One Big Stage

For 70 hours last week, from the opening gavel to the nomination, television's three big networks* carried the story of the convention to 18 million U.S. homes, offices and bars, drawing an estimated 70 million people to the screen for lessons in politics, parliamentary procedure and citizenship. The candidates and their managers found television an invaluable intelligence service; some newsmen decided that they could cover the show best at their ease before a TV screen (see PRESS).

An Outstretched Hand. Television's relentless cameras (more than 70 were deployed) caught some memorable pictures--the proud profile of Keynoter Douglas MacArthur; the hand of defeated Bob Taft, which, like a numbed limb, remained outstretched long after his handshake with Ike; the small drama of eager hands passing a microphone along during a delegation poll.

TV also caught some intimate close-ups that most of those present failed to see--the grim, set face of an elderly woman as she swayed and clapped to music and speeches; the sight of Committee Secretary Mrs. Charles Howard slipping off her shoes before advancing to the rostrum. Its microphones eavesdropped on some private remarks, e.g., Mrs. Howard to National Committee Chairman Guy Gabrielson: "No, dear, I know that I'm supposed to read it down to here"; and Herbert Hoover to the operator of the stalled Teleprompter from which he read his speech: "Go on, go on."

For good or bad, television at times found itself an active participant in the convention drama. By demanding the right to cover the Credentials Committee session, TV aligned itself with the Eisenhower "fair play" forces; before the committeemen yielded to TV's demands, 10,000 listeners fired in angry telegrams protesting the Taftmen's closed-door rule.

Everyone an Actor. But there was much that television missed. The camera failed to pick up such dramatic moments as Tom Dewey's walkout during Dirksen's nominating speech for Taft. At critical points in the proceedings it often seemed unsure where to look, fell back on meaningless long shots of the convention floor.

Most of the TV commentators were tiredly commonplace, some were plainly uninformed, and all were occasionally inaccurate (one tentatively identified a delegate on the convention floor as the Democrats' Senator Estes Kefauver). Smooth-talking Walter Cronkite (CBS) delivered the most lucid flow of comment and information. Runners-up: NBC's Bill Henry and ABC's John Daly and Martin Agronsky, with seasoned Newsman Elmer Davis providing his Indiana-accented commentaries.

The sheer weight of equipment often kept television far behind the fast-breaking news. And before the show was over, some of those watching were beginning to wonder if television and its ubiquitous reporters had not managed to turn what was essentially a serious meeting into a sort of vaudeville act. Said one foreign newsman: "Everyone has the feeling of being an actor in a show. It is a fallacy of democracy that everything has to be continually decided by popular vote. You need something in the middle, an element of reflection." Added CBS's Ed Murrow

"Does it sort out the charlatan from the statesman? Are we quite sure that Father Coughlin and Huey Long wouldn't have been bigger with the help of television? You can't stop the picture and say, 'Go look at his voting record.' "

Walkie-Talkies & Periscopes. Yet it was to TV's credit that viewers everywhere could get a comprehensive picture at all. The three big networks alone had more than 1,000 people on the job, along with a vast assortment of tape recorders, hand mikes, minicorders, walkie-talkies, peepie-creepies and periscopes (TIME, July 14). In the main control room in a Jittle room off the first balcony, Pool Director Bob Doyle (of ABC) sat on a high stool scanning TV screens from seven cameras, selecting the picture to go out over the air. In addition to the pool, each network placed cameras at strategic spots around the city, and frequently left the pool to follow its own stories.

For many--including the millions of bleary-eyed viewers--the convention ended none too soon. Announcers and crews were probably all as tired as one nerve-racked ABC announcer who stood outside Eisenhower's hotel room before the general left to make his acceptance speech. Shouted the announcer, as he tried to fight his way out of a maze of wires, legs, cameras and people: "We're waiting for the general now. We don't know when he'll come out. And frankly, I don't care any more."

*A fourth, Du Mont, shared CBS's pictures.

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