THE MAN ON THE STREET

By David Goodnow

 

         ATLANTA — Ever regret asking a question seconds after you began? It was a broadcasting blooper I'm glad wasn't preserved for the ages.  If you're on the street doing live radio interviews with unsuspecting pedestrians and there is no five-second delay to remove impolitic or profane language, you're in trouble. I should know. A Vincennes businessman- friend told me very frankly what was on his mind one day and it went out over the air. Friends who know me well and remember this think it's hilarious. It wasn't at the time.

Nowadays, this would probably be called, “Person On The Street,” but those were the days in 1960 when being PC wasn't a requirement. An embargo of bad words on the air most certainly was. “Man on the street,” was a standard broadcast phrase.

Why provision for a live-delay setup was not made by my employer WAKO in Lawrenceville was never explained. At the time, I had the impression station management thought I had ESP and could tell when someone was about to voice something the audience and the FCC would find inappropriate. The FCC could make things very uncomfortable for the station as well as yours truly, the program producer. I'd received a very short course in the distinctions between FCC rules and laws and the various fines and assorted bad things that could accompany violations of each.

Talking with anyone minus the short delay for editing purposes would be insane these days even though a moderately short list of vulgar words is considered part of everyday broadcasting life. Few eyebrows are raised in protest of numerous expletives. Personal privacy began going out the window with the advent of the counter-culture. Relatively polite social discourse went with it. As with any vacuum, something rushed in to fill the broadcasting void.

These days, even with more license by broadcasters to make “edgy” comments, the FCC and many listeners aren't amused by the coarse dialog if it slips in on “terrestrial “radio or broadcast TV. Fines may be levied against offending stations for some expressions. With cable TV or satellite radio and TV, almost anything goes. That would change only if audiences melted away.

Getting a start in radio in 1959 had my complete attention. That fateful phone call from WAKO was a watershed event and came while I was out of town. Someone who knew me told the station we should meet. I realized here was a chance to do something fun and interesting and get a paycheck in the bargain.

I was right on some of those counts. It was fun and somewhat dangerous. The dangerous part of it had to do with conducting sidewalk interviews on Second Street sponsored by the Hoffman House restaurant, property since occupied for many years by the Vincennes Beauty College.

These forays into the risky business of live radio happened on Saturday mornings. People walking along thinking of things that brought them to the downtown could be brought up short by this young guy with a microphone asking questions requiring more than simple “yes” or “no” answers.

After seeing some of the people Jay Leno intercepts on the Tonight Show, I realize I was lucky. My unsuspecting passersby usually were informed on current events as well as history. No one ever thought George Washington was the father of Abraham Lincoln, as a Tonight Show interviewee once did.

As time passed, we knew we had an audience since people would detour across the street to avoid my microphone. Rescue came in the form of one of the radio station's salesmen, a large fellow who had sold Herman Hoffman on the idea of the “Man On The Street,” show. The salesman, who looked like a tackle for the Indianapolis Colts, would walk quickly across the street to gently persuade people to speak with me.

Much of this problem would have been eliminated if we'd had wireless microphones. These were around in some form, as seen on the political conventions, but were too expensive for us to add to the station's equipment list. Besides, they were bulky and weighed around 25 pounds.

“You've got a long mike cord!” the boss said. “Take the salesman along. It's his account! He'll find you someone to grill!” Everybody spoke near the top of their lungs when programming subjects were broached.

         I told the Head Hollering Guy it would look like a Bugs Bunny Cartoon if I fell down trying to catch some little old lady for an interview. For a moment, I thought I saw the glint of an idea in his eye, then it disappeared. It would have cost too much to film. Anyway, we were radio.

The program lasted for some months, through days both hot and cold and the indignity of having a burly fellow act as an associate producer.

One person I was glad to see was my friend, a Vincennes businessman known for speaking his mind exactly. I made the mistake of asking him the lame question as to how his day was going. It was a terrible day, he said, and not in those words at all. The Navy's entire Seventh Fleet might have been shocked.

I was shocked. The boss was shocked. The sales guy said he could have done nothing about it since he had no idea how blunt my business friend could be. He also added that he was shocked. Being shocked that day implied no foreknowledge of what was going to happen and also fell in line with the boss's feelings.

Since this was a programming issue, there was a lot of yelling.

As for asking my blunt friend anything else, ever, on the air, that never happened. We were still friends and he was still blunt. Reminding him of this decades later, he was shocked at all the previous shocking and thought the whole thing was hilarious.

 

                         

 

 

            

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HAVING A GRAND TIME

By David Goodnow

 

             ATLANTA - Growing up in Vincennes, I became accustomed to some winters when overnight snow would come as a morning surprise. These were the days when TV owners were somewhat rare and we weren't so plugged in to events. Even so, we weren't completely out to lunch when it came to being informed.

             Still, an occasional surprise on a winter morning was nice. Waking up and seeing more of a glow than usual through the window blind meant a wonderland of the white stuff. A scene in the movie, “A Christmas Story” just about says it all. The "Ralphie" character looks out on his family's backyard in wonder.

