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Great Days in Dayton
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“Great Days in Dayton”


Reproduced on these pages is the full script of a “Great Days in Dayton” broadcast. All music and sound effect “cues” are indicated just as they appear on the working scripts used by the cast. The sponsor hopes that you will find interesting these dramatized episodes from the life story of your city.


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Theme. Starts fortissimo, then fades behind . . .

ANNOUNCER: “Great Days in Dayton!”


ANNOUNCER: The Dayton Power and Light Company brings you another chapter in the history of Dayton. Once again we take you back to the days of more than a century ago, when our civic forefathers shaped the destiny of our city. Listen with me now to our master of ceremonies, Mr. Charles McLean, who will introduce you to the play we present today.



NARRATOR: The fortunes of our city, the events which have brought us from the earliest civic beginnings to today, include romance, adventure, civic crisis. These are the things which mark the growth of a city. And these have been Dayton’s. It is the hope of our sponsors, The Dayton Power and Light Company, that out of the fortunes and misfortunes of the past Dayton will grow into new consciousness of the need for civic achievement. (PAUSE.) Our play today has to do with the Dayton of the 1830s, when devastation by fire was largely unchecked. Homes, shops, mills, and factories burned to the ground with little effort at prevention or protection. It was not uncommon for fire to set its hand on property during the middle of the night.


[Crowd sounds far off. Church bells. Shouts.]


SARAH: William?


SARAH: William?


SARAH: William!  Wake up!


SARAH: William, there’s a fire!

WILLIAM: Yes, Sarah, my dear, I banked it last night.

SARAH: William, the fire’s not in our house.

WILLIAM: All right, then, Sarah, we needn’t worry about it.

SARAH: William, I tell you there’s a terrible fire!

WILLIAM: What’s that?

SARAH: I say there’s a fire. I think it’s the Cooper Lumber Mill.

WILLIAM: Holy Moses! Where are my felt boots?

SARAH: William, you won’t get hurt, will you?

WILLIAM: Get up in the middle of the night. No, or course, I won’t get hurt. What would I get hurt for? Get hurt! All I do is work a pump handle. Where are my boots? And the candle . . . where’s the candle?

SARAH: It’s just where you left it William . . . on the table.

WILLIAM: I left it? Where’s my shirt?

SARAH: William, you won’t get hurt, will you?
WILLIAM: No, no, of course not.

SARAH: William.

WILLIAM: Good-bye, good-bye. I’ll be back soon.

SARAH: Yes, William. [Music.]


[Buzz of conversation.]


VOICE 1: The town council will come to order. [Conversation fades.] The first matter of business confronting us is the question of funds for the operation of the city jail.

VOICE 2: We’d better talk about fires.

VOICE 3: Order of business. Order of business.

VOICE 1: I see no reason for interrupting our regular procedure.

VOICE 2: But I tell you fires are more important than anything else. They are doing more damage, by and large, than any amount of criminal activity we may have here. We need money to run our jail, and I’m all for appropriating it, but more than that we need some way to keep fires from burning our homes and shops and factories.

VOICE 3: Order of business.

VOICES 2: Wait a minute. In the last month we’ve had six fires, and bad ones. There have been three homes, two stores, and Cooper’s Lumber Mill . . . all of them burned to the ground.

VOICE 3: That’s the way it is in any town. You have a certain amount of fires burning down houses and all.

VOICE 2: But you don’t have to. I am for having fire companies . . . volunteer companies, if necessary . . . which we could count on to put out fires before they burn everything in sight.

VOICE 3: Who’s going to do all this work?

VOICE 2: The ordinary citizens. You and I, and your neighbor and my neighbor.

VOICE 3: Takes a lot of equipment to do that.

VOICE 2: I know it does. Every house in this town is going to have to supply buckets. We’ll make everyone have at least one bucket in his house, maybe two or three, and we’ll have them where people can get at them.

