Twilight Time

During the 60's and 70's I had the good fortune of working for the two largest, most powerful Radio and TV stations in Washington. I'm very proud of that.

Francis Fitzgerld and Ed

I'm also proud of the fact that I worked for two great stations in Charlotte, WGIV and WSOC-TV. Both of my bosses at those stations became my friends. Francis Fitzgerald, the founder of WGIV drove me to Furman (his alma mater) to look over the campus when I was considering which college to attend.

The Johnson Family and Larry Walker on piano

Larry Walker was one of the owners and the “big boss” at WSOC-TV when it first went on the air. I had many conversations with him, and usually wound up talking about his days as a pianist on WBT radio.

But the corporate scene at the stations in Washington was totally different. Perhaps it was because both of those stations also owned newspapers, and they took themselves more seriously. At any rate, I never even met the owners of the two stations I worked for there.

However, I once was summoned to the office of the second in command of the media conglomerate that hired me in 1970.

I had only been at that station for a few weeks, but I knew that it was rare for Mr. NUMBER TWO to communicate directly with a mere employee. His meetings were usually with people who were the “bosses” of people on my level.

My first thought was that I must have done something so awful that it was imperative that I be fired by a top corporate executive instead of a mere TV news or program director. Perhaps, like Sam Donaldson (who, like me, was local at the time) President Johnson didn't like something I had said and wanted me fired.

(Sam had broken the story that Lady Bird Johnson had gained ownership of a very profitable TV station in Dallas via political hanky panky...or something like that. But my old station didn't fire him as the President had requested, because Sam's story turned out to be true.)

However, I didn't think that I had been at my latest station long enough, and  wasn't enough of a big fish, to make too many people, especially the President, mad so it must be about something else.

Maybe even some unexpected opportunity or promotion?

I had no clue.

As I waited outside the luxurious fifth floor suite of executive offices, I did my best to mentally prepare myself for whatever was to happen by concentrating on past great personal challenges that I had managed to survive...such as Algebra class at CHS, and the time I had gotten caught participating in a food fight at Elizabeth school and was called into Miss Hattie's office. And then there was the time while hanging election posters that I tried to move the marble bench in the hall just outside of John Otts's office...and had to face his wrath after he heard the crash and stormed out of his office to observe the broken pieces of marble lying in the hall.

I convinced myself that I was a survivor!  Surely I would survive whatever was in store for me behind that thick corporate door.

But I was still nervous as I entered his office and took a seat facing “Mr. Big.”

“I want to show you something,” he said, opening the top drawer of his desk,... “for the past three months I've been keeping a record of this....”

At this point, he gestured that I come closer and examine what appeared to be some kind of mathematical chart full of dates followed by numbers and plus and minus symbols.

“I think you'll find this as fascinating as I do. It is an almost unbelievable technological achievement.
I've been keeping a daily record of the accuracy of this wristwatch that I purchased three months ago....and, as you can see, the figures show that it has only lost 18 seconds in all that time.

Amazing, isn't it,” he said.

“It sure is,” I replied.

And with that, I was excused.

I've never told this story before because it defies categorizing, not to mention all the rules of storytelling and common logic. It's just something that “happened.”

I'm a magnet for that kind of stuff.

-Ed


PS......I recently learned about the most recent innovation in accurate wristwatches.

It is always 100% accurate!

‘Woh-who-ey! who-ey! who-eeeeeeeeeey!

My two oldest grand kids, Frank and Ed (twins) are in high school  in Warrenton, VA.....birthplace of Confederate hero John S. Mosby.

The boys are studying the Civil War in their history class this semester and
one of them happened to bring up the subject of the “Rebel Yell.”

 He said his teacher told the class that it was a powerful tool of the Confederates in battle, as well as at other times of overwhelming excitement, but no one knows exactly what it sounded like.

(I had the feeling that, without doing the math, he was wondering if perhaps I had been around back then and had heard it....)

I had to bite my tongue.

I didn't say anything, because with many of my stories, my grand kids have a tendency to hear the “headline”.....roll their eyes....and not hang around for the “fine print.”

But the fact is, I did hear it once.

It was about 1946 or so and all I knew about my Cousin Henry was that he was a relative on my mother's side of the family and he was very old, having fought in the Civil War.

And he was coming up from South Carolina to visit with us.

For a week.

