 Paid of America, presented by Dupont. This evening, the Dupont Cavalcade, resuming its fall and winter series, the dramatization of little-known episodes in American history, brings you the story of Edwin Booth, called by many the greatest of American actors. Through his continued efforts and his international reputation, the stage in this country was elevated to its rightful prominence in the English-speaking world. With all walks of life, Americans have been recognized for their perseverance and their ability to succeed against odds. As with Edwin Booth, the artist, so it is with the practical man and the scientist. The research chemist working in his laboratory is another example of American resourcefulness. In every field, he is striving for better comforts and more conveniences in our daily lives. The chemist expresses this in the Dupont Pledge, where things for better living, through chemistry. Don Voorhees and the Dupont Cavalcade Orchestra play as an overture, make believe, from Jerome Kern's operetta, Showboat. The Dupont Cavalcade moves forward. On November 13, 1833, the night Edwin Booth was born, strangled meteors rained from the sky, and the whispering servants of his father's household predicted a great life was in store for him. His father was Junius Brutus Booth, an accomplished Shakespearean actor. And as a small boy, Edwin often traveled with his parents on tours of the eastern state. We find young Edwin, with his tutor, Louis Duga, in a dingy dressing room backstage in an old seaboard opera house. You OK? Have you got the answer? Yes, Mr. Duga. Ninety-eight percent. Correct. Now we'll do another one. Can't we wait till the next bath? This one's about over and father will be coming in soon. Very well. But we'll have to solve an extra problem if we stop now. I don't mind that. Mr. Duga, how old was that person when he played Hamlet? Your father hires me to tutor you in arithmetic. You'll have to ask him that question. How do you know about him? Well, son, I hope you've been doing your lessons satisfactorily. Has he, Duga? Well, I suppose I shouldn't complain, Mr. Booth, but I feel at my duty to tell you that Ted doesn't seem to have his heart in these arithmetic problems. Oh, and what does he care for, Mr. Booth? The theatre. Only a few minutes ago he wanted to know how old Pettiton was when he played Hamlet. Why would you like to know that, Ted? I was just curious. I want to play Hamlet myself someday. You play Hamlet? Oh, oh, oh, what a foolishness. I want you to learn a good trade, say, carpentry. And who knows what one day you might even become a cabinetmaker. Very sensible advice, Mr. Booth. Of course it is. And any more discussion on the subject of acting is closed, as far as I'm concerned, Ted. Yes, sir. Father, is Hamlet the greatest part in all Shakespeare's tragedies? Yes, I think so. It's a tragedy of an uncertain mind. There's nothing worse than that. I see. Father. Well? Father, may I please go out in the audience and watch this next class? You certainly may not. You stay in here and do those arithmetic problems with Duga. Certain place, Mr. Booth. That's my call. Now, son, nail right into your songs. And mind you, work them all perfectly. If you're late now, Ted, let's get to work. All right, Mr. Duga. But, please, sir, let me just leave the door open for a moment. I'd like to hear Father give Hamlet soliloquy. Well, only for a second or so, you understand? Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Would I be pleased to come to me? I'd have to rock, or you might be left, but things may come, or we'll have to walk with the water for a little while. Isn't he magnificent? Your father is the greatest Hamlet in the United States. Maybe. But I'm not going to play Hamlet his way when I become a doctor. Didn't I just hear you agree with your father not to go on the stage? You only heard me promise not to talk to him about it. Certainly I'm going to be an doctor. I'm going to play Hamlet someday. What I do, I'm going to play it shortly. It is the tragedy of a man's mind. That's how it ought to be played. Not like Father's, that, does it? So, so vigorously with all that yelling? You must remember your father is a great actor, Ted. Yes, he is today. I believe my interpretation of Hamlet, is a better one. Before long, I'll prove it to both of you someday. Close the door, Mr. Dugan. Listen. This is how I do it. Did I... to sleep? To sleep? The chance to dream? I... There's the rub. A few years pass. Edwin is now 15. It is the night of September 10th, 1849, at the Boston Museum. For the elder Booth and his company have been playing Shakespeare's Richard the Third. Refined Edwin, sitting in his father's dressing room, strumming his banjo. The door opens. Hello there. Better put your costume on. No use carrying it around with you. Curtain goes up in about half an hour, you know. Oh, no, Harry. The crystal I'm not on right