collectornet
McDonalds and Googie
updated
#vintage, #transistor, #antiques, #collectibles, #transistoradio, #collectornet, #sears, #1950s, #1960s
This was their smallest transistor radio to date, though it's hardly small. And this is their first shirt-pocket radio, though it would hardly fit in a shirt pocket. Ah, Sears. I go all into Sears and the Searsness of its products in other videos, so I don't want to repeat here, but their radios have a kind of clunky charm to them. And this one, to me, is pretty irresistable. It's tapered and rounded and altogether a unique piece of work. We're never going to know, but I'm always going to wonder how much of the size and styling of this radio is Sears, and how much is Arvin, the company who actually made this radio for Sears. Either way, it has what I guess we could call "midwestern" styling through and through. Actually, we can identify the styling better than that. In these mid-century styling examples we can see where this radio has much more in common with the streamform and taperform styles of the 1930s and '40s than anything newer, and I guess that parallels the feeling I have that this radio's look has more in common with 1940 than 1960. Now if you know anything at all about what this channel stands for, you'll know that that is NOT a criticism. Just an observation. We love old stuff. Old stuff that looks like the future... and old stuff that looks even older than it is. Both are fine with us.
This is a FOUR transistor radio. By the time it appeared, most transistor radios employed six or more transistors. This was, I think, the first widely available transistor radio with just four transistors since the Regency TR-1, the first transistor radio, from 1954. The Sears catalog says that the radio "outperforms most 5-transistor sets we've seen." Well, there weren't many of those so that's not much of a boast. How it stacks up against the average 6 transistor would be a more useful measure, but... they don't say. How it stacks up, styling wise, against this much smaller Sony 6-transistor from the same year, 1960, I'll let you decide.
Here is the Silvertone next to Arvin's 1961 shirt-pocket model, which was none too small itself. You can see the Silvertone is a plus size for sure. And for comparison, again next to the Arvin, here's Silvertone's next entry in the shirt-pocket field, the 1960 model 1203... which is a radio considerably slimmed down from the 1201.
The box is all about shipping and not at all about display... so it's not much to look at. Because of that, few were saved. That makes them rare. Not particularly valuable, but rare.
Looking twenty years older than it is, the Silvertone 1201... in the only color it came in, which they call "gray" and which the catalog calls "smoke gray" and which I would call putty, or... meh.
This Panasonic R-111 is what is called a "micro" radio. This is a category of radios that are made as small as the technology would allow them to be made... but without leaving anything out. In other words, these are "full-featured" radios with self-contained antennae and onboard speakers.
Micro radios fascinated me as a kid. Seeing one behind the glass counter at my local drugstore was like visiting NASA and getting a glimpse inside a space capsule, where some guy was going to be shot into space, then orbit the earth a few times and crash into the ocean. Fascinating. The fact that the micros were made in Japan ran counter to the still-prevailing idea that Japanese goods were cheap. These were obviously not cheap, in looks or in price tag. For many of us, the micro radio taught us that our past perception of Japanese quality had been myopic at best. This seemed to me at the time--I'm not sure why...it seemed to be a very hopeful discovery--not at all a negative one--and indeed that hope was confirmed... as within a few years the Japanese firm Sony made possible what no one else could or would--enabling me to make and record the music that shaped my young years.
The brand Standard was by far the dominant player in micro transistor radios, having produced 13 different micros, which they named "Micronic Rubys." Shown here on the right is perhaps their best known one, the SR-G430 model. For scale, keep in mind that the larger radio, to the left, fits in a shirt pocket. The Panasonic we are looking at is not as small as some of the Standards, but it is every bit as well-made. Unlike most micro transistor radios, Panasonic's "Tidy Tot" uses a single penlite battery instead of the expensive, leaky, and kind of dangerous mercury batteries that most of the other micros used. The battery loads from the bottom, into an all metal case. The only non-metal part of this radio's cabinet is the top... and I'll bet you can guess why that is. The front is mirror-finish chrome, the sides are painted a satin black, and the back is a semi-satin finish aluminum.
In micro radios, the parts are impossibly close together--and this was a treat to see for those of us who took the backs off of things to peek inside. It was probably NOT a treat to see for the radio repairman who was brought one of these for repair. I wonder how many of these that were handed across the counter in a repair shop... were met with a shaking head and words like, "noooo, no, nooo, can't help you with that."
