The DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, presents the Cavalcade of America, featuring a special Thanksgiving broadcast in words and music. Our story, the path of praise. Our star, Walter Hamdon. Now, dear thy name, O God of love, Let children, children, tell us o'er, Till these eternal hill-free moons, And spring are done to the earth no more. As the colors of autumn stream down the wind, Scarlet and sumac and maple, spun gold in the birches, The splendor of smoldering fire in the oaks along the hill, And the last leaves flutter away and the dusk falls briefly, We are stirred and made to ponder the infinite goodness That has set apart for us in all the moving mystery of creation, A time of living and a home. So wrote the late Dr. Wilbur L. Cross, Governor of Connecticut, in his famous Thanksgiving proclamation. The governor was following an American tradition of 300 years standing, and the history of that tradition down the years is the theme of tonight's cavalcade drama. This is the history of Thanksgiving. O God, be he thy guiding hand, Our exile fathers cross the sea, And when they cross the wintry strand, With prayer and sound they worship thee. When our exiled fathers crossed the sea, When the pilgrims came, they did not come as one body and spirit, There was dissension and disunity aboard the Mayflower. Tribation and near mutiny afloat, And a dreadful winter ashore preceded the first Thanksgiving. Half the little company met death of a pestilence in that first winter. At one time, only six men were well enough to stand, walk about, and care for the rest. In spring came there were fifty-one left, men and women and children. Now the first summer is over. In the common house which is served as council chamber and hospital, one man and one boy remain. By the boy's cot, the man sits writing. Master Bradford? Master Bradford? Yes, child? Why are you always writing? Why? Well, because I'm still over-weak to hoe corn lad or hoe wood or draw water, so I tend to sick and scribble words. I'm feeling better this morning. Good. Good. It's so much cooler now. Could I not leave my bed, master? Oh, we shall see. Would you read me what you're writing? Well, it is a letter to our brethren still in England and Holland. How it will reach them, God only knows. Then perhaps you might read it for me? Why, surely. I have written. We set the last springs and twenty acres of Indian corn and sowed some six acres of barley and peas. Our corn did prove well, God be praised, and our barley in different goods, but our peas were not worth the gathering. Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men fouling so that we might, after a more special manner, rejoice together in thanksgiving. What's that? Oh, no, no, it's only Captain Miles' standish and his men. It's part of the rejoicing. The captain wishes to make a show for the Indians. Indians? The Indians right here in the village? Master Brackett, did you hear that? Oh, shh. Quiet, mad. It is but a salute to impress the savages with our strength at arms. But if there are Indians... Oh, they came in peace. We invited their chief to come for our day of thanksgiving today. But Chief Massasoid brought ninety of these braves to the rejoicing. Ninety. How can they be given food when they're scarce enough for us? Well, the savages, seeing they had caused us embarrassment, sent hunters out to kill game. They brought back five deer. Five? Yes, and our own fowlers too had great good fortune. Oh, there'll be a fine feast this evening. A feast and me not there? Yes, we shall have venison laden roast duck. Roast duck? Yes, roast goose, baked clams, eels, cornbread, leeks, watercress, wild plums, wild grapewine. Master Bradford? Yes? I am well now. Oh, surely I am well. And Master, I am most horribly hungry. Oh, well, let me touch your forehead. Hmm? And your wrist? Yes. Huh? Why, why the fever's quite gone. I do believe... I have not yet seen an Indian, Master, and I am hungry. May I go? Please, may I go? All right, Giles. I do believe you are well again. Yes, you may go. Thank you. I'll be closer in the locker yonder. Yes, yes. Giles? Yes, Master? Don't forget to give thanks that you're well again. Oh, no, Master, I'll not forget. Before the feasting, Giles, before the feast. To be sure. Are you not coming too? When I finish my writing, God go with you, lad. Oh, so young. So young. Now, let me see. Where was I? Oh, yes. This day of Thanksgiving, the last of our number who was stricken with the great sickness, a lad of twelve years, did fully shake off his fever and is well again. And so, by much suffering, we are become one body, cleaving each to the other in sickness or joy. And although our fare be not always so plentiful, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want, that we often wish you also were partakers of our plenty. Peace and bright it is to sing in every time and place, glory to our heavenly King, the God of truth and grace. Join in then with sweet accord, all in one Thanksgiving join. Holy, holy, holy, Lord, eternal, great, divine. Gradually the Thanksgiving customs spread through New England, but it remained for more than a century entirely a New England tradition. The First Thanksgiving Day The First Thanksgiving Day, celebrated by men from all the colonies, occurred a few months before those colonies became our thirteen original states. Our scene, the headquarters of General George Washington at Cambridge during the siege of Boston, shortly after Washington's arrival from Virginia to take command in 1775. The General is talking to his adjutant, Colonel Joseph Reed. Ah, if General Gage knew our state, Reed, he'd march out on the morrow and scatter us to the four winds. We have no guns, no ammunition, no uniforms, no experienced officers, and no discipline whatever. But sir, men from different colonies have different customs, different habits. They've never learned to work together or think alike. By heaven, they must learn. Yes, sir. I have heard that