Broadcasting the Message

"We can bypass the media and have the President speak directly to the public."

"How can the President communicate with the public without going through the media? Don't tell me he's supposed to knock on doors one house at a time?"

William questioned him again.

Roosevelt said nothing, but the same confusion surfaced in those blue eyes.

In this era, the channels through which information traveled were fixed.

The President spoke at the White House, reporters took notes, newspapers set the words in lead type, newsboys hawked them through the streets, and the public paid to buy them.

Only then did they learn what the President had said.

Or, as at an inauguration, the public could attend in person—see with their own eyes and hear with their own ears.

But that required money for train tickets, time off work, and the strength to walk those miles.

But clearly, that was not what Feilan meant.

"Gentlemen, over the past few years, one technology has developed at an astonishing pace—so fast that many people may not yet realize what it means. That technology is semiconductor radio broadcasting."

Roosevelt's gaze sharpened slightly.

"I did some research. Conservatively speaking, more than six million households across America now own radios. They have them in cities, in towns, on farms. Working-class families have them, middle-class families have them, even many unemployed families have them. They sold their furniture, they sold their clothes, but they kept their radios."

"Because they can't afford newspapers, but they can afford to listen to broadcasts. They may not be able to read, but they can understand plain speech."

The conference room was so quiet that the ticking clock on the wall could be heard.

Feilan continued in an even voice. "If the President could sit before a microphone and, in his usual tone, speak to the people of the nation as though chatting with his family—telling them what happened to the banks, what the government intended to do, and what they should do—how much influence would Hearst's newspapers still have?"

"Broadcasting...?"

Roosevelt and the others still wore puzzled expressions.

"Yes."

Feilan nodded. "Newspapers will cut your words to pieces, stitch them together, and twist them, but broadcasting will not. As long as you speak personally, every word will enter the public's ears exactly as it left your mouth. What they hear will be your voice, not a reporter's retelling. What they feel will be your tone, not an editor's polishing."

"By then, that damned middleman known as the media will no longer be able to profit off the difference."

"It sounds very, very wonderful, but can it really work technically?"

In this era, having the President address the entire nation by radio was far from as simple as sitting before a microphone and opening his mouth.

It was a complex technical undertaking involving acoustics, electricity, transmission, and even the coordination of a nationwide broadcasting network.

That was why William and the others remained unconvinced.

"Which is why, as I said, this technology has developed quickly, and we have caught a favorable age."

"Now we only need to 'communicate' properly with broadcasting companies like NBS and CBS."

"Once they capture the sound and turn it into electrical signals, those signals can be carried through audio cables to a broadcast transmitter station in the outskirts of Washington. The audio can then be loaded onto radio waves. A one-kilowatt transmitter alone can cover the entire state."

William asked, "What about listeners in other states? We can't build a transmitter station in every state aimed at the White House."

"We can connect local stations across the country into a single network through telephone lines. Our signal can be sent simultaneously through those lines to Boston, Chicago, Denver, and San Francisco. Each station can then use its own transmitter to broadcast the signal locally."

"NBC started building this kind of broadcasting network back in 1926, and CBS followed suit. They usually use this system to air concerts and boxing matches, so technically, this is no difficult matter at all."

"And all we need to do is move the microphone in front of us. That simple."

When he finished speaking, the way everyone looked at Feilan had changed.

They had never imagined that Feilan was not merely gifted in finance, but also understood technical matters so deeply.

But Roosevelt's eyes soon lit up.

It was not ordinary excitement. It was the gleam of a man who had fought and crawled through the political battlefield for decades, suddenly catching sight of a brand-new weapon.

"Boy, this idea... seems quite good. But I need to go back and discuss it with Stephen and Louis first."

The news spread quickly.

So quickly that it caught many people off guard.

"The President wants to bypass the newspapers and speak directly to the public through this so-called broadcasting?"

"Not a speech, but a 'chat'?"

"Everyone with a radio will be able to hear it?"

At the Washington Press Club, several veteran reporters stared at one another.

They had worked in this business for decades, from the days of McKinley to Taft, from Wilson to Harding, from Coolidge to Hoover. Never had any President considered bypassing them to speak directly to the public.

"This makes no sense. There should be us between the President and the public."

"He can't do this. Without us, how will he make the public believe what he says is true?"

No one could answer those questions.

Meanwhile, in another luxurious private residence in Washington, Hearst was enjoying lunch.

The steak was prime ribeye, and the wine was an 1887 Château Latour.

But when he heard the news his secretary brought in a rush, the knife and fork in his hands froze halfway through the air.

"What?"

"The news from the White House is absolutely true."

The secretary's voice trembled slightly. "The President intends to make a nationwide radio address and speak directly to the public. Not through newspapers, not through reporters, but with his own mouth."

Hearst's expression changed.

The shift was subtle, but anyone familiar with him would know—it was fear.

He had spent thirty years building the largest newspaper empire in America.

Dozens of newspapers, millions of readers. Countless politicians depended on his pages to survive, and countless pieces of news relied on his channels to spread.

He was the king of public opinion, the gatekeeper of information, the wall between the White House and the public that could not be bypassed.

Now, someone wanted to tear down that wall.

"He can't do this."

Hearst put down his knife and fork, his voice low. "This—this violates journalism regulations!"

He rose to his feet and walked toward the telephone.

His first call went to the man in charge of the National Broadcasting Company, NBC.

"Henry, it's me. I heard the White House is planning some kind of radio address. Have you received notice on your end?"

There was a two-second silence on the other end, followed by a somewhat stiff voice. "Yes, we have."

"You agreed to it?"

"Mr. Hearst, this isn't something we can decide. The White House has... already made the arrangements."

"Henry."

Hearst's fingers clenched around the receiver, and he lowered his voice. "Do you understand that communication between the President and the public has always gone through the news media? Your broadcasting company is merely a transmission channel, not the publishing party. You have no right..."