Starring Claude Rains with Ray Collins in a new play about Tom Paine, called In This
Crisis on the Cavalcade of America, sponsored by New Bark.
These are the times that try men's souls.
The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will in this crisis shrink from the service
of their country.
But he that stands it now deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.
Those are words of Thomas Paine written more than a century and a half ago in such a crisis
as America faces again today.
Those words and Tom Paine who wrote them are the subject of our play tonight.
This play written by Robert Richards is about a true story and about a legend.
But Tom Paine would say that it is true.
The plant maker of other things for better living through chemistry presents In This
Crisis with Ray Collins as the stranger and starring Claude Rains as Tom Paine.
It is New York in the year 1809 in an upstairs room of a little house on Grove Street.
An old man sick and bedridden waits for the darkness to come.
His housekeeper Madame Bonfee speaks to him.
Hello.
Well, dear, are you quite comfortable, Mr. Paine?
Quite, Madame Bonfee, quite, thank you.
Is there anything else I can do, Mr. Paine?
Nothing, thank you.
Is the front door locked?
Yes, yes, Mr. Paine.
Good.
I don't want to be annoyed by a lot of lunatics bursting in here as I was yesterday.
No.
I'm alone.
Yes, yes, Mr. Paine.
Good evening, Tom Paine.
Good evening.
Oh, good evening.
It's been a long time, hasn't it, Tom Paine?
Let me see.
You came to see me last night, winter, 1776.
That was the last time, wasn't it?
Mr. Paine!
Yes, sir.
I'm here.
I'm here.
I'm here.
I'm here.
I'm here.
I'm here.
I'm here.
I'm here.
I'm here.
Can I get in, please?
I'm here.
Yes, yes, I'm here.
I want to see Mr. Paine.
Yes, of course, I want to see him.
Yes, yes, I don't have a problem.
Mr. Paine, it is you.
I must talk to you.
It's a long time I've had nothing to hear from you.
The last time I've had nothing to hear from you, I have nothing to talk to you.
Yes, sir, I must talk to you.
It's a long time I've had nothing to hear from you.
Mr. Paine, Mr. Paine!
What?
Who is it you are talking to?
You won't?
It's all right, madam, won't be too right.
It's just an old friend.
How did he get in?
chat for an hour or two with an old friend and watch the sun go down.
Watch the sun go down.
You know, I think I'm dying. You are, Tom Paine.
I find it hard to accept you at all. Sometimes I don't believe in miracles,
you know. Oh, come now, Tom Paine, you're something of a miracle yourself.
I am? Yes, you, from an impoverished tax collector to a leader of one of the great
social and political movements of all ages. Oh, and uptown pain, that's a miracle
you believe in, isn't it? I believe in myself, yes, but I don't believe in things I can't see.
You see me sitting over here, don't you? Come to think of it, I've never seen you distinctly.
Do you remember the first time? Oh, yes. I was appearing in Parliament,
representing the King's excise men, poor devils. Tried to get from pay to pay.
It was your first real fight, and you were a little frightened.
Parliament, the King's ministers, you were waiting to be summoned.
Everyone was giving you advice.
Now, Tom, don't forget, they will take you before their Lordship.
I know, I know, balance creep. Well, Tom, that's how it is, that's how it's always been.
You don't want me to mention, I suppose, but if we don't get better wages, we shall starve.
Well, to be sure, Tom, to be sure, but delicately, delicately.
Shhh, this is not the time to be so hasty.
I'm not going to be so hasty. I'm going to be so hasty.
I'm going to be so hasty. I'm going to be so hasty.
I'm going to be sure, but delicately, delicately. Shhh.
Mr. Thomas Paine?
I am Mr. Thomas Paine.
The Lordships will see you now, Mr. Paine.
Thank you.
Remember now, Tom, delicately, delicately.
This way.
Remove your hat, please, Mr. Paine.
Me Lords and Ministers, the petitioner, Thomas Paine.
Strip up, Mr. Paine, strip up.
Now, what is it?
Me Lords, I come before you as a petitioner for His Majesty's offices of excise.
