The DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, presents the Cavalcade of America, starring Margaret Sullivan. Tonight's DuPont play is called Militant Angel, the story of Annie Warburton Goodrich, starring Margaret Sullivan as Miss Goodrich, with Barbara Weeks as Sarah Jennings. Tonight in New Haven, Connecticut, she's listening. Annie Warburton Goodrich, the greatest nurse I've ever known. Her hair is whiter, her step is slower, her voice is quiet now with a memory of 85 years. She sits in her room like some presiding angel, and generations of the nurses whom she's trained and taught and loved come by each day with a rose for her table and a word of affection. I didn't always think she was the greatest nurse. Years ago, oh so many years ago, when I sat in her office at Bellevue Hospital, I just liked her. I remember how she frowned when she studied my application. Sarah Jennings, you're let me see, 22 years old. You want to be a nurse and I think you could be a nurse. Yet I'm going to reject your application. Why? Why would you do that? Because right now you're an incomplete person. I've got two eyes, two hands, ten fingers. But no high school diploma. What's that got to do with it? I'm awful good with sick people. Yes, I'm sure you are. But we're trying to establish standards. Ma'am, my whole heart's set on becoming a nurse. What kind of a nurse, Sarah Jennings, that's the important question. An indifferent nurse, a mediocre one, or an excellent nurse, which? Why the best kind a person can get to be. Then go back to high school, finish your studies, build your foundation. That comes first. I'm 22, Miss Goodrich. Miss Jennings, how seriously do you want to be a nurse? Well, I told you. You know, I don't have to come to Bellevue. I could register in ten minutes in one of those correspondence courses where you study by mail and in three months why you're a nurse with a certificate. Of all the human evils, ignorance, poverty, disease, crime, the greatest of these is ignorance. You're saying that I'm ignorant. Aren't you? Well, I didn't come here to be insulted. Why did you come here? To be handed a lollipop of praise because you dare to approach a great profession with neither preparation nor knowledge? Sit down, Miss Jennings. I'm not quite finished. I don't want to hear anymore. Sit down, Miss Jennings. Now, shall I tell you what it is to be a nurse? The pay is small. The hours are long. Doctors are occasionally short-tempered. Patients are sometimes ungrateful. But the reward is much, my dear. The reward is in the work. To be a messenger of life. To soften the intrusion of death. To wipe out a little of man's large deficit in human happiness. Nursing isn't a job. It's a calling. So, go off and take your quick correspondence course. Hurry. The very idea makes me ill. I hated her. I hated her because she made me ashamed of myself. I wasn't a child anymore. I was Sarah Jennings, age 22. I didn't have to sit in her office and be scolded. She spoiled things for me. Because of Annie Goodrich, I simply couldn't enroll for a correspondence course in nursing. Her words wouldn't let me. And so, I tried the next best thing. I went to a short course training school. There were dozens of them in those days. This one was on the west side. Registration is $10, payable in advance. Oh. Do I get a receipt? Certainly. We're a business-like establishment. What's the name, dearie? Sarah Jennings. How long is the course? Well, if you're real smart, you can finish in less than six months. You look real smart to me. Thank you very much. There's something you ought to know. Yes? I never finished high school. Dearie, we got girls here never began high school. Just so long as a girl is cheerful and she has her health and don't mind the hours, we don't care if she never even went to grade school. But that seems all wrong. What kind of nurses can they be? Listen to me. I've had experience. Nothing's worse than an overeducated nurse. She don't know a place. One thing about this establishment, we're not going to fill your head with a lot of useless information. I'll write out your receipt. $10, please. I'm afraid I've changed my mind. What's that? I've just changed my mind, that's all. Honey, you're making a real mistake. Every graduate of this school is guaranteed a job. But you see, I don't want a job. Then why did you waste my time? Why did you come here in the first place? Not to find a job, to find a calling. Who in the world has been talking to you? Say, where are you going? I'm going to Bellevue Hospital to apologize to a lady. One moment. Yes? Oh, hello. You're the... Sarah Jennings. Yes. You're surprised to see me, Miss Goodridge, aren't you? I'm glad to see you, Miss Jennings. They told me where your