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fascinated Boston but was, even so, judged as verging on ostentatious. That her escort that evening had been not a Bostonian but an unknown young man from California named Lear had caused much comment, not all of it favorable. It had been mildly scandalous. That he was a Harvard senior and was going to continue to a master’s degree had suggested he might be the right sort, though.
    That he had already taken Kimberly’s virginity would have been conclusive evidence that he was not the right sort.
    â€œWhatever are you thinking, husband?”
    â€œI’m thinking about you,” he said. “Remembering when—”
    â€œWell, you had better focus your mind on what I’m doing, or we will be at it all night.”

THREE

One
    1932
    T HE STUDIOS AND TRANSMITTER OF WCHS WERE NOT ON THE Charles River as its call letters suggested but in Southie. Jack Lear was not willing to commute to Southie every day, so his executive offices were located in a suite of rooms above a theater southeast of the Common.
    â€œExecutive offices” was actually too grand a term for the rooms from which the radio station did business. Its executive staff consisted of just two men: Jack himself and Herb Morrill, whose job was to sell advertising. Jack had inherited Herb, who had been employed by WCHS since 1928 and was thus a veteran not only of the station but of radio broadcasting. He sold advertising, but he was also the source of ideas.
    It had been Herb’s idea in fact, not Jack’s, to do the survey. When the results came in and were not favorable, Jack decided to fake them and then tout the faked results so often and for so long that it became gospel that WCHS was Boston’s favorite radio station, in spite of other stations’ frenzied efforts to set the record straight
    One morning in February, Herb brought to the office a singing trio, and Jack reluctantly auditioned them.
    Herb Morrill was a man of infectious enthusiasm. The story told of him was that he had been a successful bootlegger buthad left that business because he foresaw the repeal of Prohibition. The truth was that, as a boy, he had developed a fascination with radio when he wiggled a wire whisker around on a quartz crystal and strained inside his earphones to hear the signal all the way from Pittsburgh—station KDKA. His father repaired shoes and apprenticed the boy to learn the trade. For a while, Herb re-soled and re-heeled shoes until he could hurry home, bolt down a meal, and don his earphones to hear stations as far west as Kansas City and Chicago. In 1928 he abandoned his trade to go to work for WCHS. He wanted to be an engineer but lacked the education for it. By default, he gravitated into selling advertising.
    Herb was only two years older than Jack but had the look of a man ten years older. He shared with Jack the tendency to baldness, but his was far more advanced. He wore round, goldrimmed eyeglasses and looked pedantic and timid. His appearance was deceiving because he was aggressive and outspoken.
    â€œWait’ll ya hear these guys! Wait’ll ya hear these guys!”
    Jack was accustomed to Herb’s exuberance. He lit a cigarette and regarded the trio—all dressed in identical double-breasted tan suits—with skepticism.
    â€œListen to this!”
    The trio opened by striking a note: “Hmmmmmm.”
    Jack covered his eyes. “Don’t do that. Just sing some thing.”
    They did:
    I’m Geraldo Cigarillo, and men all say,
    I’m the finest cigarillo you can buy today.
    With the choicest tobacco, I will please you,
    You can’t find better, and that is true.
    For the finest smoke that can’t be beat,
    Buy a pack of Geraldos and enjoy the treat!
    â€œJesus Christ! Herb! What have I done to you to make you do this to me?”
    â€œYou don’t like it? I don’t like it. The audience that hears it won’t like it. But they’ll remember the message! Geraldo