W Fred

It was a night of rampant nostalgia and hearty mutual admiration. Mikes, music stands, and cables cluttered the stage in organized confusion. In an atmosphere of carefully controlled tension and a good deal of professionalism, Dartmouth's new FM stereo outlet WFRD - affectionately known around the station as "W Fred" - went on the air February 19 with an hourlong gala inaugural broadcast from the Hopkins Center theater.

After one of the longest labors in history, thanks to the Federal Communications Commission's on-again, off-again, on-again reception to license applications, the delivery was generally smooth, marred by only minimal intervals of dead air, and a jolly time was had by almost everyone.

Although more free tickets than there were seats had been picked up or distributed to campus brass and advertisers, the house was half full when the broadcast started on the FCC-dictated dot. For a time the photographers threatened to outnumber the audience, but the ticketholders drifted gradually in with customary Hanover punctuality, making more or less welcome crowd noises.

A lot of people said a lot of nice things about Dartmouth broadcasting. President Kemeny recanted his original conviction that the suggestion of a student-built, student-run FM station to augment WDCR was "totally impractical" and cautioned against underestimating the power and endurance of determined Dartmouth students. Trustee Robert D. Kilmarx 'SO, representing the station's legal owners, praised the management's triumphs over technical difficulties and other vicissitudes. Vice President Frank Smallwood '51, a Norwich resident, welcomed WFRD on behalf of the bi-state community and declined, on the grounds that "this is supposed to be a joyous occasion," to offer recollections of program- ming in his undergraduate days. Overseers' chairman Jordan Baruch, self-styled "chief see-er," predicted for the near future that two reporters would address Presidential hopeful Morris Udall as "Stewart," that one would say "Bye, Birch," and that the station would be off the air for up to five minutes a total of 14 times - four of which would go unnoticed while nine would be picked up by technicians and one by "a Vermont farmer using the midnight show to stimulate his hens."

Acting freshman dean Almon Ives, faculty adviser for radio from 1942 till his retirement in 1974, noted that milestones have occurred, like locusts, every 17 years: Dartmouth Broadcasting System in 1941, WDCR in 1958, and WFRD's license in 1975. His forecast by-passed TV and com- munication satellites to contemplate the beaming of dematerialized students to class or off-campus programs two steps hence, by his 100th birthday in 2009.

General Manager Chris Davidson '76 mused on the motivation of students who routinely tape commercials at 2 a.m. and give up vacations to keep the station on the air; pointed to WDCR's award-winning broadcast of the Durkin-Wyman senatorial race "when we were the only ones who knew what was going on"; plugged WFRD's upcoming coverage of the New Hampshire primaries, to be beamed to 29 stations; asked his audience to "be tolerant and loving," but most of all to "listen and enjoy." Staff members Steve Meili '78 and Kristy Weinschreider '79 traced undergraduate radio history from first short-wave contact with Norway to the inaugural spectacular. Station engineers Jordan Roderick '78 and Ted Bardusch '76 took a bow for their construction efforts.

One and all agreed that campus radio had come a long, long way since early transmission through the steam-pipe network and over telephone wires to dormitory transmitters, from household hints for World War II veterans' wives or the "Bed Pan Alley Show" for inmates of Dick's House.

Master of ceremonies Richard Mark '77 introduced the speakers and a bevy of entertainers picked to demonstrate the "power and versatility" of the fare to be offered over WFRD. The Dartmouth Aires led off, followed by the Distractions, sounding like a mellow echo of early broadcasting days. The latter-day Barbary Coast, saxophones abounding, played the kind of music to set a '30s Queen of the Snows and her escort to toe-tapping like mad, but - 14 strong - they were not entirely at home with the "big-band sound." Concert pianists Gabriel and Yoriko Chodos offered a precise four-hand "Marche Militaire," seeming faintly uneasy in the unfamiliar context. Our February cover girl Tweety Warren '77 and a male duo did reprises of their best numbers from the Players' Carnival production Kiss Me, Kate. Progressive rock group PUSH proved once and for all that the Hop has the tensile strength to withstand an earthquake of 7.5 on the Richter Scale. The Aires and the Distractions, with the tentative collaboration of the audience, joined for "Men of Dartmouth."

All in all, it was an admirable debut, with few opening mishaps. The speakers took fairly prompt notice of their cue cards; the grand piano was whisked noiselessly about. Behaving more like eavesdroppers than audience, the onlookers seemed hesitant to respond. Miss Weinschreider got the biggest laugh when her mike went dead as she explained historic "technical problems," and she was waved over to Meili's for an easy ad-libbed "hello, again."

Following sign-off, the performers, technicians, and their guests drifted up to Alumni Hall for a couple more rounds of mutual admiration, warm thoughts, stiff punch, and cold sandwiches. One lady commented that the Barbary Coast should be kept in mind should the need for a dance band arise. We wondered for no particular reason whether the infant W FReD's elder brother is destined to become "W DoCtoß."

Miss Liberty carries an honest-to-goodnessflaming torch and, appropriately, a beermug in the 1976 Winter Carnival version.