The Cavalcade of America presented by DuPont. This evening the Cavalcade of America brings you the story of Peter Cooper, industrialist, philanthropist, and educator. Cooper found fame and fortune late in life and used his success to help young people just beginning the struggle of life. His own life was a continued attempt to improve conditions around him. And today research chemists are following that same ideal. In research laboratories such as those maintained by DuPont, experiments are constantly being carried on to bring more comforts and conveniences into our daily lives. The significance of this work is aptly summed up in the DuPont pledge, better things for better living through chemistry. As an overture, Don Borey's and the Cavalcade Orchestra bring us a special setting of Jerome Kern's well-known Babes in the Wood from the musical comedy Very Good Eddie. Peter Cooper was born in 1791, the fifth child in the family. In those trying early years of our nation, the boy helped his hardworking father who was successively a hatter, brewer, storekeeper, and brickmaker. Of actual schooling, Peter Cooper had little. Yet he pressed onward, making his way in life, first as apprentice to a coachmaker, and finally as proprietor of a small grocery store in New York City. In his 36th year, we find Peter Cooper in his grocery store, waiting on a woman customer. There's your order, Mrs. Wenslake. Is that all? Yes, Mr. Cooper, that's all. Oh, by the way, what did I hear about you buying some more property? Yes, and I bought three lots last week. Well, apparently you saved your money, Mr. Cooper. Yes, and now let me see. Bill adds up $4.83. And there's your statement. $4.83. Carrots, potatoes, I wish you seemed to have your own methods of spelling, Mr. Cooper. I never learned to spell. Weren't any good schools around where I come from. Anyway, I was too busy to go to them. My ignorance always has troubled me. I didn't mean to laugh. I'm sorry. I think folks need to be educated. When I was young, I used to putter along with inventions, mechanical things. I had talent in my hands, but never trained to use it. Now I've drifted into storekeeping. Though I honestly think I'd be better at something else. Most men seem to think they're in the wrong business nowadays. Here's your money. Thanks. I don't think you understand what I mean about education, Mrs. Van Slyke. For instance, you asked me about those lots I bought. Yes. I feel my lack of education so much that someday I'm going to build a school on those lots. A school? For yourself, Mr. Cooper? For young people without opportunity, or older men like myself who still need to learn or... Oh, my goodness. Well, I ought not to laugh, but... Oh, I'm ashamed of you, Mr. Cooper. I always thought you to be a sensible man. Now I find you with daydreams like a ten-year-old. I don't think any man's too old to plan for the future. Well, I do. Why, you're at least. Well, I won't guess at your age. But I know you're a married man and the father of a family. Now, don't talk nonsense about schools, Mr. Cooper. You be sharper about your business. And you don't even close your store at regular hours. Good evening. Good evening. Oh, it's you, John Freeland. Quite a talking girl you've got, Peter, huh? Where were you all the time, John? Sitting down behind that cracker barrel till the storm blew over. Listen, John, did you hear her laugh at my school? No, Peter. Most of the neighbors think you were just talking when you started planning that school of yours. Well, why shouldn't I plan something big, John? Lectures for young mechanics and engineers in a big free reading room. You'd make a lot of money to start a free school, Peter. I know it. That's why I've got to find a larger business. You're doing well right here, aren't you? What were you telling me yesterday about a glue factory up for sale? Well, Peter, you're not serious about that, are you? Well, they want $2,000. I've got that much. And the real reason they're selling it is because nobody in this country knows how to make glue. Whenever I hear anyone say no one in this country knows how, I want to find out. They make glue in England and in Germany. Sure they do. They have chemists, men who have been working for years. Well, if they can find out, so can I. Blow out the lamp on the counter, will you, John, while I lock up? Sure, Peter, thanks. That widow van Slyke seems to have gotten you a whole wild up, Peter. It was what she said about my being too old to plan a future and work for it. Well, you're 36. Well, what's that? She thinks I'm at the end of my life, does