One Summer: America, 1927

Harding, but Coolidge’s selection as vice-president was in large part thanks to Morrow’s efforts behind the scenes. Coolidgeproved remarkably ungrateful. When Harding died and Coolidge succeeded him three years later, it was widely expected that Morrow would be appointed to the cabinet as secretary of state or of the Treasury. But no call came. Not until 1925 did Coolidge give him any post at all – and that was a slightly demeaning one as head of the commission appointed to bring some order and discipline to America’s chaotic aviation business.
    Now he was being invited to become ambassador to Mexico – another dubious proposition since Mexico was in the throes of revolution and in a strongly anti-American frame of mind. Bandits roamed the country, often killing foreigners. Morrow accepted anyway.
     
    The morning of 11 June – Charles Lindbergh Day – dawned hot and clear. As the USS Memphis steamed towards its berth at the Washington Navy Yard, it was accompanied by four naval destroyers, eighty-eight aeroplanes, two giant dirigibles (one of them the Los Angeles , whose last official duty had been to look for Nungesser and Coli on the lonely North Atlantic) and fleets of private boats whose sheer numbers and slapdash manoeuvrings added an element of mayhem and near misses to the proceedings. Onshore a festive atmosphere reigned with bands playing merry airs and a large crowd waiting in happy expectation. Mrs Lindbergh was present, too, but was unaccompanied by the president, to the surprise of many. In fact, Calvin Coolidge was not always terribly comfortable in a nautical setting. Recently he had been sent to review the American fleet from the bridge of the presidential yacht, the Mayflower , at nearby Hampton Roads, but got seasick even though the ship wasn’t moving, and refused to wear the naval uniform provided – a breach of protocol and an insult to the navy. He went below after just twenty minutes and completed his review from a reclining position while looking bleakly out of a porthole. For Lindbergh’s arrival he decided to wait in the city.
    Mrs Lindbergh was piped aboard and met Charles privately inthe captain’s quarters, then the two of them stepped out on to the deck. Charles, dressed in a blue suit, looked rested and refreshed after a week at sea. The crowd issued an adoring roar at Lindbergh’s appearance and he was given a twenty-one-gun salute of cannon fire – a tribute normally accorded to heads of state. Across the city, factory whistles sounded and church bells rang.
    Through the happy din a radio broadcaster named Graham McNamee kept up a steady patter. McNamee was himself making history. His broadcast was being carried by fifty stations across the nation by the new National Broadcasting Company, America’s (and indeed the world’s) first radio network. Twelve thousand miles of AT&T telephone cables were pressed into service to give America its first coast-to-coast broadcast. It was believed that virtually every radio set in the nation was tuned in. No person in history had spoken to so many people at one time as Graham McNamee did now.
    McNamee’s position as America’s most trusted voice was entirely an accident. A Minnesotan like Lindbergh, he had moved to New York as a young man to pursue a career as a singer in both light and serious opera. In 1923, while walking along lower Broadway, he passed the offices of radio station WEAF. Knowing that radio stations sometimes aired recitals, he asked if there was any chance of an audition. The station manager, Samuel L. Ross, thought McNamee had the perfect voice for radio – warm and clear – so he hired him on the spot to introduce programmes, read news bulletins and occasionally sing. That autumn WEAF had the rights to broadcast the World Series between the Yankees and Giants – the first time the Series had been broadcast to a mass audience. W. O. McGeehan of the Tribune was employed to provide play by play and McNamee was sent along to assist him. McGeehan had no talent for broadcasting. He spoke in a flat tone and made no effort to fill the dead space between plays. During the fourth inning of the third game, he told McNamee he didn’t want to do it any more and left. McNamee had no choice but to take over, which was something ofa challenge since he knew very little about professional baseball.
    He was, however, a born broadcaster. McNamee described the crowds, the weather, the air of excitement that was rippling