 The Cavalcade of America, presented by DuPont. The Basin of the Mississippi is the body of the nation. Once a great man shows that for the first line of a famous book, he went on to tell how the Mississippi rises in the Dakotas, how thousands of other streams dance down through the Rockies and from the Alleghenies to join the Mississippi. Then the great shining tide rolls on, 3,000 miles to the Gulf, a noble river. Many of its sons have put it into song and story, but we feel the man who of all others felt most deeply its power and compelling lure was Mark Twain. The river gave Mark Twain to the world, and gratefully because he could never forget it, he made the world love the Mississippi. It is his story that we will tell you tonight. Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly. From Shobo, Jerome Kern's immortal score of Edna Ferber's drama of the Mississippi, Don Vorace and the DuPont Cavalcade Orchestra play a familiar melody. The chosen name of a gentle American humorist beloved the world over. He was born Samuel Clemens in 1835. He grew up in Hannibal, Missouri, where his friends all used the Mississippi for a playground, swimming in it, fishing in it, using its caves to play pirates. Hannibal was a typical sleepy river town of the period, lying in the sun like a village of the dead, and the only times it ever woke up... Can you take that pail of white wash and go on with the fence? Aw, Mom, how can I be a river pilot if I don't wash him down? It wasn't for that river, maybe you'd amount to something. Aw, Mom. Mom, I promised him after something if I can just finish that fence after dinner. Don't talk to the cargo loaders. It's men's talk and it fills your head up with natches and baton rouge and river jokes I never heard of. And that young one keeps the fence. Queens of the Mississippi were her stately steamboats and kings with the river pilots. Every boy in Hannibal dreamed of the river as an Antucket or Gloucester boy dreams of going to sea. One by one, Sam's friends went off down the shining highway, and at last came the time when Samuel Clemens, in his early 20s, walked into the pilot house of the steamboat named Jones Bound South to ask the vital questions. Might I talk to you while you're at the wheel? Sure, son, to though. Chance, you might need a hand on this ship. Where are you from? All good many places. New York, Philadelphia, St. Louis, and Kierke. I'm printer by trade named Samuel Clemens. This river where I lived was a man grown on it, in it. I could swim from that Missouri shore to Illinois and back. You know Willie and Bart Bowman? Bowman boys? They're pilots on the St. Louis New Orleans run. Friends of mine, so? My mother always said it was the river that made us boys restless. She was right. Maybe if you try to leave the Mississippi, you'll always come back to it. Well, I couldn't say I never tried leaving it. Well, how about it, Captain? Would you take an apprentice pilot? A cub pilot? I've steered everything else on this river. I've steered a rowboat and a raft and a log. You think you could learn 1200 miles of the river and know the depths every inch of the way? Well, you've got to know the look of every bluff, every tree and grove, a day and night, in different kinds of moonlight, in rain or... Just let me have that wheel a minute. Step up. All right now, hold her where she is, right for that cut wood tree. Go and pass Hannibal for me soon, Captain. Hannibal, Missouri. How do you know? That's where I'm from. I reckon you've got the feel of the river all right. Gosh, come on, Captain. How about it? Well, I guess you'll be coming past Hannibal one way or another for years. I can use a cup. And so the river became Mark Twain's life as he was sure it would. He learned every depth in the river, but he also learned about people, people learned about him. Humor and courage were the everyday qualities of a pilot. Searching for the dim shapes of headlands at night, trained his eyes. Samuel Clemens learned patience, watching cargo on the walls of New Orleans. Sometimes at night, out on the levees, he'd talk to his favorite young brother, Henry, who'd followed him on the river. That's a beautiful river, Sammy. Which part do you like best? It's all good. You're a lightning pilot, Sam. Not afraid of the reefs. That's what I'm going to be. Maybe I was wrong to get you on the river, Henry. How'd mother feel about it? I suppose she thought brothers would be good company. But now we'll get separated if I go north on the Pennsylvania. You go on. We'll get together later. I meant to say, Henry, this river sometimes it's a treacherous