This radio was among--or perhaps the first--to use Panasonic's new logo, which according to the company's official history, first appeared in 1966. This logo was derived from the earlier National logo. Both were brands of Matsushita Electric. There was actually an earlier Panasonic logo, this one, which designers at Panasonic apparently didn't like much since they rarely used it on products. The company's history, in fact, doesn't even mention it. This radio is a Panasonic, of course, but to be clear it is the brand that is Panasonic, the radio's actual maker was Matsushita Electric. And the company name remained Matsushita until 2008 when they adopted a new company name. Which was, duh, Panasonic. You saw that coming.
I don't know if all of these came in this plastic display box. I rather doubt it. But in any event, it's not likely that many of these display boxes have survived. I've only seen this one. The name "Tidy Tot" is on this box and in a very nice script lettering. The name appears on the instructions too, but does not appear anywhere on the radio itself. I find it impossible to remember this name--always misremembering it as TiNy Tot. And indeed you may find references to this radio in places as that other name. I don't want to say that other name again, it will just set it in my mind again. Let's get it out of our minds, shall we? It's "Tidy Tot." Out of our minds.
It's "pocketable," says the instruction folder. And indeed it is. Special features listed on the back of that folder are, number 1, Operates on One Penlight Battery. Number 2: 7 transistors plus 1 Diode. Number 3: Inverted Cone Speaker. Well, I never would have known, but I guess that helps explain the speaker grille shape and show just how efficiently they engineered this thing. Number 4: Built-in Ferrite Core Antenna. Yes, that's why the top is not metal, but plastic. For the antenna to not be shielded by metal from the radio waves it's intended to pick up. Special feature number 5 is Durable Die-cast Cabinet. And number 6: Earphone Jack.
In 1955 and beyond, Regency adapted their TR-1 radio for other brands and models. Here they did so for the Bulova Watch people, a plastic-cased version to be sold under the Bulova brand, and this odd leather covered version for people who liked to own weird looking things. Regency did the same for the folks at Mitchell, making leather-clad versions in three different colors: called alligator, antique white, and suntan. Regency's own variant to the TR-1, the TR-1G, was issued in a cabinet with a different plastic formulation and with new colors. And their TR-4 version featured several internal improvements and still more knob and trim changes. Regency also made this Mantola for the B. F. Goodrich tire people. All of these were more or less adaptations of the original TR-1. And though all were called shirt-pocket radios, opinions varied on that score--especially if you asked the shirt. Did Regency make any smaller radios?
Just this one. But it's tiny, tuneful, and terrific. It also has only two transistors and can be heard only through an earphone. It's a stretch perhaps to call this a shirt-pocket transistor radio without the qualifier that it is something of a toy. Not only does it have no onboard speaker, it doesn't even have a volume control, there's just a crude on/off switch on the top.
The Regency XR-2 and XR-2A models were introduced in 1958, the same year that Philco introduced its T-3 "Veep" model, a similarly-sized, similarly configured radio that also played only through an earphone. There's a video on this channel all about this little Philco.
These two earphone-only radios... had something in common with this Emerson "Champion" model. That something being that these three radios... were the only American-built attempts at a NEW, smaller shirt-pocket radio in the FIVE YEAR GAP between the late-1954 release of the TR-1--and late 1959 when RCA and other American brands finally began to step up with shirt-pocket size models of their own. Really. FIVE YEARS.
Meanwhile, these were coming from Japan. That's Sony's 1957 TR-63 model next to Regency's TR-1,... and Sony's 1958 TR-610. There has been a lot of self-serving and spurious talk over the years about Japan's rise to dominance in consumer electronics. Most of such talk cited cheaper labor costs in the far east as the reason. But there was always something suspicious in that claim... something... incomplete, and misleading. I've dug into this in some previous videos--and the more I dig, the more I learn that what we've been led to believe... just doesn't add up.
Other than Emerson, and Regency, and Philco--who at least tried-- the rest of the American makers' inaction in this five year gap is remarkable. American companies made larger radios, to be sure, but not the shirt-pocket models people were really wanting. Just as the American car makers a decade or so later, in the 1970s, remained addicted to huge behemoths, while another country... again Japan... came along with somehow a better understanding of what Americans really wanted than the American corporations could manage.
