Starring Tyrone Power as young Tom Jefferson on the cavalcade of America, sponsored by the DuPont Company, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. July 4th, 1776. When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth. Those are the opening words of the Declaration of Independence, words which fixed a people's mind on liberty and independence. They were written by Thomas Jefferson 160 years ago in a quiet little room in Philadelphia. No man was at his shoulder to whisper suggestions, no ancient tomes were dog-eared for paraphrasing. The thoughts were his and his alone. What he wrote was the experience of his own eyes and ears, injustices he'd encountered, human miseries he'd seen, recollection of ideals he had dreamed. It is of these simple and profound thoughts that this cavalcade play is about. A play called Young Tom Jefferson, in which Tyrone Power is the star. You've been most kind and helpful to me, gentlemen. On the contrary, I should think, Mr. Jefferson. Mr. Adams and I have placed the whole burden on your shoulders. I'm all too much aware of the responsibility, Dr. Franklin. I trust you will bear with me. I work slowly. Well, if mankind has waited 2,000 years for what we are about to say, they doubtless can afford to wait another week or two. And yet you are aware our need is pressing, unless this declaration can unite the states behind us. That, Mr. Adams, is the thought that weighs most heavily upon me. If there's anything you need of us. Oh, thank you. Well then, Mr. Jefferson, it appears the matter now is in your hands. Oh, by the way, had you thought what to call this document? Why, I thought merely to call it by the simplest name, a declaration of independence. Oh, excellent. Simple and direct. Well then, good night, Mr. Jefferson. Good night, sir. Good night, gentlemen. Good night. Slowly young Thomas Jefferson walks over to the little desk before the fire. Slowly sits down before the first blank piece of paper. Slowly takes the goose-gloved pen between his fingers. The day has come. A little room of silence, save for the faint whispering of the fire. Slowly the pen moves. On the blank paper, the first momentous words appear. When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth the same. Whence come these words? Out of what earliest dreams and questioning, out of what hopes and memories, what wisdom or beauty of the past, out of what well-remembered thoughts and phrases exchanged in other days with some nameless stranger or beloved friend, a lifetime is in these words a life of many printed pages of growth and pondering, of talking and listening. Slowly from the dark labyrinth of the memory mind come thoughts first fixed in years long gone by, thoughts to be stated now on the paper before him. It was old Jed who said it. What he would do if he were free. Work he said. Work and build a home. Raise a family. It's strange to remember the song they were singing. Jed sitting in his cabin door. No man should be born to rank or power. All men in the eyes of their creator are as one. What do you call that song, Jed? That must sound nothing special. Just a song about Moses. Is that your favorite song, Jed? Well, we like it all right, must sound. Why do you like it so much? Why? Why, because it goes good. Is it because Moses led the people out of slavery? That might be one reason. What would you do if you were free? Work. Same as I'm working now. What else? Oh, maybe I'd go into the back country, get me a little farm, raise me a family of my own. Is that what you think there is to being free? That's the most of it, I reckon. I think there's more to it than that, Jed. That's hard work too, but I wouldn't want to be a slave. There is more than that, must sound. I don't know whether I can exactly explain it to you. Meaning you've never been a slave, and I've never been free. But I reckon it's something about the way you feel inside yourself. Something in the way you walk, work, and the way you laugh. Maybe it don't seem like such a big thing if you've got it. But I reckon it's a mighty big thing if you ain't got it. You're right, Jed. It's a big thing to have and not to have. We hold these truths to be self-evident. That all men are created equal. That they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights. That among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, some of the words are not needed among men. There were those who said it could not be, and later those who fought to make it so. The pen moves on and other words appear, words to bring men from their farms and shops, from ships and country houses, men willing to die for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The words come more readily now as thought provokes, thought and memory stirs memory, the years of reading, of seeing, of thinking, the years of preparation, of proving themselves. It's a long time since Tom Jefferson resolved that he would master words and not be their slave. But as he writes, fleeting memories pass swiftly through his mind, memories of an upstairs chamber of the plantation house at Chadwell, where a gaunt, giant figure of a man lies quietly in a four-poster bed. Peter Jefferson, his father, ill and slowly dying. The next speech, where it says, I have lived long enough. Read that, Tom. I have lived long enough. My way of life is fallen into the seer, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have. But in their stead curses, not loud but deep, mouth honor, breath, which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not. Yes, that's it. My, what a power over words he had, that Shakespeare. A pity, though, to put such fine words in the mouth of such a tyrant as Macbeth. That's the man's genius, Tom. That's one reason Macbeth became a king. He became a king because he murdered all who stood in his path. Does every murderer become a king? Ah, no, Tom. It's not as easy as that. Macbeth had eloquence