Radio KDS

RADIO KDS By J. A. Washburn I was neither a scientist nor a person of strong religious convic- tions. Both of these facts will be apparent to the reader and are men- tioned at the outset only as a background for the experiences which are here narrated. Please understand that I have no pet theory about the existence of spirits to camouflage as fiction, and you are warned to accept the following events only for what they are worth to you. I was extremely humiliated at times because of my stupidity and lack of ability to understand and interpret phenomena about me. What to others is simple and readily explained, was mostly beyond my ken. The massive locomotive that shakes my fir tree as it thunders past, the dazzling light flooding my room at the touch of a button, the electric motor propelled by the distant cataract, the airship sail- ing the upper deep, the telephone, the graphaphone and a hundred other things on every hand, are marvelous to me. But of all the inventions of man, none is more wonderful than the radio. I doff my hat with something akin to reverence to the men who have made it possible for me to sit in my den and select, at pleasure, music and wisdom from north, south, east and west, as it comes directly from speakers and performers. Within the year, radio has leaped to an important position among the great industries of the world. With few relays sound is transported half way around the globe. Not only is sound thus perfectly reproduced, but recent dem- onstrations prove the possibility of radio-vision. It is this latest of discoveries, the radio, that has made possible my story. The Good Book says that at death the body shall return to the dust as it was, and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it. Also, that the Witch of Endor called back the spirit of the departed Samuel; that Moses, Joshua, Gideon and many others met and conversed with spirit people. I have heard, too, various views concerning Life After Death; indeed, I have just finished reading Rev. Arthur Chambers' book of that title. Some people think that the spirit returns to earth again in the body of another person, or perhaps an animal. Others get satisfaction in believing that the spirit dissolves, so to speak, and be- comes a part of a universal something. Still others prefer to people an unseen world with spirit folk who have power to think, feel, act and associate much as we do here. A few of my friends, however, insist on going them all one better and predict in the near future, a reunion of the body and spirit or intelligence, which inhabits it here. This, they call the resurrection, and associate it with the second coming of Christ. Just what will be the condition and activities of these made- over people is not quite clear to me. All these things, however, have seemed so far away and unre-

RADIO KDS 591 lated to my vigorous, active life here that they made little appeal to me and were pigeon-holed for more careful consideration when the end of life should heave in sight. But my former passive attitude re- ceived a shock, and recent experiences quite persuade me that life after death is perhaps a reality, not a delusion or mere belief. I must content myself with the foregoing explanation and pro- ceed at once to the promised experiences, leaving you to form your own conclusions with the reminder that it is high to be a judge. Perhaps by the aid of a Sherlock it could all be explained on perfectly natural principles, and that after all, what I saw, I saw not, neither heard I the things that I heard. My first experience was of the common sort, such as you have all heard many times before — the kind I heard, but with which I was un- impressed. The actual experience was different, however, and oc- curred in this wise. My friend "B" and I, being of the same "craft," salesmen, and covering the same territory, elected to travel together to reduce expenses. He was about thirty years old, a widower, having lost his wife during the flu epidemic. He had served in the World War and saw his comrades fall on the Field of Flanders. I found him to be a congenial companion, rather of the sober sort, but the kind who compels confidence and respect. Merchants and business men throughout our circuit greeted him warmly and his friends were in evidence on every hand. I gradually came to realize that my in- creasing business was, in a great measure, due to the company that I was keeping. More than that, I found that my ideals and attitude to- ward life were undergoing radical changes as a result of our many long talks. He was charitable toward my faults and failings — I found very, few in him; in fact, I at length ceased to look for any. Within the year he had become my "David" and, in the role of Jonathan, I was ready to make a covenant of perpetual peace with him. Such, in brief, were my relations with Mr. "B." Unfortunately for me, however, these pleasant associations were destined to an early end. So it is in life, often love's ties are harshly torn asunder and we are left to weep with no definite answer to our query, why? It was the middle of May. Spring was in all her glory. The smell of flowers, and the song of birds were in the air. The farmer whistled as he plowed and sowed by the roadside, while chil- dren romped and played in the sunshine. Everywhere, I felt the joy and thrill of new life and vigor. Not so with my friend. For several days he had b<?en quiet and uncommunicative. All my efforts to draw him out had failed and I settled back in my seat with a feeling of defeat. We were making the long drive across the mountains from Ft. T. to M. He was at the wheel and drove on in silence. We had climbed the narrow pass more than eleven thousand feet above the level of the sea. Driving to one side of the road, he stopped the car facing the setting sun. Behind us lay the Valley of Castles, so called because of