she? I'm just beginning. In 1827, the story of American invention had scarcely begun. As a young country with few trained scientists, the United States still had to look abroad for many of our manufactured products. But men like Peter Cooper were to change her from a backwoods nation to a first-rate power. In a small factory standing near the location of New York's present Metropolitan Tower, Peter Cooper started looking for a good glue, which was to be the basis of many other important manufacturers. As he had no scientific training, it took many months before he mastered the technique of research. In the fall of 1829, two years later, Peter Cooper welcomes his wife to his laboratory. I suppose a glue factory has to smell like this, Peter. I'm afraid it does, sir. I don't like to ask a good housekeeper like you into this laboratory of mine, but I finished my last experiment now and I wanted you to know about it. Did you solve what was bothering you, Peter? Yes. I've got the whole solution. I guess I must have solved some mighty difficult problems in chemistry during the last few years without knowing myself what I was doing. Well, anyway, I've got the right ingredients now and the way to put them together. I can make the best glue in the world. Why, Peter Cooper, you sound almost boastful. I can't help it. It's true. It's better than English glue and German, too. I wanted you to see everything, Sarah, because, well, you've had a hard struggle, too. But there's plenty of comfort for you and the children in these little jars. American glue that sticks. Well, you won't have to mind any more when folks laugh at you, Peter. I never minded. I realized the neighbors thought a grocery man had no business making glue. And I never cared when other businessmen laughed because I had to be my own janitor and chemist and salesman and bill collector all in one. I'm used to being a plain man, Sarah, and I had to keep to my natural ways. What have you ever changed, Peter? Sarah, there's something else I want to show you here in the laboratory. Peter, you have a new plan. I was sure from the beginning that you didn't ask me here just to look at that glue. Well, no. I wanted you to see this model over here. What is it? The beginning of a steam locomotive. A steam locomotive? I thought out a way to put power to the wheels without using a crank like the English do. What good is that? Well, American railroads have to have locomotives. You see, English engines are built for level ground and can't turn sharp curves our landscape calls for. Look at the Baltimore and Ohio. Tracks partly laid, but nothing satisfactory to run on them yet. I knew there was something in your mind when you were talking about the Baltimore and Ohio at supper the other night. So now you want to quit the glue business and begin with railroads, do you? I wouldn't quit the business, Sarah. Other men can help me run it while I experiment. I have a gift for tinkering, I think. I tinkered with glue until I got it. Glue and locomotives are different. Sarah, I know I can build one. Well, you're so sure I suppose you can. Sarah, the only difficulty is that if I branch out into another business like perhaps iron for the new railroads, I'd risk what we've got now. Peter, you know I was always willing to get up early every morning so I'd have time to bake bread for the grocery store. My goodness, if you can take a chance making a locomotive, I can take a chance on going back to my oven. I'll do all I can to keep you from that, Sarah. I'm going to take my locomotive down to Baltimore the first chance I get, and if I'm lucky, I'm going to have something to do with this country's future. Glue and then iron. Peter Cooper purchased an ironworks near Baltimore and became interested in railroad development. His technical knowledge of engines came to him through natural talent and hard work. On a day in October 1829, we find Peter Cooper waiting anxiously beside the newly laid rails of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad near Mount Clair, Maryland. The directors of the railroad have assembled to test the tiny locomotive that Peter Cooper and his assistant are making ready. Am I getting enough steam up, Mr. Cooper? There's an awful load to carry. There's only 36 in the carriage and six in the engine with me. Heavens to Betsy, I'd better blow the fire somewhere, huh? Gee, I wish I could ride on the engine to help you, Mr. Cooper. Thanks, Sam, but I'm afraid I'm the only person who would know what to do if anything went wrong. Oh, here's some more nosy folks coming to look at your invention. The