RADIO THE FIRE-CONQUEROR
Promptly at eight o’clock on the following night the Radio Boys
gathered at Bob’s house to listen to Mr. Bentley’s talk over the
radio on radio and forest fires. Even Jimmy, who as a rule lingered
long at the supper table and could usually be depended on to be at
the tail end of any procession, had made an exception on this
occasion, and appeared before the clock struck, although slightly
out of breath.
“You’re puffing like a grampus,” remarked Herb, as he surveyed his
rotund friend critically.
“I don’t know what a grampus is,” returned Jimmy; “but I wouldn’t
blame him for puffing if he’d hurried through his supper the way I
did. Had some fresh doughnuts, too, for dessert, but I cut short on
them.”
“Cut short!” snorted Herb, in frank disbelief. “How many did you
eat?”
“Only seven,” returned Jimmy, unabashed. “I’m usually good for ten.”
“What’s making your pockets bulge so?” asked Joe suspiciously.
“Those are the other three doughnuts,” explained Jimmy placidly, as
he took one out and began to munch on it. “I’ve got to keep up my
strength, you know.”
“Well, here’s where you grow weaker,” declared Joe, as he made a
dive for Jimmy’s pocket and snatched out one of the remaining
doughnuts and began to devour it.
Jimmy made a wild dive for it, which gave Herb a chance to pull the
last one from his pocket, a chance of which he availed himself with
neatness and dispatch.
They dodged about the room while Jimmy tried in vain to regain his
treasures, which, however, soon vanished to the last crumb.
“This joint ought to be pinched,” Jimmy said, in pronounced disgust,
when all hope had gone. “I didn’t think that I was coming into a
nest of crooks.”
“Never mind, Jimmy,” Bob laughed. “There’s a delicious apple pie in
the pantry that mother has laid aside for us, and I’ll see that your
slice is twice as big as those of these two highbinders.”
Jimmy brightened up visibly at this, and further hostilities were
averted.
In deference to Mr. Layton’s condition, the loud speaker was not
used that night, and the boys adjusted their respective earphones
and prepared to listen in to the entertainment furnished by WJZ, the
signal letters of the Newark broadcasting station.
Mr. Bentley’s talk was scheduled on the program to take place at
nine, and the boys were so impatient for this to begin that they did
not pay as much attention as usual to the other features that
preceded it. Not but what they were well worth listening to. There
was a glorious violin solo played by a celebrated master, the rich
notes rising and falling in wonderful bursts of melody. Then there
was a talk by a star third baseman of national reputation, telling
how he played the “difficult corner” and narrating some ludicrous
happenings in the great game. Following this was a jazz rendition of
the “Old Alabama Moon,” and then came one of Sousa’s band pieces
that set feet to jigging in time with the music. WJZ was surely
putting on a most interesting program.
At last came the announcement for which the Radio Boys were waiting,
and they straightened up in an attitude of intent listening.
“Mr. Payne Bentley, of the United States Forest Service,” stated the
announcer, “will tell us of the work done by radio in the prevention
and extinction of fires in the national forests. Mr. Bentley has
spent many years in this important and hazardous work, both as
aviator and radio operator, and speaks with authority.”
There was a moment’s pause, and then came the clear strong voice
that the boys had been waiting for and which they recognized at
once.
“There’s the old boy, sure enough,” murmured Jimmy delightedly.
“S-sh,” came from the others, as they settled down to listen.
“I am not a practiced orator,” Mr. Bentley began after the customary
salutation to his invisible audience, “and if my talk shall prove of
any interest to you, it will be due not to the way in which I
express myself but to the importance of my subject.”
After this modest opening he plunged into his theme, and for a space
of perhaps twenty minutes presented an array of facts and incidents
that riveted the closest attention of his great audience. At least,
that was the way it affected the Radio Boys, and they had no doubt
that thousands of others were listening with the same fascinated
interest. Nor was this due simply to the personal attraction the
speaker had for the boys. Had they not known him at all, the subject
matter of his talk would have been sufficient to hold them
enchained.
