Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1948)

Just listening to radio didn't earn Bill this title. That was merely the way it all began NUMBER ONE FAN WEBSTER defines a fan as "an enthusiastic devotee of a particular diversion." Take that definition, multiply it by a couple, of thousand, and you've got Bill Geringer, radio's show-goer extraordinary. Slight nineteen-year-old Bill is the little man who's practically always there in the studio audience, smiting his palms or giving with the laughs that issue from loudspeakers coast to coast. During the past four years — since he was fifteen — young Bill has personally attended some six to seven thousand radio shows, averaging four a night on weekdays and seven or eight on Saturdays and Sundays. Week in, week out, morning, noon (he frequently skips lunch) and night, Bill haunts the studios, major networks or independents, taking in audience shows. Going to radio shows is Bill's hobby and he is an absolute fanatic about it. Here's the way Bill feels about it, as he explained to his parents way back when they first showed concern over his devotion to radio: "It's a hobby. Like collecting stamps or match-covers or autographs." "Yes," his father agreed, "but what have you got to show for all the time you put in at it?" "What," countered Bill, with all due respect toward his father, "have you got to show for all the movies and plays you saw and books, magazines and newspapers you read?" When his dad pointed out that these things either entertained for the moment or improved the mind, Bill just grinned meaningfully at his parents; they saw that he had something there and let him keep at it without another word of reproof, save that he keep up with his work and get home at a reasonable hour. Home is a small brownstone apartment on West End Avenue, in New York City. It all began one summer's day four years ago. It was a broiling hot day and Bill was idling through Radio City with little money in his pockets and much time on his. hands. He noticed a long line of people filing through an entrance to the NBC studios in the RCA building. He got on line, too, and soon was seated comfortably in an air-cooled studio, awaiting he knew not what. As luck would have it, the program was Here's Babe Ruth, a sustaining show featuring stories about the Sultan of Swat on WEAF (now WNBC). It was just the kind of program that would entrance an impressionable fifteen-year-old, who, if the truth be known, wouldn't have minded being in the bleachers at the Yankee Stadium, at the time. "How long has this been going on?" Bill asked himself as he settled back in his chair and gratefully sniffed the purified atmosphere provided by NBC. At any rate, after the broadcast, he made inquiries and learned that there were many other free audience shows that afternoon. Bill took them all in and it wasn't until dusk had cast long, cool shadows across Manhattan's simmering sidewalks that Bill quit the building and headed for home. The next morning, bright and early, Bill was back at the studios, perfectly willing for NBC to wile away another tedious summer's day for him. From 9: 00 A.M. to 9:00 P.M. Bill remained cloistered in the cool and colorful confines of Radio City. He had discovered a new and fascinating world and he just had no desire to venture out into the real but none too inviting one outside. He took in seven or eight programs in all that day. He doesn't recall whether he even remembered to take time out for lunch. The rest of that long summer vacation was more of the same thing. After a few weeks of it, however, Bill began to learn the ropes and to exercise discrimination in the shows he chose to see. He pestered ushers and receptionists at the various studios with a flock of questions. After a while the studio employees and even a few performers came (Continued on page 98) 29