The Cavalcade of America, sponsored by the DuPont Company, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. Music Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the Cavalcade of America, sponsored by DuPont. This week, freemen everywhere honor the birthday of Abraham Lincoln. So tonight, Cavalcade brings to you a new version of an American classic. It is a story beloved by millions. A story of Lincoln and a wounded Confederate soldier. The Perfect Tribute by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews. Tonight's play was especially written for Cavalcade by Rachel Hayes. Our star portraying Abraham Lincoln is Edwin Jerome. The Perfect Tribute with Edwin Jerome as Lincoln on the Cavalcade of America, sponsored by the DuPont Company. Music Who shall recognize and measure the stature of emperor, minister, president? Who shall weigh such high matters of firmness? First, they must be placed in time. In this case, it is the morning of November 18th, 1863. It is the president we seek to measure. And so it is in the White House among those statesmen closest to him that we look for clues to his greatness. To know his moods from day to day, his wishes, his high status. But death complicates all status. The democratic dream is reached by torturous roots, journeying its twisted miles up through the jungles of the year. Grant trapped at Chattanooga. Burnside, the siege at Knoxville. One of his sons buried, the other ill. A message to Congress to be prepared. And only a handful of victors. And in the White House in the anti-roma of the president's office, let us look at seekers for power. Men with little to lose. Men with hidden fears. Looking with their whiskers and massive heads like statesmen. The president will be down in a moment, gentlemen. He's saying goodbye to young Master Tad. Taking his time about it, isn't he? Master Tad has been very ill, Mr. Stevens. He's Mr. Lincoln's favorite child, as you know. Tell me, hey, do you think the president is angry because we begged off for him to get his bug? He didn't mention it. Between you and me, I think it's a very poor strategy on the part of Lincoln and Seward. Going to Gettysburg at a time like this and reminding the country of our enormous losses. Lincoln and Seward are dead cards politically, anyway, both of them. The dead going to eulogize the dead, huh? Not bad, ain't that, yet? Oh, here's old Abe now. You'll take care of those matters for me, Stanton, won't you? I have a lot of them, Mr. President. Well, Mr. Chase, Mr. Stevens. Morning, Mr. President. Morning, Mr. President. It was good of you gentlemen to come and see me off. About this Union Pacific franchise, Mr. President. Mr. Stanton will speak for me in all these matters, Mr. Chase. We are keeping them waiting down at the station. About your speech at Gettysburg, Mr. President, we've thought it expedient to advise you that as... I wish you would advise me, gentlemen. I can't think what to say there. For months now, I've been searching my soul for words humble enough to say over those heroic dead. Words to embrace what all of them fought for, blue and gray. For they're all of them our dead, you know. I wouldn't worry too much about it if I were you, Mr. President. We can count on Edward Everett to say the right thing. He's never failed yet. This one ought to be good, taking him close on to six months, right? Or so he would have us believe. I must say, I think the man has a bit of gall putting off these dedication ceremonies from June to November, just so he could polish up his speech. A man like Edward Everett could get things pretty much his own way, if he's of mine too. I believe he intends to speak at some length, too. And that's why we thought it might be well if the President would restrict his address to a few well-chosen words. Cold in Gettysburg in November, and they won't be in a mood to hear too lengthy orations, you know. I quite agree with you, gentlemen. And now, shall we go? I take it Mrs. Lincoln has decided to remain here with Master Tad. She had intended to leave Tad in the care of his excellent doctors, but she got some bad news recently. Oh, really? Her brother was reported killed in action, the 4th Kentucky. You see, gentlemen, how they're dead are also ours. Well, there'll be time, a little time on the train, to give this matter further thought. