The Cavalcade of America, presented by Jupont. The story of Nancy Hanks, mother of Abraham Lincoln. Starring the well-known radio actress Agnes Moorhead in the role of Nancy Hanks. The Jupont Company, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, present the Cavalcade of America. Dedicated to those men and women in every walk of life who have shaped the destiny of America in the past. And to the youth of today who will shape the destiny of America in the world of tomorrow. No more suitable time could be found to present as a subject of our cavalcade, the story of Abraham Lincoln's mother. As a tribute for Mother's Day. And as you hear this moving account of the life of a frontier woman, you may well compare the hardships of her time with the many comforts and inventions that make life easier and pleasanter in homes today. Probably the greatest demonstration of this progress toward better living can be seen in the many exhibits at the World's Fair in New York. Which is indeed a new and greater fair for 1940. This spirit of progress and newness is well shown in one of the most popular exhibits. Jupont's Wonder World of Chemistry. Where many amazing demonstrations have been added to this cavalcade of scientific marvels. Visitors will watch with amazement the chemical girl of 1940, appeared on an apparently empty piece of chemical apparatus. Radiant and smiling, dressed from head to foot in clothing created by Jupont chemistry. The young lady comes from the nowhere into plain sight. Another new feature of the DuPont show is called the growth of crystals. A strange and lovely spectacle in which the weird happenings seen under the chemist's microscope are magnified to giant size. Crystals grow before your eyes in breathtaking color effects, projected by polarized light. This demonstration gives you part of the inside story of the DuPont research that discovered nylon. The astounding new material made from coal, air, and water. And in another part of DuPont's exhibit, you'll see stockings being knitted of nylon yarn. Just as they are being made right now in hosiery mills for offering this month throughout the nation. The manufacture of cellophane cellulose film too is demonstrated. As well as the weaving of rayon, the molding of tumblers from crystal clear lucite plastic. And you can watch another interesting machine put extorn bristles made of nylon into toothbrushes. The first hand view is given of neoprene man-made rubber. Other demonstrations show how the whitest white paint in the world is made from black sand. Miracles performed by dyes and other marvels of chemistry. And so DuPont invites you to visit the wonder world of chemistry at the 1940 fair in New York. And when you're in Atlantic City, be sure to stop in at the DuPont exhibit on the Atlantic City Boardwalk. Where many of the same demonstrations may be seen. A cordial welcome awaits you and your friends. We're sure that when you've seen what DuPont is doing to contribute to the American way of life, that you'll see the true meaning of our pledge. Better things for better living through chemistry. Music The story of Nancy Hanks in the cavalcade of America. My name was Nancy Hanks. I was born in Virginia and brought to the wilderness when I was yet a babe. I never seen my pa, but Ma had loved him. And I grew to love him too, I reckon. Ma said he was a gentleman. I liked the state of myself. I was always like that. Like I was waiting. Like looking afar off and waiting for things to happen. Like I know what they were to be before they came to pass. Like seeing Tom Lincoln that day, crossing the field yonder. And waiting to hear the words I know become to speak to him. Music I'm minded to marry you, Nancy. I'm come to get your answer. I know that was your thought, Tom. I bought a piece of land over to Elizabeth Town. Elizabeth Town? You see the hills from there? I aimed to build a cabin there first, Nancy. Oh Tom, I'm proud to be spoke for by such a man as you. There ain't much I can offer you. Just a home and my love, Nancy. Tom, I can't say the words I want to say. Is it that you love another, Nancy? No Tom, I love you well. It's just, it's just... What's the matter, Nancy? I can't rightly say it, Tom. It's like the purple light yonder in the hills. But when you get to the hills, it ain't there anymore. It's always yonder. You're a girl, Nancy, and girls get to thinking like that. But so much of me is like that. You'll be happy, Nancy, I promise. No Tom, that wouldn't be fair to you. Nancy, you're a