VOICE 4: How about three buckets for every house; good, stout, leather buckets, hand sewed? We could get people to fill them and set them out every night . . . or at least have them ready for the firemen.

VOICE 2: Why not make these fire companies volunteer organizations . . . call them clubs, if the members want to. That would give them a lot more interest.

VOICE 4: That’s a good idea. We can have every group in town forming its own fire company. [Music.]


WILLIAM: Well, let’s decide on a name. We’ve certainly been arguing about it long enough.

WALTER: How about Niagara?

GEORGE: I think Deluge sounds better. Niagara’s too common.

WILLIAM: There’s nothing so fancy about Deluge. What’s the matter with Cataract?

VOICE 1: Defiance.

VOICE 2: Resolution.

VOICE 3: Home Defenders.

WILLIAM: But we’ll defend more than homes . . . shops, mills, schools, churches, everything in town. I think Cataract’s the best. It’s certainly better than the other company’s name. There’s certainly northing original about calling themselves the Minute Men. Let’s decide on Cataract and get it over with.

VOICE 1: I still like Defiance better.

VOICE 2: And I like Resolution.

WILLIAM: All right, all right. We’ll take a vote on it. All in favor of Cataract, say aye. [Chorus of ayes.] Opposed, no. [Small chorus of noes.] The ayes have it. [A few protests.] Now, we’ll talk about uniforms.

WALTER: Well, we certainly don’t want green shirts, like the Minute Men.

GEORGE: Certainly not. They look cheap.

VOICE 1: They don’t look so bad when they’re out parading. They look pretty good.

WILLIAM: Yes, but parading’s not fire-fighting. The business of the Cataract Company is to put out fires.

VOICE 2: How about red shirts . . . red flannel ones.

GEORGE: They’d look too much like underwear.

WALTER: What’s that got to do with? Who sees us in our underwear, anyway?

VOICE 1: Length of time it takes you to get out of bed, Walter, you’re lucky if you get to a fire at all. Underwear’s about the only thing you have time to put on.

WALTER: How about that last fire? Who was the first man in the bucket line?

VOICE 1: Yes, yes, I know you were, but if you hadn’t been at Reid’s Tavern when the bells rang, you wouldn’t have been in the bucket line at all.

VOICE 2: Say, that’s something I want to talk about . . . bucket line. It’s getting so people break through the lines so much that we don’t get much water on the fire.

GEORGE: Never did get much. Last time I worked on a fire, I got most of the water in my boots. Almost froze to death.

WILLIAM: Let’s get back to this business of uniforms.

VOICE 2: I still say a red shirt would be the best. Looks like a fireman, a red shirt does. Then suppose we had white pants, black boots and red leather helmets. That would certainly look fine when we were out parading. Make the Minute Men turn green.

WILLIAM: How’s that sound as an idea for a uniform? [Chorus of yesses and noes. Yesses lead.]

GEORGE: How about equipment, Will?
WILLIAM: It’s all ordered, George. The town council has bought two engines, one for each company, and all the axes and hooks we can use.

VOICE 1; How about ladders?
WILLIAM: We’ll have plenty of ladders . . . enough to reach the top of any building in town.

WALTER: Do we want any more members in the company?
VOICE 1: Yes.

VOICE 2: No.

GEORGE: I think we ought to remember that this isn’t just a fire-fighting company. It’s a club, too. We ought to draw our membership from men we know and like. We can have a lot of good times together, as well as fighting fires.

VOICE 1: I’m for taking in anyone who can pay his dues and is willing to work.

VOICE 2: I’m not. I agree with George. This company’s going to be social as much as anything else, and I think we ought to keep that in mind when we elect members.

VOICE 1: How about dues?
VOICE 2: I thought the town was going to pay all the expenses.

WILLIAM: It is, for equipment and everything like that, but we’ll have other expenses of our town. If we’re going to make this a club as well as a fire-fighting company, we’ll have parties of one kind and another . . . annual banquets, maybe, and perhaps even a clubhouse of our own.