apartment was. I found I had to come. I couldn't wait. Oh, please come in. That's very kind of you. I've thought it over and I've decided. If I'm going to be a nurse, I might just as well be a good nurse. That's a very pretty speech. I mean it. Yes, I think you really do. Won't you sit down, Miss Jennings? Thank you. To be a good nurse, to be anything good, means work. I'm going back to high school. Then I'll come here to Bellevue for as many years as necessary. Tell me what prompted you to change your mind. You. But I spoke harshly to you. I lost my temper. I was uncivil. I was breaking your heart. You knew that? I guessed. Miss Jennings, from this window you can see the little islands in the East River. Look at them. They look so beautiful from here. Yes. On those islands, New York spills its human wreckage, its mentally defective adults, its physically defective children. And at Bellevue, the sick, the dying, the soon to be born. Such a vast need for nurses, educated, trained nurses. That hurts you, doesn't it? It breaks my heart. Because 90% of the women practicing today now have had no preparation whatsoever, except your correspondence courses, a short hurry-up ones. 90% without proper training. Miss Goodbridge, you can't make yourself responsible for all that. Sarah Jennings, you're responsible for all that too. You know, you came here voluntarily. Some people are born with a sense of responsibility. That frightens me. Sure, it's a frightening thing, our large deficit in human happiness. Well, let's not brood about it, Sarah. We've got the rest of our lives. Right now it's time for a cup of tea. From that day, Annie Goodbridge became my friend and my teacher. I went to high school. I entered Bellevue nursing school. I sat in her classes. I listened to her lectures. I followed her through the wards. And I was kindled by her spirit, illuminated by the flame that burned within her. For me, for dozens of girls like me, Annie Goodbridge was a living legend. Some of us had to find it out the hard way. Young Robin Morris, for example. Miss Goodbridge, I quit. I resign. Miss Morris, you slammed my door. Please don't be so good as to unslam it. I didn't come here to joke. I was assigned to ward C. Miss Goodbridge, do you know what kind of patients occupy ward C? Yes, women. What kind of women, Miss Goodbridge? What kind? Women who are sick. I come from a decent, respectable family. Oh, and those women don't come of decent, respectable families. Therefore, go on, Miss Morris. Therefore you resign. The way you say it, you make it sound silly. Is there a way of saying it so that it doesn't sound silly? Miss Goodbridge, I can't help it. But I'm one of those who would like to see nursing a genteel profession. What's genteel about being born? Tell me that. Or having an upset stomach or dying of cancer. For heaven's sake, take a little of that starch off your gown and put it in your spine. My dear Miss Morris, we are nurses. We don't stop to ask whether a patient is a murderer or a thief or a saint. We ask no character references, no questions about race or religion. Is the patient sick? Does he need us? What can we do for him? Robin Morris, there are patients on ward C who are sick. They need you. Will you go to those who need you? Or will you resign? I guess I was thinking only of myself. Yes, you were. And a nurse has to think of others beside herself. I'm a pretty bad nurse, Miss Goodbridge. As a matter of fact, you're a pretty good one. I want you to be a better one. What shall I do? Well, two things. Yes. One, go back to ward C. And the second thing? When you leave, don't slam the door. She left her mark on every one of us. At our graduation services, she rose before us, a frail little woman, her voice soft yet firm, and she read to us an ancient credo for nurses. They shall have no monasteries but the house of the sick, no cells but a hired room, no cloisters but the streets of the town and the wards of the hospital, no enclosure but obedience, and for convent bars only the fear of God. For a veil, they shall have a holy and perfect modesty. And while they shall keep themselves from the infection of vice, they shall sow the seeds of virtue wherever they turn their step. The standards of Annie Warburton Goodrich. In the year 1910, her concern for those standards caused her to take a drastic step. I, uh, I've asked Walter to come to my room this afternoon because I've got some news for you. Maybe good news. Oh, what is it, Morris? Oh, this morning, I submitted my resignation, as you pretend. Oh, no. That resignation has been accepted. Oh, but why? Oh, Miss Goodrich, you can't do such a thing. But I already have. Oh, no. Miss Goodrich, you never let us run away. How can you? Miss Morris, I am not running