to make men follow him in spite of his crimes. There have been others like him. There'll be more to follow. Then it behooves all honest men to be more eloquent than the tyrants. True, Tom, if they can. Tom, what you've just said puts me in mind of something I've meant to speak of for some time. What, father? There's one thing I want you to promise me. Yes, father? What is it? It's what we were speaking of just now. The power of words. I have always been a strong man. I've made my way with brawn and sweat. But often I've thought how much better I could have served my family and my country if I had had more learning. I want you to be what I could not. You've been everything to us that anyone could ask. Go on with your schooling, Tom, no matter what. Read. Read everything you can. By reading words, you learn to use them. To me, they've always been a tyrant. Let you be their master. This country one day will have need of men who know the power of words. Promise me you'll do this, Tom. I promise, father. Now read the next speech. You know the one? Yes, father. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased? Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow. Raise out the written cobbles of the brain. Out of the shadows of the past, the memory of an anxious father. And other memories crowding back the events and turmoil of the hastening years. Of young George Washington helping to win for England all the frontier country from the Appalachians to the Mississippi. The Stamp Act passed by Parliament and nine colonies gathered in convention to protest. Memories of himself training to be a lawyer. Of a corridor outside the courtroom in Richmond. Of a gangling farmer from the back country talking to him. And what happened then? Well, Mr. Jefferson, when this tax collector came, I told him I could give him nothing as I had nothing. And what did he say? Say, he just laughed at me. He went out to the shed. I followed him. He found the grain I had there, only enough to get us through the winter the very most. He said he knew I was lying and he was going to take the grain. Thence when I went back to the house, I got my rifle. He had no right to take your grain. That's how I figured. Did you threaten him? Well, sir, I was pretty mad. I was born in this country. The Crown gave me no help. I cleared that land with my own hands. And I don't aim to be starved out of it by any thieving tax collector. That's what I told him. I was holding my rifle when I said it. It was unwise perhaps, but you were provoked. And you were within your rights and the protection of your property. What do you recommend? Do to me. Oh, the worst I think is to hold you in debt until such time as you can pay. But if I know the temper of juries nowadays, you'll get off scot-free. Oh, the court is sitting. We'd best go in. Clerk, we'll call the first case. Crown versus John Randall on the complaint of His Majesty's Officer, Revec Sack, William Sharp. Is the defendant represented by counsel? I am representing the defendant. May it please Your Lordship. How do you plead for your client? Not guilty, Your Lordship. And I respectfully move for a jury trial for my client at an early session. Motion denied. This is no case for a jury, Mr. Jefferson. Your Lordship, every subject has a right to a trial by jury. Not in these times. But Your Lordship, even if my client were a common thief... Mr. Jefferson, I am charging your client with sedition. Sedition? His utterances to an officer of the Crown were of a most seditious nature. Such as might well cause him to be deported. I sentence him to one year in prison. Next case. Your Lordship. Well? Your Lordship, I...I do not intend to let this man go to prison. I shall put up bond for his appearance and carry his case to Parliament if necessary. But one thing I must tell you, Your Lordship. There is no sedition in these colonies. There is no disloyalty to the Crown or to its officers. Yet. But if it comes, and come it surely will if such injustices persist, you, Your Lordship, and those like you, will have brought it on yourselves as the natural and inexorable fruits of your own tyranny. The Virginia House of Burgesses. There in 1769 at a front bench sits Young Tom Jefferson, just 26 years old. His Excellency, the Governor. Gentlemen, I have before me the document of your complaint directed at His Majesty the King, and presumably at myself as his appointed Governor of this colony. These complaints ostensibly concern themselves with certain alleged injustices in the matter of taxation. I find them far more serious than that. To my mind, what you have written falls little short of treason. Therefore, in accordance with the power vested in me, I hereby declare this assembly dissolved. I declare this assembly dissolved. Memories of large and small injustices, and the first warnings of the conflict, now written down, now recorded for all posterity. Swarms of officers to harass our people and eat out their substance, quartering large bodies of armed troops among us, depriving us of the benefits of trial by jury, armies to complete the works of death and tyranny. You are listening to Young Tom Jefferson, starring Tyrone Power on the cavalcade of America. As our play continues, a young couple is playing a duet in the spacious living room of a plantation home. The boy is Tom Jefferson. He's the son of a farmer, and he's the father of a young man. He's the son of a farmer, and he's the father of a young man. The boy is Tom Jefferson. Seated at the harpsichord is the daughter of the house, Miss Martha Wales. Ah, that was nice, wasn't it? You play beautifully, Miss Martha. Do I? Why, then I must say, at least as much for you. But I really mean it. So did I, Miss Martha. Oh, sometimes I wish I were a man. Why so? Because the times are so exciting, and we women are so left out of it. What can a woman do but learn to dance and keep a household and play the spinet? And