Ariella M. De Castro U.S. History Period 2 (two) May 21, 1989 Research Paper Communication - Sound Plan B In the beginning, God said: "LET THERE BE LIGHT." No one heard Him. He might have reached a wider audience had He used a more modern form of audio communication, but alas, no. You see, God was a victim of the terribly uncivilized disease known as Lack of Modern Audio Communication Technology. All-powerful and omnipotent and all that though He was, he still didn't have Sprint. And so people have been wondering ever since what, exactly, He had wrought. "What hath God wrought?" demanded Samuel Morse in the code bearing his name, quite a while later. You see, once God realized that some form of communication would be useful, He created sound. (Which I, for one, consider a darn useful invention.) One thing led to another, and everything fell into place quite nicely over the next several billion years. Which leads us to Morse's question. In three days, it will be the 145th anniversary of that very question. Yes, in Washington D.C., on May 24th, 1844, Samuel F.B. Morse tapped his way to stardom by sending that message 40 miles to his assistant in Baltimore. His assistant heard him. Now what does this say about God? Eh? Man's age-old dream of communicating over great distances without the use of mental telepathy had finally been realized. In earlier times less reliable means, such as drums and smoke signals, had been used for sending messages. Had it not been for modern audio communication technology, Neal Armstrong would have had to try blowing smoke rings several thousand miles back to Cape Canaveral and his message might have come out something like "It's just one small sandwich for man, one giant Annette Funicello for mankind." And that would not have been happy. When Benjamin Franklin was told to go fry a kite, he used said kite, a key, and a red ribbon (which was there for God-knows-what reason, but, you see, WE don't know because at this point He was still saying holier-than-thou proclamations in all uppercase without anyone listening because everybody was in Washington D.C. or Baltimore, watching Morse and his buddy play with their telegraphs) to, quite by accident, harness electricity, it provided Man with a force for sending messages over long distances quickly and efficiently. Now /that/ was happy. Telegraph wires spiderwebbed quite rapidly across the nation and around the world, enough to send millions upon millions of messages all over the place. The telegraph stimulated the invention of other electrical devices, such as the Atlantic cable, which carries messages from England to America and back again; the telephone, which carries messages everywhere else; and later, radar, television, and radio. The telegraph blazed the flaming trail for these inventions, partly because it was the first important application of electricity to practical work. (Except, of course, for frying kites.) (Which I, for one, consider a darn fine reason.) The telegraph did more, however, than going around, blazing trails for other, ungrateful, inventions. (After having blazed their trails for them, at least the telegraph might expect like a call or something on Mother's Day.) It changed many things in the daily life of the countries it touched. Every last railroad (only the last ones, mind you) had its very own individual personal private (get the picture?) telegraph set by which trains were supposedly kept on better schedule (have you ever known a train that has been on time? I haven't. So much for what people OR God have wrought), many wrecks were avoided, and basically all railroad-related activities were getting peachy-er and peachy-er, day by day. The telegraph changed the newspaper world too, seeing as now, major news items could be sent all over the country on the same day that the event took place. The Civil War (now there's a contradiction in terms) began only seventeen years after Morse's historic, if not a tad blasphemous in our context, message was first sent. It was the first war in which the generals could get in touch with their troops without the use of messengers or even, perhaps, God forbid (not that anybody would actually HEAR Him forbid), having to make a personal appearance on the front. (They were all big fans and worshippers of Dan Quayle.) International communication changed with the telegraph. Governments could communicate with each other the moment the need arose. And of course the telegraph serves us in our daily life by sending our messages quickly anywhere we want them to go. Of course, this last sentence is rather obsolete now, considering the availability of the Fax machine or even -- nay, to even think it! -- the telephone. Which reminds me. In 1876, there was only one telephone. Nevertheless, the rates were high, the connections lousy, and usually you'd get an answering machine no matter who you called, considering that there weren't any phones to pick up. But in 1876, there was only one telephone, and it was in the White Pages under Bell. Alexander Graham, that is. "Come here, Watson; I need you!" shouted Bell to his assistant over the newfangled invention that they had created. Okay, so there were two phones. Anyway, this, albeit quite the useful expression, just doesn't hold a candle to "What hath God wrought," but by that time they had stopped wondering about that. By 1956, on the 80th anniversary of Bell's invention, there were 58 million phones in the United States alone (seeing as they hadn't invented phone-mate's yet). There were 214 million miles of wire in cable, and 700,000 employees