Sport: Voices

“Good evening, Ladies & Gentlemen of the Radio Audience.”

50,000,000 people purred contentedly at being thus addressed. Scarred thugs in saloons; bleary night crowds in Porto Rico; hawk-eyed Indians in New Mexican hovels; gentlewomen in staid mansions in Buffalo, N. Y.—all leaned forward eagerly.

“This is a big night. Three million dollars’ worth of boxing bugs are gathering around a ring at Soldiers’ Field, Chicago. Here come some of the preliminary boys. . . . Oho, that was a fast one . . .that hurt. . . . Well, they tried pretty hard . . . boxing is a prosaic business. … I came up from St. Louis today in an airplane . . . that’s real . . . you and the pilot and God ALL ALONE TOGETHER. . . . Have you seen Eddie Dowling’s show? . . . Another preliminary . . . that is better . . . oho . . . hard left. . . .”

Another voice:

“Burning down at us are 44 1,000-watt lamps over the ring . . . all is darkness in the muttering mass of crowd beyond the spotlight. . . . The ‘mike’ is fixed on the ring floor in front of us. . . . The crowd is thickening in the seats. . . . There’s Jim Jeffries . . .Mayor Thompson in a cowboy hat . . . Irvin Cobb . . . John Ringling . . . Tex Rickard in a beige fedora. . . . It’s like the Roman Coliseum. . . .”

First Voice:

“Here comes Jack Dempsey, climbing through the ropes . . . white flannels, long bathrobe . . . friend in a long green coat. . . . Here comes Tunney . . . [blast of cheering from the crowd]. . . . He’s got on blue trunks with red trimmings. . . . They’re getting the gloves out of a box tied with pretty blue ribbon. . . . The announcer shouting in the ring . . . trying to quiet 150,000 people. . . . Robes are off. …

The Bell.

“Jack leads with a long left and misses . . . boxing quietly . . . this round is just a little feinting between the two boys.”

“But I thought Dempsey was 35,” complained the lady in Buffalo, listening to her first fight. “He’s 32,” explained a male, “Ring slang makes boxers boys.”

“Gene is stabbing Jack off … oho . . . Jack wandering around Gene . . . Dempsey drives a hard left under the heart. . . . Jack pounded the back of Tunney’s head with four rights. . . . Gene put a terrific right . . . hardest blow of the fight . . . Gene beginning to wake up … like a couple of wild animals . . . Gene’s body red . . . hits Dempsey a terrific right to the body . . . Jack is groggy. . . . Jack leads hard left. . . . Tunney seems almost wobbling . . . they have been giving Dempsey smelling salts in his corner. . . . Some of the blows that Dempsey hits make this ring tremble. . . . Tunney is DOWN . . . down from a barrage . . . they are counting . . . six-seven—eight—”

Theodore J. Carron and Henry Koenig listening at different radios in Detroit dropped dead from excitement. Charles F. Brown died in Watertown, N. Y. James K. Chilson and George K. Johnson died in California. “NINE and Tunney is UP*; . . . backing away . . . now outboxing Dempsey . . .Jack trying to get Tunney where he can hit him . . . following . . . motions Gene to come in and fight . . . Dempsey comes in like a wild man. . . . Dempsey is DOWN from a hard left to the jaw. He is UP … Dempsey’s eyes are getting worse. . . . TUNNEY LOOKS MAD . . . drives hard on Dempsey’s eye, and it is a very, very bad eye. Dempsey is very, very tired . . . Dempsey is almost down. . . . FIGHT IS OVER.”

Spencer W. Crowell at Algona, Iowa, and Robert J. Glick of Shamokin, Pa., died during the terrific suspense when the VOICE failed to announce the decision.)

“I think Tunney is still champion. . . .”

Another voice (Gene Tunney’s) :

“Hello, everybody. . . a real contest. . . . Thank you.”