We are aware of that, Mr. Paine. I must ask you to be as brief as possible.
I shall be brief, me Lords.
In all loyalty and in all humility, His Majesty's offices of excise wish to call to Your Lordship's attention the fact that their wages were set by the Lord merely one hundred years ago.
And another once in all that time been readjusted.
It is no longer possible for these offices to leave us, honourable, self-respecting, no longer what they now receive.
Mr. Paine, is your purpose here to obtain an increase in the salaries of His Majesty's offices of excise?
It is, me Lord.
For myself, I am disinclined to hear more.
Each of the salaries of these offices have been adequate for nearly one hundred years.
It is the most powerful of arguments that they are still adequate today.
Am I right, me Lords?
Quite right.
Very definitely.
And as to honesty, Mr. Paine, you will find that we have very positive means of enforcing that.
Am I right, me Lords?
Quite right.
I am deadly beowl, Mr. Paine.
All? Am I to understand, me Lord, that this is all you have to say?
Do you question our verdict, Mr. Paine?
Question it? I not only question it, I question your right to render it.
And before God, I'll find out one day how it is that some men are born with a right to enslave others who may not even question their enslavement.
Mr. Paine, you may consider your service to the Crown at an end as of this day.
I had already so considered it.
Well, how was it?
Will the old boys give us another quitter too?
I'll give you nothing.
But what did they say?
They said that what was good enough for your great-grandfather is good enough for you.
In short, they said no.
Well, come along lads, we'd best be getting on.
Saw that failure.
You did the best you could, Tom.
Well, we'll see you back at Lewis, eh?
Yes, I suppose I should be back at Lewis.
Good evening, Tom. Good evening.
Good evening. I, uh, it's so dark, I'm afraid I don't recognize you.
No, not I am. I am sent by a countryman of yours.
Countryman of mine?
Yes, in the middle. Dr. Benjamin Franklin.
Oh, then no mistake, Mr. I know Dr. Franklin, but I've never been in the middle of a case.
You've never been in the middle of a case in your life?
But you have been thinking about going to America, haven't you?
Why?
Yes, I know a good deal about that country, Tom Paine.
But Dr. Franklin has spoken to me somewhat about America.
Yes, but I thought of myself that I know even more. Oh, don't misunderstand me.
But I have a curious map of knowing what men will feel tomorrow.
You're something of a proper friend, in a small way, yes.
Well, I'm tired enough of that.
The point is, you have been wishing that there were others who believed as you do.
That you might find them and talk with them, and together with them, seek out some better way of life.
Yes, I have wished that with all my heart.
Suppose I were to tell you that there are such men in America.
Who are you?
You're coming to me straight in the middle.
How might it be because you are a man who knows the sound of truth?
Listen, in their hearts, the men of America are saying this to each other.
That all men are created equal, endowed with their creator with certain and indivisible rights.
Life, liberty, and the perceived happiness.
Do you believe that, Tom Paine?
It's enough to be a battle cry for the whole new race of men.
One day it will be.
By the way, Tom Paine, there is a ship called the London Packet leaving very soon for Philadelphia.
Are you only sure that this is not a dream?
It is a dream, Tom Paine.
But every forward step that we have ever taken since I lived in caves have started as a dream.
Would I meet you again in America?
Often, I think.
Remember, Tom Paine, I promised nothing.
But this can be a beginning.
If you wish it, I do.
If you don't...
You are listening to Claude Rains on the Cavaquade of America, sponsored by DuPont,
maker of better things for better living through chemistry.
As our play continues, Tom Paine, who has arrived in America, is now the editor of a magazine in Philadelphia.
Come in, come in.
Oh, Mr. Paine.
I was just thinking of you.
You are certainly to be congratulated, sir.
Am I, Mr. Aitken?
Ah, do you realize, sir, that since you have been editing the Pennsylvania magazine,
its circulation has merely tripled?
I think perhaps congratulations for that are due more to you as owner than to me as editor.
Come, come now, Paine, the credit's yours.
I meant, sir, that it's the business of an owner to be concerned about the profits of his publication.
It's the business of an editor to be concerned about the contents.