And again with cars, we heard the 'cheaper labor' excuse. We heard how expensive our labor was here in the US and how the foreign maker had an "unfair" advantage. I believed it, of course. We all did. But now I wonder if what they were selling us with this logic was less about the truth and more about excusing their own failure to make for the public what the public wanted to buy. When we're talking shirt-pocket radios in the late 1950s, isn't it obvious that the reason American manufacturers failed in this competition is because for five years they literally failed to show up for it? Looking into these little radio histories as I've been doing on this channel has been a real eye-opener for me. It has cast more than a little doubt on the tales we've been told--and are STILL being told--by American business.
And doesn't the American brands' focus on larger radios with bigger profit margins sound a lot like those 1970s cars? Do you remember the argument? The auto makers flatly stated that they made more money on the bigger cars. They would only make smaller, more economical cars if they could get concessions from labor, or automate the factories--which is the ultimate concession from labor--unemployment. Most of the attempts they DID make at so-called "downsized" models were still huge--and hardly economical.
What is it that's so appealing about these little radios? Maybe it's the similarity to the Sony TR-610, the iconic pocket radio that these radios knock off--the round speaker, the wire handle that doubles as a stand. These radios are thicker than that Sony, and less, shall we say, shapely, yet somehow they are every bit as interesting, especially with all the variations to trim and chassis--inside and out.
In a transistor radio, the "round speaker" thing can be traced to the Zenith Royal 500. But of course in radio, generally, that "round speaker thing" goes back much further than that--well back into the tube era. But for the radios we are looking at today--and indeed for many transistor radios from Japan and Hong Kong, the design inspiration likely goes no further back than the Sony already mentioned, shown here in front.
This Truetone, which already has a video of its own on this channel, has a three transistor chassis. The Hearever TRN-3 is a three transistor as well--but it employs early oval-shaped, black, NEC transistors. The Harlie and the Suntone are six transistors with chassis very similar to each other. They have transistors marked "T-E-N" from Kobe Kogyo, as does the three-transistor Truetone. The Elgin 66-A is a four transistor, employing these "T-E-N" branded transistors. Here's the Hearever 3 transistor again for comparison. Some parts are similar, as you see; but most of what's on the circuit board.. isn't. The transistors that were in that Truetone were T-E-N cylindricals, but now here's ANOTHER Truetone--same DC-3090 model number-- but with different transistors. It has three of the NEC-branded transistors, in the oval shape. You might expect the board in here to be the same as the three-transistor Hearever with the same NEC transistors... but... not even close. Confused? Don't worry about it.
Here's this little beauty as a six-transistor “Dream Six.” Does this ad indicate the actual maker of this radio? I wish. No, T. Chatani & Co. was a distributor, a “trading company.” They're still in business, by the way, and have been at it since 1909. But, they are out of "Dream Six" radios, I'm sad to say.
If you have any clue about the actual maker of these radios, or the origin of these brands, I wish you would leave us all a note in the comments. I'm guessing the Hearever brand MIGHT have been imported for the northern California outfit that sold Hearever crystal radios back in that era. Maybe. The Suntone brand, I really have no idea. Nor the Harlie. I've seen other Suntone radios, and even an American-made Harlie, but they bear no resemblance and give no indication of being from the same outfits... The Elgin, I would guess is from the Elgin watch people and would have been sold in jewelry stores. The BULOVA watch people had been in the transistor radio business doing that since 1955, from almost the beginning of the transistor radio era, so... why not Elgin? The origin of the Truetone, that we know! Well, not who made it, but we know who sold it. Truetone was a brand of Western Auto stores out of Kansas City, Missouri, and they used that brand on TVs,...radios,.. guitars, and other things. There's a video on this channel about Western Auto and the many interesting things they sold. This ad from around 1960 shows the radio on sale for $18.88.
This price seems pretty low for a transistor radio in those days, even a three transistor. And this brings up the snotty headline I wrote for this video which, if I haven't changed it by now, says these radios are Cute & Cheap. Cute, I think we have total agreement on that, don't we? Cheap? Well, what I mean mostly is how easily their cabinets could, and did, break. Very rarely are these radios found in decent condition and even these here, as nicely as they present themselves, have many little flaws. The plastic was just really thin. Take a look along the edge of the cabinet. This is the thinnest plastic I've seen on a product since... shrink wrap.... And price-wise, as we've seen, the Truetone at least was on the low end, so were all the others, I assume, meaning these radios were likelier to be owned by kids than by older people who tended to have more serious radios, and take better care of them. Soooo, these little radios were more likely to get jostled around and be fidgeted with. Nowadays, they make toys specifically FOR fidgeting. Back in the transistor radio era, we had to fidget wherever we could.
