Radio age (Jan 1927-Jan 1928)

RADIO AGE for February, 1927 The Magazine of the Hour 23 Hearing the Series HANDLING of the World's Series the past fall will be marked with a white milestone in the progress of broadcasting. For although in previous seasons, we of the outlying districts have had the excellent Associated Press accounts of the games broadcast by our local stations, this year was the first time in history, when, by reason of the network of hook-ups, millions of baseball fans in practically every state in the union heard not only the detailed accounts of the games at the instant they were transpiring, but of the roar of the crowds witnessing the struggle, in several instances the crack of the bat, and with the aid of the vivid word pictures of Graham McNamee, were able to follow the game with as breathless interest as those actually witnessing the contest. And while personally we felt that we had never heard a more dramatic or colorful description of anything either by McNamee or any other radio speaker than the account of these games, it is significant that the New York Times considered this announcing so important and epochal, that in the sacred first column of its first page it printed the verbatim radio account of the first game, and continued at length to five full columns, relegating its own important sport writers' accounts to the sporting section. This policy was followed daily throughout the series. It seems to us that this was not only a high compliment to the ability of the announcer, and the National Broadcasting Company, as we must now learn to call the WEAF-ers, but establishes radio as something entirely legitimate and standard, and places broadcasting not only alongside the newspaper as a distinguished public servant, but a little bit ahead of it. We wonder if the baseball public would ever again be satisfied with a telegraphic account of the games. The best a ticker can do is the past tense, "It was a strike." But listen to Mac, "Alex-an-der pitching. Two balls, two strikes ! His arm comes up — here it comes!" A mighty howl from the crowd. "It's a strike! Struck him out!" The listener doesn't have to be told that it was a strike. He hears it, it is a strike. And there comes the thought that the newspapers and the expert writers thereon are going to regard radio as a bit more of a menace to their profession. Of course the dyed-in-the-wool baseball bug who delights in post Clyde R. Randall, announcer at WSMB, deserves honorable mention for yeoman's service at the time of the Florida hurricane mortems still wants to read everything he can find printed about the game, but the average person who has listened to the striking description of every play, and for who the event was history when the last man went out, is he likely to dash out and buy a paper? We think not. We know there were mighty few sport extras sold around our neighborhood after any of the games. And as we watched the tense faces about the loud speakers and heard the comments of the listeners, we thought of the unique experience of this man whose voice was becoming familiar to millions all over the land. Surely no such privilege has been enjoyed by any other speaker since the beginning of time. And while naturally in such a heterogeneous mass of individuals as is represented by the radio audience there are as many opinions as there are types of minds, to us it seems that Mr. McNamee's technique is just about what it should be. A crowd of rabid baseball fans doesn't want to hear the dignified McNamee of the Atwater-Kent concerts, and we wonder what the disgruntled listener who wired him that he talked too much expected him to do while the pitcher is stalling for time or the umpire is settling an argument. This same listener would be the first to howl if he had to listen to the hum of the wire between plays, and we note in the New York Times' accounts all the extraneous chatter was included. And how many of the self-appointed critics could keep up a running fire of comment for two hours and a half, give an accurate description of the game and equal Graham McNamee's batting average? Colorful Announcing THIS inevitable criticism of the announcer's method brings to mind some of the funny comments we heard regarding Major Andrew White's able delineation of the Dempsey Waterloo down in Philadelphia. Here again was a first time on any stage performance. Never before had the fifteen millions — which seems to be the popular current quotation on the size of the radio audience — been given the opportunity to listen to the description of a championship prizefight direct from the ringside — the clang of the gong, the conversation of the vast multitude soaking in the downpouring rain and the thud of the gloves. Some of the psychological effects of bringing a slugging contest into the sacred precincts of the home were humorous to say the least. For instance the white-haired grandmother, (a real grandmother, this time with her soft silk gown trailing about her and her glasses slightly askew in her excitement,) who rushed into the hall and informed the tenants in the next apartment, whom as she explained • afterwards she didn't know "from Adam's hat-band," that Jack's nose was a complete wreck and one of his eyes was closed ! Possibly there were some God-fearing souls in the radio audience who shut off the set and didn't listen, but we don't know any of