old snake. If anything ever happens to a boat you're on, swim for it across the current. Take care of all passengers first. Sure, Sammy, sure. Look, there's a shooting star. Samuel Clemens going north on the A.T. Lacey. Henry Clemens on the steamboat Pennsylvania. And the cruel river plotting to separate the brothers forever. A few days later in a Memphis hospital. The doctor told me the truth, Sam. Only a little longer. You can take some messages to mother. Sure. Don't talk too much, Henry. The boilers exploded. I was in the water. I tried to head for shore. Like you'd warned me once. Across the current. Be easy, Henry. Across the current. And then I remembered what you said about looking out for the passengers. And I swam back. Cursed the river? Cursed? Shut up, Sam. You'll bother the others. I'm not afraid. I'll be in safe waters. Mark Twain. The lazy, beautiful river. The ominous, terrible river. Had nourished Sam Clemens. Made his living, given him quick laughter. And stolen his brother. When the civil war began and made the river a kind of no man's land between north and south. The reign of the steamboat came to an end. From the river pilot he became a miner and a prospector. And finally a newspaper reporter in the west. It was here that he first used the name Mark Twain to sign his articles. The humorous vein of his writings was widespread and gradually led to the lecture platform. But while lecturing was one brave adventure falling in love was another. And one day he completed the visit at the home of the Langtons in Elmira, New York. Livy. Don't interrupt you. You always call me youth. Thanks for the compliment, but I'm no youth by alongside. Now, youth, you mustn't use slang. You shouldn't say things like by alongside. I didn't know it was wrong, Livy. It just came out natural. Well, you never hear any slang in this house, you bet your life. I have to say goodbye, Livy. Yes, I know you're going today. You have a lot of important work to do. There's a lot of things I'd like to tell you, Livy. I think about you all the time. Oh, youth, do you? I better hurry if we're going to catch that train. Are you all ready? Yeah, yeah, I guess so. Well, goodbye, Livy. Goodbye. I hope you have a pleasant trip. Now, what's the matter with her? Oh, just, well, just... girls are like that sometimes. You know, Charlie, I almost wish I could stay on a couple of weeks. It's been the first real home I've seen since the left Hannibal, Missouri. Sam, you and Livy, it would be most embarrassing if you stayed on. Charlie, tell me the truth, will you? We're friends. Is it because I'm a Westerner that I'm not good enough for your sister? No background, no education, no politics. Let's just don't bother with it, Sam. The carriage is waiting. Maybe I could write books, Charlie, if I just had a reason for writing them. Livy's best reason I ever saw. Almost train time, Master Charlie. Oh, thanks, Tom. Will you take the bags, please? Yes, Master. We'd better hurry, Sam. Certainly, Charlie. I wish I could say goodbye to Livy again. I promise not to tell her how I feel about her. It's better this way, Sam. Put the bags in front of the trap, Tom. I got them fixed, Master Charlie. Oh, Bobby, whoa! What do you reckon up for? You gentlemen, get in, please. Thank you, Tom. You're all settled, Sam. The light trap isn't so comfortable with baggage. I say, Tom, this seat feels loose. Yeah, it's got to be fixed, might as soon. Ready, gentlemen? Get up, Bobby. Get up. Stop! Stop! Stop! Oh, oh, Bobby! Oh, you poor horses! Oh, oh! Oh, my God. Oh, Mr. Charlie. Mr. Charlie, you hurt? I'm all right, Tom. Help me up, please. Where's Sam? Sam! He must feel right out on his head. Sam. Sam, old man. Tom, run for the doctor. Oh, Charles. Charles, what happened? Keep back, Livy. Oh, let me help him. Charles, is he dead? The horse jerked and the seat broken. Stop the smoke out. All right, you stay here. I'll get water. Oh, you? Livy. What? Yes, dear. You, didn't you fall on your head? I hope not. I think I'm going to need it. Livy, I've promised not to tell you. I'm in love with you. Oh, then you mustn't tell me. Oh, darling, I'm so glad. Samuel Clemens had left the river and set out on an even more exacting highway, the road to fame. Beautiful Olivia Langdon married him and that was the inspiration for the books he began to write. But the books themselves went back to the Mississippi and touched the life, the river, and its villages and people. The Mississippi Valley was stamped in his drawl, his simplicity, his quiet humor, and the world loved him for it. Mr. Twain, on this visit to England, all the