Evening star., 1936-12-28

could be made. Their great coil Of spring
was so well packed with graphite that it
was able to Withstand many years of serv-
ice. A few drops of oil, now and then,
might not have gone amiss, If the owner
had known exactly where to put them.
Mostly he did not. so he never put them
anywhere. The old phonograph did not
mind at all. It stands today, as Of old,
ever ready to play tune for us. OF
course, the older types needed attention
thank God! 1t Is this very feature, we
believe, which is bringing more and more
people back to the photograph, either
in its old form or the new. One had to
do something, ones self, and that means
q great deal in such q world as this,
wherein one gets out of life about what
one puts into 1t, more or less. The pro-
portion is not always plain to see, but
more or less it exists.
Selecting q record, and brushing 1t OF,
putting it on the turntable, adjusting
the needle. maybe turning the crank, all
these were and are manual actions, with
just the right proportion Of mental energy
needed for recreational purposes.
The very selection of the record to play
brought into being a whole chain Of re-
actions, based Solidly upon ones musical
training and perception.
One really played part in what went
on. Nobody here telling the listener what
he was about to hear, and who was fur
nishing 1t. There was no booster voice,
no "blah," no intrusion Of personalities.
Just sweet music, maybe a little sour,
now and then, since recording was not
perfected, but, In the main, just music,
sweet music.
And what a marvellous thing, to take
that old phonograph out of its hiding
place, and find it just as capable as ever
of matching our mood.
These old records, so carefully put away
SO long ago, and almost forgotten, but not
quite.
How every note, every breathing pause,
every scratch, is just as it was long ago.
These records, old style, have suffered
the zero temperatures Of the past three
years (out our way) without other pro-
lection than an unheated garage.
Yet not a crack is to be seen. There is
scarce a trace Of dust in the grooves, so
well have the paper jackets protected
them.
Nothing except fiber needles were ever
used upon these records.
One is placed upon the turntable, where
1t made so many rounds in the past.
Hundreds of times 1t was played.
But today it starts as Of old.
The listener holds his breath, Just for
. second, for fear something would be
different.
But no, the reproduction Is perfect.
The clear, sweet voice Of the great 60
prano comes into being again. 1t is here
now as 1t was in the past. Not perfect,
let 1t be understood, in the recording.
Nothing that is human is perfect. But
near enough to that divine IDEAL of per-
lection which faulty man cherishes to
himself over the centuries, near enough
to bring the tears unbidden to the eyes.
Can the radio ever do this? One may
wonder. Because this record was a per-
sonal selection from many, to meet the
needs Of human life.
Out the darkness, into the light. comes
this old instrument, with its wonderful
old records. It has been dead, and now
1t lives again. 1t lives in beauty and
light. II man, the imperfect, can give
life to the ifeless thus, he must believe
that the record Of his own life can and
viii be played again, in q way and a time
he knows not, but has faith in.