Presenting Richard Wacht and Vincent Price in A Race for Lenny with Walter Houston, distinguished star of stage and screen as Cavalcade's commentator on the Cavalcade of America sponsored by the DuPont Company, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. Good evening, this is Walter Houston. Greeting you once again on our DuPont Cavalcade. Our story tonight is about a struggle that goes on whether we have war or peace, a mighty struggle against the most powerful of enemies, disease. In many cases, the struggle has taken the form of a race, a race against time, a race for a human life. Tonight we offer one such story of the race of medical science against death. Race to conquer diabetes. Stars are two of Hollywood's most interesting people. Richard Wacht, director of the new Metro Golden Mare picture, Blonde Fever. And Vincent Price now appearing in 20th Century Fox production, The Keys of the Kingdom. Here then is one story of the race of medical science against death, starring Vincent Price as the late great doctor, Sir Frederick Grant Banting, and Richard Wharf as his associate, Charles Best, in Morton Wishing Grad's A Race for Lenny on the Cavalcade of America. The play opens on one of those unbearably hot days in Toronto. If you've ever been there, you know how a cloud of warm air seems to hang over the bay, almost like a curtain. The shingles on the houses actually seem to lift to let the burning heat in. Yes, it was hot in Toronto, mighty hot, and one tired doctor just finished a long five hours making the rounds, seeing his patients. And he was far from sorry that he was about to check up on his last patient for the day, a youngster of about ten named Lenny. He doesn't seem to be improving at all, doctor. Well, how do you feel, Lenny? Oh, I don't know. Tired? Sort of. He's tired all the time. I don't know why. Oh, Lord, how that boy does eat. And the water he drinks, it just isn't decent. Ma, you didn't have to tell him all that. Well, don't be ashamed, Lenny. That's one of the symptoms of diabetes. Is that what he's got? That's what the tests show, ma'am. I think you both better know the truth. We've tried the diet, we've tried the fasting, we've tried everything known for diabetes. But you haven't given him any medicine, doctor. There isn't any, ma'am. Nothing except some codeine, and I don't believe in that. But look how thin he's getting. Why, it's like slow starvation. I know. Doc. Yes, Lenny? What's diabetes? Well, feel here, Lenny. Here? Yeah, right here behind your stomach. Now, there's a gland here we call a pancreas. When it works properly, it sends out something we call a hormone, something that burns the sugars you eat. The way a stove burns coal. Now your pancreas has shut the damper, Lenny, and now your body's like a stove filled with coal that can't burn. That's why I'm going to die, isn't it? Lenny, you're going to die. I'm going on ten, Mom. I've got a right to know. Maybe you won't die, Lenny. No? Maybe. For a long time, doctors have been looking for that hormone that helps you burn the sugars you can't burn now. Two men right here in Toronto are looking. And if they find it, well, we'll put it back and you'll be all right. Yeah. I guess they better find it right away. We'll pray, won't we, Lenny? Not only for you, but for all the other sick people. All right, Mom. I suppose, Doctor. When? I suppose it's like a race. A race against tick-tock. A race for Lenny. Every problem in medical research is a race for Lenny. A race for all the unborn Lenny's in the world. And now, the race against diabetes mellitus. In a laboratory at the University of Toronto in the summer of 1921, a race against death. Two young men, Frederick Banting, a surgeon, Charles H. Best, a physiologist, taking up a challenge. And it began again with Frederick Grant Banting restating a simple hypothesis. Professor McCloud, if diabetes is caused by the failure of the pancreatic hormone, then diabetes should be cured by returning to the body an extract of the pancreas. I'd agree with you, Doctor Banting, except for the fact that a hundred men have tried to do just that and failed. Professor McCloud, I think I know why they failed. Do you now, young man? Oh, I know it sounds presumptuous, but I've got a theory. Suppose I could isolate the hormone tissue. I could make an extract from that hormone tissue. What's stopping you? Two things. One, I need a laboratory to work in. All right, Doctor Banting, you've got it. What's the other thing? Well, you see, sir, I'm a surgeon. I don't know much about blood chemistry or carbohydrate metabolism. I need help. Hmm. Well, there's young Charlie Best. Charlie Best, I don't think I know him. Best has a degree in physiology and he's doing some diabetes work on his own. Then he's the man for me. Good Lord, Banting, you're asking him to give up a summer vacation. Well, I'm giving up mine. Just a minute. No one isn't as crazy as you. Hmm. Everyone may be