If you were in the market for a phonograph a hundred years ago in Alabama, then the place to go was the Clark & Jones Piano Company, 1913 Third Avenue, Birmingham. This ad appeared a hundred years ago today in the August 26, 1922, issue of the Birmingham Age Herald. They had outfits ranging from $25 to $350. You could take home this handsome model, along with ten records, for only $2 a week.
Yu can view a photo of the store’s display window at the website of the Birmingham Public Library.
A hundred years ago, phonograph dealers started to realize that radio was, indeed, going to be a thing. And if they wanted to remain profitable, they would have to start selling radios.
The August 1922 issue of Talking Machine World included a number of radio ads, of which this one was typical. The general theme was that if you wanted to stay in business, then you should start selling the other kind of talking machine, namely, the radio.
This one, from the Harpanola Company of Celina Ohio, itself a phonograph maker (and before that, furniture maker) was typical. The time to act was now, and you couldn’t wait for the horse to be stolen before locking the barn door. There were radio stores out there, but the ad admonished the phonograph dealer to “let the radio stores sell the experimenters and the boys.” The phonograph dealer would be the place to go for those who wanted a “drawing room” radio, in a well-finished cabinet. The company promised that it would “show you the way to introduce cabinet radios successfully. The profits and volume of sales are going to set new records in money-making.”
Life Magazine for this day 75 years ago, August 18, 1947, carried this ad featuring Metropolitan Opera mezzo-soprano Risë Stevens extolling the virtues of General Electric’s “natural color tone” line of radios.
All of the models shown featured automatic record changers with GE’s “electronic reproducer” cartridge which magnetically recreated the full recorded sound, without the need to change needles. The model 417A and 502 consoles featured FM and shortwave in addition to standard broadcast. Both models covered both the prewar and postwar FM bands. The 502’s shortwave coverage was 9.4-9.8, 11.5-12, and 14.8-15.5 MHz, meaning that there was good bandspread on the 31, 25, and 19 meter bands. The 417A had the same coverage on 31 and 25 meters, but no 19 meter coverage.
The model 326 console covered broadcast and shortwave.
Rounding out the lineup was the model 304
A hundred years ago this month, the June 1922 issue of Talking Machine World carried this advice for phonograph dealers worried about a summertime slump in sales. Their lifesaver would be the “Health Builder” records featuring the Daily Dozen exercises of Walter Camp.
Camp had worked as an adviser to the U.S. military during World War I and came up with a physical fitness regimen for servicemen. This became the “Daily Dozen,” a series of twelve simple exercises to get a running start on the serious work of the day. The Daily Dozen were featured in books and articles, and starting in 1921, in this series of phonograph records. So the dealer could sell not only the records, but also the phonographs to coach customers on their fitness regimen.
Camp’s company could supply the literature and cut-outs, and suggested that the dealer run demonstrations. They could use an athletic member of the sales force, or a young husky from the neighborhood.
This young woman enjoyed listening to her record player, but thanks to the hints in the April 1947 issue of Popular Mechanics, she also knew how to take care of it. The record player was designed to withstand rough handling, but it was also a precision instrument that required occasional attention.
For one thing, the wires under the pickup arm could come loose and drag along the record. The magazine explained how to pull the wires tight to prevent this.
If the record player wouldn’t play at all, it was likely the cartridge, and the magazine explained how to replace it. It also explained the importance of cleaning dust off records, as well as the need to occasionally oil the bearings.
Shown here from 75 years ago are some views of Don Leary’s record store in Minneapolis. These images appeared originally in an issue of the store’s 12-page Don Leary Record News, which went out to over 25,000 people every month. The image was reprinted in the April 1947 issue of Radio Retailing., and that magazine highlighted the store’s ongoing advertising campaign, and the monthly newspaper was a key part of that advertising. The emphasis was on records bulletins and lists, but also highlighted the other aspects of the store’s business, namely, radio, appliances, and service.
The store had over a quarter million records in stock, and its business philosophy was that the logical place to buy a radio or phonograph was where you bought your records. It was good business, since the satisfied customer would keep coming back for records.
In addition to its own newspaper, Leary reported that the store was the largest user of newspaper advertising space of any record store in the region. He also made a point of having friendly relations with reporters, who came to quote him as the expert in all things involving records. For example, he had recently been quoted in the Minneapolis Star-Journal regarding juke boxes, which he viewed as a good thing for the welfare of city youngsters. (Incidentally, it was an industry in which he was also involved.)
More biographical information about Don Leary can be found at this link. The store was opened in 1941 at 56 East Hennepin Avenue, on Nicollet Island. That address doesn’t really exist any more, but would be at the spot indicated on the Google Maps image below:
Nicollet Island, 2022 (Google maps) and 1940.
The aerial view at the right was taken in 1940, and shows a business district along East Hennepin, the street connected to the mainland by the two bridges. Over the years, East Hennepin was paired up with First Avenue Northeast as complementary one-way streets. On the island, they form a short four-land divided road, and there are no lots directly adjoining it. To the North, there is now a view of De La Salle High School, and to the South, there is now a view of the Nicollet Island Inn, both of which would have been obscured by buildings on East Hennepin in the 1940’s. Leary’s store would have been one of the buildings on the South side of the street, probably the fourth one from the left.
