The Cavalcade of America presented by DuPont. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] This evening the DuPont Cavalcade brings the story of Francis Scott Key and how he composed the Star-Spangled Banner, our national anthem, a tune that has inspired during the early days of our country and will always remain in the hearts of generations of Americans. DuPont, a company identified with the earliest days of our nation, presents the Cavalcade of America in an earnest endeavor to contribute something of permanent value and enjoyment to radio listeners and also as a tribute to the research chemists in DuPont laboratories whose ideals are so well expressed by the phrase, better things for better living through chemistry. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] The DuPont Cavalcade moves forward. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] In the heart of Maryland at Terra Rubra, then in Frederick County, Francis Scott Key was born on August 1, 1779. His father was John Ross Key, his mother Anne Dagworthy Charlem. One of his young neighbors was a little girl who, like himself, was to contribute poetic, legendary renown to our country's flag, Barbara Fritchie. As our story opens, Francis is 12 years old. He and Barbara and his sister Anne are on the veranda of the sedate Key Mansion at Terra Rubra, a sunshiny day in July. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] What you killin' doin' out here? Didn't you, Pappy, done told you not to play on this here veranda today? Come on now, you old skits. Aw, listen, Mammy, we're not playin' here, only sittin' on the steps watchin' the soldiers on the lawn and waitin' for General Washington to come out. We'll be as quiet as mice, won't we, Barbara? That's right, Mammy, we will. And besides, Mammy, Father wants us to help with the sermon this afternoon. I don't think he'd mind if we sat here very quietly doing General Washington's speech. Now, do you really, really, Mammy, think so? Master Frankie, you and your city Anne, and you too, Miss Barbara Fitchy, want to be the destiny yet. All right, then, you can stay out here. I mean! But remember, no time foolin'. I've got plenty to do without havin' you three on my hands. And I better stir myself and do it. In case I don't, ain't quite get done, that's all. Hey, do you know somethin'? What now? Well, I was thinkin' that when General Washington finishes his speech, the three of us ought to go up and present him with somethin'. Yes, but, but what? Let's pick some of these honeysuckle and mannolia that grow about the veranda. Yes, we'll do that. You can give them to him, Frankie. Me? Well, no, that's a girl's job. Oh, but you can say somethin' much nicer than we can. Come on, Anne. Let's start pickin' the bouquet. All right. Yes, but, but why should I have to do all... Here comes General Washington with your father now. Look, the officers and men have put on their hats with the cockades of the Continental Army. Oh, they love him, don't they? Of course they do. Shhh. My countrymen, I am delighted to greet you in the midst of this beautiful Maryland countryside. But before I depart, I want to thank you and the people of Frederick County for the devotion and support I have always received from you. And now, I must be on my way. So once again, accept my gratitude and farewell. God bless you all. Three cheers for General Washington! Hooray! Hooray! Here's the bouquet, Frankie. Come on, let's go up and give it to General Washington. All right, give it to me. Now I really want to present it. Remember, we're going to stand beside you, Frankie. Go ahead now. Go ahead. General Washington! General Washington! Yes? We've gathered these flowers for you as a token of Maryland's love for you. And so, so we present them to you. Here. Thank you. A very pretty speech, my lad. And a very pretty bouquet, too. Barbara and I picked the flowers, General Washington. Well, that's mighty nice all around. Are all these children yours, Lieutenant Key? No, not all of them. I'm sorry to say, General Washington. This is Barbara Fritchie, and this is my daughter Anne. How do you do, General? Well, I'm delighted to meet such lovely girls. And this is my son, General Washington, my son Francis Scott Key. How do you do, sir? In the shadows of the verdant Maryland hills, beside the flashing crystal of its sparkling brooks, the boy Francis Scott Key grew to manhood. On January 19, 1802, he married Mary Lloyd and moved