VOICE 1: What’s the matter with the firehouse, where we’ll keep the engine and all the rest of the equipment?

WALTER: That’d be all right. We could have meetings there once a month, or maybe even once a week.

VOICE 2: That’s too often. My wife wouldn’t let me. She thinks, anyway, that this fire company is just an excuse for getting together and having a good time.

WALTER: Well, isn’t it? [Laughter.]

GEORGE: Of course, we’ll have a lot of good times. But let’s remember that we have serious work to do.

VOICE 1: Let’s have an annual firemen’s ball.

VOICE 2: That’s a good idea. We could sell tickets to everyone in town and raise money for new uniforms and new equipment.

VOICE 1: Maybe we could raise some money for charity.

VOICE 2: I’m for having charity begin in our home. If we do all the things we’re talking about, it will take all the money we can raise. [Music fades in and out.]


SARAH: They’re just like a lot of boys, Ann. William has talked about nothing but their fire company for the last two weeks.

ANN: So has George. And I wish you could hear him talk about their uniforms. You’d think a red flannel shirt was a red flannel shirt. But not for George. It has to be cut just so and he wants big pearl buttons all over it and flaps on both pockets.

SARAH: William just won’t let me make his white pants for him. He says they have to fit a certain way and he’s having them made in Cincinnati. Six pairs of them and six shirts. And he’s having his boots made specially, too.

ANN: I don’t know why it is men always pretend that they don’t care anything about how their clothes look. But just give them a chance to join a militia company or a fire company and they’ll pay a lot more attention to their clothes than women do.

SARAH: And the cost, by dear. William made an awful fuss about what I spent for clothes last Spring, but I notice that his fire uniforms are costing at least twice as much. Yet, he doesn’t seem to think that it’s at all expensive.

ANN: Well, George has the idea that his leather helmet must come from Philadelphia. He says the Dayton saddle makers don’t know how to shape them or finish them. They cost fifteen dollars apiece, and he says that the whole company’s getting them.

SARAH: I Know. I complained to William about that, and he says that some of the New York volunteer firemen pay fifty dollars apiece for their helmets.

ANN: Well, I suppose this fire company may keep our husbands out of other kinds of trouble, anyway.

SARAH: I hope so. When I think of the things I have gone through with William . . .

ANN: But, my dear, he couldn’t’ possibly be as bad as George. [Music.]


NARRATOR: It is hard for us to realize today that the volunteer fire companies of a century ago furnished the diversion and amusement now provided by a multitude of other agencies. There was no theatre in Dayton; occasionally theatrical companies made their appearances here, but their performances were given in private houses or inns, and the dramatic illusions they created doubtless let much to be desired. There were no motion pictures, no radio, no golf, no motoring. Consequently, the early volunteer fire companies were the real clubs of the town. Membership in them was highly selective, and their annual banquets were important events in Dayton’s social year. [Music.]


[Loud buzz of conversation. Laughter. Table sounds.]


VOICE 1: We sure washed the Minute Men’s engine last week. Poured more water into their tank than they could pump in a week.

VOICE 2: Washing’s not the thing, even if it does make the other fellows feel pretty cheap. It’s all right to overflow the other engine’s tank with our buckets, but we want to get to the fire first and let them form a bucket line for us.

VOICE 3: [Maudlin.] More fires, bigger fires, better fires!

VOICE 4: Don’t forget, Henry, the idea of good old “Cataract” Fire Company is to protect public and private property.

VOICE 3: How we goin’ to put out the fires if they don’t start? That’s what I want to know.

VOICE 4: They’ll start all right, and we’ll put them out. Good old “Cataract” will be there first every time.

VOICE 3: More fires, bigger fires, better fires!

WILLIAM: Gentlemen! [Talk subsides.] Gentlemen! [Talk dies out.] As foreman of our “Cataract” volunteer fire company, I take this opportunity to open the ceremonies of our first annual banquet.