Typical "tintype" from 1850's

He was a very nice, but quiet old man who, as I recall, sat around our house and “whittled” all day. He seemed perfectly happy doing this and needless to say I was fascinated watching a small piece of wood morph into.....something..... other than a small scrap of wood. To this day, whittling is known as "the soldier's art."

But my Mom felt that we had to do something special to entertain Cousin Henry. She was sure her prayers had been answered when she saw in the Observer that the ICE CAPADES were in town that week!

Just the thing to make his visit memorable.

It probably did. It was certainly something that my family...and, I venture to say, most of the people in Memorial Stadium that night never forgot.

Now, the show was good, but the memorable part of the evening was Cousin Henry.

Picture the scene:

The stadium lights dimmed........the orchestra began the overture......a few skaters dressed in Tuxedos slid gently onto the ice.........and the spotlight began to shine brightly and focused on about 30 gorgeous young girls in tights sailing in time with the music.............

When suddenly......there erupted the most blood-curdling, animalistic sound that some historians have described as “originating in the depths of Hell” (but which that night actually came from about midway up the stands around the 30 yard line.)

Everyone turned and stared.

It was Cousin Henry.

Sample of "Soldier's Art"

Not everyone appreciated the historical event that had just occurred. My Mom was mortified. Many in the audience thought that it was part of the show.....much like the radio comedy shows of the day that hired professional “laughers” to sit in the audience. In fact, I've often thought that if Cousin Henry hadn't been so busy whittling, he could have picked up some side money by being a professional “Rebel Yell er.”

But that might not have worked, because in addition to probably annihilating every crystal glass within a half mile of Memorial Stadium...........it scared me, and about 10,000 others in the audience that night...half to death.

Which is why I have no doubt that what I heard that night was authentic.

Historian Shelby Foote quotes a number of Yankee soldiers as saying,

..."a peculiar corkscrew sensation would go up your spine when you heard it" along with a claim that
"if you think you heard it and weren't scared ...that means you never heard it".

-Lee

Nature's Canvas

This is a nature story that has nothing to do with bears in the woods.

It happened to our own barrister extraordinaire, Warren Sparrow, one morning last week. He went outside, got in his car and guess what he saw splattered on his windshield?

Nope.

It was, what could best be described as nothing less than a “work of art!” drawn by mother nature herself!

Now those less sensitive souls, not properly schooled in art appreciation would probably just think it was nothing  more than leaves that had fallen overnight on Warren's car.  Balderdash!

Warren and the rest of us might have thought the same thing once upon a time when we were young and hungry and climbing ladders.

But as age begins to slow us down, I believe it brings with it an enhanced appreciation of the incredible beauty that has surrounded us all our lives.

Either that, or Warren was hungry that morning.


 From:  Scientific American Magazine
:
Brain areas such as the anterior insula and orbitofrontal cortex that are activated by pleasant smells or tastes are also the parts of the brain that are active when we are awed by Renaissance paintings or Baroque concertos. There is virtually no evidence that artworks activate emotion areas distinct from those involved in appraising everyday objects important for survival. Hence, the most reasonable evolutionary hypothesis is that the aesthetic system of the brain evolved first for the appraisal of objects of biological importance, including food sources and suitable mates, and was later co-opted for artworks such as paintings and music. As much as philosophers like to believe that our brains contain a specialized system for the appreciation of artworks, research suggests that our brain’s responses to a piece of cake and a piece of music are in fact quite similar.

Nevertheless, Warren, I still like it!


It sure beats what Mother Nature's little feathered painters leave on my windshield every morning!
-Lee

What if.......?

AN AMERICAN DREAM

He was an Irish farmer's son with only a 10th grade education, who immigrated to America in 1929 and worked as a chauffeur and later joined the US Navy during World War Two. In 1945 he applied for a job with the government and wound up driving for this country's Presidents beginning with Harry Truman, and ending that day in Dallas in 1963.

I met William Robert Greer in 1964, when, as I understand it, I was the only reporter he had allowed to interview him since that awful day the year before.

Total BS

I could certainly sympathize with Greer's reluctance to talk to the press, which even then was not above twisting stories to fit their own agenda. The latest totally insane conspiracy going around the Internet today is that Greer shot Kennedy.

 Satire

I was hoping to do a soft news feature for CBS radio's “Weekend Dimension.”...which broadcast five minute audio vignettes on the half hour throughout the weekend.