strange woman. I don't rightly know what you're saying. But I believe God meant you and me to marry together. I'm coming back again tomorrow, and I aim to make you my wife. I'm coming back. I, Nancy Hanks, take thee Thomas Lincoln to be my lawful wedded husband. To have and to hold, to love, honor, and obey until death do us part. I, Thomas Lincoln, take thee, Nancy Hanks, to be my lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish until death do us part. I was happy that day to be Tom's wife, and after the preacher finished the reading, come the wedding feast, what we used to call the infair in Kentucky. The men had shot bear and venison, and wild turkey and ducks, and the women folk had worked for many days to prepare it all. And there they all were with the music and dancing. Folks, folks, whilst the women prepare the feast, there'll be a race for the best bottle of whiskey in Kentucky. Well, hang the by-goal, let's go. Mind you there, Dennis, be off with it. You'll not be in a race to get a bottle of whiskey. I mean, then the race will be from here to Yarnaciver and back. Then the winner gets the whiskey. All right now, line up now, line up. Mind you, don't win the race, Charlie. Maybe it won't be so hard to make sartain of that, Ginny. I'd make sartain who'd win if I was in it. Oh, would you? You ain't got the chance of a mud turtle either. Hey, don't you go blabbing off to me that way. Here, here, be quiet now, there's sartain. All right, all right, men, on your marks, get set, go. Run, Charlie, run. You can win if you will. I thought you said you didn't want your Charlie to win. It's the whiskey, I don't want him to win, Aunt Peggy. But he must win the race. Looks like Tom Lincoln's ahead now. That's just over yet. Oh, run, Charlie, run. Here they are. Come on, Charlie. Here, give Tom Lincoln drinks. Yes, the best sprinter I've ever seen. All right, folks, all right, the winner of the race and the whiskey, Tom Lincoln. Thank you. This is my lucky day, I guess. Well, ain't you going to pass it around, Tom? I reckon I will. But first, I want to propose a toast to the lady who this day's made me the happiest man in the world, Nancy Hanks Lincoln. Oh, Nancy, it's done at last. It ain't much, but it's our home. It's our home. The prettiest place in the world, Tom. Oh, it ain't that, I know it ain't. I anchored to do much better for you, but I will, Nancy, I will, too. I'll be happy here. I want you to be. I hope you'll be, Nancy. Oh, Tom, you're so good. We'll both be happy in this place, I know that. While the weather's fine, I'll view boards for the floor and a smooth pine table. Would you like that, Nancy? Nancy, you ain't even looking at the house. Over yonder, Tom, white blossoms, crab apples, wild crab apples. Oh, yes, right pretty, ain't they? Not as pretty as you are, though. And the hills yonder, like I noted it would be. Yes, sure. But come on, Nancy, look at that cabin. You see that there stick clay chimney? You think you can be happy in such a place? So happy, Tom, so happy it bare hooks me to think on it. It was a fair land, but for Tom it was rocky, and the clay stuck to the plowsheds. For me it was scrubbing, washing, catching and fixing. But there was a rock spring, and sometimes I'd sit there looking off to the hills. It was there one day, I knew I'd not be looking yonder alone come springtime, but my time was coming. Nancy, you've been yonder to Rock Spring again. Yes, Tom. I asked you not to go there alone, Nancy. It ain't safe in that timber. You recollect what happened to Tim Beardley? I won't die, not like that, Tom. But I'm telling you, Nancy, what's ailing you? I'm to bear you a child. Nancy. It'll be a man child. A son. I'll be right proud to have a son, Nancy, right proud. You will be. Oh, so proud you'll like to be. And you'll be happy, Nancy. Yes. Yes, Tom, every hour that God shall give me to be with my son. Hi, hi, neighbor. Good morning, Tom. Wait. Where are you be off to? Move down to the creek to drop a fish line or two. Will you go by the granny woman? Aunt Peggy Walters? She's to the side of the slope. Sure, but fetch her, will you, neighbor? Oh, can't, Tom. Those fish don't bite. You've got to fetch the granny woman for me, neighbor. I can't leave. Nancy needs help starting now. Oh, oh, sure. Sure, I'll fetch her. Sure, Tom. Right away. I'll fetch her. I'll fetch her. Now, horse, baby, horse, sling. That's the lamb. We're going to your mama now. There. My, what a pretty picture. I think he favors his pa, Mike. Don't