#vintage,#transistor,#antiques,#collectibles,#transistoradio,#collectornet,#fads,#1950s,#1960s
In a video I did on RCA and their first shirt-pocket radios, I noted the ridiculous gap of five years between the appearance of the first shirt-pocket radio, the Regency TR-1, and RCA's entrance into the shirt-pocket radio market in late 1959. This five-year gap was a gift, of course, to the Japanese companies seeking to enter the American market.
Well, it took Motorola until 1960 to concoct their first shirt-pocket radio, this strange and wonderful six-transistor model X14. It employs a bit of underpainted plastic on its front panel, and with a twist--it seems to be shiny, like chrome rather than silver, like paint. I suppose this is vacuum metalizing, the process we were starting to see on products around that time--which gives the appearance of chrome-plated plastic. It's applied in a vacuum process, hence the name... because, plastic not being conductive of electricity, it can't be electroplated in the traditional way plating of metal is done. But on this radio, this metalizing is done on the UNDERSIDE of the clear plastic top panel. This was a unique look on a radio at the time. The only other place you'd see underpainting with this chrome-like metalizing back then would be on some automobile horn buttons, in the center of steering wheels.
It's not much of a box, as you can see. Just cardboard and... styrofoam. You didn't see a lot of styrofoam in packaging back then. But here it is. And it's held up well.
The radio's cabinet is not too terribly well engineered. I don't think I've ever seen one of these where the easel stand works properly and hasn't cracked up the back due to people trying to overcome its poor design. As we get inside we see this bit of choice engineering on the stand hinge is just inexplicable. And on the chassis,...the transistors are Motorolas--they made their own transistors. The tuning capacitor is a Japanese-made Mitsumi and that's unexpected in an American radio. The battery called for is a weird one, with a clip on either end. In that RCA video I talk about why so many of the American radio makers used these strange batteries.
We'll look through the Owner's Manual booklet while I read you the introduction. Quote: "This powerful Motorola portable radio offers not only high styling, but superior performance through the creative design and developmental skills of Motorola's engineering staff. Outstanding, exclusive features make your Motorola portable radio the quality instrument that it is." End quote.
The optional accessories offered are an earphone and a carrying case... And here's the schematic diagram... And a few words on service... Motorola has a few MORE words to say about service on this little inspection notice... and still more words to say on this official looking "Warranty Certificate," which warns at the top, "Owner! Keep this certificate in your possession"... and says at the bottom--I'm not quite sure why--quote, "Not redeemable for cash." So don't try it.
Motorola, which began as Galvin Manufacturing in 1928, coined the Motorola name in 1930 for use on a car radio. Hence the "Motor" part of the name. The company developed the first successful hand-held walkie talkie in 1940 and continued to develop mobile two-way communications, eventually leading to the first hand-held portable telephone, which it demonstrated in 1973 and first offered for sale in 1983. Until the early-to-mid 1970s, Motorola had been a major manufacturer of consumer radios and televisions. They were among the first to make a transistor radio; their first being the model 56T1 seen here on the left, was issued in 1955. In the 1980s and '90s, Motorola supplied microprocessors for early Apple Macintosh computers. And continuing their long-term efforts in two-way communications, Motorola was an early, and dominant player in cellular phones.
But back in 1960, they were showing up late for the shirt-pocket radio party. Years too late. Since they made their own semiconductors and had unparalleled experience with the miniaturization of hand-held devices, the mid-1950s COULD have seen a Motorola shirt-pocket radio. Of all the major American electronics firms, no one was better positioned to do that than Motorola. And had they done that, who's to say what might have turned out differently? As it turned out, Japanese brands came to dominate consumer electronics in the 1960s and beyond, as a direct result of inroads made during the late 1950s shirt-pocket radio revolution. Motorola, in its unique position to have affected that outcome,... did not.