Imagine my surprise when Greer agreed to my request. (He told me later that it was his wife, who watched me regularly on local TV, who convinced him to invite me over.)

Norelco cassette recorder 1964

I arrived at his home in nearby suburban Maryland carrying one of the latest (at the time) technological wonders in modern recording devices called a “cassette recorder.”  My particular machine was made by Norelco, which allowed radio reporters to record good quality “on the scene” reports without the aid of a engineer and cumbersome recording equipment. This was a major breakthrough.

William Greer

Rare photo of JFK wearing hat

William Greer was very gracious and invited me into his home in suburban Maryland where we talked for about an hour....with my amazing small recorder doing its thing. He seemed to light up when talking about the happy times he spent driving Kennedy from place to place. He was especially pleased on several occasions when the President unexpectedly had him stop in front of a church and ask to borrow his hat before going inside.

Greer was technically a Secret Service Agent. But, realistically, he was what he'd always been; a chauffeur. He was not trained as a “protector” of the President, he was simply a driver. The Secret Service procedures in place at the time did not allow Greer to take action without orders from a senior agent.

Roy Kellerman, was the senior agent who sat to Greer's right that fateful day.

Kenneth O'Donnell (special assistant to Kennedy) who was riding in the motorcade, later wrote: "If the Secret Service men in the front had reacted quicker to the first two shots at the President's car, if the driver had stepped on the gas before instead of after the fatal third shot was fired, would President Kennedy be alive today?"

He also stated that after the death of the president  "Greer had been remorseful all day, feeling that he could have saved President Kennedy's life by swerving the car or speeding suddenly after the first shots."

Author William Manchester reported in Death of a President, that at Parkland Hospital, 

“Those who had been in the motorcade were racking their brains with... if only this, if only that. One of them, Bill Greer, came to her [Jackie Kennedy] his face streaked with tears, took her head between his hands and squeezed until she thought he was going to squeeze her skull flat. He cried, ‘Oh, Mrs. Kennedy, oh my God, oh my God. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t hear, I should have swerved the car, I couldn’t help it. Oh, Mrs. Kennedy, as soon as I saw it I swerved. If only I’d seen in time! Oh!’ Then he released her head and put his arms around her and wept on her shoulder.” [Death of a President, p.290]

It was reported that Mrs. Kennedy felt so sorry for Greer that she requested that he drive the naval ambulance containing the casket to the naval hospital.

I believe that Greer admired the young President as much as most Americans did. Perhaps more so.

CBS Radio aired my story, but if my interview were to be graded by any modern journalism professor, it would receive a big fat F.  I didn't ask any of the questions that a reporter these days is taught to ask, such as “how did you feel?”  “What was it like....., describe the scene.." etc.

But, for what it's worth, I'll tell you how I felt:

To me, William Greer was like the typical kindly uncle; humble, thoughtful, and  honest. I could still detect a hint of an Irish accent in his voice. His home was modest and warm, but just below the surface, there was a sadness that was almost palpable. He retired on disability from the Secret Service in 1966 because of a stomach ulcer that rapidly grew worse following the Kennedy Assassination. He died in 1985.

I like to believe that I was able to offer him a few short moments of relief by getting him talking about some of the good times in his American Dream....that so suddenly had turned into a nightmare.  -Lee

My Visit to an Art Gallery

I'll bet you can't wait for this one.

I wasn't expecting much either, but stick with me.

Around 1986 or 87 a friend of mine dragged me to an event at the Virginia Bader Fine Arts Gallery in Alexandria, Virginia for a showing of a new series of Aviation Art.

This particular show was highlighting the airplanes of World War Two.

"Hurricane Scramble" by Robert Taylor

But, I soon realized that the paintings were just part of the show. when I heard the gentleman standing next to large painting labeled Hurricane Scramble say that he was very familiar with that plane because during the summer and autumn of 1940. he would sometimes spend 4 or 5 hours a day in “one of those.





He introduced himself to me as Peter Brothers, and he said his only form of relaxation during what came to be called "the Battle of Britain, "was on returning from combat when he would open the cockpit canopy and light up a cigarette.
Brothers personally shot down a number of German bombers and fighter planes.

Peter Townsend and Virginia Bader

He introduced me to the man standing nearby as a man who "also spent many hours in Hawker Hurricanes..." .and in fact was the pilot who shot the first German plane out of the ski over Britain in 1940. Peter Townsend was his name. (Like most Americans, I  remembered his name more for his romantic association with Princess Margaret rather than his daring WW2 heroics.)

