 The Cavalcade of America, presented by DuPont. This evening, The Cavalcade of America brings you a story about a valiant young woman who braved all opposition to gain a place in the world of science. Simulated by a desire to promote the advancement of science, the DuPont Company just this week announced a project to encourage graduate university students and young instructors in carrying on chemical research work. This is an expansion of a fellowship plan that was created widespread interest in the educational world. Since its inauguration 19 years ago, the DuPont Fellowship Plan has granted 350 fellowships and 34 scholarships in 33 universities. This year's enlarged plan offers an increased number of awards to help more individuals continue with chemical research projects. Six post-doctorate and 18 post-graduate fellowships will be available at 18 universities during the coming term. The colleges themselves choose which of their advanced students or young professors shall receive the fellowships, and they also assign the research subjects. The DuPont Company does not even require that the research be done along lines directly connected with font products. In helping young scientists of ability to carry on chemical research, DuPont hopes to contribute towards America's future, thus giving added meaning to the DuPont pledge better things for better living through chemistry. As an overture, Don Vorreys and the Cavalcade Orchestra play a special setting of Vincent humans ever popular, Time on My Hands. We have a pretty, delicate Elizabeth Blackwell, who became the pioneer woman physician of her time and whose ideas influenced England and France nearly as much as they did America. In the year 1844 in Henderson, Kentucky, we find her talking to a friend who is desperately ill. Do you feel better now, James? Breathe quietly. The pain is gone, isn't it? It's gone for now, Elizabeth. If you've taught me how to face pain, I even feel brave enough to face death itself. You mustn't waste your energy. Oh, Elizabeth, it's meant so much to me in these days of illness. You're a care of me. I only wish I had the necessary knowledge to take care of you properly, dear, without having to depend on a doctor. I feel so helpless at times with not being sure, but you have a natural gift for healing, Elizabeth. It shouldn't go to waste there, dear. You must not get excited. But it's wrong. It's a sin, Elizabeth, to be gifted with intelligence and such a quick understanding of sick people. And then much of your gifts go to waste. I know the task for a deathbed promise is unfair, but if you would only try to study medicine, very well, my dear, I'll try. I promise you. Now, you must go to sleep. Sometimes the ill and the dying have a clearness of vision denied to normal people. Young Elizabeth Blackwell, teaching school in Kentucky and nursing in her spare time for friendship's sake, received a direct challenge to seek her true vocation. But 90 years ago, medicine was a profession that women could not enter. Or so young Elizabeth Blackwell was told over and over again. Three years after the death of her friend Jane, we find her in the office of the dean of a medical college. This is strange. Very strange. I expected to greet a large, domineering type of woman, Miss Blackwell. What do I see? Small, graceful girl, large, appealing eyes, and look of intelligence. I can't find a trace of madness in your countenance. I think you're almost annoyed with me, sir, because I deceived you, perhaps. How do you mean? Because I sent you that letter from Dr. Dixon, telling of the remarkable progress made by his private student in medical studies. But you see, I arranged that the letter didn't mention my sex. You were pleased with the letter at first. Then you were shocked to find that it spoke of a woman. Naturally. You're the first woman I ever heard of who wanted to be a doctor. But don't I know as much chemistry as your other end ring students? Yes, but... And don't I know far more anatomy than most of them? True, but why in the world did you take this bizarre notion into your head, Miss Blackwell? A woman doctor. Ridiculous. It's embarrassing for me, because I have no real reason to borrow you from my classes. Yet I will not admit you. If you're at least frank with me, sir, eleven other medical schools have invented reasons. Tell me, if you can think of no reason why a woman should not be a doctor, can you think of any reason why she should be one? That's for that. Be honest with me, sir. I deserve honesty, at least. It does happen that yesterday, in our dispensary, a frightened child begged that the nurse alone should attend her because she was unused to men. But nervous women, patients, or frightened children are the exception in a man's practice. Then for them, at least, a woman doctor would be useful, even desirable. You think to cajole me, Miss Blackwell, to weedle your way? No, no, I'll not beg, as a woman might. I'll speak to you as one scientist to another. When I began this study of medicine, I felt as though I were advancing along a road in which each turn became more