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Your gentlemen, mark my words. Grant will break through at Chattanooga sooner than we think. But, Mr. Hay, I understand Grant's in an extremely dangerous position. Isn't that so, Mr. President? Well, sir, I can only repeat what they say about General Grant. Where that man goes, things seem to get... But with the Tennessee River at his back and Bragg's men in front of him on the heights of Missionary Ridge, isn't it possible he's bitten off more than he can chew? Well, now, General Grant isn't exactly alone with his back to the river and his front to the ridge. He must have an army somewhere around him. Yes, of course. Mr. Surge, Saunders, boys in the smoke are asking for you. Lively game of whiskey getting underway. Well, uncommon find of whiskey, Mr. Blair. Are you coming, Mr. President? No, thank you. You gentlemen go right ahead. I have a few things to do myself. May I borrow a sheet of paper and a pencil from you, Mr. Surge? Certainly, Mr. President. Here's the pencil. Thank you, sir. I'll tell the boy to fetch you a sample of the paper. No, don't bother. The back of this portfolio will do. Just a few notes for my address to the people of Gettysburg. He sits there alone, a creaking wooden coat of a train skirting the Chesapeake. He wets the end of the borrowed pencil and begins to write. The words, as during the weeks before, still come slow, slow. What can a man say to those who have buried their dead? Words of but wooden things, mere labels of feelings, capturing only the farthest echoings of heart and mind. What can a man say seeing his city smolder and the hopes of men crying out in the agony of twisted steed? He does not even dare to hope he knows what to say. But when the presidential train rolls into Gettysburg Station, Abraham Lincoln has written down 266 words on a torn scrap of paper with a borrowed pencil. Gettysburg, Gettysburg. This way, Mr. President. There you are, Carrie. No, sir. I'll need telegrams for me, bring them to the Wheel's house. Oh, Mr. Everett. Mr. Everett. Yes, Mr. President? I'm glad to see you, sir. I understand both of us are staying at Mr. Wheel's house. Mr. Seward staying at the harbour. Why don't you share my carriage? Why thank you Mr. President. I am honored. Music Ah good evening Mr. President. Good evening Judge Will. Welcome to Gettysburg. Thank you sir. Thank you. Your trip must have been tiring Mr. President. If you follow me I'll show you to your room. Supper will be ready in an hour. Thank you sir. Gettysburg seems to be full of activity tonight. Yes that's so Mr. Everett. Those bands have been going all day and there's a stump speech on every street corner. One would think it's a political convention we're holding. Ah here we are. This is your room Mr. President. Won't you gentlemen come in for a few moments? I think I'll leave early with your permission Mr. President. My voice you know. I must save it for my oration at the battlefield tomorrow. Yes. Well then good night Mr. Everett. Good night Mr. President. Mr. Will good night sir. Well I hope you'll be comfortable here Mr. President. Well I'm glad to see the bed has no footboard. I'll be able to sleep stretched out for a change. You have your excellent secretary Mr. Hay to thank for that Mr. President. I had no idea you were quite so tall. Come in. These two telegrams just arrived for you Mr. President. Oh thank you lieutenant. Both from the secretary of war I see. I hope to be one for Mrs. Lincoln. This one's good news. Grant is starting battle at Chattanooga. Good. And this, thank God. Mrs. Lincoln reports your son's health is a great deal better. Thank God. Music In the morning the bands began again. Lincoln in tall silk hat and white gloves rode a chestnut horse up to the cemetery. There a multitude stood above the dead. Troops, old men, boys, politicians, statesmen. The ambassadors of empires waited like a heavy and silent sea. Behind them stretched the long slow running slopes of land back to the dim bulk of the Alligator. Above them the November sun glittered like steel. Edward Everett spoke for two hours. His chiseled sentences delighted the crowd down to the very last word. Through the latest period of recorded time in the glorious annals of our common country there will be no brighter page than that which relates to the battle of Gettysburg. Music And now, now ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States. Our score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war. As Abraham Lincoln speaks these words, his eyes look out over the men and women who have come to Gettysburg on this day to honor the dead who fell here in the bloodiest battle of court history. Promoters are here, men with dollar cigars and heavy gold watch chains. It is for us the living the President is