English want to understand your quaint American customs. Why are you carrying a cotton umbrella? Oh, because it's the only kind an Englishman won't steal. Welcome to Berlin, Mr. Twain. Will you sign the register here, please, Mr. Twain? Order this name. Grand Duchess Sophia and Retinue. Just sign me Mark Twain and suitcase. So many people come to interview you. Don't you think it will be a bit embarrassing for this reporter you're being in bed? Well, Livy, if you think so, we might have the other bed made up for him. These thousands of silly letters, you... Listen to this one. Dear Mr. Twain, I hear you're so famous that you now get a dollar a word for your writing. I'm enclosing a dollar. Please send me a word. All right, Livy, send him one word. Thanks. It is anonymous, Mr. Twain, to welcome you to the Republic of France. As you see by the crowd at the station, we read your books in translation. Well, it's fine to be here. Well, I've heard the people are so smart and purse that even the children speak French. Sometimes Samuel Clemens, the river pilot, must have marveled at the life of Mark Twain the writer, that man for whom everything turned to gold, whose friends were statesmen and philosophers and whose books delighted presidents and kings and whom he used the entire world when he said that the report of his death was grossly exaggerated. But if there's one thing a pilot understands, it's hitting a reef. All the middle years of Mark Twain's life were rich, with a dazzling confusion of success, adulation and travel. Living at the Villa Vivani on a hill overlooking the towers of Florence, he finished Tom Sawyer, and then nearing 60 in the full flush of fame, achievement and honor. Your publishing house declared a failure. Misunderstanding and ill-will imminent. Debt's total $70,000. Will you accept assignment of claims? Henry H. Rogers. I'll take that assignment. I've got to pay it back. $70,000. I can start work, write anything, the order, any book or article. No more speeches or dinners or banquets or playing the great Twain. Oh, youth, if we could only pay it back. Well, anyway, we can't go back home. Why? Oh, I can't face it, Libby. I just can't face the music until I've paid every darn cent. We can stay abroad wherever you think you can write. What scares me is that I might not be able to write. I can't remember anything, Libby. No stories, no jokes. I fish down in the mine and it's a blank. That's only worry, my dear. Wish I were younger. I'm nearly 16. I've been away from the river a long time. I mean, away from the people that I knew out there and knew how to write about. Oh, I know you can do it, youth. Why, you've told me over and over again that the most you've ever been scared in your life was out on that river. You said hitting one of me. I wish I was young again, Libby. Long enough to see the Mississippi. I'd like to be in a pilot house and feel the water getting showering. Libby, I never had an accident. Never lost a passenger or harmed a cargo. I'd hate to spoil a record. Years of exile, of lean living, of wanting to go home. But the work Samuel Clemens knew he had to do went on. There was work like the finished beautiful book of Joan of Arc, the work of lecturing on a tour that took him clear around the world. Personal sorrow distracted him. His lovely daughter Susie fell ill and died. But the pilot had set his hand to the wheel and the glass the debt was paid. He felt free then to come back to America and even to pay the Mississippi a last, sad visit. But the glory of steamboating was over. He was old, 70 years old. And sometimes he wondered what had been the good of his life and of all his books. We think that an English university gave the answer in 1907 at Oxford. Two young Englishmen helped Mark Twain prepare for a solemn ceremony. This robe is fancier than the kind they're wearing universities back home. Yes, you wear black in the states, do you not? Frankly, I never got a degree from a college except this honorary kind. The best kind, don't you think? Well, I don't know. I certainly didn't have enough education. Pick up what I know on an old riverboat. On the Mississippi. How'd you know? Why, I've read your books, sir. I suppose most Englishmen feel that they know most about America from the speeches of Abraham Lincoln and from the books of Mark Twain. From Abe Lincoln and me. That's a compliment. I think you're all ready to join the procession now, Mr. Twain. No, no, no. Tell me again what to do. You simply walk with the others through the quads and into the Sheldonian Theater where Lord Curzon gives out the degrees. I walk up