Cavalcade of America. For more than 130 years, almost as long as this nation has lived, the name of DuPont has been associated with this country's progress. So it seems appropriate that DuPont should have the privilege of presenting this series of episodes, taken truthfully from American history, to remind us that from the earliest days to the present time, the American people have stood for the staunch and simple qualities that form our heritage. A group of distinguished educators prominent in the American Historical Association is working with DuPont to achieve the spirit of historical accuracy. Today, as ever, America is filled with faith in the future and courage to move ahead. You see it all around you, in homes, shops, factories, laboratories. DuPont sees it in the tireless research of its chemists, working to discover and create useful materials and products that make life happier and safer. It is the hope of DuPont that these stories from the pages of our country's history will awaken in the Americans of today, a renewed pride in the Americans who went before us, in the cavalcade of America. We are happy to announce that the leading part in this evening's performance will be played by one of Hollywood's most brilliant young stars, Franco Tone. Several distinguished visitors are with him here in the studio. One of them is Miss Joan Crawford, whose marriage to Mr. Tone was announced the day before yesterday. Other members of his family are here, including Mr. Tone's father, Dr. Frank J. Tone. It is especially fitting that Dr. Tone should be present at this program dedicated to the achievements of chemistry, because only a few days ago, he received the Atchison Medal and Prize awarded by the Electrochemical Society for his outstanding accomplishments in electrothermic. Tonight, you will hear the voice of Franco Tone in each of our two episodes. In the first, there's the young engineer who found the path for the first transcontinental railway over the Sierras, and in the second, as the airmail pilot who blazed the first sky trail high above those mountains. As the American cavalcade passes in review tonight, we set our stage for the year 1860 with some melodies that were familiar to the unsung heroes who won for us the glamorous West. Because of the The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. The. You're cold, aren't you, Hannah? Well, a little. Let me wrap the blanket around you. Thank you. There. How's that? Oh, much better. I had no idea the desert would be so cold. Now you know why they warn passengers to carry extra blankets and wear thick socks and heavy underwear. Oh, it's disgraceful to be traveling like this in the year 1860. Yes, but think what it must have been like in 1849. I'd rather look ahead and imagine what it'll be in 1869. No more rattling stages drawn by mule teens. No more camping by the roadside cooking your own meals, expecting any minute to be attacked by Indians. But shining iron rails stretching from coast to coast. You really think there'll be a transcontinental railroad by that time, Theodore? There's got to be. Yes, but the desert and the mountains. Mountains and no mountains. The East and West have got to be joined together. The only way this country of ours will ever develop. You've already proved that the Rockies can be crossed. But the Sierras. Are the Sierras really so terrible? Terrible. Hence magnificent. A jagged, snow-covered barrier that rises to the sky and defies all men. And still you say... The Sierras are not impassable, I'm sure of it. I'm sure that somewhere over those mountains is a patch where a railroad could be laid. Only I can find it. We will. We? You and I, together. But, Anna... Oh, I'm not an engineer, but I am a good cook. I can even help with survey rods and blinds. Anna, you'd go with me up into the Sierras? Oh, if you'll let me, Theodore. I'd like to feel that I'd had a little part. I don't care how little in making this dream of yours come true. If everybody had your say, they would. We wouldn't have to cross the Sierras. We'd move them! Oh, dear. In the city of Sacramento, in that same year of 1860, was a hardware store run by two merchants. Thomas P. Huntington and Mark Hopkins. A prosperous store it was, too. For after all, whether gold seekers succeed or fail, they must have picks and spades and pans. Into this store one day comes Theodore Judah. Uh, Mr. Huntington? Yes. My name's Judah. Theodore Judah. You talk like a Yankee. I am. From Connecticut. Well, don't go trying to sell me any wooden nutmegs. I come from Connecticut myself. I'd know better than to try anything like that on you no matter where you came from. They tell me you're the smartest storekeeper in California, Mr. Huntington. Stop soaping me, huh? Well, what is it you want? Slub steaks? Yes. Little late joining up with the gold rush, aren't you? I'm not out here looking for gold. No? I'm out here making a survey for the transcontinental railroad. What? Oh, no, it hasn't gone through yet. It's still just a dream in men's minds. But if we can cross the Sierras... Yes, just try and cross the Sierras. That's just what we're going to do. Huh? We're going up into those tough old