away. Oh, certainly be glad when we get through playing Richard. You don't know how I end for you. Being able to act every night? Oh, why don't you get yourself a part? That ought to be easy enough for you. Isn't this your father's company? That's just a trouble. Father won't let me be an actor. He'd rather have me as carpenter. Well, that thing is a hard life. Now, take me now. I've been on the stage ever since I could put one foot in front of the other. Where does it get you after all? To me, that wouldn't matter. If I could make drama a really great art in this country. Drama already is a great art in the United States. What are you talking about? Oh, it is, is it? Well, just think. Every time we stage a work of Shakespeare's, we have to use an adaptation. Why use adaptations of Shakespeare's dramas? They're really superb in the original, you know. But you have to use alterations. Audiences couldn't understand the plays if you didn't. If I ever become an actor, I'm going to play Shakespeare as Shakespeare wrote it. Not Collie's Sibber's version or anyone else's. Well, you're not an actor yet. Huh, just a better good dress. Sure, I hate to go on tonight. Do you? Well, why? Well, I could have gone to a party over at the Warren. You can still go. Well, let me take your place tonight. Is that an idea? Oh, what would your father say? Leave that to me. Somebody will have to play Tressel. And it'll be just my chance. Yes, and my job. No, I don't know. I'll tell him you're ill. It's only a small part, and it's just for one night. What do you say? All right, Ed, I'll do it. Here's the costume. You'd better put it on. It might not be so hard to convince your father then. Good luck. Well, the costume was large for him. Young Edwin pinned it together. And when his father comes in, he finds his son walking up and down the dressing room, repeating the lines of Tressel. Well, the queen that lives and many of your friends. Your queen yet lives and many of your friends. But come along, your son. Hello, Ed. What are you doing in that costume? Bill isn't going on tonight. He's ill, so I thought... Ill? That's our fine state of affairs. Who's going to take his place? Well, since there's no one else, I thought I might. Now listen, father, you've got to have a Tressel. Why not let me play it? You? If you want to play much of a part, I'll hardly be on the stage before I'll have to go off. What evil advice would permit it? Do you know the lines? Every word. Indeed. Well, who is Tressel? What does he do? After the Battle of Choupesbury, during the War of the Roses, Tressel conveys the message to King Henry VI that the rebels have captured the queen and the Prince of Wales. He says, your queen yet lives and many of your friends. Well, son, seem to be familiar with the part. All right. Oh, thank you, father. Thank you. Yeah, you'd better put these on. Right. Your own stars. Tressel war's worth, you know. Give them back to me when the scene's over. Now let's walk to the wings. He's time to your answers, I think. All right, father. I'm ready. Here we are. Dr. Pugh? Yes. As soon as the lieutenant says, but I fear this fatal, I go on. That's right. Father, it's my debut and you haven't even wished me good luck. I don't have to. You're a boon, aren't you? Now listen for yourself. I fear some heavy news. Who is it, Lieutenant? A lemon, sorry, must be your son. I would not urge him, but I fear this fatal. Nothing's it. You're on. Thank you indeed. It riles the tide of age that sticks the nature of a tragic volume. Say, friends, address the queen, the son. Your queen yet lives, and many of your friends become a lord of your son. Well, can I guess you in? Sir, your son is dangerous. The defunded capricade moves forward. And so it was that Edwin Booth made his debut on the American stage. When he was only 18 years old, Edwin portrayed the tragic title role in which it referred. In 1852, Junius Brutus Booth and his company, of which Edwin was now a full-fledged member, sailed from New York for California. After months of discouragement in the frontier country that so saddened Edwin's father that he returned to the East, we next see Edwin Booth as a slender youth of 20. He is talking with one of the actresses in his newly formed company on the stage of the old San Francisco Hall. The curtain has just fallen on the opening scene, and Edwin Booth is about to fulfill his boyhood ambition. The curtain rises... in Hamlet. I'm afraid, Ed. Maybe we'd better not go on with the play. Just listen to that marble on the other side of the curtain. Ed, I really think he should have tried to do Hamlet. I'll hear in this frontier country. It'll be all right, Laura. Just wait till that curtain goes up. If we're ever going to have a great American theater, there's no place like San Francisco to lay the foundation. Come on, come on, Laura. Let's give him a Hamlet he'll never forget. I'll do my