First voice:

“Jack, JACK. … we wanted Jack to say hello, too . . . boxed a real good fight . . . Tunney managed to master him. . . .”

In Chicago, Estelle Taylor at— the Edgewater Beach Hotel, listened to her husband’s beating. At the end of the story, or shortly after four men died near their loud speakers, she collapsed.

In New Britain, Conn., Harry Blews looked forward to 52 Sundays in church. He had bet his Sunday mornings for a year on Dempsey against the Rev. Samuel Sutcliffe, whose stake was a promise to buy at least five-cents worth of sweets for 365 days, in Blew’s ice cream store.

“Good evening, Ladies & Gentlemen of the radio audience” has become almost a trademarked phrase to the listening world. It means Graham McNamee. A letter with no other address than that was delivered by the postal service to WEAF, headquarters studio of the National Broadcasting Co. Inc., Mr. McNamee’s employer.

Four years ago Graham McNamee walked into WEAF, asked for a job, took a voice test, got the job.

As a boy, Mr. McNamee sang soprano. Now 34, he has long since lost his high notes but still sings in concert as a baritone, always including in his program “The Fields O’ Ballydare,” simple Irish ballad. But he has little time for concerts. Things happen fast in the U. S., and, wherever in the U. S. anything nationally important is happening, Graham McNamee sits there telling the world.

From the relatively simple process of announcing bedroom story-tellers and weather reports on the regular studio program, Announcer McNamee has assumed a position of national prominence. Inevitably, he has had much criticism. Sports experts grumble that he does not know the sport he is describing. Radio executives answer that neither do most of the listeners; that colorful, general reports are more satisfying to the masses than accurate technical descriptions. Sports experts, particularly fight listeners, agree that with seeing many fights and football games his knowledge is increasing.

His first fight was the Greb-Wilson bout for the middle-weight championship (1524). His prominence extended with World’s Series baseball. His first great national, non-sporting events were the Demo-cratic and Republican Conventions of 1924; his most famed, the Lindbergh receptions this summer. At the Radio World Fair in 1925, he won a solid gold cup (in the form of a microphone) as most popular announcer in the U. S., receiving 189,470 votes out of 1,161,659. He receives a huge “fan” mail, including marriage proposals. He is married to Josephine Garrett, concert and church soprano. His next discourse that will reach the ears of millions will be the World’s Series Baseball games, beginning Oct. 5. He is the recipient of many a gift. “Every day is a birthday with Graham.”

Another voice is often confused by loudspeaker addicts for that of Mr. McNamee. The voice is Phillips Carlin’s and it is this very similarity that prompts WEAF to assign them together. One broadcaster cannot talk ceaselessly; when he is resting it is less confusing to have a substitute voice of close resemblance. Mr. Carlin was a boyhood orator in Manhattan public schools. He entered the silk business. He went to war. He joined WEAF as an announcer and is now manager of the Manhattan key station.

From 10 a.m. until 10 p.m. Phillips Carlin battles with the endless details of the station’s business. He arranges programs, conducts rehearsals, selects artists, supplies ideas. Despite the volume of this work he likes to see fights and football games; accordingly, he goes along with Mr. McNamee. He is the chief actor-manager of radio.

*Announcer Graham McNamee could scarcely be expected to grasp immediately the technical detail here involved, through which Dempsey protested to the Illinois Boxing Commission that he had won the fight. Dempsey knocked Tunney down. By the rules of the contest he should have walked immediately to a neutral corner and waited until his antagonist arose or was counted out. Instead he stood over him; went to the wrong corner. Thus five seconds were lost before he reached the neutral corner and the actual count began over the prostrate Tunney. Tunney rose after the ninth second. A boxer is knocked out after ten seconds. Actually, Tunney was down 14. Tunney insists that his head was clear after the first few seconds and that he could have risen within the first ten seconds; that, grasping the situation, he waited for the extra respite to arise stronger, steadier.