"I want to back up your mayor. On my first visit to your charming city
I saw an opportunity for my family; and, with woman's famous ability
for arguing, I got my husband to think as I do; and not an hour from
that day has brought us any dissatisfaction. Your schools stand high in
comparison with any out our way; your shops carry first-class goods,
your laws act without favoritism for anybody or class; and an air of
happy-go-lucky conditions actually shouts at you, from all parts of
town."
Now, as months slid past it got around to Night School graduation day;
and as it was this institution's first, all Branton Hills was on hand,
packing its big hall. An important part was a musical half-hour by
its big chorus, singing such grand compositions as arias from Faust,
Robin Hood, Aida, and Martha; also both boys' and girls' bands, both
brass and strings, doing first-class work on a Sousa march, a Strauss
waltz, and a potpourri of National airs from many lands, which brought
a storm of hand clapping; for no form of study will so aid youth in
living happily, as music. Ability to play or sing; to know what is good
or poor in music, instills into young folks a high quality of thought;
and, accuracy is found in its rigidity of rhythm.
As soon as this music class was through, Gadsby brought forth soloists,
duos and trios; violinists, pianists, and so many young musicians that
Branton Hills was as proud of its night school as a girl is of "that
first diamond." That brought our program around to introducing pupils
who had won honor marks: four girls in knitting, oil painting, cooking
and journalism; and four smart youths in brass work, wood-carving and
Corporation law. But pupils do not form all of a school body; so a
group of blushing instructors had to bow to an applauding roomful.
Though this was a school graduation, Mayor Gadsby said it would do no
harm to point out a plan for still adding to Branton Hills' public
spirit:--
"This town is too plain; too dingy. Brick walls and asphalt paving
do not light up a town, but dim it. So I want to plant all kinds of
growing things along many of our curbs. In our parks I want ponds
with gold fish, fancy ducks and big swans; row-boats, islands with
arbors, and lots of shrubs _that blossom_; not just an array of twigs
and stalks. I want, in our big City Park, a casino, dancing pavilion,
lunch rooms; and parking for as many cars as can crowd in. So I think
that all of us ought to pitch in and put a bright array of natural aids
round about; both in our shopping district and suburbs; for you know
that old saying, that 'a charming thing is a joy always.'"
So a miraculous transformation of any spot at all dull was soon a fact.
Oak, birch and poplar saplings stood along curbs and around railway
stations; girls brought in willow twigs, ivy roots, bulbs of canna,
dahlia, calladium, tulip, jonquil, gladiola and hyacinth. Boys also dug
many woodland shrubs which, standing along railway tracks, out of town,
took away that gloomy vista so commonly found upon approaching a big
city; and a long grassplot, with a rim of boxwood shrubs, was laid out,
half way from curb to curb on Broadway, in Branton Hills' financial
district. As Gadsby was looking at all this with happy satisfaction, a
bright lad from our Night School's radio class, told him that Branton
Hills should install a broadcasting station, as no city, today, would
think of trying to win additional population without that most
important adjunct for obtaining publicity. So any man or boy who had
any knack at radio was all agog; and about a thousand had ambitions for
a job in it, at which only about six can work. And City Hall had almost
a riot, as groups of politicians, pastors and clubs told just what such
a station should, and should not broadcast; for a broadcasting station,
with its vast opportunity for causing both satisfaction and antagonism,
must hold rigidly aloof from any racial favoritism, church, financial
or nationality criticisms; and such a policy is, as any broadcasting
station will admit, most difficult of adoption. First of all stood
that important position of what you might call "studio boss." Although
a man in control of a station is not known as "boss," I think it will
pass in this oddly built-up story. Now I am going to boost our famous
Organization again, by stating that a boy from its ranks, Frank Morgan,
was put in; for it was a hobby of Gadsby to put Branton Hills boys in
Branton Hills Municipal jobs. So Frank, right away, got all sorts of
calls for hours or half hours to broadcast "most astounding bargains"
in clothing, salad oils, motor oils, motor "gas", soaps, cars, and
tooth brush lubricants. With a big Fall campaign for Washington
officials about to start, such a position as Frank's was chuck full of
pitfalls; a stiff proposition for a young chap, not long out of High
School. But Gadsby took him in hand.
"Now, boy, hold your chin up, and you will find that most folks, though
cranky or stubborn at first, will follow your rulings if you insist,
in a civil way, that you know all our National Radio Commission's
laws binding your station. _Millions_, of all kinds, will dial in
your station; and what would highly satisfy a group in Colorado might
actually insult a man down in Florida; for radio's wings carry far. You
know I'll back you up, boy. But now, what would you call this station?"
"Oh," said our tyro-boss; "a radio station should work with initials
showing its location. So a Branton Hills station could stand as KBH."
Such initials, ringing with civic patriotism, hit Gadsby just right;
his Council put it in writing; and "Station KBH" was born! Though it
is not important to follow it from now on, I will say that our vast
country, by tuning in on KBH, found out a lot about this Utopia.
"You know that good old yarn," said Gadsby, "about making so good a
rat-trap that millions will tramp down your grass in making a path to
your front door."