engine's here for that very reason, Sam, so the railroad directors can look at it. I don't like the look some of them make towards you, sir. Oh, and here's what'll try to pull us to Ellicott Mills, gentlemen. Mr. Cooper, what do you call this monstrous engine of yours? Why, I call it Tom Thumb. Very appropriate. You must realize, gentlemen, that this is only a small model of what an American-built engine should be like. Tell me, what are those vertical tubes to the boiler, Mr. Cooper? They look familiar. Those are musket barrels, Mr. Cross. Musket barrels? Oh, yes. Very ingenious. And, uh, may I ask if that is a wash boiler set N-wise? Well, it's the same idea as a wash boiler. See, Cross, the whole thing is thrown together out of odds and ends. Child toy, yes, obviously. Well, the Baltimore and Ohio may be in dire straits from engine problems, but it doesn't seem to me like any solution. I doubt if it moves an inch. But, gentlemen, the size doesn't matter. Well, we shall see, Mr. Cooper. Cross, has the man had experience with engines before? Why, no. He's a glue maker from New York. I told you, Mr. Cooper, they aren't all friendly. Well, that's what we have to expect, Sam. I suppose... Please, gentlemen, take your places in the code. Good luck, Mr. Cooper. Thank you, Sam. Thank you. And, uh, this is the engine that's expected to take contacts away from our English models, gentlemen. Let's have a look before we get a ball. Small enough, isn't it? Are you Mr. Cooper? Yes, sir. Well, let me compliment you, sir. The President of the Road has spoken very hopefully of your work. As an engineer visiting your country, I'm greatly interested in any new features you've developed. Well, thank you, sir. Naturally, I'm a bit nervous, and I, uh... I appreciate any kind words. Take your places, gentlemen. The journey must start. If it is a journey... Let's get aboard quickly, Jerry. There's some space right in front by the engine. Good luck, Mr. Cooper. Well, thank you, sir. Come, Jerry. Don't push. I wish we went right on the engine. Well, we'll get a better view here. We're all aboard, Mr. Cooper. Very well, sir. Here we go. By Joke, we're moving. Why, are we gaining speed? Yes, yes, we're going up this grade as fast as horses could take us. After, I think. No Jokey either. We're moving. We're moving. We're moving. We're moving. We're moving. We're moving. We're moving. We're moving. We're moving. We're moving. It's a great view, Jokey, I though. That's the advantage of a railroad, Jerry. Why, what are you doing with pencil and paper? Taking notes on, Mr. Cooper's engine. No, no, I'm proving to myself that you can write going as fast as we are. Ah, well, the test of writing is in the reading, gentlemen. May I see if I can read what you've written? Right, certainly. Thank you. If we reach Ellicott Mills, Peter Cooper may be a famous man. You should change that name to Wilby, sir. I'm going to be a good boy. And you're going to be a good boy. And I'm going to be a good boy. And I'm going to be a good boy. And I'm going to be a good boy. And I'm going to be a good boy. Thank you. If we reach Ellicott Mills, Peter Cooper may be a famous man. You should change that maid who will be, sir. Peter Cooper in his middle parties became a man of tremendous importance. He continued inventing, and his achievements seemed endless, improvements in steam boilers, in grinding marble and metal substances, in salt making, in methods for hauling boats on the Erie Canal, in dozens of other mechanical processes that were building the new America. He was a leading spirit in the first attempts to lay an Atlantic cable, and he became a potent factor in American industry. But in the back of his mind was always the ambition to found a great school which would give to American youth the scientific and technical training he had been unable to get. He began erecting a building in New York City which was to be called the Union of Science and Art. But a great obstacle lay ahead. In 1857 in the office of the Cooper Industries, Peter Cooper, now in his sixties, talks to his younger associates. Yeah, what's going on outside, Slade? Can you see from the window? Well, there's a line three blocks long in front of the Union Bank. Well, if this goes on, the banks will suspend specie payments. This is the most frightful panic the country has ever known, Mr. Cooper. The United States has done for. I don't know about that, Mr. Spence. Countries like a man can stagger through a lot of trouble and somehow keep on its feet. I hope your courage is justified, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Cooper, very