to maintain and service the worldwide telephone communication system. This is before satellites and fiber-optics and computerized switchers and the like, yet the traditions of 1956 live on. The one of those 700,000 employees who is supposed to show up between 8 AM and 5 PM won't even call until 4:59, when he'll tell you it'll be another three to five business days. So much for the telephone. But before we say so much for things it is generally a Good Idea to know what it is exactly that we are saying so much for. The word "telephone" itself comes from words that are Greek to me. "Tele", meaning far, and "phone", meaning sound. By the same token, "Telegraph" translates as "message from afar." Which leads me to wonder: Why is a telegraph considered to be an audio communications device? If God had meant the telegraph to be classified as an audio communications device, it would have been called the telegraphone. Actually, for all we know, that's what God DID call it. But no one heard Him. The invention of the telephone quickly made that wonderful trailblazer, the telegraph, rather jealous, as it fell victim to the "obsolete before you're 30" concept that our modern technology is so much the fan of, and now it was telephone cables that spiderwebbed quite rapidly across the nation and around the world, enough to facilitate millions upon millions of telephone calls all over the place. The telephone stimulated the invention of other electrical devices, such as the teletypewriter, which is Greek for "a typewriter from afar", (controlled from a remote location), and the telephoto machine, which enabled us to transmit pictures over great distances. The telephone blazed the flaming trail for these inventions, probably because it was a pretty neat idea (not unlike digital watches). (Which I, for one, consider a darn fine reason.) To say the least, the telephone has come a long way since the first words were transmitted over it in 1876. I suppose the radio is next. It was a dark and stormy laboratory. A scientist stood in front of a large loop of wire that had a gap in it. On a bench, on the other side of the room, lay a spark machine. The loop of wire was not connected to the machine in absolutely any manner whatsoever. The scientist threw the switch for the spark machine across the room. Suddenly, the gap in the wire glowed with a dull band of light (so they were dull; at least they were light). This was the historic experiment by which the first radio waves (not to be confused with The Wave for absolutely ANY reason) were produced (not directed, but produced) and recognized as such (hey! You're radio waves, aincha? Remember, we met at the cinematographer's party) by Man. This man who recognized them as such was recognized in turn (by his friends) as Heinrich Hertz of Germany. This was in the year 1886, a whole decade after the telephone, but that didn't faze them. You see, at the time, Hertz had been working on detecting electric waves in space. He was aware of the presence of these waves, considering that they had been mathematically predicted a few years before, in Scotland, by a man who was recognized in turn (by his friends -- not Hertz's) as James Clerk Maxwell. Maxwell's silver equations were to form the foundation of electromagnetic theory, of which radio is a part. The complete development of radio is a story of many men from many countries. After Hertz, Guglielmo Marconi of Italy perfected wireless telegraphy in 1896, a whole decade after Hertz recognized those radio waves, but that didn't faze him. In England and in 1904, two years before a whole decade after Marconi's wireless, thanks to the time change, Sir John Fleming developed the electron tube. (Not to be confused with the electron tuba, which is not much louder but takes far less time to warm up.) Years and many inventions later, in 1933 and fact, Edwin H. Armstrong developed static-free radio transmission: FM, which was basically AM with more good music and less static cling. The invention of the radio quickly made that wonderful trailblazer, the telephone, rather jealous, as it fell victim to the "obsolete before you're 30" concept that our modern technology is so much the fan of, and now it was radio waves that spiderwebbed quite rapidly across the nation and around the world, enough to facilitate hours upon hours of easy listening music everywhere. The radio stimulated the invention of other electrical devices, such as the television, which is Greek for "a vision from afar with too damn many commercials", which enabled us to transmit pictures and sound and soap operas over great distances. The radio blazed the flaming trail for this invention, probably because it was a pretty neat idea (not unlike digital watches). (Which I, for one, consider a darn fine reason.) To say the least, the radio has come a long way since the first waves were transmitted over it in 1886. One could even say that the radio has come farther than the telegraph and the telephone combined, considering that nobody brought a Princess Phone or sent a singing telegram to the moon in 1969. The phonograph was invented by Thomas A. Edison, who also took credit for inventing practically everything else after it, in 1877. Since I have basically nothing better to do, why not explain how a record is cut. When anyone (except for God of course, seeing as no one can hear Him anyway) talks, sings, makes music, or makes any kind of sound for that or any other matter in front of, behind, or at all in the general vicinity of a microphone, the sound energy is changed into electric energy by the