             As to having comparatively scarce news, we might not have been aware a big snow was coming. The general information we got from far and wide wasn't full of the junk we see today on the TV news cycle, akin to filling a shipping package with padding to keep the important items from being damaged in transit. We now have to sift  through the news padding to get to the important stories.

             Our weather forecasts, local and world news came from WAOV, the Mutual Radio Network affiliate. It was an area broadcasting pioneer having signed on in 1940 in the old Grand Hotel, that had become less grand over time. The station stayed there for more than two decades.

             Years passed and, grand or not, the hotel lobby was a place to meet, smoke a cigar, do some reading and visit with others who were also regulars. The 21-inch black and white Philco TV set would get some attention. But, a La Fendrich cigar and one of a variety of newspapers from the newsstand ten feet away could comprise a morning's routine. Not that it looked like a men's club with large overstuffed chairs, but it was close. Some of the regulars were a little overstuffed themselves.

             Part of the blame for overstuffing anybody back then could be due to the Rendezvous, the hotel restaurant just off the lobby. It was an inducement hard to resist for coffee lovers and those who might decide brunch was the order of the day. It also had a 21-inch black and white Philco TV over the bar that showed programs on the three or four channels available via the outside antenna.

             If you wanted to see and be seen, the Rendezvous was the place to go. The menu was good and the coffee might have been good to the last drop, if you decided the drop was worth it. Teddy Roosevelt, supposed inventor of Maxwell House's famous advertising line, might have reconsidered at the Rendezvous. Still, it was a friendly place to spend some time.

             Not only was food available, but a very good haircut could be had at the Grand Hotel Barber Shop. It was in business for decades and I remember two of the barbers, Ruel Rinehart and Dave Vaught. Ruel, who is a friend of many years, was always entertaining and the trim and style went hand-in-glove with the passing scene. Ruel would bring me up to date on events around the old town. Who needed radio?

             You could check the state of your equities at M.W. Welsh, then go down the street for lunch at the Elks. There was a real sense of community in downtown Vincennes.

             I wonder how much we appreciated the amenities available. Some big city natives might be seen in those overstuffed chairs talking about the wonders of their former lives. But, they'd also say there was something good about Vincennes. Size was only part of it, the people really made it all worthwhile. No subways, no skyscrapers. Hardly any crime. Good town.

            

             David Goodnow is a Vincennes native and former anchor on several CNN networks. In news and public affairs for more than four decades, he and his family live near Atlanta.

By David Goodnow

 

ATLANTA — WAOV went on the air in 1940 with the station's transmitter located on North 6^th Street. Technology of the day required a technician or two to be on site monitoring the equipment.

             When the transmitter was automated, the property still needed a custodian. That was Mike Murphy whom I met after starting work at the station in 1961. Mike had played some baseball in his time but was content to live in a cinder block house behind the transmitter building with his dog. The dog spent much of  his time in a hole which was covered by a large Double Cola sign.

             I asked Mike about that and he told me the hole was his bomb shelter in case the Russians attacked. I noticed the dog was curled up and wondered if he could fit in there with Mike.

             “Oh, no. If the Rooshians drop a bomb, I'll kick the dog out,” said Mike. The dog didn't seem to be worried, his tail raising a small cloud of dust with each wag.

             Mike's simple pleasures included his hobby of building astronomical telescopes. One of these was big enough that a stepladder was required to get up to the eyepiece to see the craters of the Moon. He built the scope using a large drain pipe with lenses that came in a kit. The whole thing was mounted on a large tripod.

             Mike also had a small film projector on which he'd watch comic movies of the 1930s and 40s. He invited anyone at the station's downtown studios to come out one evening for popcorn, star gazing and some “W.C. Fields funny stuff,” as he put it. Laurel and Hardy were also on the playbill.

             The movies were the eight-millimeter silent versions of theater releases.  Popcorn and glimpses of various planets and stars topped off the evening.

             If one of the announcers would accidentally play a record with with too much volume, it would automatically shut off the transmitter to prevent damage to its innards. Mike knew which switch to throw to put us back on the air. He also said he was afraid of getting shocked by “the electric” and if the transmitter blew up, he'd head for the hole and the dog would have to take pot luck.

             In his house. he had a coal oil lamp and a radio crystal set on a table, with a few other amenities. I told him I guessed he didn't want any of “the electric” in the building, and he said, “You betcha.”

             The old crystal sets required no power but the listener needed a pair of earphones to hear anything. Tuning involved moving a wire, called a cat's whisker, around on the surface of the crystal until the signal of a station would be found. It was all very simple. In an era of low-tech, it was no-tech.

             When WAOV went on the air from the Grand Hotel, the art deco studios had been a dining room converted for the station. Some of the equipment was used and had come from WIRE in Indianapolis. The main studio control panel, or “board,” was a Western electric model from 1934.

             By 1961, the old board had been modified many times by engineer Ralph Baldwin and was still using some vacuum tube technology. Later, engineers Wayne Schuler and John Cutshall maintained it until solid state equipment was installed.