to Georgetown, where he entered into law partnership with his uncle. On one occasion, when they returned to his father's house, the Key served a banquet on the veranda of the mansion for their friends, Dr. Beans and Roger Brooke Tawney. Well, dining on the veranda is unusual, but the occasion warranted, I think. It was a charming idea, Mrs. Key. I'm sure I speak for all your guests. Well, Dr. Beans indeed speaks for all of us, Mary. The news that Stephen Decatur routed the pirates at Tripoli demands a festive celebration of some sort. Wasn't it wonderful, though, Francis? It must have been wonderful, Mary. When Roger Brooke Tawney agrees to any kind of unusual procedure, it must have been wonderful. There's a faint sentiment of amusement in your tone, Frank, which I find myself wholly unable to support. You've spoken like the true lawyer and the great judge I'm sure you're going to be someday. Someday? I'm not a judge, of course, but I'm trying to be a lawyer now. Can't you two ever stop teasing each other? Did you ever see the light of a Dr. Beans? Oh, pay no attention to them, Mrs. Key. Roger Boaks and Tawney finds himself on the Supreme Court yet. I'm sure of that, and so is Francis down deep. Oh, Francis, look. The field hands are coming across the lawn. Of course they are, my dear. I've asked them to sing for us. Oh, splendid. Their singing is famous all over Maryland. I know. Do you want us to sing now, Miss Key? Yes. Now listen, everybody. Oh, nobody knows the trouble I've seen. Nobody knows but Jesus. Oh, nobody knows the trouble I've seen. Oh, glory, hallelujah. Sometimes I'm up, sometimes I'm down. Oh, yes, Lord. Sometimes I'm almost to the ground. Oh, yes, Lord. Oh, nobody knows the trouble I've seen. Nobody knows but Jesus. Oh, nobody knows the trouble I've seen. Glory, hallelujah. That was Trump. That was beautiful, simply beautiful. Yes, so it was. Well, how do you know, Frank? You were scribbling on an envelope all during the singing. Oh, Francis. I couldn't help it. I failed at thinking about Stephen Decatur's victory, and I made up a little verse about it. Would you like to hear it? Oh, yes, yes. By all means, Mr. Key. Let us hear the verse you've written. I wonder, do you all know the old tune to an acrion in heaven? Of course, you remember, Frank. We used to sing in college all the time. To an acrion in heaven, where he sat in fugly, a few sons of harmony sent a petition that he there inspired and patroned would be when this answer arrived from the jolly old Grecian. Francis, dear, who was an acrion? Well, he was a Greek poet, my darling. And after his death, his fellow poet set him up as a kind of demigod. I think Frank is one of the disciples. Well, I've just written a few lines commemorating our victory at Tripoli, which may be sung to that air. Here are the words. You sing it, Rod. I'll try. Stars who stand on the summit of fame Shall exultingly hear of their sons the proud story How pale beamed the crescent, its splendor obscured By the light of the star-spangled flag of our nation Stars who stand on the summit of fame Shall exultingly hear of their sons the proud story Stars who stand on the summit of fame Stars who stand on the summit of fame Stars who stand on the summit of fame In the full tide of song let their fame roll along To the feast flowing board let us gratefully throng Come on, everybody, gather round so you can see the words. Now, all together. When mixed with the island the log-out shall wane And form a bright ring for the rose of the brave So ten years before he wrote the words that were to bring him fame, Francis Scott Key was already composing verses to the tune that was to become our national anthem and using the phrase, star-spangled flag. Continuing the practice of law, Key distinguished himself on many occasions before Chief Justice John Marshall and the United States Supreme Court. Then came the night of August 24, 1814, one of the darkest hours in American history, when the British burned the city of Washington. Key's wife, Mary, and his sister, Anne, now married to Roger Brink-Tawny, worried at the absence of their husbands, watched with frightened eyes from the windows of the Key home in Georgetown across the bay of the Potomac River. Oh, I'm frightened, Anne. I'm so worried. So am I. Mary, I've tried to assure myself that we'd hear if anything were wrong. Listen. What? Are those hoofbeats or is that non-aggression? Somebody's riding up the road to