Brendan Gill

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A 1946 New Yorker “Talk of the Town” piece by Lillian Ross and Brendan Gill concerned an unusual advancement in early portable technology. An excerpt that shares details about the odd invention as well as the origins of Dick Tracy’s two-way radio wristwatch:

Among the new gadgets presently forthcoming is one that will help solve the telling-time problem for people and make them less dependent on clocks, watches, and the New York Telephone Company. An outfit called Electronic Time, Inc. (no relation to didactic, Yale-spawned you-know-what), intends to set up in business and has asked the Federal Communication Commission for permission to operate a high-frequency station here to broadcast the time every fifteen seconds around the clock (an expression common in the old, pre-electronic days). The broadcasts will be picked up by miniature receiving sets that will fit into a vest pocket or add a mere three ounces to the weight of a lady’s handbag. They will be about half as big as a pack of cigarettes, or approximately the size of a two-way radio Dick Tracy recently found on the wrist of the murdered man. The little sets will pick up only their home stations, which hasn’t been  assigned its call letters yet. All this may sound simple enough, but after a brief fill-in by Albert R. Mathias, the head of E.T., Inc., who was a Navy officer in the war, we can assure our readers it isn’t. Mr. Mathias’ invention involves, for example, chokes and high fidelity, matters that must be handled with some delicacy in a family magazine.

Mr. Mathias told us that he was a consulting engineer before the war and liked building his own radio sets, some of which were very efficient. “But I could never get the time on my radio when I wanted it,” he said. “I used to have a couple of watches, but my dog chewed them up. Nothing like that is likely to happen to our little radios, which are made of plastic.”•

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In A New York Life: Of Friends and Others, Brendan Gill provides a short profile of the artist Man Ray, who was born in Philadelphia in 1890. One of Ray’s most famous photos was of the newly dead writer Marcel Proust. Ray explains to Gill how that photo came about. An excerpt:

“As one  of those innumerable visitors to the shrine on the rue Férou, I asked Man Ray about his well-known photograph of Proust’s corpse, the eyes lying sunk into his skull, the chin and cheeks unshaven–never had a body looked more intensely (one might even say, Proust being Proust, more intently) dead–and he told me that it was Cocteau who had arranged for him to take it.

The year was 1922, a short while after Man Ray and Cocteau had met. As Man Ray told the story, surely not for the first time and surely not for the last, his telephone rang one Sunday morning, and it was Cocteau babbling in a high, distressed voice, “Venez toute de suite! Notre petit Marcel est mort!” Man Ray picked up what he called his ‘old shoe’ of a camera and made his way to Proust’s apartment, to which Cocteau admitted him.

The only available light came from a single electric light bulb of low wattage directly above Proust’s bed. Had that made it difficult, I inquired, to take the picture? The little god in his attic looked at me with good-humored scorn. ‘Certainly not!’ he exclaimed. ‘A corpse is the easiest thing in the world to photograph. The subject being motionless. I was able to set my camera for as long an exposure as I pleased. The results were, let me say, satisfactory.'”

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