fascinating. You know that road to knowledge because you followed it yourself, Dean Worth. Yes, I know the feeling you describe. Then admit me to your classes. Give me the chance to win a diploma with other real students. Stand up for a moment, Miss Blackwell. Stand up? Certainly, but why? Your small statues against you, still your manner is straightforward enough. Oh, but that mop of hair, you'll have to shave it, I fear. No wig would stay on your head otherwise. What in the world are you talking about? You'll have to wear a wig in my classes. A wig, a waistcoat, a tie and a shirt. And you'll buy yourself trousers, Miss Blackwell. You mean you want me to dress like a man? On this application blank, you will write Edward Blackwell. For the next two years, you will be Mr. Blackwell, not Miss. And you may graduate with the rest of my students. Oh. What's the matter? I won't do it. But you've just begged me for the privilege. I want to be a doctor. I cannot be turned from medicine to play acting. I shall find someone broad-minded enough to let me enter his college as a woman. And I'll enter your profession, flying my own collars. Good day, Dr. Wood. Elizabeth Blackwell had made up her mind. Finally, by repeated effort, she got herself admitted to a small medical college at Geneva, New York. But prejudice, the enemy that every pioneer in science or medicine must meet, soon brought misery to Elizabeth's daily life. A year and a half later in the small Geneva boarding house where she keeps a room, Elizabeth hears a knock at her door. Good evening. I'm, uh, I'm not a bell. The new girl in the house. I suppose you're surprised to see me. I just made some cocoa and I thought perhaps you might like to have some. I brought a cup for you. Why, thank you. But I doubt if your mother would want you to speak to me. She doesn't. Oh, but she's out tonight. Does anyone in the boarding house ever speak to you? No. And usually they draw their skirts aside when I pass. Could, uh, could I come in and look at your room? But if your mother doesn't want you- Oh, how do you wish you'd let me? Why, certainly. Goodness, it's just like any other girl's room, isn't it? Why did you come to Geneva College? Were you disappointed in love? It's never struck anyone, I suppose, that the reason I want to study medicine is because I like medicine. Seems like a funny reason for a woman. Since you're on a tour of inspection, since you're the first person in Geneva to call on me in this year and a half, I should show you everything, shouldn't I? Well, look closely. These are my books that I study every night. These are my three dresses, all black, so I'll be as little noticed as possible and people can't say I'm flaunting myself. And these, these are pictures of my dear family. This one of my little sister. She wants to study medicine too, but I must find a way without telling her what I've been through to persuade her not to do it. Oh, you surely won't do that. Why not? Because, because I'm sure if you can be a doctor, she could too. I've admired you so long, Miss Blackwell. You think I came to your room to be mean? Honest, I didn't. I've watched you go along the street with your head held high, not looking to the right or left at the silly people laughing. And I thought you were wonderful. Did you? Yes. Oh, don't give up. Your little sister looks to be about my age. Yes. Please let her study medicine too, she won't. Not at all. Not at all. Oh, that's my mother. Yes, yes, run quickly. She isn't upstairs yet. Miss Blackwell, I can't come to see you again, but, but I'll come to commencement and I'll applaud for you. You funny child. You can't applaud at commencement. Never there. I'll applaud anyway. You'll see. Good night. Elizabeth Blackwell stayed with her chosen work and in two years' time had earned the right to a medical diploma. The day she was to receive it, London, New York and Philadelphia noted the fact with astonishment. As for Elizabeth herself, she sat in the packed hall of Geneva College half days by realization that a landmark on her weary road would soon be passed. In the gallery of the school, Maribel, her mother and some other women are watching. Can I get in here please? Oh, pardon me. Oh, pardon me, ma'am. I'm late getting into this here ceremony. Would you please find out the female medical student? That's her. Sitting right in front of the platform. Her brother is sitting beside her. She'll get her diploma over in the audience. Stop saying. She looks sweet in that black suit. Sweet, Maribel. A little. Jose, seeing they're just as high and mighty as if everybody in the place was staring at you. They're going to exchange it into the balcony on condition that they keep you careful. She's used to having tongues wagging that girl. I'm glad that up to the day she's graduating, not a woman in this town has spoken to her. It seems kind of harsh somehow. She's an awful little thing, ain't she? She's little, but she's funky. And, mother, I bet someday it won't be a bit funny for girls to go into medicine or law or anything. It's a way to earn a living. Hush, Maribel. I'd