VOICE 3: More fires, bigger fires, better fires!

VOICE 1: Quiet!

VOICE 2: Keep still, Henry.

WILLIAM: We can look back on our first year with great satisfaction. Our company is at full strength. Our engine and equipment are in excellent condition. We have beaten the Minute Men to every fire this year [Cheers.] except four [Boos.]. That’s a fine record.

VOICE 3: More fires, bigger fires, better fires!

VOICE 2: Shut up, Henry!

VOICE 1: Throw him out!

VOICE 3: Throw who out? Go ahead, Will. I like your speech, even if the rest of them don’t.

WILLIAM: Well, keep still, then.

VOICE 3: I will. I was just saying it would be nice to have more good fires.

WILLIAM: I heard you, I heard you.

VOICE 3: And fires that last longer, too. You take that fire at the distillery last spring. Now, there was a fire. Never had such a time in my life.

VOICE 2: You sure did, Henry. [Laughter.]

WILLIAM: Do I get to make this speech, or don’t I?

VOICE 1: Sure. Sure, Will, go ahead and speak.

VOICE 3: That’s it. Let him speak.

VOICE 2: Henry, will you shut up?

WILLIAM: I think it would be fitting to open this meeting with our old Cataract song. Strike it up, someone.

VOICE 3: More fires, bigger . . .

VOICE 1: Out he goes! [Scuffle.]

VOICE 3: ‘s all right. M’ wife told me I shouldn’t come in the first place. [Scuffle. Door slams.]

VOICE 2: There! Now, Will, we can go on with the song.

WILLIAM: All right. Strike it up, someone. [Voices fumble for right pitch.]


            I was a jolly runner bold,

                        When runners were all hunk;

            I ran to fires, I fought, I swore,

                        And occupied a bunk.

            Owl-like, I slept most all the day

                        And kept awake at night,

            With joy I heard the clanging bells

                        And saw the rising light.


            My blood went tingling through my veins,

                        My heart throbbed with desire,

            Whene’er I heard the welcome cry,

                        “Turn out, boys! Fire! Fire! Fire!”

            Quick . . . man the ropes . . . the rushing tramp,

                        The rattling wheels . . . the crowd . . .

            The hose-cart bells . . . the trumpet shout . . .

                        The firebell, deep and loud.


            Hail! Bully boys, first at the fire,

                        Run out the leathern hose;

            Quick, heroes, now, and take the butt;

                        Turn on the water, Mose.

            The massive ladders raise aloft,

                        And man them, hearts of oak.

            Now wield the hook and swing the axe

                        With well-directed stroke.


            And when the fire was mostly quenched,

                        And smoke obscured the stars,

            Some trump with open heart would treat

                        To lager and cigars!

            Then into Reid’s, or Newcom’s place

                        We rushed amid hi! hi’s!

            To get our coffee, smoking hot,

                        And butter cakes and pies.


            Those are the joys I love to share,

                        On which I love to dwell

            To run with good old Cataract

                        Whene’er I hear the bell.

            My chums are all the firemen’s breed,

                        Who fight the roaring flame,

            They bring to good old Cataract

                        It’s share of deathless fame.


            Hail! Bully boys, first at the first,

                        Run out the leathern hose;

            Quick, Syksey, now and take the butt;

                        Turn on the water, Mose.

            The massive ladders raise aloft,

                        And man them, hearts of oak.

            Now wield the hook and swing the axe

                        With well-directed stroke.


[Mixed conversation. Laughter.]


WILLIAM: I don’t like to bring up business at a time like this, but . . .

VOICE 1: Then don’t. Who wants to talk about business?

WILLIAM: Well, there’s this question of buckets. The Town Council made everyone in town get two or three buckets. They’ll all supposed to be filled and set out on the doorsteps every night. But they’re not. Most of the time we go running down the street and get only about half as many buckets as we should.
GEORGE: Why don’t we have our own buckets?

VOICE 1: Cost too much. Cost $2.00 or $3.00 apiece.

