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Ray’s form of the affirmative, so the next week, Roy obtained a license for $25, and Roy Jr. found a 500-watt transmitter, and on April 6, 1926, patrons came to lunch to find the windows draped with velvet, the tables arranged in a semicircle, and in the center a bastion of broad-leaved plants from which rose a black iron stand adorned with a golden eagle, the Stars and Stripes, and a microphone. Next to it, said Ray, was a pitcher of water, laced with aquavit.

    Station WLT went on the air at noon that day with the Tuxedoans Quartet and pianist Patrice Duval Paulsen. Ray’s lodge brother, the ever hearty Leo LaValley, was master of ceremonies (“Sure is good to be with you today, folks. We have a darned nice audience here for the broadcast, though they sure are quiet. Reminds me of the fellow who was driving along and his wife fell out of the car . . .”). Roy Jr. stood at the controls back in the linen closet. The Quartet sang “Whispering Hope” and “Take Me Back to My Little Grass Shack in Minneapolis,” and Leo told the joke about the Norwegian mother who bought three shoes for her boy Olaf because he had grown a foot and the one about the farmer whose cow wouldn’t give milk so he sold him, and the secretary of the Y.M.C.A. recited the poem “Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man”—and then, though it was the first broadcast, Leo said, “And here’s a number that so many of you friends and neighbors out there have written in and asked to hear, and of course we’re only too happy to accommodate your desires, so the Quartet will do it for you now—‘Hälsa dem dar Hemma.’ ” Finally, Ray was brought up for a few words. He planted both feet firmly, grasped the microphone with both hands, pressed it to his lips, and said in a loud voice that he and his brother Roy looked on this as a great day in their lives and he hoped all would work out for the best. Mayor Huffner spoke. “It is an honor to be given this opportunity,” he said gravely, “and I sincerely thank you for it.” Miss Corinne and Her Accordion played the state song and “By the Waters of Minnehaha (I Will Wait Tonight for You).” The broadcast lasted forty-five minutes, and afterwards there was a reception. Forty people milled around, excited—something big had happened—but what, exactly? They had seen a show that flew out invisibly as far as Anoka, Stillwater, and Hastings, a miracle, but how could you know it was true?
    Roy Jr. switched off the transmitter. It sighed, expelling a faint breath that smelled of vacuum tubes and electrodes. Ray leaned against the doorway, feeling faint. His speech had exhausted him.
    â€œDid anybody hear it, do you think?”
    â€œGuess so.”
    â€œAnybody ring up and say so?”
    â€œNope. Maybe they were too busy listening.”
    Ray went home and found Vesta asleep on the sofa, snoring. Their brand-new Rivard receiver sat on the sideboard, whispering static. He switched it off, and she woke up. “Vesta,” he said, “did it come through?” She said, “It came in loud and clear. Clear as a bell, like you were in the next room.”
    He said, “Was it good?” She said, no. It was radio and that was exciting, but no, it was not good. Leo LaValley? Good? No, she was thinking that maybe she would have to go down to WLT herself and lend a hand. Go on the air and read something good , like “Thanatopsis” or “In-victus.” Ray winced. No, she said, she thought maybe he was onto something after all.

CHAPTER 4
    Lunch with Lottie
    T he next morning, in the Tribune ’s “Radio Log” column: “WLT 770 kilocycles. 12:00 Sign-On & Piano Prelude 12:15 Radio Program 1:00 WLT Noontime Jubilee 1:30 Postlude & Sign-Off”—the schedule had gone from forty-five minutes to ninety minutes in just twenty-four hours! The