#vintage,#transistor,#antiques,#collectibles,#transistoradio,#collectornet
The world's most beautiful miniature. Miniature what? Where's the noun, clown? In looking at Arvin radios in a recent video, we saw Arvin do the same thing--refer to their Arvin 61R13 as a "miniature." Well, this Panasonic T-601 from the early 1960s is referred to in Panasonic's brochure as "the world's most beautiful miniature." Miniature what? Oh, don't start that again. I'll read what they have to say about the radio while you look at it, alright? Here we go. "Magnificent styling delights your eye. Power of performance delights your ear. Precision vernier tuning control system. 2-step tone control. Jack for earphone or external speaker. Non-breakable polymer case." End quote. Well, I have no argument with any of that. And I am KNOWN to argue with advertising. It goes on to say that it weighs 6.8 ounces and costs $19.95. Now, 6.8 ounces might not sound like much, but for a pocket radio, I can tell you that this thing is heavy.
Engineering types who like to use phrases like "build quality" would most certainly trot out that expression when looking over this radio, as in "look at that build quality." Others of us might just make reference to brick outhouses. But, any way you look at it, this radio is exceedingly well put-together and feels indestructible... I don't think I've seen another radio with a back like this. The Sony TR-620 from 1960 had a sort of similar aluminum battery door on its back, but not with an easel stand on top of it. There's very little else to compare between the Sony and this Panasonic. The Sony is cute and lighter in weight. But if you were to run over the two of them with a car, the tire would flatten the Sony... where the Panasonic would probably flatten the tire.
Panasonic was still using this logo when this radio was made. But...it wasn't a logo they were happy with and so it doesn't appear anywhere on the radio. The Matsushita star does, and the Panasonic NAME appears, but not the Panasonic logo. It would be 4 years or so before the introduction of THIS Panasonic logo, which I was surprised to learn didn't appear until 1966.
And now for something completely... the same. Another, different, radio looking exactly the same as the one we've been looking at. This is an R-607, not the T-601. The difference? The T-601 is a six-transistor and the R-607 is a seven. Externally, they look identical to me in every way. Inside, well you can see the circuit board is a little different, naturally.
The Panasonic T-601 six-transistor radio. My eye is delighted. My ear is delighted. I'm... just delighted.
#vintage,#transistor,#antiques,#collectibles,#transistoradio,#collectornet
In a video about the first RCA shirt-pocket transistor radio, we discovered a huge gap of FIVE YEARS between the first transistor radio considered to be pocket size and the next American-made shirt pocket radios which appeared in late 1959. During this five year stretch, Japanese makers, led by Sony, were unloading crate after crate of transistor radios from ships docked in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and New York. Especially the little pocket-size models Americans wanted.
And where were the American makers? What were US companies doing to stem that tide? Not much, it seems. Except making up excuses. We've been treated for YEARS to the yarn that, quote "cheaply made Japanese transistor radios drove the American makers from the market." Unquote. But...you can't be driven from a market you never showed up to. Oh, American corporations are great at excuses. Why they can't meet pollution standards. Why they can't survive without government subsidies. Why their CEOs need incomes 400 times greater than their average employee.
So what were the American makers doing about the onslaught of Japanese pocket radios? Making larger radios, as we learned in that RCA video and as this Philco ad attests. But in the way of shirt pocket radios, not much. But...not nothing. Emerson deserves a lot of credit for entering the fray in 1958 with their four-transistor 999 Champion model. There's a video about that radio on this channel.
There were two other American-made radios that made half-hearted attempts to enter the shirt-pocket market in 1958. I say half-hearted because these were radios without speakers. This earphone-only Regency shirt-pocket appeared in '58, with just two transistors. It was arguably a toy--without even a volume control--just an on/off switch. And the other 1958 entrant into the shirt-pocket market is the radio we are looking at today, the Vest Pocket Transistor Radio by Philco. Also known as the T-3 model, and as the "Veep." This radio is a three-transistor. The Veep has a unique tuning set-up, using two dials--one to get you near the station, and the other is used for fine tuning. The radio station frequency numbers are seen through a square opening in the top of the radio.
It's a gold foil flip-top box--the sort of box that has a "hinge," and I don't know what else you'd call it, of paper. Naturally, this is going to separate and that's what's happened here so I'm holding it together.
How to Operate Your New Philco Transistorized Cordless Radio. This is a curious use of the word "cordless" here. Normally the word is used to indicate that a thing is battery operated and there is no power cord. But cordless in the true sense, this radio isn't. You're going to be using the earphone, with a cord, or you're not going to be hearing any St. Louis Cardinals on this thing. It's also curious that the word "cordless" appears on the instructions, but not on the box where it might do more good as a selling feature, implying, disingenuously, that this radio had a speaker. My guess is that cooler heads at Philco took it OFF the box for this reason.
