Radio broadcast .. (1922-30)

Should Radio Be Used for Advertising ? 75 A GHASTLY BLUE-AND-ORANGE ATROCITY Informing you that Blah & Blooey had in stock absolutely the best bathroom fixtures that could be bought anywhere for the money should, and yelling loudly for what's coming to you. Try to realize, if you will, that there is nothing remote about this problem, and that the solution to it will directly affect all of us who like to spend an hour or so, of an evening, listening to good broadcasting. Now let's look into the matter from your own standpoint, that of the radio enthusiast. By way of illustration and to point the moral a trifle more sharply, consider a little story. Remember ever taking your girl, or your family maybe, to a regular, first-chop, homeand-mother, melodrama movie? You know the kind 1 mean — one that made you sneak out the old pocket-handkerchief and sort of wipe your nose on the sly. The picture was simply great! You were right with the heroine all the way; you felt her trials and her sorrows yourself, and when she and her shiny-haired leading man melted away in one last, lingering clinch against a pink sunset background, with the arttitle, "And So, Hand In Hand, They Took The Long, Long Trail Together," you had that creepy feeling up and down the old backbone, and you were glad that everything had come out right after all, and you settled back in your seat kind of running over the picture in your mind, enjoying it — all the sad parts — and waiting for the news weekly to begin. And then what happened? A miserable purple, yellow, and green splash on the screen announced that Dr. Bunkum's Pale Pills for Punk People might be obtained at Goofey & Gink's Drug Store, "right in the same block with the theater"; a ghastly blue and orange atrocity informed you that Blah & Blooey, "just around the corner from the theater," had in stock absolutely the best bathroom fixtures that could be bought anywhere for the money — "Our Plumbing Pleases"; and a thumbprinted, ugly art-slide advised all and sundry that the Elite Bootery and Shoery would be only too glad to have your valued patronage and that their place of business was "only three minutes from the theater where you are now sitting." By that time you had entirely lost the thrill of the picture you had paid your good money to see. And as the awful, endless procession of advertising slides trailed before your eyes, each worse than the one before, you grew more and more disgusted. Remember anything like that ever happening to you? Probably. In fact, some showhouses still cram advertising slides down their patrons' throats. But not most of them. Why? Because people didn't like that sort of thing and they let the exhibitor know it.. There's the illustration. Now for its application. Supposing — just supposing — you are sitting down, head phones clamped to your ears, or loud-speaker distorting a trifle less than usual, enjoying a really excellent radio concert. A famous soprano has just sung your favorite song, and you're drawing a deep breath, sorry that it's over. Your thoughts, carried back to some pleasant memory by the magic of the radio, are still full of the melody. You are feeling sort of soothed and good-natured and at peace with the world. All of a sudden a gruff voice or a whining voice or a nasal voice or some other kind of a voice says "Good Morning! Have you used Hare's Soap?" Or maybe a sweet, girlish baritone implores you "Ask for Never-Hole Sox. There's a Reason. You just know she wears 'em." Well, how about it? Do you like the idea? Can you picture to yourself the horror of sitting down to listen to a good song or two, or perhaps a newsy chat on the events of the day, and then being forced to listen to a broadcasting programme that is nine tenths advertising matter? Yes, "forced" is the word — there's the difficulty, life-size — for you can't refuse, like movie-goers, to patronize the show. If such