mountains, my wife and I, and look for a pass. A pass where iron rails can be laid and trains can travel. Hey, any train that crosses the Sierras will have to climb up to the stars and down again. You can look, but you'll never find a pass. Well, now that's what everyone else says, but I didn't think you would. Huh? I thought you were the kind of man who'd realize that we've got to have a railroad connecting California with the East. Well, anybody with an eye in his head can see that we ought to. But anybody with an eye in his head can see the Sierras, too. And if you'd ever been up in them... I have been, when I was out here before. Oh, oh, this isn't your first trip west. Oh, I came out in 54. I was in charge of construction on the line from Folsom up through the Sacramento. Oh. Before that I was construction man on the Troy and Buffalo branches of the New York Central. I didn't know you were an engineer. Now, they tell me you're a hard man, Mr. Huntington. That you don't part with your money easily or gamble it away. That's right. But I'm going to ask you to gamble this one. Gamble some money on this piece of argon of the Sierras. We have no money. We've got to get somebody to stake it. It's a wild goose case. A goose that may lay golden eggs some day. Well, I can't give you any money. But I'll tell you what I will do. I'll give you a barrel of flour. Oh, thank you. That'll help keep you alive anyhow while you're camping up there. And your partner? Do you think he'd be willing to configure something? Mark, he might. He might stop down the street too at Stanford and Crocker's. They run the general store. Leland Stanford and Charlie Crocker. They ought to be good for $10 apiece. Oh, thanks. You're very kind. And when you come back from this trip of yours, come around and see us. Because if there is a pass over the Sierras... There is. And we're going to find it. The Sierras. Huntington was as good as his word. Stanford, Hopkins, and Crocker each contributed. Served by the vision of a young engineer. Eastward and upward, the Connecticut Yankee and his gallant little wife worked their way. Higher and higher into the grim Sierras. 6,900 and 45... Almost 7,000 feet. We... I guess we've reached the summit, Anna. The summit? Just over the next rise. Only a few hundred feet more. And... and then... Then? We'll know. Yeah. Now let's stop here. Just for a minute. You're feeling sick? No, I... I just can't seem to breathe. Oh, it's the altitude. No. It's here. I'm afraid, Anna. Who? I'm afraid. Climb that rise and see what's beyond. Suppose it should be the end of this path that we've been following all these weeks. A sheer drop, maybe. No, no. Now don't even think of such a thing. Oh, after all we've been through. Or it would be too cruel. Since when have the Sierras ever been kind? Haven't they done their best to defeat us? To blop us with walls of rock? Sweep us back with rushing rivers? Bury us a hundred feet deep in snow? The impassable Sierras. No, they're not impassable. But men can build bridges across those rivers and blast rocks away. Pull up barriers against snow. You said so yourself. A railroad that climbs to the stars. To the stars. To this place, where we're standing. And from here... Let's go and look. Can you make it, Anna? Yeah. You go ahead. I'll follow. No, I want... I want you with me. Beside me. Oh, the wind. It's so strong. Here. Now hold on to my arms. Is that better? How much better? We're almost to the top, Anna. I can begin to see over the rise. And beyond. Tell me. What do you see? I see a railroad...climbing to the stars, starting down again. Down an easy grade. Winding around that mountain ahead. Traveling down through the past. For it is the past, Anna. We've found what we've been looking for. The past through the Sierras. The past for the first railroad across America. And so it was, because of the determination of a man, whose name is no longer remembered. That the East and West were wedded with a band of irons. But as the American cavalcade moved onward, the people became restless for greater speed. For faster communication between the Atlantic and Pacific. The tempo of America quickened. And its faster pace was reflected in the music of our modern day. Expanding commerce demanded quicker means of transacting business. The mails are too slow, was the cry of the day. In Washington, D.C., one morning in January 1918, Otto Prager, assistant to Postmaster General Albert S. Burleson, stands with his superior, looking out of the window at foggy winter day. Had a chance to borrow the newspaper clippings today, Chief? Yes, I've seen them. More attacks from mail service. Speed, speed. They all want speed. Well, we'll give it to them. As soon as we find a way to develop the air mail, that'll be the answer. I've been thinking about it constantly. But I'm always stopped by one thought. Could we make the air mail regular, day by day, without interruption? Well, it's the big order, I know, Chief. But I don't think it's beyond the realm of possibility. Come over here to the window one minute. Look at that pause. Oh, pretty thick. You suppose those aviators could fly in weather like this? Why wouldn't be surprised? Why? Well, if