Why, yes, so it is, I suppose, in a way.
Our contents have been most unprofitable lately, Mr. Aitken.
What?
In my mind, Mr. Aitken, there's a smell of powder in the air,
the smell of anger on every April breeze,
and when it gives place to more, you still believe the world is fresh.
We must tolerate these rumors of rebellion.
It is our policy of a hostage.
I am in...
Well, I'm not, Mr. Paine.
What's that?
It sounds like every bell in Philadelphia.
Bells?
Can someone be dead?
I sound too full of joy for that.
Let's who best go see him.
Mr. Paine, Mr. Aitken, I heard this came with a battle, the Redcoats fire on the limited men of Lexington.
Good heavens, sir, who won?
I'm going to call them back, sir. The people are talking about raising a militia.
I'm going out.
Maybe a few courageous men can stop it.
I'm going to.
Wait!
Ha ha ha ha ha.
Please stop it.
Ha ha ha. What do you think of that, Tom Paine?
Where did you come from?
Lexington, Concord. It's all true, you know.
I knew it had to happen.
That's what I like about you, Tom Paine.
What's to be done about it?
Why, I thought you knew.
Thirteen colonies, spread along three thousand miles of sequest,
all wanting something different, all with painted gemstones and a condom.
That's the same thing they have in common.
Yes, if they had the sense to see it.
What do you think they want?
Independence.
Doubtless.
But how many are there now in April 1775, believe as you do?
No, some.
Some is not enough.
Then there must be more.
Someone must tell them.
Someone must burn that word, independence, on their hearts,
as they were written upon a stele.
And who is to do that?
Why, I will.
If no one else.
So you'll become a revolutionary panfleteer, eh, Tom Paine?
I'll become whatever I must become for the cause of freedom.
Then you should know this.
There'll be no turning back.
You'll be swept through the very vortex of it.
You'll make converts, yes, but you'll make enemies as well.
You'll be misunderstood, reviled, persecuted,
at any of your own time, and a generation is yet to come.
There'll be no peace for you, Tom Paine, now or hereafter.
How do you know this?
Who are you?
You've asked me that before.
Now I want to know.
Very well.
I, Tom Paine, am the first and last citizen of a country known as the United States of America.
A country that is yet a dream that may or may not become reality,
depending greatly upon you today.
I am not one man.
I am a nation.
I am that posterity which one day may judge you,
but which you today must judge,
whether it is worthwhile to you that I shall be,
or not be.
It is said.
And now you know.
Not that I care now, but, eh,
is there no remorse for any of your fights against the tiller of this time?
Yes, Tom Paine.
And perhaps some day when your need is greatest,
I'll come and tell you what it is.
That's a small matter.
I've no white choice.
So you have.
Listen.
Hey, that Tom Paine, he some day may be known as the spirit of 1776.
But that's too far away.
Oh, yes.
But if men would believe what he and I believe,
there'd be that subtle spirit in 1776, my friend.
That's only common sense.
Isn't it, Tom Paine?
Yes.
That's only common sense.
That's only common sense.
Common sense.
They never thought at first that the obscure editor Tom Paine
looked that pampered, common sense,
at the words that were reading through the country's font like an alarm.
You remember those days, Tom Paine?
No more, not a physics man.
The doctrine of reconciliation to the touchstone nature.
And until we, women, peel head off for love, honor,
and faithful self the power that has carried fire with a sword into your land.
But if you say, you know what it is, Tom Paine,
but if you say, you could still pass the violation of the law,
then I ask, has your husband hurt,
or probably destroyed your wife or children, destitute,
have you lost a parent or a child that you have not,
then you are not a part of those who have.
But if you have, I could still shake hands with the murderers,
then you are not worthy of the name of husband, father, friend, or lover.
You have the heart of a coward, and the spirit of a sycophant.
They listened. They believed you. They thought you were independent.
But even that was not enough.
1776, the fall of 1776. Do you remember that?
Do you remember the army of General Washington, what was left of it?
Poor wretches driven through the mud and street of Northern Jersey.
Hungry, greedy.