rather be dead in my grave than have you trying to earn your own living. She's going up on the platform. Oh, look at her. She's going to get her degree. Ladies and gentlemen, now we come to the most unusual ceremony of this commencement day. The most unusual in the history of Geneva College. I am glad to see that so many of our friends upon the townspeople are present to witness this happy occasion. Miss Elizabeth Blackwell, please step forward. Look at her. She's so stuck up. Elizabeth Blackwell, I hereby confer on you the degree of Doctor of Medicine. And I offer with this diploma the heartfelt congratulations of the faculty. Sir, I thank you. It shall be the effort of my life with the help of the whole time to shed honor on my diploma. Oh, my goodness. She's brand new. She's made it down there. Now you mustn't applaud. Hush. She's starting everybody to applaud, isn't she? That's an honor to myself. She never applauded as a commencement diploma. I brought it. I thought it was. Maybe it makes her feel better. She knows now that even some of the folks that laughed under are taking their hats off too. Although she had received her diploma, more tribulations were to face Elizabeth. After a few months of graduate study in Paris, she suffered a misfortune endured by many medical scientists. She contracted a severe infection. We find her in a room in a Paris hospital. You see, Mr. the doctor, and I stood for some personal time. Miss Blackwell. Miss Blackwell. Yes, nurse. You have a visitor. More important. Dr. Fouquet. Dr. Fouquet. To see me. Do not disturb yourself, mademoiselle. Nurse, I speak with her alone. May we meet you, the doctor. Sure. I hear everywhere of the young American girl who used to be a doctor, and then I do not find her until she is flattened on her back in my hospital with her eyes very sick. Yes, they told me. I have a purulent of failure. It may have been my own fault. No, no. You are a meticulous student, they tell me. You clean your instruments. You use your hands with finesse. Let me look under the bandage. Here. Equate now. I can hold quiet if you look. Oh, good. Yes. This eye will recover. It will get well. You mean the other one will not get well? César. Are you crying? You dare not even cry with those eyes. Don't cry. But my doctor told me that it would get well. He said... Pay no attention to him. I am okay. No one in Paris argues with me. But why did my own doctor... He thought she's a woman. Impossible to face her with effect. Then are you trying to tell me that all my future is gone? For you, surgery is gone. But there are other fields in medicine. All I try to find out is what you mean to do when you live here. I want to be a doctor. You still want it? Even this figure? With fear of more accidents? I couldn't be interested in anything but medicine. Grasse, dear. Good. Now I feel good all day. I feel as proud as if one of my own stuff had done a brave thing. Xavier? I must go now. I am the busiest doctor in all Paris. And the best one, too. Thank you for coming, Dr. Foucault. No, thanks to me. I was curious. I wish to see this innovation that comes to us from a new country. A found doctor. As a Frenchman, I have admired beautiful women. As a clever man, I have liked witty ones. But as a doctor... Who's taking my pulse? I am kissing your hand. You will allow that tribute to college, mademoiselle Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell. Though partially blind, she studied in Paris, then in London, and then confident in her preparation, she turned to New York to begin her practice. Many a young doctor finds this period the most difficult in his life. For Elizabeth Blackwell, it was twice as hard. Desperate, she started a physical culture class for young ladies. One afternoon, Elizabeth finishes directing their exercises and walks into her office where Marie is a Krebska, another woman doctor whom she knew in Europe, Greek circle. Hello, Elizabeth. I took the liberty of waiting in your office since you were busy. Sit down, Maria. Ah, you're tired today. Was the class trying? Oh, they're nice girls. They're intelligent. But a physical culture class. It's ridiculous to have to teach the most elementary health rules to women of 23 and 4. They ought to know these things from childhood. Well, when enough women get into the medical profession, they'll teach other women sane living. Maria, we're not in the medical profession. Both of us are qualified to be doctors, but we have no more chances using our training than if we'd never opened a book or performed an operation. We're waste material. No, no, we're not that. We are pioneers. That's why we are lonely. What is this awful, stupid, falsely, moral disapproval that people visit on us? It isn't fair. I expected it in medical school. After all, I might have been a little flirt looking for entertainment in a college full of men, but now I've worked in slaves. I was ill so long in Paris. I thought I'd proved myself. How many patients have you had this week? None. Well, since the city won't let us into their dispensary, the only chance for us is to start a