CHANGE-OVER

Press, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22057, 3 April 1937, Page 9

CHANGE-OVER

[By LISTENER] Of course, I should have had the brains to anticipate that this would happen. One could not expect to go on criticising a great State institution without being called to account in the end. No doubt a nagging and ill-natured critic would i d heen ignored, for although neople b may be momentarily terrified bv° splenetic outbursts they are Sever impressed. But the critic who gentle, enlightening, persuasive, and g genial, is in a different position Conner or later, those whom he Sfsos will come lo him for rnunsel, or they may even go to the extreme and ask him to demonstrate how things should be done. Well, that’s what has happened to Thursday morning, which W as also' the morning of April 1, this note came in my mail: National Broadcasting Service, 'Featherston street, Wellington, C. 1., March 31, 1937. Dear Listener, You think that you can do better with the National Broadcasting Service than my colleagues and I have done. Give it a go. The outfit is yours for a week. Yours, Faithfully and Diabolically, XXX. The signature is omitted because the boy next door is a remorseless collector of the autographs of New Zealand celebrities. I give him autographs in exchange for his ideas about the children’s sessions, but as lie is a somewhat precocious lad, I have not yet had the courage to Commit any of his observations to of this unexpected epistle brought many thoughts to my mind, but the uppermost one was that I had been handed the nastiest kettle of fish ever likely to come my way. I realised for once how much easier it is to criticise than construct. Before, if the broadcasting authorities had challenged my right to criticise because I could not construct, I would have fallen back on dear old j)r. Johnson’s defence, which runs something like this: “Sir, I cannot build a table, blit I know a good one when I see it.” That’s the answer to which there is no effective retort, but I could not make it now. I began, to think that the dice had never been more heavily loaded against any man. I was appalled by the knowledge that I seemed to have no hope of pleasing everybody in the vast radio a'udience which would be wondering what the new great man was to do. Thefe was no chance of falling back on the amiable political device of having the hall packed with my ,friends. You can get cheers and mountains of ha’pence in that way. There is one monumental catch about radio; you can’t papk;.' the hall. Every day ; in the yeai; radio;: speaks to approximately 1,000,000, /persons in the Dominion. How /could I hope to please, or even'coriciliate, this nunir her. X began to cast about for guiding precedents, for others had been in this distressing predicament before me. Then the inspired idea came to hie. Of course, it was simple and obvious. One must first of all make statements to the press of the country, and this would be followed'by a soothing nation-wide broadcast. I could see, though, that it was necessary to get the people with you, A man who could present himself to the public as the largest-hearted Santa Claus who ever wore red rompers, red jacket, and white whiskers, could easily have the breeze set fair in his favour. That conservatorium idea of my predecessors looked well enough in print, and it sounded excellent on that historic night when it was first broadcast to the masses from 2YA. Its weakness, however, was that it could not appeal to everybody. After all, there are relatively few people—young or old—who wish to become virtuosi of the violin or piano, and there are not so many either who would wish to spend their, days impersonating Hamlet, Puck, or Desdemona. No. That idea had a limited appeal; it was good, but not so good that it could not ibe bettered. .1 -knew that the radio public, hke> any other public, is easily beguiled. The secret is to make it seem that you are giving them sorpething beyond the realm of expectation. The fact that they are gonjg to pay for the; gift is unimportant. Every license-holder in the •, Dominion would have had to Pay; for that conservatorium. The Bookmaker, whose only interest in rady> is that it has grown to be part ot his stock-in-trade, was going tb oe compelled to pay for the training ox self-centred artists who would P ut a shilling his way. Ah! Nad got something more honestly aemocratic, something that no radio it,«A Seer * n New Zealand would gnore. I had found a way to make c 3° 1 hl . story - I began to draft my to the nation. It was to go something like this; , Ladies and gentlemen. This, I ahia say ’ * s the most memor7oir n i g £t ln the annals of New h!tl and t u broadcastin g. Nobody knows to w than - 1 what you have had to put up with in the past, I have of PU u up with it- too. Those SotW Q Wh ° I , lked Eb and Zeb did cclnl V l? early . enou 6h of those inAvho P liW| le artl u tS> • Th ose of you enouih 5 sym P h °nies did not have those of you who e n K n ed . plays did not have nearly ay? ‘ truth > ladies and nearlv pnA \ that none of us had Howevpr 00 ?® 11 what we wanted. faSelT’tp o^ lght we can all hid jßeghmin those miserable times. as nSh g ar^° rr iT’ you wiH have want • But 8 you bke °i- what you this Wil } appreciate that casting cannot r ? v<dut i° n in broadday. S Thero ot be . completed in a ments whic h mv t ® chni^ al impedisidering at tho ye are conhave to find a present time. They one week of hmA 18 of fittin g about 15 hom s L b l° a^ castin g mto days great team of C^ but I feel sure this do it Mv ™ IU be able t 0 *ne New Zealand ai J? 13 to make most contented 1 radl ° public the the meantime the world . In Srand surprise *° wever > I have a realises m P O ' e >' you. Nobody Wbeen nnfe 1 do tha t you can se e that licln? P V 1 tbe past - 1 far too high v^ S . fees have been p f the money back g to n f to g^e part - oack to you, you are

to be given something for nothing, ladies and gentlemen, mark that. “I have gone into this matter with another set of experts and we have decided to hold a sealed number competition. If you look at your radio licenses you will see that each one of them is numbered. To-night I shall draw six figures from a hat; the person whose radio license is the same number as the combined figures I draw, will receive in the mail before the end of this weqk a cheque for £50,000. [The disadvantage of speaking through the microphone is that one cannot hear the cheers.] I believe in physical fitness, ladies and gentlemen, and to show that I rate it properly, I will give five consolation prizes of £ 10,000 in each island to the first five people making a circuit of their respective islands on foot. Have I made myself clear? Tramp your way to prosperity, ladies and gentlemen—that’s all you’ve got to do.” I may be wrong, but I think this speech would give me a popularity much beyond that enjoyed by my less imaginative predecessors, and yet we merely approach the same problem from different angles. They promised a conservatorium out of the radio funds; I promised cash prizes. With public goodwill so unshakeably established in my favour, I think I could set about the business of building radio in New Zealand nearer to my heart’s desire. Being a little selfish, the first thing I would do would be to give Professor Shelley the position of chief reader to the National Broadcasting Service at a slight increase in salary. I would like to have him broadcast readings from W. W. Jacobs, O. Henry, Caxton Press poets, and selected Restoration dramatists. In doing so I admit I’m thinking only of my own pleasure, but I feel that such a feature would please many others as well.

Then I would put those who had clamoured for more Eb an<j Zeb, for more “humorous” episodes in the life of the Japanese houseboy and his employer, into a compound where they would have nothing available to them but these. After a few days of that treatment I am sure they would accept Bach, Handel, and Beethoven on any terms. Every talker I would make crack a joke at least three times in a quarter of an hour—and it would have to be a good joke. I would also permit national announcers to be friendly. They would not have to behave like grown-up Little Lord Fauntleroys any more. So my thoughts ran last Thursday morning when I received that letter from Wellington. Those were a few of the reforms I devised in a short time. Unhappily, I received a telegram in the afternoon from the author of the letter. It read; “Ya! Ya! April Fool.”