592 IMPROVEMENT ERA the great natural spires towering above the surrounding plain. Before us, and nestling among the mighty Rockies, was the valley of "U." In the distance glistened the waters of the lake of the same name, while here and there, like squares on a checker board, were the farms and villages of a prosperous people. For a time we sat in silent ad- miration. No sound stirred the air save the faint whirr of an airplane as it floated among the distant clouds. "It's great, Rowe, isn't it?" His voice was a little husky. "Which?" I asked. "Oh, everything," he answered with a sweeping gesture. "These everlasting hills with their cloaks of pines and caps of pure white — the green valleys and the honest people who live in them — the moun- tain breezes and cool sparkling streams. It is all so glorious." His voice was clear now and there was a far-away look in his eyes. "Do you know what town that is?" he continued, pointing to the southwest. "Yes," I answered. "That is the little town of L." "So it is, so it is," he said meditatively. "That's where I first met my girl. We were married there. I have been living those scenes all over today. You are not a church man, I think." I shook my head. "I could tell you some strange things, Rowe, but you would not believe them." "At least, I should not ridicule," I answered. "I have changed my mind on many points since I got in with you. I am sure that I shall be interested in what you might have to say." "I couldn't make you see it," he continued, slowly shaking his head. "Try it," I urged. After a pause he began. "Yes, we were married down there. Those were happy days but all too short. The remembrance of them still thrills me — the touch of her soft, white hand — I feel it now. The hopes, the plans for the future — they were all as yesterday. Then came the call for men. I was afraid to think, but she proposed it. 'Shall we wait for con- scription, or shall we enlist?' she asked. It was always we, our, us. One could not love or be loved alone. The sacrifice, too, must be for both. We made it — we enlisted. I, to cross the waters; she, to cheer and comfort those left behind. Hers was the greater sacrifice. Every- where I went things were new, strange, interesting. Time passed, then came that terrible night on the battle field. The rain fell in torrents — the deafening thunder — the roar of the guns — the din and shout of battle — the groans and cries of the wounded and dying, O God!" and he threw his hands over his eyes as if to shut out the pic- ture. "There was a crash, — I saw my buddy fall — my head was bursting, then all was silent as death. I felt my head raised from the ground and a soft hand seemed caressingly to wipe away the blood. The pain ceased and I saw, not a nurse, but my Alice, the gentle, sweet girl I had left in the Rockies. 'I am with you, George,' she said. 'I have come to leave you no more.' When I rallied in a hos-

RADIO KDS 593 pital a few days later, it needed no message from home to tell me my sweetheart had passed away. I saw her on the Field of Flanders as truly as I ever saw her in life. A week ago she visited me. Last night she was there and she promised to come again." His face was flushed and he became excited. I saw what I should have discovered before — he was ill. With some difficulty I pursuaded him to let me drive down the mountain and soon after dark I left him with his friends in the little town of "L." The next morning I found him delirious. The fever was raging, but I had to leave, having been called in by my firm on special business. It was nearly two weeks before I saw him again, and lonesome weeks they were for me. Wasted and worn by the ravages of disease, he had little resemblance to my "David" of the year past. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends," are the words of the Master. They had meant nothing to me. Now they grappled me. Something in me gave way — I wanted to take his place and give him freedom — health — life. It was a holy feeling and filled me with a joy I had never known before. But I was speechless — I could only look dimly through the tears which flooded my eyes. A faint smile lighted his eyes as he laid a thin hand in mine. "I knew you would come," he whispered. "You've been a good pal and I wanted to tell you. There is something beyond the grave; I have seen it. It is glorious — just keep clean, keep clean. She. has been with me again. The next time she comes, I am going. It's all so fine, old chap, don't worry about it." He sank down into his pillow exhausted. At midnight the nurse called me and I hurried to his side. As I neared the door I saw him with his hands extended as if in sup- plication. He was either praying or talking to someone but his voice was too weak to be audible. In a few moments he had passed away, no doubt to join the girl he loved so devotedly here. Now you have my story, at least the first part of it. I am not asking your opinion. Build your own theory as I have built mine. Call it delirium or what you like. Thus far I have it only second hand. I saw nothing — heard nothing — just my friend's testimony. What follows is mine and I pass it on to you as he passed his on to me. It has always been clear to me why a woman should weep at the death of a child or a husband. It has even seemed proper for a hus- band to show evidence of sorrow under similar conditions, but for man to weep for man never seemed quite the natural thing. Manliness and strength of character to me were never associated with the shedding of tears. I admit, however, and quite without shame or humiliation, that I mourned the loss of my friend. Nor is there now a conscious- ness of regret for my weakness. In truth, there had awakened within me an interest in my fellows entirely new to me. But you are not interested in how I felt, it is the incident you want, and here it is. For several years I had celebrated the opening of the fishing season by camping at the head of Still Water on the night