best, Ed. Places, everybody. Curtains. Though yet of Hamlet, our dear brother's death, the memory is green. And that it us befitted to bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom to be contracted in one brow of war. Yet, yet so far have discretion fought with nature that we with wise sorrow think of him together with remembrance of ourselves. Therefore, our sometimes sister, now our queen, have we as well with a defeated joy taken to wife. But now, my cousin Hamlet and my son, a little more than kin and less than time. How is it that the clouds still hang on you? Not so, my lord. I am too much in the sun. Good Hamlet. Just by night and color of deep I know, will father, though most is common, all it lives must die. Aye, madam, it is common. Hey, quiet! Particular with thee. Seems, madam, nay, it is. I know not, seems. It is not alone my inky cloak would, mother, nor the customary suits of solemn black, nor the windy, suspiration of ported breath. No, no, the fruitful river of the eye. Before the tense gone faces of rough frontier folk, one of the wonders of the age was taking place, Edwin Booth playing Hamlet for the first time in an immortal career. As though in contrast to the din which greeted the young actor's entrance on the stage, the old hall was hushed as the drama doeth will close. Good for the issue. In this harsh world, draw thy breath in pain to tell my story. Oh, I die for the short. The potent poison quite all crumpled my spirit. Now cracks the noble heart. Good night, my friend, and flights of angels singly to thy rest. On Edwin Booth's return to the east, his Hamlet was enthusiastically received. He was called the hope for the living drama, the idol of the American stage, and the greatest tragedian in the history of our theater. But when Edwin Booth was not traveling with his company throughout the land, his mind was occupied with other schemes of a special significance to American drama. One day, we find him discussing these plans with Dr. A. O. Kellogg, as the two men drive over the Connecticut countryside near Coss Cobb in an open carry. Did you ever cherish a dream, doctor? Perhaps. Well, doctor, I cherish three dreams, and they all pertain to the theater. First, I want to build my own theater. It must be the best in the world and the credit I hope to the profession in this country. That is a dream. But it also has a speculation, you know. Then I want to make the world conscious of the fact that our people appreciate the power of the great Shakespearean drama. Suppose I should play Hamlet longer than anyone has ever played it before. Say, 60 nights in succession or 70. Why not a hundred? Why, the people that never come to see me in Hamlet for a hundred nights. You underestimate your genius, Madden. Now, my third dream. I want to found a club which will ennoble the standing of the acting profession in the United States. I'd be in favor of calling it the player. I would like to see it represent all that is best in the profession. Well, Ned, know the three mighty ambitious dreams. You'll be lucky if even one of them ever comes true. I trust they all will. You see, doctor, I'm not just satisfied with playing Hamlet up and down this country. I want to leave something permanent behind me when I die. I'd say you already have. You've given the theater its greatest Hamlet. Please don't think I'm ungrateful, doctor. But it always embarrasses me to hear that. It really doesn't matter who plays the role. Hamlet is a great part in itself. Yeah, that's what a lot of misguided actors have been told. I'm afraid. Whoa! Oh, boy, look out, Ned. The grade's rearing up. Who'll get down there? What's the matter with those nags, anyway? I wish I knew. Whoa, boy. Hold him in, Ned. Looks like they're going to run away with us. Not if I can help it. City! Hang on, Ned! Hang on! Get out! The headstone's broken. That's the team lose. Kill for your life! I can't! I can't! Hurry up! The buggy's going to tip off in any minute. Come on, tell him! I say, look out! We're heading right for the telegraph pole! That's a perfect cut in line for you. Oh, I guess I'm going to live to see those dreams realized after all, doctor. If this runaway couldn't kill me, nothing can. Determined to accomplish his three dreams, Edwin Booth played Hamlet at the Old Winter Garden in New York, 109th. From November 26th, 1864, until March 25th, 1865. His serene mastery of the role gradually attracted the interest of the entire English-speaking world through the American theater. On January 22nd, 1867, following a temporary retirement from the stage, refined Booth confronted by a committee on the stage of the Winter Garden. His after-performance of Hamlet and Booth is still in costume as Governor Hoffman of New York finishes his speech. And never before has the work of any actor in the history of the theater gone upon itself so much acclaim. Through Mr. Booth, our American drama has grown