Starring Edward G. Robinson in The Doctor with Hope in His Hands on the Cavalcade of America, sponsored by the DuPont Company, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. First, here's Gain Whitman. Why not give you a home a face-lifting job now? Soft-tone pastel walls will add light and sparkle to your rooms. When the paint is DuPont's Speed Easy wall finish, you get more beauty for less time and little money. DuPont's Speed Easy comes in 11 beautiful colors. It dries in an hour and costs less than three dollars to do the average room in one color. You can apply it over practically any interior wall surface, including wallpaper. Use Speed Easy. It is one of the DuPont Company's better things for better living through chemistry. DuPont Company presents Edward G. Robinson as Dr. Harvey Cushing on the Cavalcade of America. The practice of medicine is a religion. Its ritual demands painstaking technique in which no mistakes can be tolerated. Remember these three words always. Exact, precise, perfect. Exact, precise, perfect. It seems only yesterday that I first heard Dr. Harvey Cushing speak those words. And it was really yesterday that my son walked out of an army hospital, head all healed up, honorable discharge button all shiny, feeling fine and ready to build his life again. And it sort of came to me that brain surgeons couldn't have done what they did for him if it weren't for Harvey Cushing. Cushing. I remember when I was just a youngster sweeping up the corridor at Johns Hopkins University Hospital back around the late 1890s. Dr. Cushing was just getting started. And how? I came down to see if you wouldn't kindly decide to answer my request. Now Dr. Cushing. It's been on your desk three weeks. Wouldn't be surprised if Rigor Mortis had said in. Dr. Cushing, how can I answer a request that isn't clear? You want money for something discovered by... Who is this Professor Renkin? Renkin is a scientist in Europe. Discovered invisible rays that go right through solid objects, cause them x-rays. Well, why x? Well, x means unknown. And you think, doctor, that I should spend the hospital's money on x, which means the unknown. But these x-rays work. By photographing them you can... But this is a hospital, Dr. Cushing. We cannot... Well, tell me, have you ever had a leg broken? No, doctor, violence isn't... Well, if you had, you'd realize how hard it can be some time to set the broken bone. With x-rays you can take a picture of the damage inside a broken limb. You can... Some doctors seem to be able to set broken bones perfectly well without these x-rays. Oh, yes, yes. Of course, but suppose some youngster swallows a safety pin. As a treasurer, doctor, I have to worry about little things like money, not safety pins. Well, if we show our patients how valuable... Doctor, hospitals are always short of money. Now, what hospital or what doctor will pay out hundreds of dollars for some unproven laboratory device? Well, I know some doctors who will buy that device. Oh, you and your friends, Dr. Fischer? Exactly. Well, you must be serious. You usually say precisely... Well, two admirable words, sir. You'll hear more of them as time goes by. You'll also hear more of x-rays. Good day, sir. That was Dr. Harvey Cushing in those days, looking ahead, always seeking some new way to help, to heal. And time has proved how right he was about x-rays. Then, a couple of years later, he started talking and practicing what amounted to a medical revolution, a revolution that's helped save a whole generation of people. As revolutions go, this one started in a quiet enough way. Must have been an afternoon around, well, 1904, five, I guess. Dr. Cushing had gotten to know me. I was an orderly in his ward. Well, on this afternoon, the great Johns Hopkins University Professor of Surgery, William Halstead, was making rounds, seeing patients, and asking questions. How are you today, young lady? Good afternoon. Is the light too bright for you here, Geraldine? What, the window shade drawn? Well, she missed the sunlight, Dr. Halstead, so I had to move where she could see it. Well, that was thoughtful. Is Geraldine your patient, Dr. Cushing? Well, half and half, you might say. Dr. Cruz and I. We were taking turns, Dr. Halstead. I was away on vacation until yesterday. I see, Dr. Cruz. Well, goodbye, young lady. We're going to try to make you well again. I'll stop by later, Geraldine. Thank you, Doc. Goodbye, dear. What's your diagnosis, Dr. Cruz? Brain tumor. Have you had a chance to examine it, Dr. Cushing? Yes, sir, I agree. It's