they could make regularly scheduled flights with mail, no matter what the weather, I think I could get Congress to appropriate $50,000 for an experimental line. I've been thinking about that too, Chief. Suppose we get in touch with Colonel Deese. He has charge of Army training and air service. All right. Call him. Operator, I want to talk to Colonel E.A. Deese, at Army headquarters. Colonel Deese, yes, it's a great... Thank you. I think this idea might appeal to Deese, Mr. Berlison, if you'll support us. After the battle is over. Colonel Deese speaking. Oh, hello. This is Otto Prager, Colonel. Hello, Mr. Prager. I'm here with the Postmaster General. We've been talking about the matter I mentioned to you the other day. You think your boys could fly the mail in weather like this? Why not? Well, if they can, the Postmaster General believes Congress will approve an air mail service. Fine idea. We'll do it for you. We'll supply the planes and the pilots. Thank you, Colonel. Mr. Berlison, I'll come over and see you this afternoon. Goodbye. Goodbye, Mr. Prager. Chief, there's the answer. Deese says the Army can do it. Thus, in 1918, the air mail service was scheduled to begin the first route between Washington and New York. One day in May, Washington correspondents and cameramen hurried to Tacoma Park. All officialdom is there. The band is playing Hail to the Chief. President Woodrow Wilson is there with various other dignitaries. And an Army lieutenant chosen to fly the first sack of mail, which weighed only four and a half pounds. You all set, Lieutenant? Anytime the word is given, Mr. Prager. Will you give the signal, Mr. President? Lieutenant, in delivering this letter to the post office of New York City, you officially inaugurate the first flight of our government air mail service. I wish you luck and Godspeed. May we have a picture, Mr. President? Hold it a moment, please. All right, boys, all right. Don't keep it too long, please. Just remember that the mail is supposed to be delivered on time. Okay, thank you. We've got it. All right, Lieutenant. Time to go. If there's no other answer, I'm on my way. Zooming into the air, the pilot arches and dips in respect to the dignitaries below. Wheeling again, he heads for the distant horizon. The crowd disperses. The officials return to their offices, congratulating themselves on a new era in the transportation of the mail. Meanwhile, the pilot is winging his way. Suddenly his engine begins to miss. In a moment he knows he must make a forced landing. Sighting a field, he notices the plane downward. What in the world is this fellow doing in my field? Hi! What's your idea of landing in my field? Sorry, it couldn't be helped. An engine trouble. Well, what are you doing over this way? I don't see many of you fellows over my place. Why, there's the first official airmail flight from Washington to New York. New York, eh? Are you going by way of the South Pole? What do you mean, South Pole? Well, I'm sorry to tell you, mister, but you're in Maryland. It's just 25 miles southeast of Washington. In spite of this inauspicious beginning, Burleson and Prager proceeded to develop the airmail service. In August 1918, the post office decided it was ready to take over the job. It encountered trouble at every turn. A climax came one day in Belmont Park, New York, when pilots looking at storm clouds refused to leave the ground. His appeal to get the mail through falling on deaf ears, the superintendent wired Prager in Washington. Otto Prager, Office of Postmaster General, Washington. Mail's not leaving today. Weather bad. No visibility. Signed, Superintendent Belmont Park. Superintendent of Airmail Belmont Park, New York. Visibility unnecessary. Fly by compass. The mail must go. Signed, Prager. And go it did, slowly and section by section. It took a year to get the service as far west as Omaha, where on the morning of September 8, 1920, a plane stands in readiness in the airport. A mail truck moves up behind the waiting plane. Its driver leaps out, opens the back, and drags out a sack of mail bound for the Pacific Coast. Well, there it is, Bill. All yours. Okay, Jack. Is that everything? Well, nothing. Just a scrap. Thanks. You'll need it. I'd like a look at the weather, Mike. Well, the ceiling is down a bit, or it could be a lot worse. I mean, I guess I'm not much smaller here than I am. I wish I was up in that train today for all the money there is. All the day's work, Jack. Yeah. Well, that weather report says fog and rain all the way to the coast. I'll try my butt. What's the good old mail slogan say? Nor snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor night, stays these couriers. Well, that means on land and sea. That means on land or sea and now the air. I'll get through. Okay. See what you do. I got a postcard to a gallon of Frisco in that bag. I'll give it your love in person. Okay. Four at the block's feet. You're clear. Stand back. Come on, Jack. Happy land. Happy land. Into the dark sky, plain zooms toward the western horizon. Higher it soars until it disappears into the clouds. Far ahead, the rugged peaks of the Rockies stud the horizon. The pilot notices his ship