594 . IMPROVEMENT ERA of the fourteenth of June. It was my boast that no hook should legally kiss the water ahead of mine. In these events the race is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong, but to the one who gets out early and works late. It was the morning of the fourteenth. I needed the rest, the diversion, more than ever before. It was settled without argument or pursuasion, and four o'clock p. m. found me at the old camp ground. Six o'clock, camp set and supper over, I sauntered up the mountain side to determine the number of neighbors as evidenced by smoke from the campfires. They were not numerous for it was yet early. They would come straggling in all hoursi of the night. At present there was no one nearer than half a mile. The sun was still shining on the summit of Old Tabby. Across the canyon and some distance to the north, I could see the fence of the circle S ranch. That recalled an incident of a year ago. A youngster from the valley, en- joying his first fishing trip in the mountains!, had crawled through the fence to fish in the open pasture. A wild bull, resenting the intrusion, began to bellow and tear up the earth. The boy dropping his pole, fled with the bull in pursuit and scaled the first sapling he came to. In the evening when he failed to report at camp, his mother stirred up such a commotion that everybody turned out and searched the stream for miles. George and I found him in the little tree with his feet dangling just above the head of the infuriated animal. At camp I arranged my tackle ready for the early morning and prepared for an evening program. The radio had become as neces- sary as my meals. 'It had been ours — George's and mine. More than anything else, it reminded me of him. Our day's work was always ended with a bit of music from over the way. He had a passion for the radio. He never tired of it and many a time I have awakened in the small hours of the night to find him still at the board — you know how it is with radio fans. He had some peculiar ideas about it, too, at least it seemed so to me. He dreamed of a little instru- ment carried in the pocket like a watch which would sometime be used instead of a bulky cabinet. Aye, his dreams went further. "The air everywhere," he said, "is filled with sights and sounds. Some- time we'll catch them all. It will be an interesting old world to live in then," he would declare with enthusiasm. He didn't stop with the physical, he carried his speculations into the spiritual. He missed his calling, he should have been a scientist or a philosopher instead of a salesman. His spirit world surrounded our earth. "Spirits which come here," he said, "belong here, and at death are not transported to some other sphere. At times we are commingling with people of another world unseen by us." At first, the thought gave me the shivers, but I eventually became used to his doctrine. "Who knows," he would argue, "but in the future we shall have found a basis of communication with our departed friends. They are not dead — there is no death. They live, they converse, they asso- ciate. If there is a possibility of signaling to the people on Mars,