It soon became apparent that the many British accented conversations going on around me belonged to some of the best Royal Air Force pilots of World War Two. Men who Winston Churchill called “The FEW.”

(After visiting an RAF Operations Room during a day of watching one of the battles Churchill told Major Major General Hastings Ismay ‘Don’t speak to me, I have never been so moved’. After several minutes of silence he said ‘Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few.’  He would later use almost those exact words in one of his most famous speeches to parliament.)

It was truly an evening to tell my grandchildren about.

It wasn't until later that I learned how such an historic gathering of heroes could possibly have been organized for an “art show.”

Virginia Bader (the owner of the gallery) was a cousin of Sir Douglas Bader, the most famous fighter pilot Britain has ever known.

Douglas Bader

“Bader joined the RAF in 1928, and was commissioned in 1930. In December 1931, while attempting some aerobatics, he crashed and lost both his legs. After the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939, however, Bader returned to the RAF and was accepted as a pilot.
On September 7 1940 Bader and the pilots of three RAF squadrons engaged the Luftwaffe in battle over London. Twenty German planes were destroyed, 10 by Bader’s squadron.
However in August 1941 his combat days came to an end when he was forced to bail out over northern France and was captured. -Wikipedia”

The fact that Bader had lost his legs in that accident years before actually saved his life, because one of his prosthetic legs had become trapped in his aircraft.....and had been pulled off when his parachute opened...thereby separating Bader from his falling plane.

German forces treated their famous prisoner with great respect. He and General Adolph Galland, Germany's most famous fighter pilot, became friends.
Galland arranged safe passage for the British to air drop a new prosthetic leg for Bader.
He might not have been so gracious had he known that after "Operation Leg Drop," the British plane would continue on to bomb other German installations.

While captive, Bader was a thorn in the side of the Germans. He was a master of what the RAF personnel called "goon-baiting"... considering it his duty to cause as much trouble to the enemy as possible.
He attempted to escape so often that the Germans threatened to take away his artificial legs. Finally, they just sent him to the “escape-proof” Colditz Castle....where he remained until the war's end.
Bader's reputation as the “leader of the few” was enhanced by the 1954 best selling book and film, Reach for the Sky.

After Bader's death in 1982 his family and friends, many of whom had flown with him during the war formed THE DOUGLAS BADER FOUNDATION a charity honoring his contribution and work on behalf of the disabled. The Foundation's motto is, "A person who fights back is not disabled, but inspired."

General Adolph Galland

Surviving airmen from both the British and the German sides are strong supporters of the Bader Foundation. Bader's old friend, General Adolph Galland was in attendance and spoke that evening. He told of the time he had invited Bader to speak at a reunion of his fellow Luftwaffe pilots. He said that Bader looked around the rather crowded room and remarked,

"My God, I didn't realize that we had left so many of you bastards alive."

-Lee

My autographed program from that magic night. -Ed

It Was Only a Game

But I was expecting much more.

As we approached the ticket window, I could hear the band warming up, and the cheerleaders rehearsing a couple of “YEA HIGHLANDERS!” shouts. I plunked down the money for tickets for my son and his wife their two young sons and Linda and me.

The kid selling the tickets returned my money for two of them saying that “you and Grandma get in free.”

Never the one to miss an opportunity for a smart-alec remark, I commented that the reason for that is because “I'm so good looking, right?”


“No,” he said, “it's because you're so old.”

I went in anyway.

Frankly, I was all prepared to do more than just watch our local high school play football.

I was all primed to strap this old body into the magic time machine in my mind for a sweet journey.... back to some autumn Friday evening in.... 1953.

McLean High received the opening kickoff....and the game was underway. I was expecting to begin my personal blast off any moment. But, before I knew it, the first quarter had ended, and the cheerleaders outfits were still red and white.

I thought they should be Blue and White by now. Besides the team was already down by two touchdowns. It was obvious that Carson, Alton or Jack weren't in the lineup. But, just wait, I said to myself...until they finally get Don and Max in there to shore up their line and give the ball to Johnny or Bobby!