you provided some of them with a thumping good lesson yesterday evening. It's an episode I'd as soon forget, Colonel. I haven't heard the details, sir. There are many conflicting stories about the camp. The thing was simple enough. Colonel Glover's Massachusetts troops saw fit to pick a quarrel with Morgan's Virginia riflemen. Having no uniforms themselves, the Yankees pretended to take a fancy to the fringed buckskins the Virginia lads are wearing. After a deal of name-calling, fists began to ply, and in a matter of minutes a thousand men were at each other's throats. And you took steps, sir? I did. When I reached the scene, I seized two of the ringleaders, each by the neck, and I knocked their heads together with considerable force. Good. Then I gave the rest of them a tongue-lashing. Colonel, I hope the language I used has not become a matter of common gossip. Well, sir, it is said you were not well overly gentle. I've learned over many years to keep a tight rein on my temper. But these people... Colonel, if only there were some manner of action I could take short of knocking heads together. If only I could make them see that we are one country now, that we must forget these provincial quarrels and work together as a nation must. General, sir, I have a suggestion. It's a small thing in itself, but it might help in the matter you're trying to mend. By all means, rid. Well, it appears, sir, that here in Massachusetts the people celebrate each autumn a feast of thanksgiving. Oh? The day is set aside by a proclamation of the colonial legislature. A copy of this announcement arrived only this morning, sir, addressed to you, sir. Here it is. Hmm. Let's see. Let's see. And what do you suggest? Let the army join in the celebration, sir, all of it. Not just the New Englanders, everyone, north and south. A day of prayer and feasting for all the troops. If they pray together, then perhaps they'll fight together, eh? It might help, but a little, sir. Yes, it might. It might. Very well, Colonel, we'll do it now. You may copy this down. Yes, sir. Ahem. To the troops of the provinces of North America. The honorable legislature of this colony, having seen fit to set apart Thursday the 23rd of November, 1775, as a day of public thanksgiving, the general therefore commands that day to be observed throughout the army with all the solemnity directed by the legislative proclamation. It is to be hoped henceforth from that day that all distinction of colonies will be laid aside so that one and the same spirit may animate the whole. The only contest shall be who shall render the most essential service to the great cause in which we are all engaged. You are listening to a special thanksgiving broadcast on the Cavalcade of America, sponsored by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, The Path of Praise, starring Walter Hampton. Great God of Nations, now to thee, Power him of gratitude we raise, With humble heart and fending he, Of where we are sung the praise. After the Revolution, the Path of Praise led ever westward beyond the mountains, as the sons of New England carried the thanksgiving tradition toward the setting sun, over the prairies, toward the sea, into the new savage country. Freedom's great purpose and her why, and cast her soft and hallowed ray, Through the dangerous way. Along the dangerous way, the old traditions took new root, the little red schoolhouse, the habit of freedom, freedom of speech, freedom of worship, until the Path of Praise had spanned the continent, and reached the western sea. Great God, preserve us in thy fear, In danger still our guardian be, To spread thy truth, my free-fear, Let our people worship thee. But for many years, all of the people did not observe thanksgiving on the same day. The credit for the establishment of thanksgiving as a national holiday belongs to a lady who should be better known to all of us, Sarah Josepha Hale, pioneer woman journalist. Sarah Hale was for 40 years editor of Godey's Ladies' Book, the leading woman's magazine of our great-grandmother's time. In 1847, she began her campaign for a national day of thanksgiving, and she kept it up year after year. In 1863, finally, she wrote to President Abraham Lincoln. Mr. President, would it not be of great advantage socially, nationally, religiously, to have the day of our American thanksgiving positively settled, putting aside sectional feelings, would it not be more noble, more truly American, to act nationally in unity when we offer to God our tribute of joy and gratitude for the blessings of the year? Tradition has it that Sarah Hale carried her plea to the White House itself in 1863, late in the war between the states. If she did, we can imagine the scene in Abraham Lincoln's office. Well, it's a great pleasure, ma'am, to meet a lady editor. Thank you, sir. I wouldn't say that about all editors, mind you, but lady editors, yes, by all means. Why don't you sit down? Thank you. Here you are. I don't like to take up much of your time, Mr. President. Now, don't you worry. There's some 50 people waiting to see me, and I'd calculate 49 of them want me to do something I don't want to do. So we have plenty of time. Thank you, Mr. President. You know, ma'am, Mrs. Lincoln reads your magazine every month. Nice. And does she like it, Mr. Lincoln? Yes, yes, she does. But I'm not at all sure that's a good thing. Oh? And why not? Well, you see, Mrs. Salmon P. Chase, wife of the Secretary of the Treasury, she reads it, too. And it gives both of them notions. But how? Mrs. Lincoln sees a fancy dress in the lady's book, she orders it up, and Mrs. Salmon P. sees Mary in a new rig, and right away she lights out for your magazine and finds something just a little more expensive to spring on the cabinet ladies at the next Y.A. Oh, surely you're joking, Mr. President. Yes, ma'am, I have been joking. It's a habit of mine. I do it to try to forget what people say about me. And more important, what they do about the things I hold most dear. At