bad news from the Ironworks. I was afraid of it. I was afraid of it. Well, out with it, Randall. We can stand anything. Blackwell and Company going under on the Gridley Weston farm? Well, Gridley and Weston can pay us a little. But Blackwell and Company have failed. I knew it. I knew it. What can we do about it, Mr. Cooper? Well, some of the firms are shutting down when they're still solid. I don't think scuttling the ship is a way to weather a storm. Well, there wouldn't be many to blame you, sir, in this crisis. The man whose blame I wouldn't want to face is myself, Peter Cooper. This is no time for a businessman to behave like a coward or a scoundrel. You're at an age, sir, when it would be natural to rely on... Listen to me, all of you. I'll retire when I die. All my life, men have been saying to me, I was at an age when... there is no age when a sensible man stops acting with gumption. But if everyone has lost confidence... We must help restore it. Take this message to our superintendent, Randall. This plant and the ironworks remain at the service of the country, open. Yes, sir. And if there's no business for me to do these days, I'll spend all my time planning my Institute of Arts and Sciences. You're not going on with that, Mr. Cooper. Well, the building's nearly finished, thank heaven. My Institute for Science may be the last building ever erected in New York, but it's going to go up as I planned. The Union of Science and Art was completed in the midst of panic by a brave man who did not doubt his country's eventual progress. Our Union, as it has always been called, was one of the first scientific and technical schools of first-rate ranking in the country. From its rostrum spoke a host of distinguished lecturers. It showed American industry, already aware that the old apprentice system was too slow for modern life, the way to train men for skilled posts. A few years after the opening, old Peter Cooper, wandering through the halls, speaks to a young teacher. I beg your pardon. Aren't you, Mr. Crossley, the new engineering instructor? Yes, sir. Can I direct you somewhere? No, no, thank you. I'm Peter Cooper. Oh, Mr. Cooper, I beg your pardon. I've seen pictures of you, but I didn't know. I didn't expect you. You didn't expect to see an old man like me, buttering about the halls, striking up conversations with strangers, huh? I'd like to meet my instructors. Well, I'm honored to meet you, sir. I was very happy when I received word that I was to teach at Cooper Union. It's a remarkable school, sir. Some day people will realize how much you've done here, and how many new ideas and education you've started. Thanks. But what worries me is that I'm so little used to the school now that it's started. That's a strange feeling, Mr. Crossley, to have an idea all your life, but to be so ignorant of book learning yourself that you have to turn it over entirely to other men. Oh, but surely all the big decisions have been yours. Oh, the big decisions, yes. But I come down here several days a week and roam about, hoping I'll come upon things, human details, that I could settle. Now, you're new, Mr. Crossley. If you think of any improvements, you come straight to me. I will, sir. Are you going into the director's office? Well, let me open the door for you. Thank you. Good morning, Miss Cooper. Good morning. So, madame, you should listen to me, and then tell the director about my son here, if you will, please. It's no use, father. Don't plague the lady. Your son is right, sir. He's too young to enter Cooper Institute, and I won't bother the director. Miss Costello. Oh, good morning, sir. Did you want to see Mr. Hewitt? Would you mind telling him I'm here? I can wait if he's busy. Just a moment, sir. I'll tell him. Mr. Hewitt. Father, don't bother this gentleman, too. Let us go now. We knew I was too young to study here. What's the trouble, my boy? You are younger than most students who try to enter our classes. What do the years matter, Mr. The Professor? Is it not the brain of this boy that counts? His eyes that see so deeply, his fingers that are so clever with the pencil. Oh, so you want to enter a drawing class, young man? Yes, Mr. The Professor, I am a poor cobbler. I come to America from France to enjoy your great free country. Perhaps you teach drawing. Perhaps you will help, my August. Oh, I'm not a professor, sir. I'm too unruly man for that. Oh, not a professor. Pardon, monsieur. Come, my son. We have wasted our time. Gather your drinks. Viens. Pas de chance. Just a moment, sir. I'm sorry, sir. My father, he has