the house. I hear two horses. We can't tell who it might be. Here. Take this musket in. All right. Don't be afraid to use it. Rancid! Roger! Hey! What are you doing with that gun? You're safe! Of course I'm safe, dear. Oh, now there, there. You mustn't cry. Rancid. Rancid. What happened to you? We've been watching the fire so long. Where are the President and Mrs. Madison? The President escaped in the cabinet in flight. And Mrs. Madison barely had time to save a portrait of Washington before Coburn's marines burned the White House. Then everybody's left the city. Well, are we safe here? I hope so. Oh, I was never so tired in all my life. Oh, sit down over here. Right by me, dear. There, now. What's that? Well, I'll have a look out the window. Frank! I can see a whole crowd. Marlboro people coming up the road. The British? No, they've marched with drums and martial music. Well, let's go out on the porch and find out what's up. All right, dear. I'll be careful now. Be careful. You're gonna be careful, Frank. Don't be afraid. It's all people. Hey there! Any one of you? Where are you going? We're heading over to Baltimore. Our homes are on fire. We've got to get out of Washington. You'd better come with us. No time to waste. We're going to rally at Baltimore and make a stand at Fort St. Henry. Is that you, Colonel Skinner? Yes, Mr. Key. You'd better join us. Isn't there any safety here? Not a chance. Is that Cannon, Colonel Skinner? No, Mrs. Key. That's thunder. There's a storm brewing. Come on inside, all of you. Out of the rain. And let the British catch us. Not I. Hurry up. We're sinking in the rain already. Colonel Skinner! Colonel Skinner! Yes, what is it? Word from the capitol, sir. The British are on their way to capture Dr. Bean. Dr. Bean? Why? He's an old friend of ours. What for? They say he had some of the British soldiers arrested. They're going to make an example of him. Colonel Skinner, the doctor's an old man. We've got to stop them. You're right, Key. Oh, but Francis, you can't go. Please, not in all this storm. But who's going to look after us here? Didn't you hear them say that it wasn't safe to stay here? Get me my great coat, Mary. Roger, take the girls over to the old mansion at Terra Rubra. They'll be safe there. Yeah, but Friday... We haven't time to argue, Roger. Please do as I say. Goodbye, Mary. I'll be back as soon as I can. Oh, Francis, take care of yourself. Galloping off into the storm toward the flaming horizon of the burning city of Washington sped Francis Scott Key. Too late, he and Colonel John Skinner reached the home of Dr. Bean, found the place deserted, with mute evidence of the doctor's capture. And so, after conferring with the Secretary of War, James Monroe, the two men embarked on the flag of truce for his majesty ship Donaham, flagship of Admiral Coburn's fleet, drawn up to lay siege to Fort McHenry. We find them discussing the matter of Dr. Bean's release with the admiral in his cabin. Gentlemen, I move the opinion that instead of permitting Dr. Bean to go, I should have the scoundrel hang from the odd arm. You know, he urged a group of his townspeople to throw some of our British soldiers into jail. But don't you realize that those men were behaving in a most outrageous fashion? That their actions were a disgrace to the British uniform? They weren't soldiers that day. They were marauders, Admiral Coburn. Dr. Bean's only took precautionary measures, Admiral. That's absolutely all. And I think, sir, you ought to show some leniency in this matter in view of the doctor's impartial treatment of British wounded as well as Americans. The man is old, Admiral, and unless outrageously provoked, I would say he's the most peaceful of our citizens. Well, as I see it, we gain little by holding Dr. Bean. All right, gentlemen, I'll see that he's released. Thank you, Admiral Coburn. Then we'll return to shore at once. As to that, I'm afraid it will be most unwise, Mr. Key. We must take all steps to prevent any information about our position here, naturally. You must have observed certain preparations on deck. Yes, we couldn't help noticing a certain activity. Yes, quite so. That's why I'm going to detain you during the bombardment of Fort McHenry. I'll transfer you both and Dr. Bean to my son's ship surprise for the duration of the attack. You will be put ashore after we capture Baltimore. Capture Baltimore? Aren't you taking a lot for granted, Admiral? Where you're standing, Mr. Key, you