The DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, presents the cavalcade of America. Tonight's play is based on one of America's greatest classics, Life on the Mississippi. Tonight's star, Raymond Massey, who as Mark Twain talks of the days long before he became a well-known writer, of the days when he was young, Sam Clemens. When I was a boy, there was but one permanent ambition among my comrades in our village on the Mississippi. That was to be a steamboatman, and the grandest position of all was pilot. But it was not long before I discovered that to become a licensed pilot was about as simple as to become a bank president. I learned that before I could ever presume to steer a steamboat, I would have first to serve a term as an apprentice, a cub they called it, to an experienced pilot. Also I learned that Mr. Horace Bixby of the Paul Jones was one of the finest pilots on the river. I took myself up to the pilot house, opened the door, and walked in. That was a long time ago. I was only 19, but I remembered as though it was yesterday. Sir? Sir? What is it? Sir, would you like a young man for a cub to learn piloting? I would not, nor do I like passengers in my pilot house. But sir, I'd be a... Mind you, shut the door tight on your way out. Yes, sir. Now this was scarcely an auspicious beginning, but I was stubborn, and I began to lay siege to Mr. Bixby. If I couldn't go in the pilot house, at least I could look in through the window. And at last, after three days of my relentless staring, he motioned me in. Yes, Mr. Bixby? Please, boy, will you take the evil eye off me? I don't want to take a cub. They're more trouble than they're worth. But I wouldn't want much wages, sir. Wages? You wouldn't want much wages? Are you out of your head? Why, you've got to pay to be a cub. You mean you didn't know that? No, sir, I didn't. Why, a pilot wouldn't consider taking a cub for less than $500 cash in advance. Five hundred? You'd better go home, son. Go home first and get yourself a job and earn some money. Or maybe your father will give it to you. No, my father's dead, sir. He died ten years ago. Oh, I'm sorry. What's your name, son? Sam Clemons, sir, from Hannibal. Is your mother alive? Yes, but she couldn't give me the money. I've been sending her... Oh, no, son, I didn't mean... But sir, I could pay you a hundred dollars now and the rest from my earnings after I'm a pilot. That is, if you'd... All right, son. But sir, I could... I said all right. I learned you're piloting from New Orleans to St. Louis on the terms you propose. But I don't understand. I'm not so sure I do either. Just a minute. Anyway, you're going to be my cop. So I became a pilot's cub. And I entered upon the enterprise of learning my trade with the easy confidence of my time of life. It seemed to me that all a pilot had to do was to keep his boat in the river. And it didn't appear to me to be too much of a trick, the river being so wide. At least so, I suppose, as we headed upriver from New Orleans, Mr. Bixby at the wheel and I beside him. Now then, he called my attention to the passing landscape and for a while I found it an agreeable enough way to pass the time. And this now is six mile point. That's all. Now, this was pleasant enough information. But after I'd seen nine mile point and twelve mile point and so on, I began to wish we might talk about history or even taxidermy. But no. You see, the slack water ends here, abreast this clump of china tree. So we cross to the other side. So we cross. Seems simple now. But later that night on our second watch, I was to have something of a disillusionment. Now what's the first point about New Orleans? The first point? Golly, I don't know. You don't know? Well, you're a smart one. What's the name of the next point? Why, I don't know, sir. Well, this beats anything. Look here. What do you start out from above twelve mile point to cross over? I don't know, sir. You don't. Oh, what do you know? Well, I, well, nothing, I guess, for certain. By the great Caesar's ghost, I believe you, you're the stupidest dunderhead I ever saw or heard of, sir. Help me, Moses. The idea, the idea of you being a pilot, you. Why you don't know enough to pilot a cow down the lane. Oh, but his wrath was up. He shuffled one side of his wheel to the other as if the floor was hot. He would boil wild to himself and then overflow and scald me again. Look here. What do you suppose I told you the name of those points for? Well, to to be