VOICE 2: Well, we’ve got plenty of money in the treasury, haven’t we?

WILLIAM: How about that, Mr. Treasurer.

VOICE 4: Well, you see, there were a lot of extra bills after the picnic last summer.

VOICE 2: That was last summer. We’ve been taking in dues from the members all this time, haven’t we?

VOICE 4: You wouldn’t think so if you saw our books. I send out bills for dues all the time, but it’s mighty hard to get the money in.

VOICE 1: I’m putting on fines when the dues aren’t paid in time.

VOICE 2: I’m not. Our expenses are high enough as it is. Why can’t the town council buy the buckets?

VOICE 4: Well, you know how town councils are. [Bells, shouts, crowd sounds . . . off .]

VOICE 1: Fire! Fire!

VOICE 2: Why does it have to come right in the middle of our banquet?

WILLIAM: Meeting’s adjourned! [Scuffle. Shouts. Breaking glass. Running footsteps.]

VOICE 1: Get the doors open and lay hold of that rope.

VOICE 2: Where’s my helmet?

VOICE 3: Hooks! Hooks! What’d they do with the hooks?

VOICE 4: Get hold of this hose reel, someone. I can’t pull it alone. [Loud ringing of bells. Shouts. Running footsteps.]

VOICE 1: Throw out your buckets! Throw out your buckets!

VOICE 2: Keep her rolling, boys, keep her rolling! There it is! It’s George Fisher’s house.

VOICE 3: There come the Minute Men. Don’t let them get ahead of us. Cut in, cut in! Get to the pump first. [Cheers.]

VOICE 1: There we are! All right, Minute Men, we’re first! You’ll have to give us water this time.

VOICE 2: Buckets! Buckets! Form your bucket line! Keep them passing, boys, keep them passing! [Fire sound. Smashing of wood.]

VOICE 1: Tear those doors off!

VOICE 2: All right with the mantel. Get it away.

VOICE 3: Never mind carrying that stuff downstairs. Get it out the window . . . any way! [Music.]


NARRATOR: In contrast with the ordered efficiency of Dayton’s modern fire department, the early volunteer companies frequently displayed more enthusiasm than judgment. Property owners often looked on a visit from the fire laddies as a mixed blessing, and were wont to take matters up later with the town council. [Music.]


VOICE 1: The council will now hear from George Fisher. Mr. Fisher.

FISHER: Well, it was this way. I’d been down at my shoe store all day and had sold seventeen . . . no, eighteen . . . pairs of shoes. Most of them were the dollar-and-a-half kind, but I’d sold a few at two dollars. There was one woman come in that I just couldn’t satisfy at all. She said . . .

VOICE 1: Just a minute, Mr. Fisher. What has this to do with the fire at your house last night?

FISHER: I’m coming to that. I got home last night about seven o’clock and had supper . . . slice of boiled ham, browned potatoes, garden greens and some apple pie . . . Then I set around reading the Journal till bedtime . . . must o’ been about ten. I didn’t smell any smoke. Neither’d my wife, and she’s always one to smell it if there is any. She’d got me up I don’t know how many times, saying the house is on fire. Usually she wakes me up out of a sound sleep and says . . .

VOICE 1: Yes, yes, Mr. Fisher. What about the fire?
FISHER: Well, last night it seems there was something wrong with the flue. Hadn’t oughta been, because goodness knows I paid enough to have that chimney built. Fellow that built it . . . Hank Walters it was . . . figured to build it of ordinary brick. Brick ‘n’ mortar’s good enough, he says to me. Most of the chimneys in town are laid up that way. I says, “Hank, you’re not going to build a chimney like that on my house. I want stone. And I want her good and thick, with plenty of protection for the siding on the house.” So he built her like I told him. Well, there still must have been something wrong . . . crack in the mortar or something . . . because the fire ate through and got at the studding.