away. You mean you're going on to something else? Yes, I am. Standards of nursing education need to be raised to a professional level. Not only here in New York City, but throughout New York State. But you can't do it all. No, but I can begin. Schools that don't teach but exploit nurses who are nurses in name only. Reputable training schools, which are nevertheless backward, substandard, outdated. Something can be done about it. Oh, what is your new job? Can you tell us? Well, the title isn't very much. Inspector of Nurses Training Schools for the State of New York. But it's a new broom. And I can't wait to do a little sweeping. So much sweeping for one small, frail woman. Oh, Miss Jennings. I have a friend who reads the ancient Hebrews. He quoted this to me. It is not for thee to complete the work, but neither art thou free to desist from it. The DuPont Cabalcade continues, starring Margaret Sullivan as Annie Warburton Goodrich, with Barbara Weeks as Sarah Jennings. In the year 1910, Annie Warburton Goodrich, a quiet-voiced woman with the face of a militant angel, a woman whose life was governed by a single purpose, undertook the job of raising the standards for nursing education in the State of New York. Well, you've been most kind, Mr. Superintendent. Thank you for allowing me to inspect your hospital's nursing school. Not at all, Miss Goodrich. I'm eager to know what you think of us. Well, I'm eager to tell you. I've examined your records. Last week, there were only two obstetrical cases. The week before, none. The average for the past 12 months, fewer than two cases per week. It isn't quite fair to pick on one thing. Well, the same thing is true of pediatrics. And so far as instruction in psychiatry and public health are concerned, there's a complete zero. Miss Goodrich, this is a solid institution. We don't hold with picking up every newfangled fad that comes along. Oh, like sterilizing surgical equipment and pasteurizing milk. They're a newfangled, too. Sir, theory is not enough. A student nurse requires a balanced diet of education plus hospital service. I shall be back in three months. I hope there'll be some progress. Yes, she knew how to fight. I saw her fight for compulsory state registration of nurses. Miss Goodrich, we don't want any new laws. Nurses don't need any more protection. Robert, the public does. The community does. Why do you ask for compulsory legislation? Because without it, we shall continue to have slipshot instructions, substandard hospitals, incompetent nurses. The condition won't be improved until there is a uniform system for licensing the trained nurse. I draw the line at licensing. Why? The state licenses doctors, pharmacists, veterinarians. Why don't you draw the line there? Well, they're different. Why are they different? Because of their professions. Gentlemen, nursing is too. Nursing is also a profession, a great profession. Between 1910 and 1915, Annie Warburton Goodrich wrote Nursing History. She was elected president of the American Nurses Association. She was appointed a professor in the Department of Nursing and Health at Teachers College of Columbia University. She was called as a director by the Henry Street Settlement. And everywhere, the same single purpose. In the year 1918, a year when America was at war, that single fixed simple pattern of her life broke. The surgeon general had galled her to Washington. Briefly, the situation is this, Miss Goodrich. Something has gone wrong with our army hospitals. Soldiers who should be getting well are getting worse. We need you to tell the army what is wrong. General Gargus, I regret. I'm afraid I must refuse your request. Not my request, madam. The request of the army of the United States. Nevertheless, I must refuse. Oh? Miss Goodrich, are you in ill health? Is that why? My health is excellent, sir. Well, have you family commitments which are so urgent that you cannot leave New York? No, sir. Then may I ask why you refuse to serve? General Gargus, I must follow my own conscience. I cannot participate in a war. I am a pacifist. She should have been exalted by her decision. After all, she was obeying her own conscience, wasn't she? And yet, Annie Goodrich moped. It wasn't like her and it disturbed us. So we found excuses to be with her. Hello, Miss Goodrich. Hello. Remember us? Look, flowers. So many flowers. Is it my birthday? No, but it must be someone's birthday. Well, aren't we going to be asked to come in? Oh, forgive me, of course, come in. You can sit in my chair and drink my cup of tea and suffer the unbearable pain of listening to me. Oh, enter, children. Thank you. Smell those roses. All right, girls, you want to scold me before or after tea? Come on, Miss Jennings, you are up to something. Robin