The instructions talk about operating the radio, installing batteries, and cleaning the cabinet. Mercury batteries are called for, the type P-630. And then there's the warranty, printed across two pages, and some instructions on how to obtain service, should your "Veep" stop working.
Getting inside of it, it's the front that comes off of this radio rather than the back. And a paper label appears inside that front. I don't want to be all critical of this board layout because, well, what do I know? But it seems to me there's a lot of room wasted elsewhere while there's just a slim slot at the bottom in which to cram the batteries. Better, I should think, to be more efficient with the other parts and allow for the use of some normal size batteries that would be easier to find, cheaper, and maybe not Mercury.
But hats off to Philco. They tried. Most of the other American radio makers spent 1958 thinking up the excuses they were going to need to explain how they let Japan take over the consumer electronics business in the United States. But Philco was in there trying. They were, after all, the company that gave us the remarkable Philco Predicta TV... and the Safari TV.
Eventually,...in 1960, TWO YEARS after the appearance of Sony's pioneering TR-610, other American makers finally got into the shirt-pocket radio business. But their chance to dominate the market had long since passed. And by the mid '60s both American and Japanese makers faced a new threat,... from Hong Kong.
The Philco T-3 Veep Vest Pocket Transistor Radio. I've never owned a vest that had a pocket anywhere near large enough to hold this radio. But, like I said, what do I know?
What we've got here is the first shirt-pocket size radio from the Nippon Electric Company, NEC. It's thought to be from late 1958, 1959 or even early 1960. I'm going with 1959. From the look of it inside, it's either that or earlier.
The roots of NEC go back to 1899. I know. 1899. NEC first got into the telephone business, one of the highest hi-tech things going in that era. Early on, they struck up a partnership with the American electronics pioneer, Western Electric, a company founded in 1869. I know. 1869. Now when I learned about this partnership, I had a bit of an ah-ha moment. In the back of my mind I always had some inkling of a relationship between these two companies. I now realize that that inkling came from the graphics. I tend to feature graphics on this channel--logos and things, I guess for this reason: they interest me, and they help to tell the story. Now maybe this similarity doesn't really tell us anything. Maybe ALL the companies back then that were into what we now call "tech" had logos that looked like lightning bolts. I don't know. I'm... not THAT old.
Extending their interests in electronic communications, NEC got into radio in the 1920s, first in the broadcasting end of things, making broadcasting equipment and later branching out into making receivers.
Blithely skipping over a couple of world wars and a lot of other really unpleasant things, we find ourselves in 1959 admiring this, NEC's first shirt-pocket-size radio. Now when I first started collecting transistor radios, I saw this model pictured in some service literature--a small, black & white picture. Woah!, says I. What is this? And I had the same reaction when I, eventually, came across one of the actual radios. It's a radio that's really quite different from all others. Love it or hate it, it's something special, that's for sure. But how could you hate it? It gets an A for effort, at least. That clear plastic panel... the way the NEC letters are spelled out vertically on that metal strip, N-E-C, and the rest of the words are on the clear plastic panel, ippon lectric ompany ... the red knob, the tuning arrow, the word "on"... the word SIX. ...the grille. They're all unique. And over on the back, the ventilation slots are unique too. Yes, I guess I'm a fan.
Inside, the NT-61 is obviously early with that big speaker magnet and those unique cylindrically-shaped IF cans. NEC made their own semiconductors and those are NEC transistors in there--the three black, oval-shaped ones uniquely lined up along the bar antenna at the top. The other three transistors, the silver cylindrical ones are marked, I was surprised to learn when I examined them up close,... Sony. They're Sonys. I didn't see that coming.
Though the radio was only available in this tan color, as far as we know, it came in a colorful box. It's a real period piece of a box. It's not very plush inside but it does have ribbons and that's a nice touch. The soft, thin leather case is still rolled up and tied up with a ribbon over on the left side. A plastic sleeve holds the accompanying papers, and a nice polishing cloth. We see such cloths included with many of the earliest transistor radios from Japan, often with this zig zag edge as if cut with pinking shears, like we see here.
It's hard to read this line of type on the cover of the instruction booklet, under the picture of the radio, but it says, "How to Operate It." This booklet is no small thing. It's 8 pages and printed in three colors. It's a pretty good translation, generally. Too good to be hilarious, but still mildly amusing in places. Under "installing the battery" it says "When inserting the battery into the radio, fix Eveready Type No. 216 or equivalent by snapping it."