microphone. Isn't that neat? But wait -- there's more. The electric current that the microphone makes has a pattern quite similar to the original pattern of a sound wave. But somehow, it's not quite the same. In making a phonograph record, the pattern is put onto the record itself. The weak current from the microphone flows to a device which makes the current stronger (like maybe an amplifier, perhaps) and then to a recorder which contains a crystal. The crystal. What does the crystal do? Wait, not the crystal. The current. The current causes the crystal -- ah, THERE's the crystal -- to twist and bend. (Oh shake it up baby now.) A needle is fastened onto one end of the crystal, and moves exactly as the crystal does, every vibration shared, every twitch felt by both, making beautiful music. The needle draws a pattern onto the record, generally made of vinyl or other plastic. (The record, not the pattern.) When the recording switch is turned on, the turntable rotates, turning the record round and round and round, rather redundantly, if you ask me. The recording arm (containing the needle) is adjusted so that the needle cuts a circular path with the grooves very close together, almost touching. Yet somehow, not quite. That is how a phonograph record is cut. Or was cut in the mid '60s, at least. God only knows if they still do it anything like this, but who can hear Him anyway? And now it was record grooves that spiralwebbed quite rapidly around and around the nation and around and around the world, enough to facilitate even more hours upon hours of easy listening music everywhere, considering that now they had something to play on the radio. The phonograph stimulated the invention of other electrical devices, such as the tape and wire recorders, and eventually CD's and DAT's, which aren't Greek for anything even semi-relevant, which enable us to listen to more and more Violent Femmes and Bach and the like. The phonograph blazed the flaming groove for these inventions, probably because it was a pretty neat idea. (Not at all unlike digital watches.) Now look, Mr. Perman, I'm on the tenth page and I've still got to cover wire recorders, tape recorders, and CDs. Plus, my friend, who swore I could never use his computer again after my last report in your class, is getting rather agitated, considering I've been in his room for the last 15 hours, without food or water, and he hasn't gotten past first base, nor will he unless we finish this )(*$)@&$(^%@# paper. Going on. Magnetic recording is the recording of sounds by magnetizing an iron oxide coating on a strip of plastic or metal tape. The same tape is used to record sound and play it back. Especially if you consider that if you play back a different tape than you recorded on, you probably won't be pleased with the fidelity of sound reproduction. Now let's take a gander at high fidelity, which is decidedly a very different activity than tossing a gander at high fidelity equipment, mind you. The greatest boom in the recording industry came with the development of the LP (Long-Playing) record and "High Fidelity" (rare in most of today's marriages), which is pretty small potatoes next to today's digital technology, but they were pretty proud of themselves back in the 1960s. A second boom is the making of stereophonic sound, or for those who don't know the jargon, "stereo". In stereo, the sound is recorded on seperate sound tracks from two carefully spaced (like most students, especially toward the end of the school year) microphones. These two tracks (they tried four in the '70s -- called it Quadraphonic -- but nobody wants to talk about that, so let's not) are combined on the record as one single groove, and played by one single needle. The phonograph pickup separates the tracks again, and they are amplified individually and reproduced by seperate speakers, spaced not entirely unlike the microphones (and not at all unlike the students). The most recent boom to the recording industry is digital technology, as in CDs and DAT's. CD stands for Compact Disc, and DAT stands for Digital Audio Tape. Both work by taking those impressions (the ones created by the microphone and amplifier, you remember) and turning them into numbers. Lots and lots of numbers. These numbers are minisculely fastened on a disk of plastic (if it's a CD) or onto magnetic tape (if it's a DAT), and scanned by a laser (if it's a CD) or by a magnetic tape head (if it's a DAT) and turned back into music again. Somewhat pointless, when you look at it, isn't it? I mean, it was music, and then you pay like a few thousand dollars to make it into numbers on a little plastic disk, then some other poor soul pays a few hundred dollars for a machine and twelve more bucks for each of these little plastic circles that you can't even record on, just to turn it back into numbers, just to turn it back into music again. Doesn't it all sound just a bit silly? It's times like these I wish I'd listened to what God once said. Don't ask what He said. How should I know. I couldn't hear Him. On that note, the end. Bibliography... Bilby, Kenneth. The General David Sarnoff and the Rise of the Communications Industry, New York, Harper & Row, 1986. Coon, Horace. American Tel & Tel: The Story of a Great Monopoly, New York, Longmans, Green and Co., 1939. Donaldson, Frances. The Marconi Scandal, New York, Harcourt, Brace, and World, Inc., 1962. Lyons, Eugene. David Sarnoff: A Biography by Eugene Lyons, New York, Harper & Row, 1966. Our Wonderful World Encyclopaedia, vol. 2 and 14. Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1983.