saying, but they don't hear him. The local politicians, the judges, ladies and black criminals, black lace parasols. Their parasols bobbing up and down as they talk animatedly to one another and nod smilingly to the beaver-headed gentleman who weaved in and out among the crowds. It is rather for us to be dedicated here. He doesn't even see the bored and distracted faces before him. He doesn't see a young man in a check suit, a disheveled braggart from oil city. In that crowd Lincoln does not see John Wilkes Booth. Death complicates all strategies. Lincoln is speaking to history. Let we hear highly resolved that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation under God shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth. Strange silence and a spatter of applause, no more. Then his long gone figure turns and he walks back to his seat. The day in Washington, what to be done, bills to be signed, senators to be heard, army chiefs to be met. A sense of failure at Gettysburg buried deep in the corridors of his mind. Mr. Hayes in the outside office, Mr. President. Oh, come in, John. What is it? I thought you might be interested in seeing the reactions of the press to the Gettysburg speech. You have a new one there? Yes. Will you read it, sir? Let's see. We know not where to look for a more admirable speech than the brief one which the President made at the close of Mr. Everett's oration. I can tell them where to look. Could the most elaborate and splendid oration be more beautiful, more touching, more inspiring than the thrilling words of the President? They had in our judgment the charm and power of the very highest eloquent. Well, sir. Well, it's a very generous opinion, Mr. Hayes. I'm grateful to the gentleman who is its author. But, Mr. Hayes, have you read this? We pass over the silly remarks of the President. For the credit of the nation, we are willing that the veil of oblivion be dropped over them, but they shall no more be repeated or thought of. Well, Mr. Hayes? Someone with a political grudge, I'd say. No, John, I have made many successful speeches in my day, campaign speeches, some speeches, lectures, but I know I'm no great shakes as a public speaker. Everett has the silver tongue. Mine's brass. Yesterday's must have been pretty poor stuff. Yet somehow I felt I wanted to speak for all the boys, blue and gray, who were sleeping there at Gettysburg. What time is it, Mr. Hayes? Near four. I think I'll take a walk before supper. Will you excuse me, please? Oh, yes, of course, sir. Sometimes I wonder when will they understand? You are listening to Edwin Jerome as Abraham Lincoln in a new radio version of The Perfect Tribute on the cavalcade of America sponsored by the DuPont Company. The day drops quickly in November. Strange brightness from the arcing sky leading the elms as fragile as coal. The avenues are broad on hurried gestures, wide as the day was wide as broad as slow. And the monuments, the scarce mute monuments poise in their marble dreams. Mr. Hamilton walks along avenues in the shadow of the great new hospital with a wounded life silent in pain. Oh, oh, oh, that was a close one. You scared the daylights out of me, son. Running like General Grant was after you. Must have used the whole highway, sir. Oh, I'm sorry, son. I guess I am too big for these walks. Didn't hurt yourself, did you? No. Well, then, what's wrong? Everything's wrong, everything. You Yankees burned and ruined everything. Yankee. Go ahead, son. Go ahead and cry. Every little bit helps. I'm in a hurry. I want a lawyer. I've got to have one now or it'll be too late. Well, what do you want with a lawyer? I want him to draw a will. My brother's going to die, they say. Well, I used to practice law now and again, son. Maybe I could help you. Maybe you wouldn't want to. Why? We're rebels. Oh. My brother's Captain Carter Blair in the First Alabama. I see. He's over there in the prison hospital. Uh-huh. Well, tell me, do you think you'll have any difficulty getting me into that building? Oh, don't worry about the letting you in. They all know me there. Well, then, you just go right on ahead, son. I'll follow. Here's my brother's cop, sir. Carter? Carter? Wake up. I've got a lawyer for you. Lawyer? Oh. Oh, it's you, Worry. You brought the lawyer? Good boy. Thank you for coming, sir. I expect... I think we'd better begin. Why, there's ten minutes on the table. Tell me, Mr. I'm sorry, but my brother didn't tell me your name. Well, your brother and I met informally, Captain. I should say more on the physical level than the social. He charged