The cheerleaders were OK, but.....well, let's just say they weren't up to the Jackie, Sarah Lynn, Maxine, or Judy standard. And the guys couldn't match the enthusiasm of Linsy, Dickie, Derek or Ernest!
Looking around the stands I failed to spot any regulars like Shirlene, Sylvia, Ann, Mitzi, Ellouise, Jerry, Obie, Wilson, Pat......or Peggy, Betsy, Barbara, Linda, Mary Sue, Maxcyne.......hey, where is everybody?

Darn!  I was still in Virginia. I looked at my watch and saw that it was still 2011!

And that was as far as I went that night. My time machine's fuel tank was empty.

Football Field circa 1953

The machine operates on several different types of rocket fuel and for this particular trip the engine required a fill up of HIGH OCTANE BLUE.....which used to be found at every stadium in the country, but is now almost non-existent. That once ubiquitous blue mist-like haze can now be seen only in old sports photographs.

As you probably know, the sense of smell is the brain's instant re-play button. And without the aid of a good whiff of early 1950 Stadium BLUE my rocket ship to the past just sputtered and died on the launch pad.

Mclean also lost the game, but any night out with a couple of our grand kids is a good night!

Evening in Paris

Besides I'm already planning another trip. This time I'm bringing my own fuel. I discovered a company that re-manufactures products of the past which are not made or sold any more. The company is the Vermont Country Store and my bottle of Evening In Paris rocket fuel should arrive sometime next week.  -Lee

Actual X Ray Photograph of Lee's Brain

A smell can bring on a flood of memories, influence people's moods and even affect their work performance. Because the olfactory bulb is part of the brain's limbic system, an area so closely associated with memory and feeling it's sometimes called the "emotional brain," smell can call up memories and powerful responses almost instantaneously.
The olfactory bulb has intimate access to the amygdala, which processes emotion, and the hippocampus, which is responsible for associative learning. Despite the tight wiring, however, smells would not trigger memories if it weren't for conditioned responses.  -Wikipedia

We Aren't in Kansas Anymore, Toto

JFK Bust at Kennedy Center

I'm so grateful that my childhood dreams of becoming famous someday and having my statue in the town square or maybe even the nation's capitol didn't come true.

It would have been just my luck to wind up looking like poor old JFK for the tourists of the future to gaze upon. Every time I pass by that eight foot tall monstrosity that resides in the huge entertainment center that bears his name, I say a little prayer thanking the Lord for leading me on the path to Mr. Averagedom.

Albert Einstein on the Mall

Just look at what the bureaucracy did to Einstein!



and this jolly old fellow..on the right...

This is how Charlotte, NC honors the Queen the city was named after. She looks like she was hit in the stomach with a cannonball!

"Jackalope?" on the Mall

This lovely....whatever it is...on the right...is proudly displayed on Washington's Mall.

Statue at Arlington Cemetery

This whatever adorns Arlington Cemetery.

Horses used to have names like, "Old Paint."  I guess this one is called "Old Quilt." (R)

This lovely thing  on the left  hasn't sunk in quite far enough.

Are there any efforts being made to rid our cities and once beautiful Capitol of some of these monstrosities?

Nope.

The only “clean up” effort I know of is the one that the state of Maryland has made to defile (paint over) one of the cleverest bit of “people's art” I've ever seen. To them, it's  “graffitti.”

Hurumph!

Here's the story:  Anyone traveling the Washington Beltway...Interstate 495 going west from say College Park, Md past Silver Spring toward Virginia will round a curve and suddenly be confronted with a spectacular view of the brightly lit Mormon Temple...built there in 1974. It's breath taking!

The truckers call it Disneyland. But, whatever it's called, you can't miss it.

Overpass just prior to the Temple exit

Now as far as the “people's art” that the humorless Maryland Department of Highways keeps trying to hide is the message that someone, no one knows who, keeps writing on the railroad overpass that appears just before the exit to the temple that has brought smiles to untold numbers of travelers.

SURRENDER DOROTHY.

I saw it once when it read, TURN BACK DOROTHY.

Nevertheless, as I understand it, the Mormons haven't complained. The only objections  were from Maryland State Officials who seem determined to rid the state of anything that reeks of humor and replace it with "art" that average citizens laugh at.


-LS

Honey Bear Day

Walter Cronkite and Julian Barber

One of my broadcast “heroes” in the 60 plus years I have been in that business was Julian Barber. I first heard him when he was spinning records and taking requests from teenagers (such as my older sister Kathryn) on WAYS.