you, Dennis? He don't look like nothing, Miss Lincoln. Babies never do. Dennis, what do you say? Who does he favor? Why, yes. He doesn't look like anything. I don't rightly know, Nancy. Would you look at that tinnier, Miss Lincoln? A blushing to the hellies. You never see a wee baby before, did you? Well, yes, but not like that. I mean, ain't he ailing a mite? Of course he ain't ailing, Dennis. Why did you say that? He be so red of face and wrinkled like a monkey he is. All new babies look like that, Dennis. Oh, could I hold him a mite? Be careful, Dennis, for you are the first boy he's ever seen. Oh, there now. Up you go. I'm thinking he don't take to me. You ain't holding him right, Dennis. Here. Now, like, like to this. You see? Oh, like, like this? That's it. What will you name him, Nancy? I'm going to name him Abraham. Abraham? Yes, for his grandfather. Abraham Lincoln. It's a right sound to name. Read me some more of the Bible, Ma. Well, Moses rose up early in the morning and went up unto Mount Sinai, as the Lord had commanded him, and took in his hand two tables of stone. And the Lord descended in the cloud and stood with him there and proclaimed the name of the Lord. Is that the end of the story, Ma? No, Abe, for it was there that Moses got the Ten Commandments and let his people out of slavery. Ma. Yes, Abe? Did Moses truly talk to God? Truly, Abe. But, Ma, why, why don't God talk with folks nowadays? He does, Abe, but folks ain't a-listening. If folks was listening, Ma, would it sound like thunder? No, Abe. It'd be like in the night here in our cabin, when you get up from your pallet to put sticks on the fire before the light comes. And I say, is that you, Abe? And you say, yes, Ma, it's me. Pa. Yes, son? What are you building? A raft. A raft? What for, Pa? Don't tell your Ma yet, but we're fixing to move on up the river to Indiana. Tom. Tom, Lincoln, stop that pounding. Your wife's asleep, and her and the new baby. All right, Aunt Figgy. How is Nancy? She's well enough. Now, get on about your business, Tom. I've got my work to do. And don't be coming into the house. Well, I reckon that leaves nothing for us to do but talk, Abe. Why are we going to Indiana, Pa? Because of the new settlers. They're coming up from the South, thousands of them, some with slaves, too. Independent farmer ain't got a chance. What does independent mean, Pa? Well, I reckon it means being poor, having nothing at all. Slaves ain't independent, but they don't need to worry where the next meals are coming from. What's the matter, Abe? You look as solid as a papoose. I was a-thinking. Ma told me of another big word, predestination. Whew, that's a whopper. What's that mean, Abe? Well, it means that what's going to happen, they're going to happen anyways, and folks can't do nothing to stop it. Maybe it's like that about us going to Indiana, the new baby and everything. Yeah, you're more pleased on that, but not me. Why, I remember one time... Tom. Tom. Yeah, Aunt Peggy. You'd better come on in right away. I'm coming. Why, what's wrong? What are you about to say? Oh, the new baby. Ain't a breather no more. Don't tell Nancy yet. Let her sleep. I'll tell her in the morning. Is your pa and your finish loading the raft, Abe? Almost, Mark. Right soon we'll be riding her to Indiana. You'll like that, won't you? You will too, Mark. Riding like Pharaoh's daughter on the Nile. Oh, Abe. My little Abe. My little shirt-tail boy. Mom, you want to go to Indiana, don't you? Of course, Abe. It's just leaving the hills that's made me grieve. Abe, I want you to promise me something. Yes, Mom? When we get to Indiana, you must go to the teaching woman again. I know, Mom. Don't let nothing ever stop your learning. I won't. It'll be powerful hard, Abe, and there'll be some folks that won't understand. Why won't folks understand? Because some folks is content, Abe. They want things to be like they always was. But you ain't to be that way, Abe. I promise you, Mom. I'll mind my learning. Abe. Oh, I can't say the words, and you're such a little tyke. But I have a feeling, Abe, like you were going to have burdens when you get out yonder. And I want you strong to carry them. I'll remember, Mom. I promise you. But are you all right, Abe? You can read it if you'd like to, Mom. Abraham Lincoln, his hand and pen. He will be good, but God knows when. Oh, you're learning fast and right well, Abe. The teaching woman at the school was saying I learn most too fast. Maybe it is a compliment. Mom. Yes? The teaching woman was telling