a brain tumor. And what's your decision, Dr. Cruz? Surgery. Operate and remove the tumor. Dr. Cushing? Good afternoon. I agree, sir. Surgery is Geraldine's only chance of recovery. It's quite a responsibility when you consider nine out of ten brain tumor patients die in the operating rooms. Question, though, is which one of you shall operate? We don't operate fast enough, Dr. Halstead. I plan to make my incisions, remove the tumor, and be finished in less than half an hour. Now, then, that's precisely where I disagree. Surgeons had to hurry for centuries, but now we can put the patient to sleep with ether or chloroform, so why keep up the terrible rush? Well, after all, how slowly can you operate? It takes only a moment to stick your hand in. Yes, and that's another thing. Why your hand? Are you hankering after my rubber gloves, Dr. Cushing? Well, sir, the medical world talks piously about the connection between microbes and disease, but in the operating room many surgeons still use their bare hands. Oh, but rubber gloves are clumsy. I don't mean to boast, Doctor, but one would lose that delicate touch, wouldn't one? And one would have to operate slowly. No, you're wrong there, Cruz. If you dissect slowly and carefully, you use fine instruments in the dry field, you reduce the damage to sensitive human tissues. The patient is sick already. There's no need to unduly disturb the delicate machinery of his body or brain. Pardon me, Dr. Halstead, but for modern surgery in the year 1905, that sounds terribly slow. Well, what is so wonderful about speed, Cruz? Young Geraldine back there only wants to walk and talk again. She doesn't give a continental how fast or how slow you operate. Oh, I didn't mean to ignore that. Of course now, but if you operate accurately and not too quickly, somehow, well, somehow nature has a better way of healing. And it's only good surgical manners not to rush old mother nature. You'd better schedule the operation, Dr. Cushing. I remember how the years went by. 1912, Dr. Cushing went up to Harvard as professor of surgery. And I came along sort of as a professor of little odd jobs as I've got to get done. At Harvard, Dr. Cushing would leave his razor edge scalpels behind in the operating theater when he came into the lecture room. But he always carried the sharp edge of his tongue to slice blockheaded students to ribbons. Mr. Wilford, sir, let's say your patient's left arm is paralyzed. Which hemisphere of the brain might you suspect was injured, right or left? I'm afraid I don't know, sir. Well, if you had even the simple ability to guess, Mr. Wilford, you would have had 50% chance of getting the correct answer. Gentlemen, a good doctor should always intelligently calculate the odds he risks. The odds are so often against you that you will be glad to get even the 50-50 chance. You may sit down, Mr. Wilford. And then in 1915, Harvey Cushing examined his conscience and decided to leave both the lecture room and the operating room behind. And he went off to war in Europe. April 28, 1915. The German armies were smashing at the Allied lines in the Ypres sector with machine gun fire and heavy artillery support. In La Chapelle, a few miles behind the blazing front, Dr. Cushing was operating on a French casualty. You feel no pain, Lafoucaud? No, but is something inside my head? Oh, yes, at the base of the brain. Down, deep? Yes. Move that lamp closer, Boothby. Yes, sir. Cutler. Sir? Let me have the longest probe you have. The shelf fragment is about three inches down. Now then. Strangeless, but I feel nothing, not a thing. Instrument too short. Any more probes around? No, that was the longest probe we have, Dr. Cushing. Doctor. Idea, Boothby? Yes, sir. May sound crazy, but, well, how about a long nail smoothed off? We could slide it into the wound to contact the metal shelf fragment. Nails metal, too, so we can touch a magnet to the other end. And then pull out the magnetized piece of shell. Yes. Well, I suppose you don't mind my trying it, do you? Well, there's a risk, of course. Well, you don't worry about this piece of metal in your head. You mustn't now. Steady enough. We'll try it. Then the excitement began. Anybody with a minute to spare came running from every corner of the hospital to see Dr. Cushing attempt this unusual operation. Now, Lafouquard, you understand? Yes, Dr. Cushing. I must lie very quiet like a dead man. No, no, no, very quiet like a live man. We've... Boothby. Here's the nail, sir. Six inches long, smoothed and sterilized. You have the magnet ready, Cutler? Yes. Still