With a few broad strokes the speaker sketched the awakening of the
national Government to the value of its forest riches and the
necessity of conserving them. Uncle Sam, he said, had been in the
position of a prodigal father, so rich that he believed his wealth
would never be used up, therefore perfectly willing that his sons
should scatter it broadcast. Why worry, when there were millions and
millions of acres teeming with trees that could scarcely be
numbered? So he had shut his eyes to the denuding of the forests.
But suddenly he had awakened with a shock. For he had realized after
all that his wealth was not limitless. Great tracts had been
stripped of their trees to such an extent that the watercourses in
their vicinity had dried up or greatly diminished in volume. After
the great trunks had been borne away, tons of branches had been left
to dry until they became like tinder needing only a spark to fan
them into a holocaust of flame that swept over thousands of acres,
leaving only blasted and charred skeletons of what had been living
trees. Hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of valuable timber had
literally vanished in smoke.
Fortunately the Government had not aroused itself too late. It was
not a case of locking the stable door after all the horses had been
stolen. There was still enough left, with careful husbanding, to
provide against national disaster. But the waste must stop right
here. Reforesting must keep pace with deforesting. For every tree
taken away, another must be grown to take its place. And above all,
the fires that had been taking such fearful toll of our forest
wealth must be prevented as far as possible. And where prevention
was unavailing, the best and most improved methods of getting the
fires under control and extinguishing them must be adopted and
applied.
So the United States Forestry Service had come into being, and the
fire loss had been immeasurably reduced. Stations had been
established in great tracts of woodland from the Atlantic to the
Pacific. Men with special qualities had been picked for the hard and
dangerous work of forest rangers. They were the policemen of the
woods, authorized to take action against many grades of human
malefactors, but cautioned to be on their guard especially against
the great archdemon—Fire!
In the woods as in the cities, the speaker pointed out, time is the
greatest element in the curbing of fire. That is why the great
engines go thundering down city streets at such tremendous speed.
The loss of one minute of time may mean the loss of millions of
dollars. Time to a city fireman is measured not in minutes but in
seconds, and sometimes even in tenths of a second.
The same thing was true in forest fires. The alarm must be given
instantly. It must be flashed to scores of villages and settlements
lying in the threatened area. It must call hordes of settlers and
woodmen to join in the work of getting the fire under control. How
could this most effectively be done? The answer was in one word.
Radio!
For Uncle Sam had come to realize that in this wonderful agency he
had found the solution of his problem. He had tried many others.
There had been lofty stations that had wig-wagged signals from one
height to another, but this method had only a limited range and was
ineffective under conditions of cloud and fog and darkness.
Telegraph and telephone lines had been strung through the woods
between stations, but in many cases the trees to which they had been
strung and the wires themselves had been burned in the very fire
that the operators had been trying to control.
But radio had none of these handicaps. It could work by night as
well as by day. There were no wires to be melted. It worked in the
valleys as easily as in the hills. The tiniest glint of fire, the
smallest thread of smoke—and instantly the message was flung out
into the ether, reaching every camp, every settlement, every party
in the woods who carried their radio receiving sets with them,
telling them just where the fire was starting and summoning them to
help.
And it did more than that. As soon as the fire was located, aviators
whose planes were equipped with radio hovered above the line of
flame and gave directions by wireless to the workers below. Those on
the ground, blistered and blinded by the flame and smoke against
which they were waging war, could not see where the fire was
spreading nor the best means to combat it. But the aviator from his
lofty perch surveyed the whole scene, could call the fire fighters
to the point where they were most needed, could point out the place
where ditches should be cut or backfires started, and in general
direct the whole campaign.
It was not to be supposed, the speaker said, that the value of radio
for this purpose was instantaneously recognized. Large bodies move
slowly, and the national Government was very conservative and, like
the man from Missouri, wanted to be “shown.” Objections were raised
that the cost of carrying and setting up the radio apparatus in the
wilderness would be prohibitive. But there were men of vision who
knew better and they kept pounding away until their plans were put
into execution. In the end the advocates of radio won. And what that
wonderful radio has saved to the United States Government has run up
already into the hundreds of millions.
Many incidents, some amusing, others thrilling, connected with the
Forest Service were narrated by the speaker, who then finished his
remarks in this fashion:
“Before I close, let me say that if the Radio Boys of Clintonia are
listening in, I am sending my regards and will soon call upon them
again.”