dispensary of our own. Is there any encouragement from anyone to whom you have written? No one. Here, I found this article in the journal today offering advice on our project. Read it. Let me see. If there were any accidents in the woman's hospital, the trustees would be blamed. The death certificate would not be recognized. Only low people would come to such a hospital. My heavens, it goes on like that for a whole column. In my mood this afternoon, I see no future ahead of me at all. Hey, young ladies, don't you ever open your door? Oh, good day, folks. For a moment with your appreciation. Well, not me. I'm sound as a chestnut, but I got a letter here. It looks mighty important. Oh, thanks. Oh, it is important. It's from the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher. You know, Maria, he's the famous minister in Brooklyn. Oh, yes. Oh, dear, hearing from him so quickly must mean that his committee for charitable projects didn't even consider helping me. Well, sorry if it's bad mood. Better luck next time. Good day. Well, open it anyway, Elizabeth. But as long as they didn't answer, I dared to hope. No. Wait. It says, I can't believe it. Read it, Maria. A hospital model entirely on the plan you outlined. A dispensary that may have many plus fees for the financial backing, but that will provide the start of women medical experts. The intelligence and application of American women in medicine must not be wasted in idleness. Elizabeth! Let me see it again. Who's to find us the money? Oh, here. Here, the Society of Friends. And the Reverend Ting. Yes. And the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher. Elizabeth, you're despairing of the future. Complaining because your gifts were going to waste. Here, write them in acceptance at once. Maria, we'll work for this dispensary for its future, as no women ever worked for anything before. Elizabeth, you aren't going to cry. No. A doctor in Paris that I wouldn't ever dare to. Years of worthwhile effort found their response in the public mind. A group of prominent New Yorkers helped Elizabeth Blackwell to found the New York Infirmary in College for women and children, which still exists today as one of the finest institutions of its kind. But the influence of Elizabeth Blackwell was not to end on this continent nor in her lifetime. Invited to England, she advised in the opening of medical courses for women and on the opening of hospitals for women. Today in the United States, there are over 7,000 licensed women physicians establishing a record of medical service to their fellow citizens. The Cable Cade of America salutes these professional women through one of the valiant leaders, Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell. Young people often protest that America's frontiers are gone, that there are no strange new lands left to explore. They complain that adventure is a thing of the past. It is true that America's geographical frontiers are gone. The plains where the bones of buffaloes once bleached are now dotted with flourishing cities and productive farms. But today America faces a marvelous new frontier, holding far more promise for human good than mere unpeopleed stretches of wilderness. Today's frontier is the vast unexplored domain of science. Scientific research offers those who would be modern pioneers all the adventure that comes with seeking unknown things, all the thrills that come with discovery. And those engaged in research find inspiration in the knowledge that their work contributes to the welfare and happiness of mankind. With each triumph of the laboratory, the world takes another forward step. Among the pioneers who are helping to build our modern civilization are the research chemists. From their excursions into the realms of atoms and molecules come discoveries that serve you every day. Chemical products such as refrigerants and cellulose film to protect your food. Fast dyes and man-made yarns for better clothing. Cleanable fabrics and sopless soaps for your home. Better medicines than X-ray film to help guard the health of your family. Think, for example, of chemistry's contribution to modern car, safety glass, improved oil and gasoline, durable finishes, anti-freeze compounds, better tires, and so on through a long list. This forward march of science and industry has carried the American standard of living to a point higher than that of any other country in the world. The DuPont Company, maker of chemical products since 1802, has been privileged to contribute many of the developments that have helped to make such progress possible. And just as it has done in the past, the DuPont program of chemical research will continue to provide better things for better living through chemistry. Minutemen of the Air, a story of amateur radio operators and their consciousness, Minutemen of the Air, a story of amateur radio operators and their contribution in time of national disaster, will be the subject of the broadcast when next week at this same time, DuPont again presents The Cable Cade of America. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.