NEC's second transistor radio was this one, the NT-620 We looked at it in another video along with the Magnavox version of it that NEC made. As you can see, it's a good looker, but there's really nothing from NEC, or anyone else, that quite compares to NEC's first shirt-pocket radio, this NT-61.
Well, let's see. Not Admiral. Not Arvin. Not GE. Not Hoffman. Not Magnavox. Not Motorola. Not Raytheon. Not RCA. Not Sylvania. Not Trav-Ler. Not Westinghouse. Not...Zenith.
Philco gave it a shot at least, in 1958, with their earphone-only "Veep" radio, but without a speaker, you can't call it a full-featured radio.
Only ONE American brand managed to introduce a new full-featured shirt-pocket radio in 1958. Emerson. We covered this terrific 999 Champion model of theirs in a recent video.
Besides the Emerson,... nothing. Just Emerson... But I'll bet that next year--in 1959--the American makers inundated the market with all kinds of pocket models, with all kinds of improvements. ((crickets)). Those are crickets. Seriously. THAT was the American makers' response to the Sony, and the swarm of other great little radios finding their way to American shores from dozens of other Japanese brands. Crickets from the American makers.
Finally, in late 1959, one American brand managed to jolt itself awake enough to try and meet the challenge, releasing its first shirt-pocket radio, RCA Victor.
The Radio Corporation of America and The Victor Talking Machine Company had merged in 1929 to become RCA Victor. Arguably the first media conglomerate of the electronic age, RCA Victor was into network broadcasting, the record business...and made the radios and record players on which to play it all.
And at the beginning of the transistor era, RCA was there with their pioneering 7-BT-9J from 1955. That's it on the top in this picture. Not a pocket-size model, but smaller than the first Philco transistor that it's sitting on here.
In December of 1959, this ad appeared, introducing RCA's first SHIRT-pocket radio, the 1TP-2 model. That's the radio we're looking at today. But notice in the ad that they had already been busy making larger transistor radios. And that's what all the American makers had been doing throughout the late-'50s: making larger radios, in sizes we call the coat-pocket size, the even larger "portable" size, ((groan)) and the table-top models. One could argue that such large radios sounded better, with their larger speakers, and performed better. But what many people really wanted at the time was a shirt-pocket size radio. This was no secret. The FIRST transistor radio, the Regency TR-1 from 1954 WAS shirt-pocket size, or nearly so. To Regency, and most of the rest of us, that was the point of having transistors instead of tubes--radios could fit in your shirt pocket.
When RCA's little radio arrived in late 1959, it had been a full five years since the Regency TR-1. As you can see, the RCA is quite an elegant little radio. And it has the nostalgic touch of their old logo featuring the dog, named "Nipper," who is looking into a phonograph because he believes he hears coming from it "his master's voice." That was their slogan, "his master's voice."
RCA dubbed this radio "The 'Pockette' Personal." There's a name chosen by a committee if I ever heard one. Pictured on the operating instructions are two models, the 1TP-1 with a plastic front, and the 1TP-2 which has a metal front. Both models were apparently issued simultaneously. We'll look at them side by side in a little bit. Notice in the instructions that the radio takes a 4-volt battery. Now, such a battery would be as hard to find then as it is today. Back then, where would you find it? Not at a drug store or even at a hardware store. Only at a radio shop--the same shop where you bought the radio. And that was the point to many of the American radio makers using these odd batteries: to keep you coming back to their dealer's stores.
It's a handsome looking box in gold and red. Nestled inside is the radio, the case and strap, the earphone in its own plastic box, and the battery. This is what's known as a "gift box," and that explains why it says inside "The Gift That Keeps On Giving." Many radios came in such boxes and also were sold in a more modest and smaller box with fewer or no accessories. The case here is worthless. Dolled up to look like leather, it is little more than a piece of cardboard. It only survives here in pristine condition because it's barely been used. Best not to touch it. It's brittle and as stiff as, well, cardboard.
Earphone Set RK-219A... for RCA Victor instruments. Now, I like that. That sounds impressive. And speaking of impressive,... what a beautiful little radio this is. As we look around the sides, we see scuffing and this is another reason I have such disdain for the cheap cardboard cases--they scratched the radios. I really don't see how a cardboard case should be any part of a deluxe gift set.
