come in, Senator Goodridge. Certainly, sir. Mr. President, I should like to introduce my friend, Mr. Whitney. He needs little introduction. We've all been talking of no one else. I have not forgotten you, Mr. Whitney. You're from my state, Massachusetts, aren't you? Westburn, Mr. President. General North, you I know, sir. Perhaps you wouldn't mind describing very briefly how guns are made. A made by a gunsmith. Bows the barrel on a lathe, trues it by grinding a little gear, a little layer, carves the stock and fits the barrel to it. Then forges the lock plates. Very delicate, skilled work. Files the lock parts, trying them all the time until they fit. Then assembles the parts of the lock plate, screws the plate into the stock, puts the musket on the shelf and starts the next one. And the muskets, because the parts are individually fitted by hand, are each different, one from another. Of course. What are you looking for? They're bound to be different. Well, sir, here are the parts of ten of my gunnings. You understand armor as work, sir? Young man, I was fixing muskets before you were born. Would you assemble one from any of these parts, then? Would you expect me to be able to assemble a musket from the parts of these ten to assemble pieces here? Yes, sir. And you'll need no file for truing them. Ah, blasted nonsense. And never mind taking off your coat, sir. You won't need to use force. It's the next addition of magic. No, Mr. Jefferson, simple mechanics. Every part is machine-made, not handmade. And the skill is in my machines. Each gun is exactly like each of the others. Well, I've done it, but it's not possible. It's trickery, sleight of hand. Quiet, gentlemen, quiet. This meeting is not to be conducted in an orderly fashion. You may go. Proceed, Mr. Whitney. Well, there you are, gentlemen. You've seen it. And I have the machines to turn out ten thousand of these faster than guns have ever been made before. The skill is in my engines. And all I need is your cooperation, more money, and a very little more time. You shall have all three, Mr. Whitney, because my name is John Adams. Sit with me for a time before the fire, Whitney. It'll be a pleasure, Mr. Jefferson. This bonaparte, durable. It is where we have your muskets with me. In other lands, they will be made badly for a time yet. But can you think what would happen if these muskets would have fallen to the hands of a Napoleon? Well, these muskets are for the defense of something very dear to our people. They'll not be used for anything else, I thank God, when you're president, sir. Yes, there is a difference here in this country where we alone in the world have achieved at least a measure of equality. Yes. And from invention will come still greater equality. With your invention, Eli Whitney, we shall protect that equality. The future of our country depends on it. The future of our country depends on more than a musket, sir. It depends on our knowing as Americans why we're making that musket and why we're firing it. It depends on men and women with faith in the thing for which America was born. In a moment, we'll hear again from our star, Carl Swenson. But first, let us consider how much we Americans in our mighty struggle owe to the genius of Eli Whitney. For Eli Whitney, great inventor that he was, created the first assembly line. He was the father of mass production, which our hopes of victory finally rest. Americans have every reason to be proud of American manufacturing achievements and of American research, for this research has been and is on a sound and thorough basis, yielding a constant flow of new developments. Today, our developments of the past stand us in good stead in this crisis. And just as surely will new developments in this time of need serve our future. Though they serve our war needs, they cannot fail to hit the distant and perpetual target of better living. To find the reason why the mass production begun by Eli Whitney is a peculiarly American development, we must turn back to the founding of the American patent system under whose protection and guidance American invention has flourished. The first patent laws were enacted in 1790. And the first patent issued by the government for the signatures of President George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, then Secretary of State. It was their encouragement and foresight which brought about the foundation of our patent system. In address Congress in 1790, Washington said, I cannot forbear intimating to you the expediency of giving effectual encouragement as well to the introduction of new and useful inventions from abroad as to the exertions of skill and genius in producing them at home. And today, as never before, the skill and genius of American industry is at work producing the tools needed for victory. Some bold idea hatched in the mind of an American may well write the final pages of the history of this war. No one yet has beaten the inventive American mind and no one ever will. Remember, the telegraph was invented by an American artist. The airplane was invented by a couple of American bicycle repairmen. The electric motor was invented by a blacksmith. The roll film camera was invented by a bank clerk. In the long tradition of Eli Whitney and the American patent system, we may call out a few honored American names. There was Alexander Graham Bell with his telephone. There was Thomas Alva Edison. There was Hyatt with his original plastic. Goodyear with rubber vulcanization. From the laboratories of Dupont alone, and Dupont is only one company in the American chemical industry, have come such accomplishments as nylon, neoprene, developments in refrigerants, chemical agents to improve fuels and lubricating oils, new finishes, explosives, insecticides, dyes and rubber chemicals to name a few of many. So thanks to the faith and foresight with which American industry encourages inventors and inventions, scientific minds today are helping with the war effort which will bring us into a peace well-won, to which Dupont will again, as in the past, contribute better things for better living through chemistry. And now, ladies and gentlemen, the star of tonight's program, Carl Swenson of the Cavalcade Place. Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to give you a message at the request of the United States government. A message of utmost importance to young men and to our country. The United States Coast Guard, one of our armed services, needs more officers to command its expanded forces. Any United States citizen who is a college graduate between 20 and 30 years old with proper physical qualifications may apply. The place, any Coast Guard recruiting station, and if there is none where you live, right to the commandant, United States Coast Guard, Washington, D.C. Today, the Coast Guard is under the jurisdiction of our Navy at the fighting service. No other service has a wider scope for a greater need for fighting men. Thank you. Next week, ladies and gentlemen, Cavalcade will be happy to welcome to its playhouse once more the charming screen player, Madeleine Carroll, who will be heard in a new play, This Our Exile, based on the classic story of Evangeline. Don't forget next week, Madeleine Carroll stars on Cavalcade in This Our Exile, an original play inspired by the poem Evangeline. This is Clayton Collier, sending best wishes from Dupont. This program came to you from New York. This is the National Broadcasting Company.