             The station moved across the street to the top floor of the American National Bank building at Third and Main in late 1963. The late Rollin Robb, well-known ham radio operator who was always ready to help, was carrying the fairly new Gates control board on his shoulder as he was telling me something about a dog named “Old Blue.” I could see him tripping and the equipment disintegrating in front of the old LaPlante Building. But he made it and even modified the punch line to the joke which put some of us in stitches.

             The good old radio days.

RADIO DAYS

Looking Around

             ATLANTA — The arts community in the Vincennes area has lost a stalwart and gifted member, a man whose contributions over numerous decades have helped enrich countless lives and many institutions. The passing of George Roland Smith has undoubtedly made many music lovers stop and think about what it means to contribute to a community's life quality and advance certain notions about the importance of the arts to a well-rounded education.

             A short observation of George's life can be a difficult thing to write about since he was a very busy pipe organist and pianist of rare gifts. His passing at age 75 at his home on May 29, 2008 marked the end of an era in music for many who remember him fondly.

             Musical programs over decades presented in the Vincennes area most likely would include the Smith touch at the keyboard. A long list would be required to note his contributions to the musical arts in the region.

             He was organist at First United Methodist Church in Vincennes for 47 years. After the church's sanctuary was renovated in the 1960s, George saw to the enlargement of the pipe organ, adding a harp and more sets of pipes as personal contributions to make the instrument more versatile and expressive. Church members and guests actually heard a fine pipe organ concert each week, never overwhelming the service but enhancing the worship experience.

             In recent years, he was named pipe organist emeritus.

             George played for many community religious services, including Easter season events in numerous churches. He accompanied the Vincennes Community Chorus in its many performances of Handel's “Messiah,” as well as special presentations of Mendelssohn's, oratorio “Elijah,” and the Mozart “Requiem.” One can only guess how many wedding vows, including ours in 1968, were solemnized over the years with George Smith's music as part of the service.

             One Christmas season, I had the pleasure of interviewing George at his home for WTHI-TV, Terre Haute. The home location was necessary since he'd installed a pipe organ in the residence, which made for some very interesting entertainment and an unusual human interest feature.

             George explained to the Channel 10 TV audience what it took to install the instrument. The elements of it were assembled from at least two former church pipe organs and occupied considerable space. He and the late pipe organ service technician Glen Underhill installed the complicated instrument. George's description of the precision and effort needed to connect the extensive wiring as well as simply keeping the organ in tune made this worth watching in itself. To wrap up the special report, George played a medley of Christmas music making it a unique holiday story for the Channel 10 News audience.

             George Smith was on campus at Vincennes University many times playing an organ or piano for various events. These included his accompaniment during the many performances, over a two year span, of the “Alice Of Old Vincennes” play in the middle 1960's. He played the VU Wurlitzer theater organ for numerous popular dances at the Green Activities Center. This was one of his favorite things to do and he often recounted how the big theater pipe organ, with all its special effects, would bring couples to the dance floor for show tunes, big band hits and old standards.

             When the Wurlitzer was installed by George and the late gifted musician Richard Ertel in the 1960s, the intricate setup gave new meaning to “extensive,” as the special effects included, literally, many bells and whistles. George's description of that project was fascinating.

             He could play anything on piano or organ, from the most difficult classics to show tunes to you-name-it. Other musicians would watch and learn as he made it all look so easy. He put some of his performances on tape, at least one of which I own.

             In addition to his other pursuits, he taught pipe organ performance and the particular techniques required to play the massive instruments. His students continued on to successful careers in and near music, having been tutored by one whose virtuoso performances were guides for all interested in fine musical literature.       

             Ask George Smith's many friends to describe him and they would agree he was enthusiastic about many things and had a wide range of interests. He was not only a piano restorer, technician and tuner, he was also a well-known pharmacist and had retired as Director Of Pharmacy for the Indiana Department of Corrections at Carlisle. He not only found music and electronics of great interest, but mechanical devices were fascinating to him and he made use of that knowledge to keep many a musical instrument working well.

             I knew I would learn of something new on the scientific horizon each time I visited with George. He stayed abreast of advancements in digital and analog keyboard instruments as well as science in general. When he was interested in something, his enthusiasm about it was infectious. He would have made a good reporter on the science beat.

             When it came to helping someone or an organization in any way he could, George preferred to do that anonymously. He was generous with his time and, over the years, would provide the music for memorial services for many families, including ours.

             George was a 32^nd Degree Mason in the Evansville Scottish Rite and a member of Vincennes Lodge # 1.

             A celebration of his life was held at First United Methodist Church following a family service. His wife, Phyllis, daughter, Cheryl, sons Kent and Eric and their families have joined many friends who take comfort knowing the difference George made in many lives. He was very proud of his family.

             George Smith was a constant friend to many and he, his music and his enthusiastic spirit will be sorely missed.

 

 

David Goodnow is a Vincennes native and former anchor on several CNN networks. In news and public affairs for more than four decades, he and his family live near Atlanta.

Contributed photo

George R. Smith playing the Mighty Wurlitzer organ at Vincennes University.

 

 

By David Goodnow

A tribute