this moment, when we're fighting for our very lives, these people are not about fomenting disunity behind the lines. While men are dying in the field, these little foxes spread disunion at home. They... Pardon me, ma'am, today's been hard. I'm a bit... a bit tuckered. Poor man. I'll go then. No, don't leave. I remember now why you came. You wrote me a letter about Thanksgiving. You want me to proclaim it as a national holiday. It's a thing very close to my heart, Mr. President. I've worked for it more than 16 years now. I would like to see it done before I die. I've given a deal of thought to your letter and your editorial. There are those who'd say we have little to be thankful for in the midst of this terrible war, you know that, ma'am? Yes, and I know they would be wrong. Yes. Yes, they would be wrong. I don't know why I'm sure of that, but I am sure. The ways of God toward man are beyond my skill to read, ma'am, but this I know. His will prevails. In your letter, you drew a wonderful picture for me. You made me see a whole nation singing together a song of praise, accepting together with one voice the will of God. Not many voices, snarling, bickering, spewing forth venom, but one voice, one voice. That's what I've worked for so many years. Why, then we've worked together. It's good. Miss Hale, all day long I sit here and listen to the people who wish to talk with me. No one's turned away without a hearing. But most of them, as I said, want something I cannot give. So, you see, it does me a deal good when I can say yes. Petition granted. Your petition is granted, Mrs. Hale. I had already decided to proclaim Thursday, the 26th of November next, as a national day of thanksgiving. Thank God. Thank God. Yes, ma'am. Thank God. We've seen how in 1621, the celebration of thanksgiving brought a sense of brotherly oneness to a tiny colony wracked by suffering and torn by dissent. Again in 1775, in the wisdom of General Washington, the tradition of thankful prayer helped to weld 13 jealously separate colonies into a single great nation. And how in the early part of the 19th century, a famous woman editor, Sarah Josepha Hale, climaxed years of campaigning for a day of national thanksgiving with a personal petition to the White House. Then in 1863, with our nation ravaged again by strife, the establishment of Thanksgiving Day by Abraham Lincoln served as a symbol of national unity. And Congress in 1941 formally set the 4th Thursday of November as the day of praise and national thanksgiving. And now today, in times as troubled as any the nation has ever known, with freedom threatened by huge and malicious force, may we not again make Thanksgiving Day a day of renewal of brotherhood. All of us, can we not join in this prayer of thankfulness, a prayer composed for his own daily use by another great American, Benjamin Franklin? This is Franklin's prayer. And for as much as ingratitude is one of the most odious advices, let me be not unmindful, gratefully to acknowledge the favors I receive from heaven. For food and raiment, for corn and wheat, and wine and milk, and every kind of healthful nourishment. Good God, I thank thee. For the common benefits of air and light, for useful fire and delicious water. Good God, I thank thee. For all thy innumerable benefits, for life and reason, and the use of speech, for health and joy, and every pleasant hour. Good God, I thank thee. Lord, while for all mankind we pray, of every climb and foe, O hear us for our native land, the land we love the most. Lord of the nations, thus to thee our country we commend, Be thou her refuge and her cross, forever lasting friend. Amen. Our thanks to Walter Hampton and the Cavalcade players for tonight's story, The Path of Praise. And now here's Bill Hamilton speaking for the DuPont Company. How will you celebrate Thanksgiving this year? By attending the church of your choice, by recounting the blessings of health and the happiness you have enjoyed during the past year, by bowing your head in thanks over the traditional turkey dinner. There are many ways of expressing our gratitude, but this year more than ever our thankfulness should go beyond a dinner, a good harvest, or any material thing. More than ever before this year we give thanks for America, for the freedom, the independence, the dignity of our way of life. We could give up every comfort and convenience we have, our automobiles, our telephones, our kitchen appliances, and still be infinitely richer than any people in the history of the world. Why? Because our American way would still be the best pattern for living that's ever been found. Give up our material things and we would still have the system that's made them possible. However, these material things contribute to our better living and are a great and solid edifice towering over the foundation put down by the fathers of our nation. We can on this Thanksgiving Day in the year 1952 give thanks that Americans seem daily more aware of the richness of our heritage, that the foundations of our way of life seem better understood and better appreciated. We stand firm today and united in the knowledge that nowhere in the world is a man so free to say and do what he pleases as he is in these blessed United States. And for this freedom, for our unity, for our heritage, we humbly thank God. Let us do more than give thanks for the wonders and blessings of America. Let us do all we can to protect them and extend them in the world in which we live. A joyous Thanksgiving Day to you from the men and women of the DuPont Company, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. Tonight's DuPont Cavalcade was written by George H. Faulkner. Original music was composed by Arden Cornwell, the orchestra and the Don Craig Choir conducted by Donald Vorres. The program was directed by John Zoller. The DuPont Cavalcade of America came to you tonight from the Velasco Theater in New York City and is sponsored by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry.