After he returned from service in Korea, that station refused to give him his job back, so he applied at WGIV....and became “news director” for them. That's where I first met “Mr. Barber.”  (remember, I was at Central High then and we were taught to respect our elders; Julian was at least 23 at the time).

He went on to WSJS-TV in Winston Salem and later to WTOP-TV in Washington, where he became the number one local TV newscaster in the nation's capitol...for the next 10 years.

Julian also was one of the best friends I ever had.

I believe the saddest honor I ever received was being asked to give the eulogy at his funeral almost 10 years ago.

There's a video clip I came across on the Internet that is a good example of Julian's lighthearted wrap-ups of his local newscasts......which made that Charlotte boy, who began his career as a "go-fer" for the Briarhoppers, the king of local TV news......in the news capitol of the country.  -LS

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vCHVwej3Bgs

"Rip, Run and Read"

That's the way it was at local radio stations back when announcers and DJ's also did the newscasts, usually "on the hour, every hour." We would put a record on, go to the AP ticker machine, rip off the latest five minute summary. and run back to the studio in time to read the news.

"This just in....from the WGIV newsroom...."

I always got a smile out of that. The WGIV newsroom consisted of one AP wire machine (ticker) and the only place that it would fit in that station's small building was the men's room.

Those old news tickers became obsolete when computers came along but seeing one of those museum pieces again brought back a lot of memories. Not all of them good. No one who was near one on November 22, 1963 can forget the constant ringing of the “bulletin” bell alerting newsrooms of the tragedy in Dallas.

On a lighter note, we announcers and DJ's had to learn to read our newscasts from copy produced by those machines hourly. In addition to 5 minute newscasts, stock market reports, weather forecasts, farm news and sports scores all were sent via those news tickers.

Some announcers used to pride themselves on their ability to read copy “cold.” In other words...read it like you knew what you were talking about.....without having read it over beforehand. Usually, you had time to pre-read the stories, but occasionally you didn't. However, some announcers got over confidant in their "cold reading" ability and never read the copy before they went on the air. (That was known as the "Real Men Never Read Copy but Once" syndrome.)

Most of the time they got away with it, but inevitably, it would come back to bite them.

Sending news from AP office

The flaw in the system was the fact that if the typist at the AP newsroom on the other end of the wire were to make a mistake...such as a typo or wrong word....the mistake would not be corrected in the copy until the very end of the story.

For example, the copy might say “obsolete”...instead of “absolute,” but any mistakes the typist made would keep repeating themselves throughout the story.... and corrections would only appear at the bottom of the copy..

The correction would say something like, “the word OBSOLETE in the above story should read ABSOLUTE.”

So unless the announcer was paying attention, (which we seldom were,) instead of thinking only of how he sounded.....the listener could be treated to some very strange and puzzling stories

For example a friend of mine was driving to work early one morning listening to the radio and the announcer was reading the farm report.

It was spring and the story was about planting time. He thought he heard the announcer say something about it being a good time to plant cats.

My friend thought that he must have misunderstood the announcer, so he turned up the radio and sure enough, he heard it again several times, “.......many experts say this is the best time of the year to plant your cats.......etc., etc....."

When the report ended.......there was a noticable pause....followed by the announcer saying,

“the word CATS in the above story should read OATS.”

-Ed

An Oldie but Goodie

An otherwise sane friend of mine, who was also a “teen age DJ” invited me over to his house last week to show me the project he just completed.

That's where the otherwise.......part of that sentence comes in.

He built an almost exact replica of the radio station where he once spun Patti Page and Eddie Arnold records...

complete with a working transmitter....in his basement!

This story borders on the unbelievable, especially when you realize that the original station went on the air in 1947 or '48 and almost all of the electronic equipment, which he personally restored,  is from that era.

Photo from 1940's newspaper

But, he did it.

I know. I saw it.

The original station was in the midwest, and it's still there,

but my friend's brand new version is at the end of a cul de sac a few blocks from my house in a quiet Virginia neighborhood.

2011 Restored version

Restored Radio  Station Clock of the '40's and 50's

Vintage 1940's phone

Studio B complete with organ

Fully restored AP news ticker

A lot of my retired friends play golf.....

.......but only one, as far as I know,  plays "radio station."

I think I'll give Robert Ripley a call.

-Ed

(Note to the FCC.  The transmitter works perfectly, but is attached to a "dummy load" preventing it from going out over the airwaves.)