down, Lafouquard. I want to slip this down along the track of the wound. Weesh, don't fall. Slowly now. Slowly. There. There we are. I made contact with the shell fragment inside, Boothby. Touch the nail with your magnet, Cutler. There it is, Doctor. Contact. Then I'll be like the current. Now we'll slowly pull out the entire nail and the... The metal. The magnet pulled out the metal from each side? No. No? No. Do you want to try the magnet again, Doctor? I remember playing baseball at college, Dr. Boothby. We would never consider dropping out with only one strike against this. Dr. Cushing. Don't worry. We'll try it again. Now lie still now. Easy now. We'll slide this down inside. Now start the magnet again, Cutler. Now. Out. Carefully. And... Nothing. Maybe the shell fragment is lodged so deep that... Once more. Hold still now, Cutler. I am very still like a statue. There. I've touched the metal. The magnet, please. This time I think we... Oh, no. The metal is out? We're out. Three strikes. Three strikes? Je comprends pas. Would you be wanting the magnet anymore, sir? Oh, no, no, no. Take it away. I've tried every possible approach. Three tries. I'm finished. Yes, sir. No, blasted, I'm not. Bring that back here. Let's try this infernal magnet once more. They're perfectly still now, my good. Oui, Doctor. All right now. Steady. Steady now. Turn on the current. Easy does it. Stop pushing. It's out. Oh, merci, merci, Doctor. Yeah, you can keep this splinter as a souvenir. You are listening to Edward G. Robinson as Dr. Harvey Cushing in The Doctor with Hope in His Hands on the cavalcade of America sponsored by the DuPont Company, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. As our second act begins, it is 1918. Dr. Cushing is sitting with an impressive looking officer in a command post along a shell-forked road near the front in France. Dr. Cushing, why can't you make out your medical reports on those printed forms we have? Well, those printed forms are practically postcard, General. There's hardly room for the patient's name and number, let alone space to describe what's wrong with you. But writing up those exact and thorough reports of your cases takes too long, Dr. Cushing. We can't save time that way. Yes, but we save lives, sir. I'm sorry, General, I can't agree with you. Now, I've been a surgeon over 20 years. 90% of my brain operations were successful, and complete case histories helped make that possible. I appreciate that, Dr. Cushing. General, we surgeons are learning every day in this war. These case histories will help future surgeons save lives. I've always prided myself on an open mind, Dr. Cushing, but I cannot do... But General, you wouldn't order an attack without giving your men maps, would you? Of course not. Well, sir, the human brain is still pretty much unmapped territory, and every military and civilian surgeon needs those medical maps. I see. It's a new light on the thing. Very well, Dr. Cushing. Carry on as you were. Yes, I knew you'd agree if you had the facts, sir. Thank you. July 1918. Soissons, Compiègne, Chateau Thierry. Hindenburg's army tried one last smash at the Allied trenches, and the casualties started coming in. Dr. Cushing began operating on as many as seven, eight patients a day. Lie still now, son. Yes, sir. I'll try. Good boy. Oh, a nurse always prepare the scalp carefully. Use precise aseptic precautions. Sorry, sir, I... Meticulous surgery under any circumstances means handling all tissue gently. Syringe, please. Novocaine, 1%. Here you are, sir. How do you feel, son? It's funny. I don't feel a thing, doctor. Is that a German bomber upstairs? Yes, one of those big ghosts. There's nothing to worry about, though. He's been dropping that stuff in a circle for over an hour without any luck. Yes, but that could change any minute now. Well, just relax now, son. Oh, a nurse. You might try the same thing. Now, close your eyes, son. Open your hands. Yes, doctor. That's it. You won't feel a thing. Oh, a nurse. Yes, sir. Always remember a few soothing words from the surgeon will help the patient relax almost as much as anesthetizing him. Did you hear me, nurse? Yes, sir. But how about a few soothing words for the nurses? Oh, nonsense. I've got too much backbone and too much work. A missus is as good as a mile. A forceps, nurse. That's how I remember Harvey Cushing. Teaching. By courage, by example, and by skill. Toward the end of 1918, with victory in sight for the Allies, after overworking himself for months, disaster struck Dr. Cushing. He wrote home