Well, gentlemen, it's hard enough to say it, General Washington,
but we'll profit no more by baking at the facts.
We're out of ammunition, out of food. They got us on the run.
Most of this I blame on you, Mr. Paine.
On me, sir? Yes.
It was your common sense that first persuaded me to independence.
Oh, I've never wavered since.
I tell you not for 20,000 pounds a year,
but I endure what all of us have endured for faith alone.
Son, perhaps this time for variety it's good news.
Captain Marsden reporting, sir.
What?
Small desertion, sir. Whole company this time.
Where did they go?
Home, I suppose, sir.
Home.
I wonder how much longer any of us will have a home to go to.
Well, thank you, Captain Marsden.
Yes, sir. Good night, sir.
Good night.
That's by far the worst of it.
Desertions. It's hard to blame the men, sir.
No, I can't blame them.
But we'll be generals without an army in another week.
Well, gentlemen, we'll meet again tomorrow and take stock and weigh our chances.
Good night to all of you. Have a good rest.
Good night, sir.
Good night, sir.
Are you staying up a while, Mr. Penning?
Honestly, yes. I thought I'd try to write some sort of proclamation to the men.
Well, good luck to your efforts.
Thank you, sir.
Oh, Sergeant.
Yes, sir?
Sergeant, Patrick Penning, Inc., blue.
Yes, sir. It's right here.
Here you are, sir.
Thanks.
Now, Sergeant, you've got to plan land.
You know what the rest are thinking.
What has happened to us?
Why, they desert us?
Well, sir, the way we're thinking, it's more than like a food and ammunition.
There's something down out of the moon just to be there.
I know, but what's the cure for that?
Well, that's up to you, sir.
You're our leaders. We're just plain farmers.
You only have to look to when things are bad to tell us where we stand.
Tell us the worst of it. Then tell us what to do.
We'll follow you.
You think it's a simple thing?
We've done it before, sir.
You've never stopped believing in what we're fighting for.
If you'll show us how we can win, well, then we will.
You haven't lost your courage, have you, Sergeant?
No, sir.
Really, sir?
Thank you.
You're welcome, Sergeant.
It's right, you know, Tom Paine.
Why are you here?
To tell me that I've failed.
No. Perhaps to tell you what will happen if you fail.
No need of that. I know.
And I've tried.
The words won't come.
This is crisis, Tom Paine.
Not a crisis, I'm afraid.
No, sir.
I'm afraid you're afraid.
I'm afraid you're afraid.
I'm afraid you're afraid.
This is crisis, Tom Paine.
No, not the last.
There'll be others, but there'll be something else.
Let me see if I can show it to you.
Look.
A united nation stretching across a continent from sea to sea.
130 million people living and working together,
governing themselves in liberty and justice.
The sworn enemy of all tyrants and oppressors.
The hope of the whole world in time of trouble.
The leader of the world in time of peace.
Can you see that, Tom?
I've seen it in my dreams a thousand times.
It's the one I've hoped to live for, all my faith.
It's been a religion.
I spoke to you once of a reward.
That won't be my reward.
But there's a special one reserved for you.
If you triumph now, this shall be your reward.
Each time hereafter that this great nation is in crisis,
your words again will guide them and inspire them.
There will come a time, only two centuries from now,
in such a crisis as you cannot now imagine,
when a president of those United States will carry these words of yours
into every home throughout the land,
to give his nation hope and confidence.
And this shall happen if you triumph now.
But why must you place this terrible responsibility upon me?
Why have not? The times have.
Times to triumph souls.
Then what?
Yes.
Days are the times with crime in souls.
Night, Tom Peele, the solar soldier,
and the sunshine patriot, will, in this crisis,
shrink from the service of their country.
Crisis.
Do you remember how the words stirred in Tom Peele?
How the men came talking back into the ranks when it was all over?
They said that without Tom Peele, we'd never could have won our independence.
And afterwards they said,
never will words be written so vital to the outcome of a mighty cause.
Listen.
Days are the times that triumph souls.
The summer soldier,
and the sunshine patriot, will, in this crisis,
shrink from the service of their country.
But he that stands in love, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.
Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered,
yet we have this consolation with us.
At the heart of the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.
I call on you upon a few, but upon all.
Up and help us.
Lay your shoulders to the Queen.
Let it be told to the future world that the city and the country
alarm that one common danger came forth to meet and to repulse it.
Throw out the burden of the day upon providence,
but show your faith by your words.
That God may bless you.
So now, Tom Paine, after so many years, I find you here, dead-midden,
and at a certain age, and dying.
Yes.
Do you have no regrets?
No.
None.
You are satisfied with all that's passed between us.
Well, more than that.
I've been grateful to you.
And now the day is over.
The sun has gone down.
At last, the darkness comes.
Are you ready?
Yes.
Give me your hand.
Where are we going?
Into another time.
Another time.
An old and spent.
There will be a place for me, a place for you, always Tom Paine.
As long as men love freedom, as you have, enough to die for it.
Thank you, Claude Rains, and thank you, Ray Collins.
Ladies and gentlemen, in a few moments, we will hear from Mr. Rains again,
and also announce our program for next week.
Meanwhile, in connection with our story of chemistry,
Gay Whitman now quotes from the Japanese Times and Advertiser.
On this newspaper, a Japanese propaganda radio station
recently broadcast, in effect, this threat.
Al-Anime recites a poem of figures about United States production.
Figures, however, cannot fight.
Soon, quite different figures will fill the people of America with unrest.
The announcement that Anthony, among some of the things he was positive,
would soon put America out of the war, a shortage of camper.
The answer for America is, you have to think faster than that, Mr. Hirohito.
America isn't going to have any camper shortage, thanks to chemistry.
Why do our enemies hope the United States will run out of camper?
Isn't camper only a drug used in medicine?
No. Today, America uses six million pounds of camper a year.
To name one important product in which camper is used,
there's the plastic made of cellulose nitrate and camper.
Because of that use and other uses, a shortage of camper right now
would be a serious upset, it's true.
But it's true also that only a few years ago,
our camper supply might easily have been cut off.
Natural camper is distilled from the wood of camper trees on the island of Formosa.
We've tried to drill wood trees in this country, but without much success.
So Japan, only a few years ago, could let us have as much camper as she liked or as little.
And there was nothing much we Americans could do about it.
In fact, the Japanese used to squeeze us every now and then on purpose to get the price up.
In 1918, another year when we were at war,
natural camper sold for $3.75 a pound.
But today, America's vital camper supply will not be curtailed.
Nor will the price go soaring.
For eight years ago, a departmental manufacturing plant began to turn out camper in quantity.
How is it made? From turpentine,
which is extracted from pine tree stumps of cut over southern timberland.
Turpentine from the stumps in the complicated chemical process becomes synthetic camper.
And this chemically made camper is actually cleaner and more uniform in quality than the natural product.
And it costs not $3.75 a pound, but something like a tenth of that amount.
Most important of all, DuPont is making enough of it right now to take care of all of America's essential needs.
Here is a graphic and convincing illustration of practical chemistry at work.
A great wartime threat to America's industrial machine has been averted by DuPont,
which brings you in peacetime better things for better living through chemistry.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, our star, Claude Rain.
Applause
Thank you.
Of all the men who inspired an America that wanted to be free, Tom Paine was outstanding.
Today, every civilized nation in the world is in a likely conflict to determine, once and for all time,
whether those who think as Tom Paine did will continue to build a better world,
or whether freedom and liberty will disappear.
Thank you.
Thank you, Claude Rain.
Next Monday on the Cablicate of America, DuPont will present another original radio play.
It's titled This Side of Hades, the thrilling and romantic story of a heroine of the Revolutionary War,
the picture, the star, Loretta Young.
Applause
Don't forget, next Monday night at the same time, Loretta Young as Molly Pitcher.
DuPont is happy to remind you that Claude Rain is now to be seen in the Warner Brothers production, King's Row.
And Ray Collins will soon appear in RKO's new picture, then it will be The Big Street.
The musical score for tonight's program was composed and directed by Robert Armbruster.
This is John Heston sending best wishes from DuPont.