upward 12,000 feet above the earth. Now the great salt desert stretches out below. The pilot steers his plane down the pass to Salt Lake City and sets it down on the airport field. You're late. How much? Fifteen minutes. Oh, I was flying around looking for a hole in the ceiling. Strong headwinds. How's the weather? Oh, not bad. What's the reports from the west? Not so good from here on. Fog, rain, snow in the Fieras. Just got a call from headquarters. You don't need to go on. What do you mean? No definite orders for you to continue. It's a volunteer job. Oh. Well, I've gone this far. I'll go the rest of the way. Hurry up with the refueling while I spec a little. Mechanics fuel and test the plane. In a few minutes it is ready. Up it soars again into the western sky. Fog and clouds close in. Only the compass is here by now. Darkness settles down as the pilot pushes on alone. Come on, you old crape. Climb. Climb. Twelve. Fifteen. Ah, fifteen thousand, August. Buzz and mist. Oh, Lord, but I'm sleepy. I feel as if I'd been up here for a day. I wonder what time it is. Hey, has this one stopped? Must be later than that. Please, stop it. Stop it, you fool. You can't fall asleep. Keep talking to yourself. Talk to yourself. Ah, it's cold. I've never felt so cold in my life. But if I fall into the wings, I'm through. Maybe I'm through anyway. Where are you going? I ought to be somewhere near Frisco. Maybe I've passed and I'm out over the ocean. Well, they warned me. I'm a volunteer. Can't blame anyone but myself. I go west as my own, you know. Ah, that's a way to talk. No snow, no rain, no heat, no fun. I've got to get down. See where I am. My only chance. Got to get down. Got to get up. Got to get up. Wake up. Wake up, I tell you. Got to get down. Got to get down. Down. Down. At the San Francisco airport, a crowd of citizens, city officials, and officers at the post office anxiously scan the sky, impatient for the sight of the plane. Minutes dragged tediously as they searched the horizon. He should have been here half an hour ago if nothing had happened. He's flying a bad course over the mountains and the desert. The clouds seem to be breaking. There ought to be a moon. Listen, is that a plane? Why are you hearing things? No, I hear it too. Look there, coming through that cloud. It's till dark to see. Light, light up the field. Light up gasoline plants. That's a pretty dim light for a man to plan. I see him now. He must be right at the field. He's waiting for a landing. He's made it. Hey, he looks cold. Yeah, with a smile on his face. Well, I got him. Any trouble up there? Anything wrong? Nothing. Just a little chilly. Hey, here's your mail. And so the goal was won. The continent had been spanned by the air mail. Just as east and west reunited by the first transcontinental railroad 51 years before. And today, this can happen in a New York office where a business executive is dictating a letter to his secretary. And please have these contracts executed and sent to me by return air mail. It is imperative that signed copies reach New York not later than day after tomorrow. It is very fluid. That's all. Thank you. Be sure to put an air mail stamp on that, Miss Brown. Yes, sir, I will. You've got to be in Frisco tomorrow. How simple it all seems today when 3,000 miles is only an overnight journey. To those who made it possible, who blazed our trails on land and in the air, we salute them, unsung heroes of the cavalcade of America. What a picture one gets from these stories of the fundamental characteristics of the American people. People who have the courage to look always forward, never to turn back, never to be defeated even in the face of seemingly insurmountable circumstances. Those stalwart Americans passed on to us their traditions, their spirit and courage. And in every walk of life in this year, 1935, Americans are doing their part to carry on. But today, instead of striving to span the continent, new achievements are being won in agriculture, engineering, medicine, chemistry, and in other pursuits of life. It's said that we live in the age of chemistry. And it's true that life is being made easier and happier from year to year because research chemists, like the pioneers of American history, are constantly looking ahead, solving the riddles of nature. Chemists are improving nature's material, even creating things that nature fails to supply. To mention one example, consider the varied uses created out of coal tar, an ugly substance for which no use was formerly known. From this unattractive raw material, DuPont produces useful dyes that help make American textile industries independent of foreign supply. Perfumes for soap and the bases for antiseptics, chemicals that improve gasoline. Also, in cooperation with the rubber industry, other chemicals have been produced from coal tar to give rubber longer wear, whether it be in a hot water bottle or in an auto tire. The story of coal tar is only one example of the way DuPont chemists create better things for better living through chemistry. Next Wednesday evening at this same time, DuPont will again present the Cavalcade of America. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.