you men are in the thick of every battle, fighting with all your strength for things that women sometimes scarcely understand or care about. Perhaps it's by women's inspiration that men do these things. Is it? Is it the inspiration of a woman that is giving you your reputation as a radical, Mr. Jefferson? A radical? Oh, I hear reports more frequently than you would think, and far from good ones from some of our English friends. You put yourself in some danger, Mr. Jefferson. Does that trouble you? I am troubled for the safety of any of my friends. Oh, I would not trouble you for all the world, Miss Martha. But if I loved a woman and hoped to marry her, I would want to make a home for her and for our children in a free land. And if the land we lived in were not free but overrun with tyranny, then for this woman whom I loved and for the country that I love, I would have no other course but to pledge my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor in the cause of freedom. And if this woman whom I loved were you? Were me? Yes, Martha. What would you say then? I would say yes. And for this declaration, it is written, we mutually pledge our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. The man at the desk writes on into the night, Philadelphia's asleep and except for the regular footsteps of the watch, there is no sound. But in the mind of Tom Jefferson dart sharp and violent memories, memories of wrongs to be no longer tolerated. He is at this time transporting large armies of foreign mercenaries to complete the works of death, desolation, and tyranny. We tried to prevent it. We tried. Petitions. Petitions answered with more abuse. Firing on the crowd in Boston. Taxing without consent. It couldn't have been stopped. It was inevitable. And they cried, peace. There were those who thought they could have peace. The memories grow shorter now. Thoughts span only the weeks and months, the year at most. In his mind, he moves back through time to March of the year before to the Provincial Convention of Virginia called into extraordinary session. He remembers talking with a tall, gaunt man whose gestures are explosive, whose eyes are quick and piercing. I tell you, Tom, I cannot for the life of me understand the mettle of these delegates of ours. Half the country of an arm as they prattle on like so many old women. If anyone can rouse them, you can. I'll rouse them. I'll rouse them if they're men and can be roused. Order! Order, please! When will you speak? Now. The Provincial Convention is now in session. Mr. President. The Chair recognizes the gentleman. Mr. President, gentlemen, this is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question, freedom or slavery. Young Tom Jefferson leans forward in his seat, his eyes fixed on the Speaker. The House sits spellbound. They've heard this man many times before, but never have they heard him as he is today. Are they the ones who sensed the historic import of this hour? Perhaps. But not only young Tom Jefferson, but men long generations after will remember what it spoke of here today. The war has actually begun. The next gale that creeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already in the field. Why stand we here idle? What is it the gentlemen wish? What would you have? Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God. I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty or give me death. These are but a few short months ago the eloquence of Patrick Henry. And perhaps the words of a dying boy. There have been battles now. Lexington and Concord, Ticonderoga, Bunker Hill. Men have been wounded. Men have been killed. All these in a single battle? Ambushed by Indians. These are only the men from Philadelphia. Mr. Jefferson. Yes? You must lie quietly, my boy. But there's something I want to say to Mr. Jefferson. Is there something you want me to do about your family? Well, not exactly, but we haven't done too well so far, have we? You've done all that mortal men could be. Well, maybe, but when we're out there in the woods, some of the men got talking. You know how soldiers talk. They don't mean half of it. I know. It isn't that they have any doubts. They know that when it's over, we're going to be free. Yes, we shall. I knew that. That's what I told them. But you see, nobody's ever come right out and said so, the leaders, I mean. Is that what the soldiers want? A proclamation telling what we're fighting for? Yes, sir. When you rejoin your company, you tell the men there will be such a proclamation very soon. I'll tell them. But, but you sure? Very sure. And you won't forget? No. I won't forget. In the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth a separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitles them. A decent respect to the opinions of mankind. The work is done. The day has come. Young Thomas Jefferson has spoken for the ages. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just power from the consent of the governed, that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundations on the principles of the earth. Whence came these words? Out of the eloquence of statesmen and the plain words of simple men, words to remember now, words to rededicate the hopes and aspirations of all men to the sure and certain victory of universal liberty and freedom. And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. Thank you, Tyrone Power. Our original story tonight was written especially for Cavalcade by Robert Richards. The orchestra and original musical score on this program were under the personal direction of Robert Armbruster. Tyrone Power appeared through courtesy of 20th Century Fox, in whose production this above all, he may now be seen. Ray Collins appeared tonight through courtesy of RKO. This is John Heaston sending best wishes from the DuPont Company. This program came to you from Hollywood. This is the National Broadcasting Company.