except Charlie Best. Dr. Banting? Yes, sir. He might be just crazy enough to do it. Aye, Dr. Banting, I have a suspicion. Mr. Charles H. Best is your man. I told Dr. Banting you just might be his man, Charlie. But still I'm surprised to see you. I'm a little surprised myself, Professor. When Fred said you'd offered one of your cherished laboratories, well, I knew it was important. Yes, that was a clincher, Professor McCloud. You may regret your decision, Charlie, when you've seen the laboratory. Here it is, room 27. Not the latest, but best equipped. Well, come in, gentlemen. It's all yours. Why, I remember this room. I worked here myself. What do you think, Fred? It looks good to me. Everything installed, tables, bunsen burners. You know, we could practically live here. Practically. We could live here. Isn't that a cot over in the corner? Aye, it is. We can sleep here and cook on the bunsen burners. Of course, it's not such a large room, a bit dark, only the two windows. What's the matter, Professor? Sounds to me like you're regretting your decision. No, but I was wondering, Charlie, if you would find this better than a summer vacation. I seem to recollect that you were a cricket player of sorts. Not cricket, Professor McCloud. Baseball. I used to catch a little. That's so. And Dr. Banting, what are your vices? Well, I'm a bit of a barbershop baritone. Not much good, but loud enough, I should say. I have no doubt. No, no, don't misunderstand me. Some of my best friends are baritones and cricket players. Baseball, Professor? Good enough. Well, the problem is a cure for diabetes. Two brash young men against a disease more ancient than the Bible. Are we more brash than most, Professor? Well, for marrying trade and failed, Minkowski, Eden, Leguess, all failed. And no, yes, Professor, now? No, I suppose it's the tune of a barbershop baritone and a baseball catcher. Well, stranger things have happened. Banting and Best, two young men in the laboratory beginning a race. They liked one another from the start. Banting taught best surgery. Best taught Banting blood chemistry. Then the first tedious weeks of an experiment with diabetic dogs. Pying off the pancreatic ducts with Cap-Gut. Failing. Beginning again. Watching the blood sugar rise. Measuring the excreted sugar. Then completing the first short lap of the race. Charlie? Yes, Fred? Yes, sir. I've double checked. Nothing but hormone tissue went into this solution. All right, here's hoping. I've got a syringe of the extract ready. Well, which one of these diabetic dogs do you want? Well, let's see. Let's try Blackie. Now, come here, Blackie. Good girl. We're not going to hurt you. We're going to try and make you well. I gotta. Steady. Go ahead. There. There it is. Let it go, Charlie. Well? Well, there's nothing to do but wait. If the blood sugar falls, we've got to get it. Fred, what if it doesn't fall? If it doesn't fall? Yes, what if the dog stays diabetic? Oh, Charlie, I suppose we'll begin again. He's not himself, doctor. Lenny was always... Oh, I just don't know anymore. Pull up your shirt, Lenny. All right, Doc. I'm not going to hurt you, Lenny. See, I'm just going to tap on your abdomen like this. He hardly weighs anything at all, doctor. I know, ma'am. Lenny, you haven't been eating candy, have you? No, I've been working day and night, doctor. Smell his breath. Lenny. You aren't hiding any candy. Oh, Lenny, that's wrong. Oh, it's all right, ma'am. His breath is sweet, but he hasn't been eating any candy. Does that mean you were? I can't say. We haven't any right to honest doctors. You say doctors are working in the lab or dark? Oh, please, God, can't they hurry? Dog 33, blackie. 12 midnight, complete diabetic syndrome. Percent of blood sugar, 30 percent. All right, Charlie, let's see if we can break it. 4 cc of the extract injected intravenously. Extracts ready, Fred. Keep your fingers crossed. Let's go. What's the time? 12.30. It's too soon to test. Oh, test anyhow. Let's get another blood sugar reading. Fred. Fred, look here. What's the reading? Quick, down 9 percent. Fred, it's something. Blood sugar down from 30 percent to 21 percent in 30 minutes. Don't lose your head. For heaven's sake, let's keep calm. We'll make another test at 1 a.m. You awake, Charlie? Do you think I could sleep? What's the percentage? Take it easy. I'm taking it easy. What's the percentage? On four points, blood sugar 17 percent. Blackie. Blackie, nice dog. Good dog. Blackie. No use, Fred. Maybe we are too late. She's awfully still. No. Blood sugar is 11 percent. We're not too late. Blackie. Blackie. Fred. Fred. She's licking your hand. Listen to the wonderful music. Nice, Blackie. Nice dog. Charlie, we owe her a feast. Sure, Fred. Some milk, some lean meat, and dog biscuits for the prettiest little mutton in the world. You think you can get it, Charlie? Sure. Fine. Nothing's too good for Blackie. You know something, Charlie? I could use a little grub