can easily see out that portal there. Yes? Well, perhaps you can see that flag over the battlements of Fort McHenry. Yes. It looks rather proud, flying there in the sunset. Well, Mr. Key, proud as it may look to you now, tomorrow morning you won't see that banner over the fort. So take a good last look at it. Music In the quietude of sunset, Key, Skinner, and Dr. Bean rode through the purpling waters of the harbor to the British ship surprise. As the sun tipped beneath the horizon, the Americans standing near a gunwale began a lonely vigil to watch their country's flag. The British frigates reeled as front-side after front-side thundered across the harbor, lighting the night with fire. Then, sometime before dawn, on the morning of September 14, 1814, silence fell over the harbor. Can it be that the fort held out? I don't see how it could. That was a terrific cannonade. I've strained my eyes pretty nearly out of their sockets all night trying to see that flag. I couldn't see it at all. I could see it once in a while through my telescope. If the fort falls, what do you suppose they'll do to us? I'm not thinking what it'll mean to us. I'm wondering what it'll mean to the United States. Washington burned, Baltimore in the hands of the enemy. Don't even suggest it, Skinner. We have to face the facts, man. The bombardment seems to stop. Perhaps they've captured the fort. No, perhaps the British have given up. If that flag is still waving, we have it lost, and I won't lose hope. I wish I had your optimism, Prampton. It seems to be getting lighter. Yes, it's the dawn. Now we'll know. I can see the fort now, I think. Yes, come over to the rail. Look there, Keith. How about the flag? Give me your telescope, Skinner. I'll see for myself. Yes, yes, it's there. It's still flying. The fort's held out. The attack on Fort McEnry had failed. Key and his companions went ashore. After they separated, Key went to a hotel, where he perfected certain notes he had taken, fashioning them into the ringing verses of the Star-Spangled Banner. Before the day was out, handles of the poem circulated throughout Baltimore. And late that night in an old inn near the Holiday Street Theater in Baltimore... ...the Everything's gonna be all right now, as long as Baltimore's safe. Yes, I guess we should have a moment of business at McEnry's. Hey, any of you boys see one of them handbills about the flag? I saw one this morning. What handbills? Well, where you been all day, stranger? I just got in town this afternoon. I didn't see any handbills about the flag. Well, somebody's written a powerful poem about our flag. Here, I got a copy of it right here in my pocket. Show it to him, too. All right? I'll read it to you. It's called The Defense of Fort McEnry. And here's a four-word printed at the top of the handbill. Listen, will you, everybody? Listen just a minute. The next song was composed under the following circumstances. A gentleman had endeavored, under a flag of truth, to obtain the release of a friend of his from the British fleet. He was not permitted to return, lest the intended attack on Baltimore should be disclosed, and was compelled to witness the bombardment of Fort McEnry. He watched the flag at the fort through the night, with an anxiety that can be better felt than described, by the light of the bombshells. And at early dawn, his eye was again greeted by the proudly waving flag of his country. I see, and the poem follows, eh? Yes. Oh, say can you see... Yes, it can be sung with the tune of an acrian in heaven. You know, that song they've been singing so long around the colony. Sure, everybody knows the tune. I used to hear my father sing it. He used to sing it in England. Yes, the author must have known it. The rhythm of the words fits the tune perfectly. Free and the home of the brave. Great. What a poem. Who wrote this anyway? Yes, we all noticed that. The author didn't sign his name. Must be a pretty modest fellow, huh? If I had written anything as fine as that, you can bet your boots I'd sign my name. One of the soldiers at McEnry told me a fellow named Key wrote the poem. Key? I wonder who he is. Key? I know him. He's a lawyer. Great fellow, Frank Key. He took a case of mine once, but I couldn't get him to let me pay a fee. That's a man, all right. Captain Nicholson over at the fort knows him well. Sort of a relative of his. Well, that's right. Sure, I'd like to shake his hand. Well, you can. He just came in the