In the summer and fall of 1772,
panic took hold of London’s financial circles. It began with the collapse
of a firm called Neale, James, Fordyce,
& Down. Alexander Fordyce had been
speculating successfully for a decade,
but in the early 1770s his investments
went sour. He managed to deceive his
partners for a while; according to one
biographer, “It is said he succeeded in
quieting their fears by the simple expedient of showing them a pile of bank
notes which he had borrowed for the
purpose for a few hours.” When things
got too hot, though, Fordyce skipped
town owing a hundred thousand
pounds. In early June his firm suspended payment of its debts.
Trusted Writing on History, Travel, and American Culture Since 1949
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January 2011
Harry Matthei’s article gave me a pang of pride. I think I can lay claim to selling the first sponsor on “Today.” When the visionary NBC president Pat Weaver walked into our sales meeting to announce a new program from 7:00 A.M. to 9:00 A.M. called “Today,” we listened in disbelief. Network programming started late in the afternoon; who would watch TV at 7:00 A.M. ? And what kind of name was that? Still, when I presented the concept to the agency for Clearasil, they bought it.
I was there in November 1951 for the first show with emcee Dave Garroway (already a friend from his “Garroway at Large” show, with my client Congoleum Nairn), and I believe it was Jack Lescoulie who did the live commercial for Clearasil.
I found Harry Matthei’s superb “Inventing the Commercial” well written, well researched, and well remembered. When I arrived at the end of the story and read that Mr. Matthei had died last February, I realized that above all, the article was well timed. This serves as a lesson for us all. Regardless of how trivial an incident may seem, whether it’s about how we produce commercials, make toast, pump gas, or mow the lawn, the passage of time makes even the most mundane occurrence an event of historical importance. Even if people assume that their lives reflect a startling lack of accomplishment, they can create a lasting legacy by simply buying a tape recorder and spending a few idle afternoons recalling the way things were. Personally I can only assume that my grandparents laughed at Krazy Kat, played mumblety-peg, and joined in the celebration on Armistice Day. What I would give to hear this for a fact and in their own words!
Your May/June issue brought back many sweet memories of television in the 1950s. I recall well seeing my first TV show, on June 19, 1946. It was that second Joe Louis-Billy Conn worldchampionship fight described in the article, and I saw it in Rockville, Connecticut, more than a hundred miles from the New York City station televising it. The owner of our local radio store had built his own television receivers out of World War II surplus parts. He installed his sets in a shack high on one of Rockville’s many hills, with a tall antenna tower. On the night of the fight he invited many of his customers to the shack. My father brought me to see the event. We watched the fight on three surplus radar screens. Two had a blue cast; the other was bright orange. It was a marvelous fight. Even though Louis was nearing the end of his career, he was still exciting to watch.
To me TV was the first postwar wonder.
I have lived long enough to see smoking cease being considered a sign of sophistication. It is now well established in the minds of most Americans—even smokers—that tobacco contains a dangerous, addictive drug. It would have been helpful if Mr. Rudin had recognized that the martini is also a part of a destructive, although legal, drug culture.
Yes! The martini is truly one of this country’s gifts to the world and should be honored up there with the Declaration of Independence (“There Is Something About a Martini,” July/August).
I discovered the vast difference between a French martini and an American one at a hotel in Da Nang, South Vietnam, in 1963–64. It took most of my first tour in Vietnam to teach the bartender how to make a dry martini. Surely, if they are the least bit civilized, the new administrators are enjoying the results of my efforts.
Alas I can no longer partake of that marvelous creation, but if I ever get a firm expiration date for me or the world, I shall mark it with Tanqueray (just a whisper of vermouth), lemon peel, and Beethoven.
As the editors were preparing the Great American Place Award, we began talking to one another about many places our readers must know—that we had, in effect, a third of a million scouts out there who could tell us plenty.
So we’d like to ask you to tell us—and your fellow readers—about some place that is especially charged with historical meaning for you. Your spot needn’t necessarily offer the extremely rich distillation of the past that is concentrated in Saratoga; it can be a small historical society, or an underappreciated battlefield, a museum great or small, a local oddity like a bottle house or The World’s Largest (you supply the rest), a saloon, a city, a farming village, a restoration. … We would like you to join us in our continuing search for all the places that make America American.
The Basics
SARATOGA SPRINGS IS EASY TO GET TO. IN FACT THE sportswriter Red Smith once offered a succinct set of directions: “From New York drive north for about 175 miles. Then turn left on Union Avenue—and go back 100 years.” To be more specific, the town is about twenty-five minutes north of Albany on Interstate 87. It’s less than half a day’s drive from both Boston and New York City, a bit farther from Montreal. For nondrivers, both Amtrak (1-800-872-7245) and Greyhound (1-800-231-2222) make regular trips to Saratoga Springs from Manhattan.
From September to May Saratoga offers a variety of attractions without the crowds of summer. Fall is the best time for antiquing and apple picking. Winter features speed-skating competitions and a Victorian Street Walk festival. Springtime visitors can enjoy the Dressage at the Saratoga Horse Show as well as a folk-music festival.
A few hundred yards west of the Hudson, as you enter Schuylerville on Route 29, the sign is on your right. It’s an old, faded sign, not very large, and unless you slow down, you’ll miss it. And that would be a shame, because it carries a profound and haunting message for all Americans:
ON THESE FIELDS,
THE BRITISH ARMY
GROUNDED ARMS
AT THE SURRENDER