• JIADIO KDS 595 why not converse with those close at hand? I can see no limit to the possibilities of science," he would declare. "Even now we flit through space where only yesterday we thought none but angels could fly. A child at the switchboard now controls ships at sea, flying machines, and automobiles with no visible means of communication. If there are no such hopes, why bother to pray and send out petitions to the unseen? Someone, somewhere, must pick up our SOS or it's all a farce. But it's not a farce, it's a reality. When I pray some- one hears me. If my life is right and my ears properly attuned, should I not hear the answer? In olden time physical instruments were used to catch the answer. They were- called "Urim and Thummim," and were provided by the Lord. These were scientific instruments just as the radio is scientific and all wisdom and science must come from the same source." Here I am doling out to you the philosophy of my friend and perhaps you are not the least bit interested. If you are not, I beg your pardon and shall atone by sticking more closely to my narrative. I tuned in first on radio KSL. It is the weather report. That's interesting for a storm is predicted and I can prepare for it. Next comes some sitting up exercises — not interested, I have plenty ahead of me. The market quotations are endured, perhaps from habit, but I am now outside the industrial world. A string trio, violin, cello and harp is great. Thanks KSL, wish I could express to you per- sonally my appreciations. Radio KGO is next heard from. A lecture on music — pass it up, I'd rather hear the real thing. Here it comes, a male quartette — believe me, the voices are heavenly. Just think, those chaps are hundreds of mile3 away, on the shores of the great Pacific, singing to me here in the tops of the Rockies. I didn't catch your names, lads, but you're all right, I'll say. Good night KGO, you've made the world seem smaller tonight. Radio KGW. Yes, I recall my geography, you're away to the northwest. Not so far away after all. We are within talking dis- tance. "An old-time orchestra," you say? There was no need to announce that for me. "The Irish Washer- woman," "The Camp- bells Are Coming," "A Life on the Ocean Wave," etc. I can hear your applause — I'm clapping my hands, too. I'm doing something else — I'm thinking of my first dance ever — hickory shirt, home-made denim overalls, bare feet— not the Charleston, just plain dancing in the sand. There is a girl in the picture — and another fellow — let's move on. I'd like to shake your hands, old-timers, you've rolled the scroll back forty years. Radio KDA. You are a little nearer, measured in miles. We are neighbors, so to speak. That was a wonderful violinist. The violin is my favorite instrument. You always have such fine things for us. It is a good time to turn in with those matchless strains still

596 IMPROVEMENT ERA sounding in my ears. George, old pal, the evening would have been complete if you had been here. I had little idea of the passing of the time, it might have been hours, I cannot tell. I had been restless, turning this way and that in a vain endeavor to sleep. I had recited to myself the multiplication tables — over and over again, I had counted black sheep jumping over a stile, but all to no purpose. A feeling of loneliness possessed me. The howl of a coyote in the timber above, the hoot of an owl from a near-by tree, the plaintive moan of the wind through the swaying branches all added to the dismalness of the hour. At times I lay on the borderline of consciousness taking brief flight into dreamland but always returning with an abruptness that startled me. The moon's rays filtering through the canvass shed a mellow light within the tent. Just above me, shadows cast by the leaves of an aspen fluttered and danced like fairies, while beyond, rising and falling with the breeze, was the outline of a dead branch re- sembling a clown in the circus. Strangely exhausted and unquieted, I turned toward the radio near my bed. To weary eyes and senses the dials seemed like faces peering through the darkness in an effort to attract my attention. Mechanically I put out my hand and turned on the current. All my friends were evidently asleep — just a bit of jazz from a far-off station. It was not jazz I wanted. Several attempts to tune in brought no satisfaction. I was about to give it up when I caught the faint sound of an instrument, indistinct at first, but warming my soul as the morning sun warms a waiting world. It stayed an instant and then was gone like the lost chord. I was all intense. Eagerly I turned the dials back and forth past the marks. Ah, again, the sound of a harp, faint and far away. And voices, too. The harmony and sweetness of the sounds my words cannot express to you. Fainter and farther away and again they were gone. There was no sound save the beating of my heart. I waited in breathless silence. Where did it come from? Would there be no announcement? Could I but get the station — more than anything else I wanted it. Were they strains from the celestial world and not to be repeated? Then again I heard it, not the music as before but a voice that was sweetly familiar saying, "Radio KDS, Kingdom of Departed Spirits." With the announcement came sights and sounds from a new world with a new color-scheme, flowers, landscapes, and birds, with people busy and happy, and George, my old pal, with his sweet- heart in the midst of all its glories. I woke with a start to find the dawn creeping over my tent and the early birds chirping merrily in the branches overhead. Provo, Utah