and I have enlisted. Lieutenant Robin Morris, Lieutenant Sarah Jennings, Army Nurse Corps. My congratulations. You mean that? Of course I mean that. Congratulations. Congratulating us for doing something you yourself refused to do? Annie Goodrich, you're a peculiar woman. I am a peculiar, foolish, miserable woman. The Annie Goodrich I know doesn't talk like that. We have taken care of the lowest and the highest. Robin Morris, I said that to you once, didn't I? Yes. We do not stop to consider what a patient is or who he is, only that there is the fact of sickness and that we are needed. You see, I am now trapped by my own standards. When I was a young probationer at New York Hospital way back in 1890, did I stop to consider whether a man was a thief or a burglar? And these men are not thieves. They're American soldiers. So I remind myself, Miss Jennings. What are you going to do, Miss Goodrich? I don't know. I must think it through a little longer. The Surgeon General didn't ask you to take a rifle and kill someone. I will remind myself of that. He asked me to save lives. Miss Jennings, be a dear. Will you fix the tea while an old lady sits here and considers her misspent life? Oh, come on, Miss Jennings. You're parting. I'm not. I've made my decision. She was off to Washington. Once again now, Annie Goodrich was employing herself in the work that meant most to her. She reported to the Surgeon General who welcomed her with open arms and sent her to General Noble. Miss Goodrich, here's a list of six key Army hospitals. Investigate them. Tell us why they're not working right. She was able to tell him in an incredibly short time. General Noble, do you know that a current need? I saw a patient on a pneumonia case. He was sitting up in bed trying to cut a beefsteak with a spoon. What? Why a spoon? Well, he should have had a knife. Yes, well... You're better than that. There should have been a nurse at his side to feed him. He'd been a very sick boy. Where was his nurse? At her desk in the corridor. Her name, please. I'll see that she's reprimanded. On the contrary, she deserves a distinguished service medal. She was filling out reports in duplicate, triplicate, quadruplicate. Well, that's an outrage. Who requires those silly reports? You do. What? Yes. I'm from the department. Oh, General Noble, you have asked for facts. Here's one. Now do something about it. But there were more important things to discuss with General Noble and with the Surgeon General and with the Secretary of War. Mr. Baker, if you were run over by a trolley car, you would get better care than if you were wounded in France and shipped home for hospitalization at Camp Meade. Well, what's the answer? The answer isn't a simple one. The problem is poor nursing, not enough nursing and far too few nurses. I see. What do you suggest? I think that the Army of the United States might seriously consider the creation of an Army school of nursing. Yes, the proposal is logical. Who would create such a school? Well, at Columbia University, there's an extraordinary teacher of nursing. I can recommend you... I can recommend Annie Goodrich. In fact, I do recommend her. The Secretary of War of the United States asks you, Annie Warburton Goodrich, to organize the Army School of Nursing. In 1918, a year of war, a pacifist named Annie Warburton Goodrich created the Army School of Nursing. She gave it her own standards, making it the best school of its kind in the world. She went on from there to become Dean of the School of Nursing at Yale University, placing her mark on the life and expectancy of life of the American people. Today, Annie Warburton Goodrich, at 85 years, still proclaims her credo. To me, a nurse is the high priestess of a religion that proclaims the sacredness of humanity. It is her function to conserve for the little child its beauty of mind and body and the joy of its youth, to strengthen for the world the power of its manhood and womanhood, to lead tenderly the footsteps of the old. You shall yet light a million lamps upon a thousand hills, and you shall guide the stumbling, halting steps of our civilization on its long pilgrimage toward the ideal. Now thanks to Margaret Sullivan and the Cavalcade players for tonight's DuPont play, Militant Angel. The script was written by Morton Wishingrad and was based in part on the book of the same title by Harriet Berger Coke, published by Macmillan. Music was composed by Arden Cornwell and conducted by Donald Borey. The program was directed by John Zoller. This is Cy Harris speaking. The DuPont Cavalcade of America comes to you from the Belasco Theater in New York and is sponsored by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry. 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