to greatness. Now it is my privilege to introduce Judge Fuller. Mr. Booth, the visitation of this committee was prompted by the respect of your fellow men, who desire, through me, to offer you a token of their appreciation of your genius as an actor and of their respect for you as a man of whom the nation is proud. Gentlemen, I thank you all. If it seems that I... I apologize for interrupting you, but the token I have referred to must be bestowed on you. We have inscribed it the Hamlet Medal. It is a symbol of your contribution to the progress of culture in this country. Here, let me hang it around your neck. It is well that you stand before us in the costume of Hamlet. Since it is fitting that the presentation of this medal should take place on the occasion of a play with which your name will be forever associated as the greatest Hamlet who ever lived. Gentlemen, accustomed as I am to conceal my feelings beneath the player's mask, I now find it difficult to express them. The best thing I could say tonight, I would have to borrow from Hamlet himself. For after all, I can do no better than to quote Hamlet on this occasion. Bigger that I am, I am poor in tax. Edwin Booth realized his other two dreams. He built his theater and he founded the Players Club. After his death at 59, he was honored by the Hall of Fame and his portrait was hung in the Shakespeare Gallery at Stratford on Avon. On November 13, 1918, on the 85th anniversary of his birth, Edwin Quinn's statue of Edwin Booth as Hamlet was unveiled in Gramercy Park in the Players Club in New York City. There it stands today, a monument of our national pride and the art of the man who devoted a lifetime to ennobling the American theater. DuPont salutes Edwin Booth as an outstanding figure in the cavalcade of America. Last Thursday evening, the Chamber of Commerce of Clinton, Iowa, gave a dinner attended by more than 750 people including the governor of Iowa, the mayor of Clinton, and many other state and city officials. The dinner was given to celebrate, but I think you should hear about it from the man who was there, Mr. John E. Haas, general manager of the Cellophane Division of the DuPont Company. Mr. Haas. The governor, the mayor, and all our Clinton friends certainly made the dinner an event for us. They called it a Welcome to DuPont Bandit, because the DuPont Company is about to build a new plant in Clinton to manufacture cellophane cellulose cells. The new unit will provide employment for at least 500 local people, and will be our first cellophane plant in the Middle West. Well, does it take many plants to supply the demand for cellophane, Mr. Haas? We now have six plants in operation, two each in Buffalo, New York, Richmond, Virginia, and Nashville, Tennessee. The new plant in Iowa will make seven units in four different communities. Eight years ago, we had only one plant, but we've been fortunate in being able to grow steadily even through the worst years of the Depression. In fact, we look on cellophane as a depression resistant. As a new industry, it has created thousands of jobs and manufacturers have welcomed it, because cellophane wrap stimulates the sale of their products. And the most remarkable thing to me is that this new industry really came out of the chemist test tube. Mr. Haas, what is the principal reason for the astonishing growth of cellophane? The chief reason, of course, is that people like it. Cellophane gave them a sanitary wrapping material to which they could actually see the products they buy. Since its introduction, cellophane has been made moisture-proof by DuPont Chemists, so that now it keeps foods dust and tobacco fresh and protects all kinds of products against dust and germs. It has been developed in a great many colors, too. And what about price, Mr. Haas? Shortly after manufacturing began, we were selling cellophane at $2.50 a pound. Since that time, 18 separate price reductions have been made so that today it averages 40 cents a pound. Well, that's a real record. Now, when the new plant opens in Iowa, will you send your own men out there? A few experienced technical men will move to Clinton. But almost all the people needed to operate the new plant will be recruited locally. And we estimate to payroll at well over a half a million dollars a year. It will really be a new local industry, a Midwest plant, better to serve the great Midwest area. Thank you very much, Mr. Haas. Your story of cellophane is indeed another example of how the DuPont Company's chemical research and manufacturing activities are working to provide better things for better living through chemistry. Mary Lyon, pioneer woman educator and founder of Mount Holyoke College, will be the subject of our broadcast when next week, at the same time, the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware again presents the Cavalcade of America. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.