I write about a lot of people on this site, and I think this is the first time I’ve written about someone who I personally met back in the day. I believe East Hennepin got its current configuration through the island in the early 1970’s, and Don Leary’s was long gone by the time I remember being there. However, from 1971 through 1979, he owned a record store in a small suburban strip mall at 2927 NE Pentagon Drive, St. Anthony, MN.
Despite the small size of that store, he probably still had a quarter of a million records in stock, of all genres. I was looking for something by Jimmie Rodgers, the Singing Brakeman (1897-1933). I asked Leary, who seemed to run the store as a one-man operation whether he had anything, and he asked me whether I actually meant the unrelated Jimmie F. Rogers, who was born the year the elder Rodgers died. When I let him know that it was the Singing Brakeman I was after, he commented something to the effect that he went way back, but showed me an assortment of his records.
Leary died in 2000 at the age of 92.
Shown here is Canadian wildlife photographer Dan Gibson using the parabolic microphone he developed. Here, he has the mike mounted on the prow of his canoe, which allows him to silently paddle up in search of wildlife.
This photo is from the March 1972 issue of Popular Mechanics, in which he is described as a photographer who developed the tool primarily to capture photographs of wildlife. The article hinted, however, that the system could be used to capture wildlife sounds on tape. Thanks to this microphone, Gibson became more famous as a recording artist, with his Solitudes series of recordings of nature sounds and music. Here, for example, is his recording of La Mer (Beyond the Sea):
You can find the label’s recordings on Amazon, or find more information at their facebook page. If you’re looking for a parabolic microphone, here are some of the current offerings:
Some links on this site are affiliate links, meaning that this site earns a small commission if you make a purchase after clicking the link.
If I didn’t know better, I would think that this gentleman was putting a coiled up garden hose inside a speaker enclosure. Well, actually, he is putting a garden hose inside a speaker enclosure, as instructed by the January 1972 issue of Elementary Electronics. He wanted to enjoy quadraphonic sound, and thanks to the magazine, he was able to create quadrasonic sound using his existing stereo. The project shown in the magazine took its input from the speaker terminals of the existing stereo. It then created two new channels, adding a 15 millisecond delay to produce a realistic reverberation. This was accomplished by feeding the signal into the hose from an earphone, and picking it up at the other end with a crystal mike. The output (mixed with a non-delayed version) was then amplified and sent to the rear speakers.
According to the magazine, the result was the greatest home entertainment item since the invention of the crystal set, and would place the listener in a galaxy of surrounding sound and a listening wonderland.
If the general idea sounds vaguely familiar, that’s because you’ve seen a similar idea here before. When WBBM and KFAB wanted to synchronize their signals, WBBM had to build a delay into its transmission, and they accomplished this with a section of lead pipe.
A hundred years ago this month, the cover of the December 1921 issue of Science and Invention magazine covered a topic that seemed reasonable to me as a youth. Rather than spend waking hours with the burdensome task of learning, it would be easier to just play the material while sleeping, and let the subconscious mind soak it in. This gentleman is doing exactly that, and the whole system is explained in an article by Hugo Gernsback, who also included the technology in his novel Ralph 123C 41+, first published in serial form in 1911.
It never worked for me as a kid, mostly because I never figured out how to keep something playing all night. The record player could keep playing the same record over and over, but I didn’t have any records containing material I needed to learn. I had a tape recorder, but I never figured out how to make an endless loop long enough to contain useful information. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the machine shown here available.
According to Wikipedia, it doesn’t work anyway. But if you want to give it a try, you can find the materials at Amazon.
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It was probably 1971, plus or minus a year or so, that Santa Claus brought me my very own record player. We had at least two phonographs around the house, and at least one of them was used mostly by me. But it wasn’t mine, and thanks to the Kenner Close ‘n Play phonograph, any kid could own one. And the parents’ (and/or Santa Claus) would only be out $6.88, plus the cost of three D cell batteries (According to this inflation calculator, that works out to about $47 in 2021 dollars.
The Close ‘N Play was a rather ingenious design. It played only 45 RPM records and it was more or less automatic. The young audiophile would place the record on the platter and turn on the motor. When the lid was closed, the record would automatically start to play.
The Close ‘N Play was probably one of the last acoustic phonographs to be mass produced. There were no electronics inside. The acoustic tone arm was built into the lid, and when the lid was opened, the arm would drop into position, ready to play from the start of the record. With the Close ‘N Play, there was no way to start in the middle of a record. If you lifted the lid, it automatically went back to the start. When you closed the lid, the needle would land on the record, and play through the acoustic horn, which was about 4 inches in diameter. Of course, there was no volume control, but the horn was relatively efficient and could be heard with no difficulty.
Of course, young owners such as me (and especially their parents and older siblings) quickly discovered that the steel needle, even if “synthetic sapphire tipped,” wasn’t particularly good for the records, especially since the acoustic tone arm had a pretty hefty tracking weight.
Despite being made by a toy company, the Close ‘N Play was decidedly more than a toy. But it didn’t quite qualify as a “real” phonograph. Once the novelty wore off (and the batteries went dead), most of my youthful record listening took place on a normal record player. The only real advantage of the Close ‘N Play was its portability. But I could proudly say that I owned my very own record player, even if perhaps I destroyed a few 45’s in the process of using it. The clipping above is from the 1971 Sears Christmas Catalog.
Here’s a 1967 commercial for the product: