EVENING POST. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1936. MAINE NOT A "KEYNOTE"

Evening Post, Volume CXXII, Issue 68, 17 September 1936, Page 8

EVENING POST. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1936. MAINE NOT A "KEYNOTE"

No study of what Sir Josiah Stamp calls the impact of science on civilisation would fail to include radio politics—the impact of radio on politicians, and the consequent impact of politicians on the atmosphere. Although the radio approach to the electors is but an affair of yesterday, already the question forces itself: Must all the great political persuaders of the future be men with radio voices? In the recent past the orator and the debater have known fairly well what to measure up to; the loud-speaker extended their range but did not otherwise disturb their function. But the radio voice appears to be a special voice, and it seems that quite a number of political persuaders do not possess it. What Edmund Burke and Daniel O'Connell, and other stars of other skies would have been "on the air" can only be guessed; radio may have increased their quality as well as giving them a world-wide range. But many people are not so favoured; and in a backhanded way it has been suggested that the United States Republican candidate Mr. A. M. Landon is by no means like Father Coughlin, the possessor of a heaven-sent radio voice. The mischievous Heywood Broun writes in American papers that, no matter what Maine says, backers of Mr. Roosevelt are prepared to lay three to one on their candidate provided that "Landon makes six more broadcasts over a national hook-up." Mr. Roosevelt is no mean performer on the air. To counter him the Republicans are likely to make a considerable radio use of their Vice-Presidential candidate, Colonel Knox, so that the V.-P. contender is likely to be much more in the fight than is usually the case. But it is complained that the "hundreds of thousands of dollars" spent on political radio time is largely wasted through speakers' technical faults. The reason why Colonel Knox must lead the Republican assault on the atmosphere—or, as some put it, the aerial gas campaign—is thus put by David Lawrence in the New York "Sun": dolonel Knox \eems to understand how to deliver a radio speech. He does not speak rapidly or slide over his words, but gives the audience a chance to digest his ideas. He talks, indeed, with almost the same slow and deliberate pace so successfully used by President Roosevelt. Radio technique is important. Why the radio dehumanises some voices and preserves the charm of others is not clear, but the successful ones seem to be able to overwhelm the unsuccessful with a crushing contempt. For instance, hear Father Coughlin on the unfortunate Mr. Landon: This fellow from the West—what's his name? When he goes on the radio everybody shuts off. That's why I don't know his name. There are, however, many listeners in America who shut off all politicians, whether strident or silvertongued. Just to make sure that Maine —the first State to vote — should not escape in this manner, the Democrats in August invaded Maine with "sound wagons," equipped with loud-speaker as well as radio. By the aid of phonograph and loud-speaker, the sound-wagon (a combination of motor and trailer, carrying a crew about equal to a small "tank") is able to make itself heard in Maine hamlets Avhether people shut off their radio or not. An aerial contribution to the election campaign is the Republican Party's aeroplane, which is warranted to go anywhere and do anything, carrying radio and loud-speaker and a human complement of thirteen. There is no unlucky number in American campaigning. But just as the weather continues to play a big part in warfare—gas warfare, naval warfare, any warfare —so also the political campaigner must consider the weather as he launches his lightnings. His scientific aids, fearful and wonderful as they are, have not put him above meteorology and the seasons; consequently there was quite a flutter among the American commentators in August over the doubtful expediency of an intensive summer effort by the Republicans. Will the people (asks Jay Franklin) listen to Landon during the silly season, "when a civil war in Spain is far less important than the fact that the ice-man's late again." Mr. Landon will "invade the East," but— All the while all that the people can be bothered to think about is: the heat, the drought . . . whether a guy can- get a job, whether the children are playing safely on the sidewalk or have run out on the street . . . what's a good thing for sunburn, whether she expects to marry me just because we kissed each other at the picnic, whether the offshore breeze will bring more mosquitoes, and why you can't get good beer at live cents a glass.

These are things that even the radio

voice cannot brush aside. Thank heaven that it has its limits.

Summer may not be conducive to serious politics, but it lias been conducive in America this year to serious drought. Both Democrats and Republicans promise relief, and each side accuses the other of j>olilicnlly capitalising the drought and dust storms. Republican manager John Hamilton tells the drought region farmers (Government-fed) that it is useless for the Democratic Administration to regard them as "in the bag." "You need not," says Mr. Hamilton, "barter your suffrage for I what you are rightfully entitled to ! receive in time of distress." • The Democrats are indignant that Mr. Hamilton should throw dust in the farmers' eyes when the atmosphere already reeks with it. "To link up human misery," says Mr. Roosevelt, "with partisan politics" is "a great disservice." But the Indianapolis "Star" cannot believe that when Mr. Roosevelt tours the drought region he has no political consciousness. To even things up, both Mr. Roosevelt and Mr. Landon are present at a drought conference of State Governors. Even from the dust the comic writers work up material. The "Detroit News" understands that the new best-seller, "Gone With the Wind," is about one of those disappearing Dakota farms. Another paper finds that the old circus advance agent, who could "locale himself anywhere in America, blindfold, if he were allowed to sniff the air," is outdone, for there are dust-storm veterans in the \yest who can tell which of the two Dakotas is flying by. If they were in Germany, these Americans would not dare take their politics so lightly. But that is the way of democracy. Instead of consulting one commanding official radio gospel, America listens to all and possibly believes none. Maine has now spoken, and, as normally, has spoken in Republican language. But the Maine majorities, the Democrats say, are not as big as the Republicans wanted. They do not amount to a "keynote." The November results of the polling of a population of over 120,000,000 remain as open as before. In no other country of the civilised world does so huge a mass decision—by people "propaganded," radioed, possibly hypnotised, but at least undictatcd—go on