entertained, and I thought. Such an eruption followed as I never had heard nor ever wished to hear again. But after about 20 minutes, he was finally empty. And presently, he said to me in the gentlest way. My boy, you must get a little memorandum book and every time I tell you a thing, put it down right away. Yes, sir. There's only one way to be a pilot, and that's to get this entire river by heart. Now you have to know it just like your ABC. Now this was a dismal revelation, but I got a notebook. And by the time we reached St. Louis, it's fairly bristled with the names of towns and points, bars, islands, bins. But it was all in the notebook and not in my head. Boy, you remember Walnut Bend? Oh, yes, sir. What's the shape of it? The shape? Why, it just bends. It doesn't have any particular shape. No shape? Every foot of river's got a shape, and you got to know it by heart. How else are you going to steer on a pitch black night? A pitch black night? But have you ever come home late and gone down the hall without a light? Well, yes, sir, but I... How did you follow your hall then? You couldn't see it, but you knew the shape of it. You mean... you mean I've got to know all the millions of variations of shape in the banks of this interminable river just as well as I know the shape of our front hall at home? Why, better. Much better. Well, then, Mr. Bixby, if it's all the same to you, I'm going to retire from this business. I haven't got brains to be a pilot, and if I had, I wouldn't have strength enough to carry him around, except on crutches. Now drop that. When I say I'll earn a man the river, I mean it. And you can depend on it. I'll earn him or I'll kill him. Well, there was no use arguing with a person like this. Slowly, I began to learn the bends and the snags and the bars and the river shape day and night, and I even remembered the deaf sounding the ledgman called out to us from the bow when we were in shallow water. And with all this knowledge, I suppose I got full of false confidence and false courage, at least, Mr. Bixby thought so. I remember it was on a matchless summer's day, and I was at the wheel, folding down the bend above Island 66, brim full of self-conceit and carrying my nose as high as a G-Raff, when Mr. Bixby said, Well, I'm going below. I suppose you know the next crossing. This was almost an affront. It was about the simplest crossing in the whole river and bottomless besides. You know it. I can run it with my eyes shut. How deep is it? I couldn't get bottom there with the church steeple. You think so, do you? The very tone of his question shook my confidence. He left without another word, and I began to imagine all kinds of things. Presently, the captain stepped out on the hurricane deck. Next the chief maid appeared and then a clerk. Pretty soon, there were 20 people down there under my nose muttering to each other and glancing up at me, worried. Finally, the captain said, Sam, where's Mr. Bixby? Gone below, sir. Gone below? On this crossing? I did it for him. All at once I imagined I saw shallow water ahead and every remnant of my confidence in that crossing vanished. I grabbed the bell rope to signal for the lead, and then I dropped it, ashamed, and then seeded it again and pulled it so feebly I could hardly hear the stroke myself, but the captain did. Can't you hear down there? I boarded lead, and quick about it, before we go ground. This was all the confirmation my fears needed. I began to climb the wheel like a squirrel. Then came the lead's men's sub-pulchral cry. And the quarter twain. Quarter twain in a bottomless crossing. And the quarter twain. We were going to ground. Our plane. Quickly, I grabbed the bell rope and stopped the engine. Quarter lead twain. We were drifting to disaster, and I did not know what in the world to do. I could have hung myself in the water. I was going to die. I was going to die. I was going to die. I was going to die. I was going to die. I was going to die. I was going to die. I was going to die. I was going to die. And last fall from the roof, I could have hung my head in my hands. They stuck out so far. Nine and a half! Nine and a half. And we were drawing nine feet. In the last desperate effort, they saved the ship. I flew to the speaking tube, and shouted down to the engineering, Oh, Ben, if you love me, back or quick, Ben. Oh, back the immortal soul out of her. Then I heard the pilot's house door close, and I turned, and there stood Mr. Dixby smiling, a bland, sweet smile. And then from the audience below came a humiliating, Sunday gust of laughter. I saw it all now. They played a trick on me, and everybody was in on it. Sam, didn't you know there was no bottom in that crossing? Yes, sir, I did. Then you shouldn't have let me, or the captain, or the ledgman, or anyone shake your confidence in that knowledge. Understand? Yes, sir. It was a good enough lesson, but pretty hardly learned. And for months I had to hear a phrase which I came to conceive a particular dislike for. It was, oh, Ben, if you love me backer. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] But despite his impatience, and his constant badgering, and his low-down dirty tricks, or perhaps even because of them, for there was no meanness in the man, I came to have a deep respect for Mr. Dixby. Perhaps it was not having a father of my own. And it was a black day for me when he left the work on the Missouri for a spell, and we said goodbye on the St. Louis landing. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Sam, I've arranged for you to go with Mr. Brown. Not too easy a man, but a fine pilot. You'll get along. Yes, sir. Well, behave yourselves now, and, well, goodbye, son. Sir, please tell me the truth. Will I ever make a pilot a good pilot? If I come to think of it, boy, yes, I believe you will. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] And he walked away. Thinking back now, I think those were the grandest words these ears have ever heard. I was happy then, thinking the worst was behind me. It never occurred to me that it was still ahead. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] You are listening to the DuPont Cavalcade of America, starring Raymond Massey, and now, Bill Hamilton, speaking for the DuPont Company. Selecting a career is always a big decision for a high school graduate. There are many things he wants to know and should know about any career he is considering. For high school students who ask, shall I study chemistry, the American Chemical Society has published a helpful booklet. It tells what chemists do, what it takes to be a success. If you would like a free copy, write to DuPont Cavalcade, Wilmington, Delaware. Ask for the booklet, Shall I Study Chemistry? In answer to this question, DuPont hopes an increasing number of students will answer yes. DuPont depends upon today's chemistry students to help in bringing you tomorrow's better things for better living through chemistry. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Now, we return to our Cavalcade story, Life on the Mississippi, starring Raymond Massey as Mark Twain. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Determined to become a Mississippi River pilot, young Sam Clemens has been serving as a cub to Mr. Bixby. But with Bixby away on the Missouri, Sam has been put with another pilot. Now, Mark Twain continues his story. So shortly, I went aboard the steamer, Pennsylvania, to find a big new ship. In the pilot house, I met the gentleman I was to serve under. He was quite a come down after Mr. Bixby. His name was Mr. Brown, and he was a middle-aged, long, slim, bony, smooth-shaven, horse-faced, ignorant, stingy, malicious, snarling, fort-hunting, moat-magnifying tyrant. So, you're Horace Bixby's cub, eh? What's your name? Sam Clemens, sir. Sam Clemens, eh? Sam Clemens. Eh. Where you from, Sam Clemens? Hannibal. Eh. Darn sight better you'd stayed there. Where are you going to stand there all day? But I've had no orders, sir. You've had no orders? My. What a fine bird we are. Well, here. Take that ice picture there and fill it up. Be quick about it. Yes, sir. So I did, at a dead run. And the moment I got back. What are you doing down there all this time? Here, fill up the stove. Ah, ah, fill that shovel. Turn this numb skull ever so. So it went. Watch after watch for months. No matter what I did, it was certain to be wrong, and Mr. Brown would spit out his venom on me. My only consolation aboard the Pennsylvania was having my younger brother, Henry, along. I'd gotten him on as third clerk. Henry was a handsome, bright, gentle, well-liked boy. I was proud to be his brother. And the night when I was off duty, we'd sit out on deck under the stars and listen to the songs of the river. And on my boat he'd sing, never had my child love me. Never had my child love me. Sam. Huh? I've been meaning to ask you. You giving up your idea of being a writer? You know, I like those little squids and sketches you used to write. Truly I did. but no, I'm going to be a pilot. But maybe you got a talent, Sam. Maybe it's wrong to waste it. Yeah, you're gonna sit there all night, time to go and watch that thunderhead. Come on now. Someday, Henry, something's gonna happen between Mr. Brown and me. Yes, sir, something's gonna happen. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Something did happen about three trips later. I was alongside Mr. Brown in the pilot house, and Henry came out on a hurricane deck just below it. Mr. Brown, sir, the captain wants you to stop a Pearson landing. Now, Mr. Brown gave no information that he heard, but that was his way. He was a little deaf and maybe hadn't. Oh, maybe had. Anyway, I kept still, and presently, we were sailing past this landing, and the captain hurried out on deck. Let her come around, sir, let her come around. Didn't Henry tell you to land here? No, sir, he did not. He didn't. Sam, did you hear him? Yes, sir, I did. Shut your mouth. Never heard anything of the kind. I closed my mouth as per instructions, and an hour later, Henry came into the pilot house, unaware of what had happened. Hear you? Why didn't you tell me we'd got to land? Well, I did tell you, Mr. Brown. That's a lie! You lie yourself, he did tell you. For a long moment, Mr. Brown was speechless, then his face got red as fire, and every muscle in it was working. I'll tender you in half a minute. Henry, get out of my pilot house. Get out! Henry obeyed and started out, when Brown, with a sudden access to fury, picked up a five pound lump of coal and started after him. Before I could think, I was between them, my fists flying. Here, now, you get away from me. Boy, hands up, you've been asking for it, Mr. Brown. My golly, you're gonna... Get away, Sam, get away, you got it. You knocked him down. Hey, let me up, quiet. Sam, Sam, the captain, the captain's coming. Let him up. Oh my gosh. What's going on here? Captain, I want this boy put ashore. We'll be touching all of us, or I'll never turn away like gin on this boat. Did you hear? Sam, follow me. I followed without a word. He led the way to his pilot. We went in, he shut the door and sat down. I stood before him. Sam, this is a very serious matter. Yes, sir. Are you aware that this boat was plowing down river with no one at the wheel? Yes, sir. Did you strike him first? Yes. Did you knock him down? He fell, sir. Did you do anything further? I pounded him, sir. Mm-hmm. Did you pound him much? That is, severely. One might call it that, sir, maybe. Ha ha ha ha ha. I'm ducid glad of it. Huh? Now mind you, don't ever do it again on this boat, but lay for him ashore. Give him a good sound thrashing, you hear? Yes, sir. Now, you think you're ready to stand watch by yourself? If you are, Brown can leave the ship. Well, sir, I... No, I don't think I am ready, not yet. I'm sorry. You'll have to leave us then. The New Orleans. But I'll arrange passage to St. Louis, and I'll see that you get another pilot to work under. Thank you, sir. Now clear out, will you? Not a word of this to anybody. You've been guilty of a great crime, you whelp. But remember now, lay for him ashore. Well, if the Pennsylvania is New Orleans, Henry was staying aboard. So while the Cotton Heavers loaded the cargo, we sat on a freight pile at the waterfront and said goodbye. Heed that cotton roll-a, Heed that cotton roll-a, Heed that cotton roll-a. I'm truly sorry, Sam, that you lost your post. Oh. But maybe it's for the best. Maybe you'll go back to your brighton now. Now, drop that, will you? But you've got a talent, Sam. Even Mr. Bigsby says so. Bigsby? Bigsby never said... Sam, there was a fellow on the boat just down from the Missouri. And, well, Sam, didn't you say to Bigsby once something like, I haven't got brains to be a pilot, and if I had, I wouldn't have strength enough to carry him around, except on crutches. Didn't you, Sam? Well, I... Bigsby remembered that. This fellow heard it from Bigsby. Seems like Bigsby's always kind of branking about. Branking about you and the way you have for putting things. And all you do, Sam, you ought to do something. Now, drop that, I said, Henry. I'm gonna be a pilot, and that's that. Well, you say, Sam, as you say. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Henry boarded the Pennsylvania, and she started north the next morning. The day after, I boarded another ship for St. Louis. Couple of days out, we touched a Greenville, Mississippi. Somebody on shore was shouting. You hear the news? The Pennsylvania blew up at Ship Island. 