counted so long on this. He met no insult. I know how he feels. I've had children too, and worried about the future. Are those your drawings in that great bundle under your palm? Yes, monsieur. Oh, would you show them to me? But, monsieur, if you are not a professor... I would gladly show them to you, monsieur. I have carried them all this way and no one looks. Well, put them here on this table. Yes, monsieur. This one is an old bakery woman. Sometimes she gives me cake. Yes. You've caught the look of a gentle, warm-hearted woman. August. Viens. Here's father bending over a boot to mend it. You can only see the top of his head, but it is the hands mostly. Yes, yes. I see that. I have always liked to make beautiful things too, son. And when I was your age, they apprenticed me to a carriage maker. And I loved to carve wood. I love this too much, sir. To work with my hands in clay. But one must learn to draw first. If I only had someone to teach me. Well, son, I... I'm sorry to delay you, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Hewitt said to go right in. Oh, that's all right, Miss Costello. Mr. Cooper. Are you Monsieur Peter Cooper? Yes, son. And I want to know your name. Sangodam, monsieur. August Sangodam. We should not have troubled you with these drawings. I... Miss Costello, tell Mr. Hewitt I'm sending a substitute for my appointment. This little boy. But what for, Mr. Cooper? Hewitt will understand when he looks at these drawings. Good luck to you, August. Mr. Hewitt will take care of your enrollment in the school. Merci, monsieur. Merci. Mr. Cooper, I... I thank you. I... I hope I may do something for you someday. Let us see you do something for the school, son. I'm expecting great things of you, August. Don't disappoint me. August Sangodam became the distinguished American sculptor Augustus St. Gordon's. His statue of Peter Cooper, the grocery dealer and untrained scientist who was to provide training for thousands of others, stands today before the modern Cooper Union in New York City. As educator, inventor, industrialist, and above all as an example of the spirit that helps make our country great, Peter Cooper, a man who refused to let age defeat his plans, holds a place of great honor in the cavalcade of America. Today industry has responsibilities beyond immediate sales. Not only are industrial firms expected to turn out useful goods at fair prices, they must constantly improve those products, develop new ones, and enable more people to share their benefits by constantly lowering costs. The DuPont Company, representative of the chemical industry, has just issued its annual report covering its activities for 1936 and reviewing the progress made by the company during its 135th year of existence. Many people think of 1929 as the peak of good times for everybody, but what do we find when we compare DuPont's activities during that so-called boom year with its record for 1936? Here are a few comparisons. Prices, average price of DuPont products now 30 percent below 1929, 31 million dollars spent last year to extend manufacturing facilities, improve operating efficiency. Employment, 1929 average number DuPont employees 42,000. December 1936, 53,000, an increase of 11,000 people. Wages and working conditions, since 1929, five-day week inaugurated in all DuPont plants and offices. Two-week vacation with pay extended to all employees, including factory workers. Despite shorter hours and 14 percent lower cost of living, average weekly earnings now above boom year. Total payroll, 1929, 72 million dollars. December 1936 rate, 94 million dollars yearly. Perhaps you or members of your family would be interested in reading more about this record for 1936. Additional information on these phases of the DuPont company's activities will appear in an article scheduled for publication in the March issue of the DuPont magazine, which is issued to business firms each month. We have had this article printed in folder form. You may have one of these advance copies by writing DuPont Wilmington, Delaware. Please ask for the article entitled, Better Things for Better Living, and kindly write your name and address legibly. Remember, mail your letter or card to DuPont Wilmington, Delaware, and simply say, send me the article, Better Things for Better Living. Announcement of Prevention. The story of inoculation, as first practiced in America as a smallpox preventive, will be the subject of the broadcast when next week at this same time, DuPont again presents, The Cavalcade of America. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System. Thank you.