VOICE 1: Mr. Fisher, the council is familiar with the ordinary causes of fire. What we’re trying to get at is your complaint about the action of the fire companies.

FISHER: I tell you, I’m coming to that. The way it was, I was in bed last night . . . must o’ been nearly midnight . . . and Hattie, that’s my wife, gave me a poke. [Music.]


HATTIE: George!

FISHER: [Sleepily.] Those shoes are two and a half, ma’am, but they’re the latest New York style and they’re worth every penny of it.

HATTIE: George! You’re not in the store. You’re in bed.

FISHER: How? Oh! Whatever are you waking me up for, Hattie? Must be midnight or later. Seems like I just got to sleep.

HATTIE: The house is on fire, George.

FISHER: You always think the house is on fire, Hattie. Go to sleep.

HATTIE: I tell you I smell smoke, George.

FISHER: Sure, it comes from the kitchen fireplace. Always smokes a little. I told Hank Walters he’d oughta pitch the flue back a little more.

HATTIE: George, will you wake up? This is real smoke. I tell you the house is on fire.

FISHER: A fine time to be waking a peaceful man out of bed. Who’s house is on fire?

HATTIE: Our house.

FISHER: Our house? Why didn’t you tell me?

HATTIE: That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Get up, George.

FISHER: Criminy! And cold enough to freeze a man in his tracks. A fine night for a fire.

HATTIE: Go to the Methodist Church first, George, and get the sexton to ring the bell. Then to Newcom’s Tavern and then to the town hall. Get all the bells to ringing.

FISHER: Sure, I know, I know. And get up yourself. Want the house to burn down around your ears?

HATTIE: It’s cold, George.

FISHER: Cold? Think I don’t know it, standing here in my nightshirt? Get up and begin getting things out of the house. [Music.]


VOICE 1: This is all very interesting, Mr. Fisher. But I still don’t understand your criticism of the fire companies.

FISHER: You will. The bells hadn’t been ringing more ‘n’ a couple of minutes till here comes everybody in town, it seems. Must o’ been two, three hundred of them.

VOICE 1: How about the fire companies?
FISHER: They were leading the crowd. First comes the Minute Men, yelling as hard as they could. But the Cataract boys, they rounded the corner and cut in ahead of the Minute Men . . . almost upset their engine . . . so they were first to the house and the Minute Men had to take second place and fill the tank on Cataract’s engine.

VOICE 1: Yes, yes, Mr. Fisher.

FISHER: Cataract was sure good. Took all the Minute Men could do to keep the Cataract’s engine full of water. And they had ‘most everybody on the bucket lines, too. I thought they were going to pump the well dry over at the Stillmans’ house.

VOICE 1: Mr. Fisher, just a minute, please. This is all standard practice. The fire companies always compete with each other in getting to the fire first. Just what is your complaint? That’s what the council wants to know.

FISHER: It wasn’t what they did outside. That was all right, like I say.

VOICE 1: Yes, yes, go on.

FISHER: It was what they did inside. I was standing in front of the house when they came running up, and I said, ‘Go right on in, boys.” Well, instead of opening the door . . . it was unlocked . . . they smashed it in with their axes. Then when they got inside, instead of going upstairs, where the fire was beginning to eat through the plaster in the back bedroom, they began throwing water all over everything.

VOICE 1: Not on the fire?
FISHER: No, and that ain’t all. They tore four doors off their hinges and ripped three mantels right off the wall. All this was downstairs and the fire was up.

VOICE 1: What else?

FISHER: They threw everything out of the windows. Chairs, books, bric-a-bric, glassware, china, and even the big framed picture of Hattie’s Uncle Oscar.

VOICE 1: Well, of course, Mr. Fisher, when there’s a fire in anyone’s house, the first thing the firemen have to do is get out the valuable household goods. And sometimes things have to be thrown out of windows.

FISHER: All right, but they might at least open the windows.

VOICE 1: They didn’t?