150 lives lost! ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] That was all they knew, except that the survivors had been taken to Memphis. And there, two days later, I arrived and found my brother Henry in the hospital. His hurts passed health. And soon, while I sat beside him, he died. Henry Clemens, age 19. He who never had harmed a living soul. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] In due course, I got my license. I was a pilot now, full-fledged. I was a satisfactory pilot, I think, but by and by, the Civil War came along and overnight, my occupation was gone. Soon, I became a silver miner in Nevada and then followed an entire procession of occupation. Now, I am a scribbler of books. And it is 20 years since I last looked from the windows of a pilot house. ["You Got It Across the Wide, Wide River"] But often now, I steal away in my mind and return to my beloved river. It is night, with only a sprinkling of stars to light our way. I stand at the wheel, guiding the vessel, mindful of the passengers who lie asleep below like trusting children. Sometimes in my memory my brother stands at my side. Oh, Henry, how I've missed you all these years. Under me the engines mumble softly. Behind me the paddles are endlessly dipping into the muddy water. And then faintly comes the lonely whistle of a steamboat by upstream. It is thus in these busy hectic days that I return in memory to the life I love, to the life that never more will be, to life on the Mississippi. Our thanks to Raymond Massey and the Cavalcade players for tonight's true story. And now Bill Hamilton speaking for the DuPont Company. Americans love to travel. Each year millions of us take to the road to see more of this wonderful country of ours. We keep thousands of service stations, service homes, restaurants, and business as we go from place to place. And we like to travel in comfort. That's why when a new item of comfort is invented, we usually find a way to make it portable. It's happened to heaters and radios, for instance, and now it's happening to air conditioning. At automobile shows this year, five leading car manufacturers are offering air conditioning as optional equipment on their latest model. You'll see quite a few of them this summer rolling along on the hottest day with the windows tightly closed. The cars won't look different except for the closed windows. But if you get close enough, chances are the people inside will look a lot more comfortable. They'll enjoy temperatures of their own choosing regardless of how hot it is outside. And they won't have that blown to pieces look that comes from open windows. In these new automobile air conditioning systems, new air is brought constantly inside, filtered, and cooled. The cooling agent is the DuPont Freon fluorinated hydrocarbon refrigerant, one of the same safe refrigerants used in modern home refrigerators and freezers. Freon refrigerants are also used for air conditioning of all types such as homes, office buildings, ships, buses, and theaters. Now the automotive industry has taken steps to make hot weather driving more comfortable. For many years, DuPont has worked closely with the automotive industry making special finishes, petroleum chemicals, antifreeze solutions, plastics, fibers, rubber chemicals, and other important products. The use of Freon refrigerants in automobile air conditioning is one more step in the continuing job of bringing you DuPont's better things for better living through chemistry. Tonight's DuPont Cavalcade was written by Warner Law and was adapted from the story Life on the Mississippi by the late Samuel L. Clemens, Mark Twain, published by Harper and Brothers. Original music was composed by Arden Cornwell, conducted by Donald Borey. The program was directed by John Zoller. With our star Raymond Massey, you heard Jeffrey Bryant as young Sam Clemens and Charles Dingle as Bixby. This is Cy Harris reminding you to be with us next week when the DuPont Cavalcade will present Star and Shield, a delightful story of a New Jersey policeman and a little five-year-old girl who won his heart. Our star, Broderick Crawford, and featuring a five-year-old actress, Eileen Mary. Be sure to listen. The DuPont Cavalcade of America came to you from the Palastal Theater in New York City and is sponsored by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry. Tonight, just for laughs, listen to Red Skelton on NBC.