myself. Well, the coffee isn't stale. Here's the frying pan. There's a bunsen flame. And I've still got enough money for eggs. Oh, I'm sick of eggs. As a matter of fact, I'm a little sick of being so broke all the time. How about Sir McCloud? Oh, I told him we were on our own. Besides, there's no budget for us. Eggs, Dr. Bandy? Take your choice of six different styles. Underdone, overdone, slightly light, burnt. How many is that? I don't know. Charlie, I know how we can get some cash. Me too. I could always write to my father. My way is quicker. Where's my hat? I'm going to sell my car. Take it easy, young fellow. Be right with your house, isn't it? Oh, sorry, Dr. Bandy. I know it was you. Fill it up? Not today, thanks. Oil? No, the oil's fine. How much would you give me for it? The car. I want to sell it. You know, you young fella's going your money on a lot of foolishness. Need the money, huh? Look, I'm going to hurry. Will you buy my car? Let's see now. That's all right. Yeah, paint job pretty good. What would you say, James? Well, the same as with you, Dr. Bandy. Three hundred dollars. All right, you can write the bill of sale. I'll take three hundred. To each of the credit jacked me up? If you think the car is worth 300, I'll take 300. Well, Dr. Battening, you can't do this to me. You have to make the man lose his faith in human nature. Oh, please, I'm in a great hurry. Ah, okay. Hurry up, Mr. Billis. Yes, there's anybody more in a hurry than anybody else. It's a young doctor. You're listening to Richard Walthus, Charles Best, and Vincent Price as Dr. Battening in a race for Lenny on the cavalcade of America, sponsored by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. How much is needed to win a race against time, against disease, against death, a race for the human life? Twenty-four years ago, Dr. Battening and his friend, Charles Best, wondered about those questions. They knew how close they were to victory in their search for a cure for diabetes. And yet they found the pitiful barriers in front of them, creating almost inseparable odds. A necessary interval in a race, a race against diabetes and leitis, a race for Lenny. Frederick Battening sold his car, shared the money with Charles Best, and now for two young scientists, no time to lose. They slept on the hard benches of the laboratory. They cooked their coffee. They fried their eggs over a bunsen flame. It was a laboratory. It was a home. And it was something more. The hard wooden benches had become pews in the church of the scientific method. The stone tables mottled with acid, worn by many hands, had become an altar. And mute with supplication, a ten-year-old boy, listless, always hungry, wasting before his mother's eyes, waiting for the race to be done. Mom. Mom. Here I am, Lenny. Mother's here. More water, Mom. I've brought it. Here, drink it slow, Lenny. Can I have some more, Mom? All right, son. Thanks, Mom. Lenny. What, Mom? Don't stop hoping. Lenny, you mustn't lose hope. Here, Blackie. Here, Dog. Good girl. Now hold steady. Here's a syringe, Fred. All right. Blackie, now, easy does it. That's a good dog. Pretty wonderful how she lets you inject the stuff. Perhaps she knows we're keeping her alive with it. Look at her mother, Charlie. Yeah. Nice and moist. Her skin's fine. Well, if we can keep a diabetic dog alive, maybe we can keep a diabetic person alive. There's something we've got to do before that, Charlie. Our method, the way we make our extract, well, it's slow and it's expensive. It just isn't good enough. Fred. Yeah? I've got a hunch. Well? Maybe there is a shortcut. Well? Fats are soluble in alcohol to a limited extent. Well, the pancreas is fatty, except for the hormones. Well, that's my hunch. Suppose we take a whole beef pancreas, macerate it the usual way, and then treat it with alcohol. If the hunch is right... If we get a solution, we're looking for it. Do you want to try? I'll try anything. We're slow, Charlie. Too darn slow, and time's running out on us. Let's test your hunch. [♪ music playing on radio and television Banting and Best macerated a beef pancreas, steeped it in the alcohol solvent, ran a warm current of air over the solution, evaporated the residue, made their extract once again a salt solution, and we're ready for another test. This dog's in a diabetic coma. Close to it, Charlie. Hmm. She's breathing, but not much more. Blackie. Hey, Blackie. [♪ whistling a tune Practically done for. Blood sugar diabetic, 33% plus. Excretion loaded with acetone and ketone bodies. It looks bad. What do you say? Do we try the new extract on her? I don't know. Suppose she's too far gone. We won't know whether the new extract's any good. Oh, I hate to see these dogs die. Charlie, let's try it on her. Maybe we can save her. [♪ whistling a tune Dog barking What do you say to that, Mr. Best? What's your diagnosis? You're the doctor. I'm just a physiologist. But that sounds like a live dog to me. Right you