Swing (Feb-Dec 1952)

Record Details:

Title:
Swing
Date:
Feb-Dec 1952
Publisher:
Kansas City : WHB Broadcasting Co.
Volume:
Swing (Feb-Dec 1952)
Leaf #:
000503
Language:
English
Subjects:
Radio broadcasting -- Missouri -- Kansas City -- Periodicals, Radio broadcasting -- Kansas -- Periodicals","WHB-AM (Radio station : Kansas City, Mo.) -- Periodicals","Kansas City (Kan.) -- History -- Periodicals","Kansas City (Mo.) -- History -- Periodicals","Cook Paint and Varnish Co. -- Periodicals","WHB Broadcasting Company (Kansas City, Mo.) -- Periodicals.","Cook Paint and Varnish Co -- Periodicals","WHB Broadcasting Company (Kansas City, Mo.) -- Periodicals","Radio broadcasting",Kansas,"Kansas -- Kansas City","Missouri -- Kansas City
Collection:
Broadcasting & Recorded Sound
Format:
Periodicals
Contributor:
University of Maryland, College Park
Sponsor:
LYRASIS Members and Sloan Foundation
Coordinator:
Media History Digital Library
Description:
The official magazine of Kansas City's WHB radio station, SWING printed far more than the station's schedule (which, as the title SWING suggested, relied heavily on music). From 1945 to 1953, SWING offered readers something eclectic every month -- profiles of entertainers on one page, discussions of citizenship in the postwar world on the next, with write-ups of nightlife offerings in KC, Chicago, and New York mixed in. WHB spent decades lobbying the FCC for clear channel status; the magazine's ambitious scope may have been part of the station's attempt to legitimate itself. But it was SWING'S first editor, Jetta Carleton, who later wrote a celebrated novel, that gave the magazine its distinctive style. -- Eric Hoyt, 2015
Date Added:
June 13, 2024
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MOON PATH'S END The fantastic truth: How a ship traveled 9,732 miles and granted a man's great wish. By FRANCIS DICKIE CC A T THE moon path's end you'll j .^A. find your heart's desire." Many never heard that old saying: to most of those who have, it is mean' ingless. I, for one, never believed it — until one evening, October 24, 1943. I live on Quadra Island, British Columbia, a jumble of low mountains covered with fir trees rising from the North Pacific, a hundred miles from Vancouver. My house stands just above the storm high tide mark on a rock sharply sloping down into the water. Here the water is so deep that even a motor vessel of ten feet draught can nose to the shoreline when the tide is high. j It was about nine in the evening when I walked out upon the front veranda almost overhanging the water. A southeasterly storm had blown throughout the day. As the afternoon waned, the storm died with the suddenness peculiar sometimes in these regions. As evening neared, the cloud masses dispersed. Above the jagged peaks of the coast range a big yellow moon came up abruptly, more a stage setting than reality. Across the level empty sea the moon laid a long golden path, narrowing almost to a point below my feet. Suddenly around the end of a small island just beyond my door a big motor ship swung straight into the moon path and bore down straight toward me. I shook my head to clear it of this impossible phantom. I passed my hands across my eyes. The ship refused to vanish. My head strained forward still not accepting this vision rising out of a heart's long longing never granted.