when I'm told to stand as Lord Curzon says something in Latin and walk back to my place. Oh, there's one thing, sir. Rather odd about Oxford throws people off a bit sometimes. The undergraduates all sit in the gallery and shout out their own comments on the degree holders. How do they feel about Americans? I think you're just the person who's won them over, sir. And they remember all your charming insults about England. Good Lord. Will they remember them? Oh, well, maybe they won't recognize me at all. And then I'll be safe. Quietly Mark Twain adjusts his gray and scarlet gown, walks slowly to his place in the procession, stands with the other honorary fellows, with Prince Arthur of Connacht, the sculptor Auguste Rodin, the composer Saint-Saint, the poet Rudyard Kipling. Then into the great lofty halls steeped in the ancient courtly tradition of British pageantry and learning, moves the solemn academic procession. It's a wonder everybody can't hear my knees knocking. It's your turn now, sir. Mark Twain. Where's Tom Sawyer? We want him to be seen. Come on, young man, let's go. Mr. Seankind! Mr. Seankind! Mr. Seankind! I love you, too. And I am grateful to see you. Mr. Seankind! Sit here, Mr. Twain. He nearly brought the roof down for you. What will Your Excellency say? What would Lord Curzon say? I don't understand that. He said, most amiable and charming sir, you take the sides of the whole world with your memories. Mark Twain made the world laugh, but he did more. He won a world public's admiration and respect and made the Mississippi known wherever man knew the printed page. He died with his debts paid and his mind at peace. Mark Twain, the pilot, was in safe waters at last. And the riches he left were as great as this country has ever received from any of our literary songs. And now Bazzle Rise deal with a story from the wonder world of chemistry. It seems that every time I look into a story of chemistry I discover a host of queer facts that I never knew before. I looked into the story of colored glass and found that a glass factory was America's first mint. Yes, mint, a place where money is made. Way back in 1621 some glass workers from Venice were brought over to Jamestown, Virginia to make colored beads to be used for barter with the Indians. And so colored glass was first made in this country to serve as money. And there's another angle of that story because for many generations it took plenty of money to buy colored glassware for home use. There was a good reason for the high cost of colored glass the maker had to have a tank full of molten glass for every different color he wished to use. So to make a goblet with a red top, a clear stem, and a blue base he had to make the three parts separately and then cement them together. Chemistry has solved that problem. Today he has only to make a clear glass goblet and then apply the remarkable surface colors used in modern glassware. These surface colors are glass, low melting glass ground to a very fine powder along with chemical pigment then mixed with a solvent and sprayed on. The glassware then travels through an oven where heat of 950 to 1100 degrees Fahrenheit causes the color to melt and stick fast. The glass article itself is safe because it won't melt at those temperatures. So you see it's really glass applied to glass that obtains these handsome color effects at a little cost. I was told by men in Dupont ceramic color plant that at least 10,000 different shades or variations of color for glass and pottery can be obtained there. Much scientific skill must be used to make sure that each color has the same rate of expansion as the glassware. Otherwise it would chip off when exposed to changes in temperature such as caused by hot or cold drinks. And that's not all. The allies in soaps and foods and sulfides from coal gas all attack color. Latest Dupont developments in this field resist these enemies so well and are so permanent they're called super resistant colors. Well, there's another kind of better living. Beauty for the home in the form of lovely glassware that everyone can afford. Yes, beauty that grew out of a pledge of service. The Dupont pledge. Better things for better living through chemistry. This radio presentation was arranged through the courtesy of the Mark Twain estate and Harold Sherman who has been granted the exclusive right to dramatize the life of Mark Twain. Next week the Cavalcade of America will present the story of the American patriot Nathan Hale. So until next week then at the same time this is Thomas Chalmers saying good night and best wishes in Dupont. Broadcasting system.