are, Mr. Best. Alive and non-diabetic. Bad sugar way down. Easy, easy girl. Quiet, quiet now. Lie down. Down, down. That's a good dog. Three hours, Fred. Only three hours. Look at her lap up that milk. Makes you feel hungry, doesn't it? My dear Mr. Best, it does. Well, what's the menu? All right, forget it. You can scramble mine this time. And if you don't mind eggs only, no shells. [♪ whistling a tune A race nearly run. But a clock in a little Toronto house ticking for a boy named Lenny. And now, Banting and Best testing the new extract. Keeping test animal number 33 alive with it. A dog named Blackie. And Blackie, who should have been dead, frisking about the laboratory, proving a theory. Winning one race. Professor McCloud sent a biochemist called Collip to help. While Dr. Collip searched for a still more powerful extract, Lenny grew more one and initiated. The extract was ready. Waiting. But the scientist must be sure. It was necessary now to prove. To prove beyond any doubt that it was the extract and the extract only that was keeping Blackie alive. A final conclusive test was arranged. Dr. Robinson administered the chloroform. Then the autopsy. Finished, Dr. Banting. Autopsy's finished. Well, any trace of hormone? Not a trace. We've got to be sure. Absolutely not a trace. If you fellas tell me you kept this dog going for 70 days, I'll have to believe it. But I can't see how she could have stayed alive without being able to burn carbohydrate. All Best and I did was put back a hormone that dog didn't have. I'll have to take your word for it. Gentlemen, I guess you've got something. This was the great victory of Frederick Grant Banting and Charles H. Best 24 years ago in a laboratory at the University of Toronto. But victory over a diabetic dog is not victory over a diabetic man. Or victory in the race for a boy called Lenny. A boy who now wanted only to sleep and never to be waken. Lenny. Hmm? The doctor's here. Aren't you going to say hello to the doctor? I can't, Lenny. Can't you hear me, son? Lenny, can you hear me? I can't. What are you saying, Lenny? Breathe. I can't breathe. Yeah? Well, I'll open the window. What is it, doctor? Can you stand it? I think I can stand anything now. Tell me. Lenny's approaching diabetic coma. I'm going to take him to the hospital. Come along if you want to. All right. I'll come. A dry, weary little boy in the hospital ambulance. The skin almost cold to the touch. The breath sickly sweet. The face flushed, the lips dry and cracked. The hands yellow. And the race for Lenny almost run and finished. On December 2, 1921, two doctors at the Toronto General Hospital completed the examination. The poor little fellow's pretty far gone. Have you got the stuff for me? Yes, here it is. Insulin. That's what you call it? Yes, doctor. Well, whatever you call it, I hope it works. You sure it's not toxic? We've taken it ourselves. Good enough. Well, here goes. I'll keep the two of you posted. Will I save him, doctor? I don't know. Lenny's getting the insulin now. He's so tired. That poor little boy is so tired. You're doing fine, ma'am. Try to hold on. I can't do anything else, I expect. Try to rest, ma'am. All anyone can do now is just wait and hope. Lenny speaking. Yes, yes, Charlie. The boy's blood sugar is down. What is it, doctor? Sugar excretion, how much? That's just fine. This is Charlie Best. Oh, yes, yes, of course. We'll come right away. This is the room, Fred. He's in here. I'm sorry, but I'm praying. Hello, Lenny. My name's Best. This is Dr. Banting. Hello. How do you feel, son? A lot better. We saw your mother downstairs. She's very happy. I'm glad. They tell me you were a very good patient. That's good. And the needle hardly hurts. Dr. Banting. Yes, Lenny? I guess, I guess we won the race, didn't we? Okay, now thanks to you, Richard Wharf, and Vincent Price, and to all other members of tonight's Tupont Cavalcade. The big news is next week Bing Crosby visits Cavalcade's Playhouse to star in his own story of his drama-packed tour overseas, where he brought pleasure and memories to generals and privates, as he sang the songs they wanted most. Bing's visit with us next Monday will also highlight the fourth anniversary of the USO, that great combination of organizations known to every American at home and abroad for what they have done to provide a home away from home for all in service. Now, for one, take great pleasure in anticipating Bing Crosby's half hour with us next week, and hope each one of you will be on hand to hear Bing sing the songs our boys liked most, and to hear his story of what he saw and heard, and did on his entertainment, John, Across the Ocean. Till next Monday then, thank you and good evening. Music on tonight's Cavalcade was composed and conducted by Robert Armbruster. This is Game Whitman sending best wishes from Cavalcade sponsor E.I. DuPont Dinamour's and Company of Wilmington, Delaware. This is the National Broadcasting Company.