into me like a young steer. My name's Lincoln. Lincoln? Well, that's a good name from your standpoint. You are a Northerner, I take it. Yes, I'm on that side of the fence. You may call me a Yankee if you like. Well, sir, my name's Carter Hampton Blair. Will you shake hands? With pleasure, Captain Blair. Well, now then, shall we begin? I'm afraid I don't know the proper form. What I want to say is, I want to leave what's left of my worldly goods to Miss Sally Maxfield, my fiancé. I see. Well, now, you rest a moment. We'll write it this way. I'm Carter Hampton Blair, in right and sober mind, to hereby bequeath to Miss Sally Maxfield. Well, Captain, now all you have to do is sign it. I expect that now you'll recover. You'll be mighty fast. Will's are the best tonics in the world. I've got to be running along. Oh, please don't go. I'd like to talk. Well, I have a little time, Captain. I'd be glad to spend it with you if it won't be too tiring. No, it won't. Right now I feel very strong. I'd like to talk about that other Lincoln. You mean Abe Lincoln? Yes. Now, don't misunderstand me, sir. I believe with all my soul in the cause that I fought for. But I've come to think that President of yours is inspired by principles, not animosity. Have you read that speech of his yesterday? That one that get his budget? No, I'm afraid I haven't. Oh, by the way, Mr. Lincoln, is the President any kin of yours? Well, now he's a kind of connection through my maternal grandfather. But I know all the gossip about his side of the family, so you can say what you like. Well, what I'd like to say is, yesterday he made one of the great speeches of history. But I heard the speech didn't even bring forth a cheer from the audience there. Well, you might as well cheer the Lord's Prayer, sir. It would have been sacramental. You really believe that? I do. I'd like to believe that. Oh, well, I forgot. You haven't read it. Warrie? Yes, Carter? Bring me the newspapers over there. I want the gentleman to read the speech. These are beautiful, monumental words, sir. Sir, you'll have to read it, sir. My eyes, you probably know it. Yes. But shall I read it aloud? Yes, please do. Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men living and dead who struggle here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note no longer remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion. That we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from nigger. He sits at a bedside in the prison hospital, reading freedom's words. And slowly he becomes aware that people are the touchstone for all fame. People are the ultimate historians of the great. He who is the human symbol of their democratic hope is great. In their monumental memory looms the true memorial of the great. Theirs is the wreath that really blooms. Theirs is the perfect tribute. Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! This world is marching on! Thank you, Edwin Jerome. Where is the doctor's first duty today? Is it to the people of his own community or is it on the field of battle? How one doctor made his decision is the subject of our Cavalcade play next week. Be with us then when Cavalcade presents the popular star of screen and stage, Elliot Nugent, currently appearing on Broadway with Catherine Hepburn. Our play for next week, written especially for Cavalcade by Kavan Ryper, is The War Comes to Dr. Morgan. Be with us next week, ladies and gentlemen, when Cavalcade presents Elliot Nugent in The War Comes to Dr. Morgan, a dramatic story of a young physician in these strenuous times. Did you keep a penny bank when you were a youngster? Most everyone did, and most of us were surprised to find how fast pennies accumulated. War stamps are a means of saving regularly today. Just one ten-cent stamp buys five bullets for an Army.45 caliber pistol. Only eight twenty-five-cent stamps buy two hand grenades. So think of war stamp books as saving banks for victory. And it is important to fill up your books and not leave them around partially filled because they start bearing interest only when they are turned in for bonds. The orchestra and musical score tonight were under the direction of Don Bury. Cavalcade is grateful to Charles Scribner's son for permission to base tonight's dramatization on the book, The Perfect Tribute, by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews. This is Clayton Collier sending best wishes from our sponsor, the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware. This program came to you from New York. This is the National Broadcasting Company.