to his wife about it. Dear Kate, I've been three days in bed with a not yet diagnosed malady. This came on top of two rackety days around Shadow Cherry, getting back home cold and wet in an open car, one o'clock in the morning. I'm quite wobbly in mind and body. Walking is very bad. Hands now almost as awkward and stiff as feet. Hands awkward and stiff as feet. Harvey Cushing, one of the world's finest neurological surgeons, was crippled by a painful nerve disease himself. When he came back to America after the war, he painstakingly trained his hands to operate skillfully once more. But now a single operation would leave the sweat of exhaustion on his forehead. Yet his classroom lectures were just as full of life and pepper as always. Students, the practice of medicine is a religion. Its ritual demands painstaking technique in which no mistakes can be tolerated. Nothing is unimportant. It tells me kill or may save a life. Everything is important. Therefore, everything must be exact, precise, perfect. That's all for today, students. Dr. Cushing. Dr. Cushing. Yes, Miss Allen? May I see you a minute? Well, I... It's important. Well, sure. Come along with me now. I'm just going upstairs. Dr. Cushing, I think I'm going to leave school. Why? You're one of the most promising people in the class. Oh, I've been thinking things over. Expensing these. What's the real reason? They say there's no room for women doctors in the field of surgery. They say a woman surgeon hasn't a chance in the world. Well, when I was younger, they said a doctor should operate with bare hands and in 15 minutes they were wrong. But this is different, Dr. Cushing. At least you had a fighting chance to change those ideas. Well, let's pause just a minute. These steps. Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go so fast. Well, since the war, my game leg. The pollen you tried is ambulatory. I remember your lecture on the subject. Well, I'm not in the habit of discussing myself. Quite the contrary. But as a student of neurology, you understand the painful and crippling effects of the illness which hit me in France. Oh, yes, sir. Well, when such an illness strikes, one can surrender or fight back against what looked like pretty hopeless odds. I gambled on fighting in the day. I can operate again. And you think I ought to stay in school, fight back, not surrender? Yes, stay on work, win the honors and go ahead to medical school. Dr. Cushing. Well, are you ready to continue our climb upstairs? Medicine, you know, speaks an international language. From the entire world, one brilliant young doctor after another came to study under Harvey Cushing. In 1929, Professor Pavlov, one of Russia's greatest scientists, came from Moscow to watch America's greatest brain surgeon at work in his operating room. Dr. Cushing, you are using local anesthesia, no? Yes, nubocaine injected directly into the scalp. The patient will be awake. You will not object then if I sometimes ask him a question? Of course not, Professor Pavlov. Gentlemen, let me take this opportunity to explain that I believe Mr. John Caldwell, our patient, has large cystic tumor in the left temporal lobe of the brain. His entire right side is now partially paralyzed. If my diagnosis is correct and if the operation is successful, Mr. Caldwell will regain the normal use of the right side of his body. Ms. Richards, the drapes, please. Dr. Cushing's operative technique was the religious ritual he taught. Step by step the operation went ahead. Slender shining scalpel, electric define, shealy saw, hemostat and sponge until finally... Notice how thin the tissue is, Professor Pavlov? Remarkable. The dark lump down there, the size of a lemon. Oh, that's the tumor. Yes, yes. Extraordinary. How are you feeling, Mr. Caldwell? Quite all right, doctor. I hear, but I don't feel or think. How far have you reached? Well, I've reached the tumor. Charles, wipe my forehead. Yes, sir. Would you like a stool to sit on, doctor? Hmm? Oh, no, no. Well, thanks. Feel fine. Steady now, Caldwell. I'm going to cut a little deeper. Amazing how large the tumor is. Doctor, doctor, look. Look at my fingers, doctor. Just about moving. Careful now. The tumor isn't out yet. Charles. Yes, Dr. Cushing. Fix my headland. No, a little to the left. I'm a bit tired. Here's a stool, doctor. How about sitting down? Yes. Good idea. Thank you, Dr. Charles. How are you feeling now, Mr. Caldwell? All right. How far has the doctor reached? In another moment, you and your tumor will part company forever. Yes, in a moment. There