inn. See him over there talking to Ferdy Durang? Well, I wish we could get him to stop at our table here. The only way to do it is to ask him. Mr. Key. Yes? Oh, hello, Taylor. How do. You all know Ferdinand Durang, don't you? Oh, yes. Mr. Key. Yeah? Will you answer a question for us? Well, if it doesn't incriminate me. No, this one won't. Did you write that poem about the flag, the one on all those handbills? If I answer the question, will you all do something for me? Why, yes. All right, then. I did. Well, certainly wonderful, Mr. Key. Now, here's what I want to ask you to do. I've never heard it sung. Well, gentlemen. Gentlemen, Mr. Francis Scott Key is with us tonight. We just found out from him that he wrote the poem about our flag. He watched it during the attack on McHenry. What do you say we all sing it for him? Ferdinand Durang is our best singer, so he'll lead it. We'll all join in the refrain. Joe, you play the fiddle. All right, Ferdie. Get up on that chair and sing us the song of the Star-Spangled Banner. Oh, say can you see By the dawn's early light What so proudly we hail At the twilight's last gleaming Whose broad stripes and bright stars Through the perilous fight O'er the ramparts we watch Were so gallantly streaming And the rocket's red glare The bombs bursting in air Gave proof through the night That our flag was still there All right, everybody together now. Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free And the home of the brave The devotion of the people of this country to our flag is no better symbolized than in the fervent stanzas of the Star-Spangled Banner. More than a century has elapsed since it was written, but it has always remained in the hearts of American citizens as the official national anthem, although it wasn't until March 3, 1931 that it was so designated by a special act of Congress. Francis Scott Key died January 11, 1843. Fort McHenry became a national shrine, and on the 100th anniversary of the composition of the Star-Spangled Banner, a red, white, and blue boy was anchored in Baltimore Harbor near the spot where the song was written. This evening, DuPont pays tribute to our national flag and to the ever-living memory of the patriot who immortalized it in the Star-Spangled Banner, Francis Scott Key, inspiring leader in the cavalcade of America. Now, moving from the past to the present, we quote from a recent newspaper item. Fort Madison, Iowa, a new manufacturing unit to supply the Midwest area with paint, enamel, and industrial finishes will soon be put into operation here by the DuPont Company. And here is still another newspaper announcement. San Francisco, California. The South San Francisco paint and varnish plant of the DuPont Company, which started operations here two years ago, is being expanded by the erection of additional buildings. And so it goes, another industry moving forward, more jobs being created in plants built to make new and better finishes for America's needs. And behind it all is the work of the research chemist. From fine lacquers for dolls and vanity cases to paints for homes and the rugged DuCo and Dulux finishes required for automobiles, locomotives, and ocean liners, that's the range of finishes now made by DuPont. Twenty years ago, DuPont had only one paint plant. Today, seven DuPont plants in seven cities are making finishes for every purpose. These plants are really local industries, manned by local people and serving territorial needs. That they exist today and employ thousands and are still expanding is due largely to constant chemical improvement. DuPont finishes are tested in laboratories, on outdoor exposure farms, and in actual use under all conditions to ensure their resistance to the severest kind of punishment. And in many cases, increased demand and improved manufacturing methods have enabled DuPont to maintain its policy of passing savings through cost reductions along to the consumer. This means more factories and more employment, which helps everybody in the country. It also means new and improved products at constantly lower prices. This is what the DuPont company means by its pledge, better things for better living through chemistry. The story of Oliver Wendell Holmes, a portrait of an American poet, physician, scientist, and humorist, will be the subject of our broadcast when next week at the same time, DuPont again presents the Cavalcade of America. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.
