RADIO WONDER.

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 68, 21 March 1934, Page 11

RADIO WONDER.

MACHINE IN SYDNEY. REGISTERS "SEX APPEAL." CROWDS BUSH EXHIBITION. (From Our Own Correspondent.) SYDNEY, March 10. During the past week a radio exhibition lias been in progress at the Town Hall. The writer was impressed chiefly by the immense variety of the radio machines, and by the ingenuity of the kitchen appliances displayed. There was one device that appeared to perform seven or eight distinct culinary operations at once, and seemed quite capable of starting out on its own initiative and murdering any rash intruder.

But apparently I visited the show too soon, for it was not till the next evening that the pashometer was on view, and "the fun of the fair" really began. The pashometer is an electrical mechanism for measuring and registering sexappeal —that mysterious factor in the human "make up" which has been so extensively popularised by the "movies." It looks scientific enough with its big dial and "manual indicator," and an array of photo-electric cells. You stand in front of the machine, a beam of light strikes you, the indicator quivers and trembles, and swings up or down the scale—and there you are—the measure of your charm for the opposite tsex plainly registered for all eyes to see. There could bo no doubt about the excitement it caused. By the time people got to know what was happening there was a tremendous rush for the pashometer and the room was speedily crowded to suffocation. Wave of Candidates But the next night it was far worse. A great wavo of candidates for the sex appeal test swept through the corridors of the Town Hall when the room was opened. The mere men were thrust into the background by the onrush of the feminine phalanx. Many of the girls screamed; some of them fainted; and six stalwart policemen struggled desperately for hours to clear the way

from the door to the machine, and to induce the crowd to "move on."

Outside things were nearly as bad, but orcler was maintained by another strong body of police, and hundreds, if not thousands, were turned away. This sort of thing happened whenever the pashometer was working, and the excitement over the "scores" could not have been surpassed at a Test match or tho drawing of the State lottery. Some of the results were certainly very interesting.

The "record" was made, appropriately enough, by Miss Jocelyn Howarth, the attractive and popular heroine of "The Squatter's Daughter." As soon as she confronted the machine the index swung up to 100, and then fell back, very reluctantly, to 99—almost "full marks." Of course, everybody said, "I told you so!" But a little later 98 per ccnt was

recorded by a rather unlikely looking little person—a demure and bespectacled typiste from a city oflice. So it seems that "you never can tell." Lord Mayor's Register. It is whispered, that our Lord Mayor submitted to the ordeal, and registered only 12 per cent. Further, we are told that tho metropolitan superintendent of policc, Mr. Mackay, scored 55 per cent of "the possible" in personal attractiveness. This looks well for "the forcc." But.it is also alleged that a party of four policemen who accompanied him— including "the Adonis of the service" — failed to reach double figures.

All this is rather mysterious, but this much is certain, that the pashometer is a device splendidly calculated to entertain large masses of people and to gladden the heart of "the man who takes the money at the door."