we are. Out. All right, Gil, you can close up now. Yes, doctor. Absolutely amazing. Good, Gil. Dr. Cushing, I can... Look at this, doc. I can move my right arm. Look, look now. Watch. Yes, of course. The tumor is out now. Dr. Cushing, now that I can move my arm, first thing I want is can I shake hands with you? Surely. I'm always glad to see one of my patients getting well again. That's a brain operation, a field of surgery where once nine out of ten patients died during or after the operation. Now, nine out of ten patients, including my son, walk out of the hospital very much alive, largely because a very great man gave so much to medical science and summed up the practice in the teaching in these words. The practice of medicine is the religion. Its ritual demands painstaking technique in which no mistakes can be tolerated. Everything is important. Therefore, everything must be exact, precise, perfect. Dr. G. Robinson will return to our microphone in a moment. Now, here is Gain Whitman. During the war, the United States, unlike other countries, took many young scientists away from their studies and jobs and put them into the armed forces. As a result, the nation faces today a grave shortage of young chemists, physicists, and engineers with advanced training. These people are vital to the future development and security of our country. To help meet this problem, the DuPont Company for the academic year 1946-1947 has established 74 fellowships for awards to graduate students in science at American colleges and universities. The DuPont Company has made awards of this kind almost every year for the past 25 years, but is more than doubling the number for the academic year beginning next fall. The DuPont Company fellowship plan provides for 41 postgraduate fellowships in chemistry, five in physics, 15 in chemical engineering, seven in mechanical engineering, and six postdoctoral fellowships in chemistry for advanced work. Selection of the men or women to receive the awards is left entirely to the respective universities. Each DuPont postgraduate fellowship provides $1,200 for a single person, $1,800 for a married person, together with a grant of $1,000 to the university for tuition and fees. Each DuPont postdoctoral fellowship carries an award of $3,000 with a grant of $1,500 to the university. There are no strings attached to the awards requiring these university men and women to come to work for DuPont when they complete their studies. We hope some of them will, but they are quite free to enter any field of activity they choose upon completion of their advanced training. It takes long years of study to become a scientist, and young men and women who dedicate their lives to the pursuit of knowledge in the exact sciences often do so at great sacrifice to themselves and many times to their families. These fellowships are designed to make the road a little less rough. They are available in the academic year 1946-1947 to graduate students at 45 universities across the country from the DuPont Company, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. Now, once again, here is our star, Edward G. Robinson. Thank you. I'll thanks to you, Eddie, for a wonderful job. Well, it was a pleasure, again, to play Dr. Cushing. He was more than a great surgeon. He was a great humanitarian. Incidentally, Eddie, it's a far cry from your role in the current Diana production, Scarlet Street, in which you would turn another great solid gold performance. Oh, well, thank you. And didn't I see you and Dick Ferrand in a huddle last week? I guess he told you that he and Gail Page, it'll be in next week's Cabalcade. Told me. I couldn't get a word in edgewise. He's pretty excited about it. And I don't blame him, Gain. The story of the Alaskan Bush pilot is the story of pioneer air transport in a mighty rugged country. I wouldn't mind playing it myself. At any rate, you'll be listening, Eddie, won't you? I'll be listening, Gain, and rooting for Dick Ferrand and Gail Page. Good night. Music for tonight's DuPont Cabalcade was composed and conducted by Robert Ambruster. Our play was written by Bernard Dreyer. In the cast of Mr. Robinson tonight were Ian Wolf as Charles, Howard McNear, Bill Johnstone, Jack Moyles, George Sorrell, Sammy Hill, and Tobin, Ed Max, Jerry Hausner, Ramsey Hill, Sydney Miller, and Jimmy Eagles. This is Tom Collins inviting you to listen next week to Alaskan Bush pilot, starring Dick Ferrand and Gail Page on the Cabalcade of New America, brought to you by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.