FISHER: Not a one. There’s not a pane of glass left in the whole house. And there’s another thing I don’t like. They carried all the mattresses and bedding downstairs and out the front door, careful as you please, but one of the things they threw out of a second-story window was a clock. I wouldn’t have minded it so much, but it was a clock my mother-in-law gave us last Christmas, and you know how mother-in-laws are.

VOICE 1: Yes, yes, I know all about that. Now, just what is it you want the town council to do, Mr. Fisher?

FISHER: I want to be paid for all this extra damage. It’ll cost about forty dollars to repair the roof and wall, where the fire was, but it’ll cost close to four hundred to fix up what the firemen did.

VOICE 1: And you want the council to pay for that?
FISHER: I sure do.

VOICE 1: Do I hear a motion to reimburse Mr. Fisher for the loss he sustained in last night’s fire?

VOICES: You don’t . . . what is this, anyway? . . . Just because George Fisher thinks the firemen were a little careless is no sign we should pay out good money. [Music.]


NARRATOR: As Dayton grew, it became apparent that the volunteer companies which served the town’s early fire fighting needs were becoming out-dated. Gradually the citizens began to see the need for full-time professional fire fighters such as we have now. But it took the old volunteer companies a long time to give up their place in our civic structure. [Music.]


WILLIAM: . . . And so I think the time has come for the Cataract Volunteer Fire Company to disband.

VOICE 1: Disband?


VOICE 2: After we’ve spent all these years making Cataract into a good club? We’ve got the best men in town in Cataract.

WILLIAM: I know it. But there are paid firemen now . . . some of them, anyway . . . and there’s going to be more. Besides, there are the steam engines and the horses. We volunteers can’t take care of them, or handle them when there’s a fire to be fought.

VOICE 1: How about our uniforms?

VOICE 2: How about our monthly meetings, and the annual banquet, and the firemen’s ball?

WILLIAM: They’ll have to go, along with a lot of other things that are passing in Dayton. The chair will entertain a motion that the Cataract Company be dissolved.

VOICE 1: Now, wait a minute. I . . . [Bells, shouts, crowd sounds . . . off.]

VOICE 2: Fire! Fire! Come on, Cataract! We’ll show ‘em what we can do once more, anyway. [Shouts. Clatter.] [Music.]


NARRATOR: With the passing of the volunteer fire companies, there disappeared much of the color of Dayton’s youth. These early organizations gave our civic forefathers an outlet for self-expression which has since found quieter channels. Yet, behind all the uniforms, parading and annual banquets there was a genuine motive for civic service. The volunteer firemen of a century ago performed a necessary and at times heroic service. And if our present-day organizations serve in less spectacular ways, their service is no less valuable. It is this service . . . service to Dayton . . . which we are trying to emphasize through the presentation of these programs. (PAUSE.) Next Sunday we are going to present a Christmas program . . . Christmas as it was in Dayton a full century ago. Be sure to listen to it. [Music.]


ANNOUNCER: “Great Days in Dayton” is presented by The Dayton Power and Light Company. Our sponsors feel that their own long record in supplying gas, electric light and power, and city steam service to the homes, businesses and industries of Dayton give them a special purpose in advancing civic undertakings. . . and this is their purpose in presenting this dramatized series of radio plays involving Dayton’s civic history. (PAUSE.) If you, your family and your friends haven’t yet seen as well as heard a “Great Days in Dayton” broadcast, let this be your invitation to do so. Our programs originate in the auditorium of the Dayton Art Institute, where there are plenty of seats for your whole party. Tickets for all performances are free. You can get yours by going to the “Great Days in Dayton” box-office on the ground floor of the Gas and Electric Building, 25 N. Main Street. (PAUSE.) These programs are broadcast each Sunday afternoon at five o’clock over Station WHIO. All dramatic parts are played by the members of the Dayton Civic Theatre professional company. Your narrator has been Charles McLean. Your announcer is Morton DaCosta. Be sure to listen next Sunday for “Great Days in Dayton!”


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