of the President. He lives in a great house in the city in the East. There's thousands of people back there, she says. Living in houses right up against each other. There's no words in between. You'll see them things one day. I ain't never to see them things, Mom. Why don't you want to see them, Abe? Oh, I don't right and no. I reckon I'm scared of all them people together. Like they were in the courthouse square when the speech maker come in Kentucky. Them talking them big words and wearing queer star-bottom clothes and them all yelling their heads off. I was scared. I felt kind of sick like. You'll feel different when you're grown up, Abe. No, I won't feel no different. Them people are mean. They aim to harm each other. No, Abe, they don't aim to do no harm. They don't know no better. I never had no book learning, Abe. But your grandma come all the way from Virginia and seen a lot in her day. And she told me, folks ain't never really mean. Some folks is just powerful ignorant. I reckon that's the way it truly is, Abe. Abe? Abe? Yes, Pa? Go fetch me a pail of water. I aim to wash up and rest a mile. I'll fetch it right off, Pa. Cabin must be now finished, Tom. We'll move in tomorrow, Nancy. Hope you like it. I'll like it. There's some logs left over. Logs? Anything you'd like me to make you with them? Save them, Tom, and keep them dry. Maybe I'll need something later on. I were right happy in the new house singing while a dun matures. But come summer I begun thinking back to the hills, back yonder in Kentucky, and then come the sickness in Indiana. And I knowed then why I asked Tom to save them logs and keep them dry, for I felt a bitter burning in my throat, and I knowed. Shall I read you some more out of the book, Ma? Read me the song about the hills, the one I love so well. I will lift up my knives unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. You remember the hills in Kentucky, Tom? I will lift up my knives unto the hills. Nancy. I just can't say the words I want to say, Tom. Rest, Nancy. Rest quiet now. Remember the schooling, Tom. I want Abe DeLore and Ollie Kent. I know. It's meant to be. Now you know what I was meaning about always being yonder in my mind, Tom. Yes, Nancy. You see, it's meant to be. Promise me, Tom. I promise. Abe. Yes, Ma? Grow up, Abe. Be good to your pa, and be good to your people, and remember me when you're out yonder. If Nancy Hanks came back as a ghost seeking news, of what she loved most, she'd ask first. Where's my son? What's happened to Abe? What's he done? Poor little Abe, left all alone, except for Tom, who's a rolling stone. He was only nine the year I died. I remember still how hard he cried, scraping along in a little shack with hardly a shirt to cover his back. And the prairie winds are blowing down, or pinching time as he went to town. You wouldn't know about my son. Did he grow tall? Did he have fun? Did he learn to read? Did he get to town? Do you know his name? Did he get on? In tribute to American motherhood, the cavalcade of America honors the memory of Nancy Hanks, mother of Abraham Lincoln. Thank you, Agnes Moorhead. And now we present the cavalcade of America's historian, Dr. Frank Monahan of Yale University, with news of next week's program. Next week, cavalcade presents the story of Roger Williams, the foremost American crusader for complete religious liberty. Many groups came to America seeking freedom, but when they found it, some made it a selfish freedom, the right to persecute those who did not agree with them. This seemed to Williams a most peculiar and undesirable kind of freedom. His agitation for the separation of church and state in Massachusetts caused his banishment. But when Williams founded Providence more than 300 years ago, he made it the one place in America where a man could think his own thoughts, worship God in his own fashion, and exercise an equal share in government. Roger Williams found the perfect liberty he sought, but he went beyond and established it for his fellow men as well. In our story of Roger Williams next week, the cavalcade of America presents in the title role the popular radio actor Ray Collins. The orchestra and the original musical effects on the cavalcade of America are under the direction of Don Burees. The poem Nancy Hanks at the close of our drama was written by Rosemary Benet and is from a book of Americans by Rosemary and Steven Vincent Benet. This is Basil Rysdale saying good night and best wishes from DuPont. This is the National Broadcasting Company.