By the late 1960s, most of the interesting radio designs were in the category that might be called novelty radios. Tiny micro radios... and radios in novelty shapes, styles, and colors, like these that I showed in a video I did about color in our era.
But what we’re looking at here today is one of the later '60s transistor radios that isn’t any kind of novelty but is a straight-head shirt-pocket radio... a piece of pure design and one I like very much. I call something with this sort of style "architectural." That's probably as descriptive a word as the hackneyed "cool." But somehow to me it means something that stands there nicely in its space, the way a beautiful building stands there nicely, appropriately, enhancing its environment, with dignity. I like the radio's perforated aluminum grill, and the way it wraps around, and the waffle-texture panel below the dial window is a nice feature too. The shape overall is rather angular, and usually I prefer the more roundy, organic, forms, but here the angularity just... works. Another nice touch is the quite beautiful lettering that says "Solid State." For those of you unfamiliar with that term, it began to be used on radios in the mid 1960s, as a techier way of saying "transistor." The vacuum tube, which the transistor replaced, was not solid state, since it did its business inside its glass walls in an open, or gaseous state. Solid state devices include the crystal diode, the transistor, and the integrated circuit.
This Panasonic is efficiently made, and I admire that too. It needed to be--since it was in competition against other radios whose makers spent literally nothing on design and thus had lower costs. As I mentioned in another video, Panasonic was a brand that, over the years, increasingly saw the value in styling. Their early radios were well-built certainly, but many had little grace to them designwise. The way products look depends on whether design originates with the engineers or with the stylists. Now, by stylists I'm not talking about decorators. I'm talking about artists and marketers focused on the end user. I think clearly Panasonic's early radios were driven by the engineering department whereas later ones were made in synergetic collaboration between engineers and these designer/stylists. Phrases like "synegetic collaboration" may rub you the wrong way, as they do me, but, as someone who has been in several of these sorts of successful collaborations in my career, it is most definitely a thing. And that is literally what we all want as consumers, isn't it?--products that are well-engineered, yet also intuitive, easy to use and good looking. Why this is so hard for so many companies to achieve...is because they don’t appreciate the value in each perspective, and how necessary it is to get the blend right. We are talking, ultimately, about the relationship of science and art. It’s just that simple... and just that huge.
A couple of other Panasonic items from this era show just how stylish the Panasonic folks were getting. This little television set, their TR-001 model was like nothing else on the market and was extremely well-built. It's from 1969. And this TV, from 1971, well, they were pulling out all the stops at this point with some dazzling stuff. Even the mundane calculator got special treatment with this stylish 850 model from 1972.
People in flea markets find radios for me and often ask me to describe what I'm looking for. I used to tell them, among other things, that if a radio says "Solid State" on it, it's too new for me, and I don't want it. Well, this is the radio that made me stop saying that.
The seven-transistor Panasonic R-1038 solid-state transistor radio. Architectural.
And here it is, in the box, the 1960 model Silvertone pocket transistor radio in mint green. Like pretty much anything from Sears Roebuck, it was a little less sleek than the competition in size and styling, yet was unquestionably well-made. Sears, for your grandfather, was going to be the choice for things like this... maybe not so much for your cool uncle... you know, the one with the sports car.
Silvertone is a Sears brand, of course, first used in 1916. Here's the 1961 Sears catalog, showing the radio we're looking at today. It's $3 off as a Sears Jubilee Value. We see it is offered here in just two colors: black, and the mint green. Red examples have been spotted around, in the hands of some of the cooler kids, but red isn't a color option in this catalog. A leather case is listed as an option for the radio, at 89 cents, and an earphone for 95 cents.
Here's a receipt I found in the box... from a Sears Roebuck store in south Los Angeles, for $37.59. The price tag on the box shows the radio priced at $16.88, so perhaps the $37.59 was for two of them, plus tax.
And it's always good to have the owner's manual, even if you never read it. On the front it says it is for model numbers 1202, 1203, and 1204. Now these aren't different radios, these are the different colors of this radio--the 1202 being black, the 1203 being the mint green, and the 1204 being the red color that the catalog doesn't mention.
In the box is also the technical manual--I don't know if this was included in the box of all of Sears's transistor radios, but it sure is in this one. It folds out to four 8-1/2 by 11 pages and includes instructions for ordering replacement parts. It shows what's available in the way of cabinet parts,... and there's the radio's schematic diagram,...a list of chassis parts,... a parts placement diagram,... and alignment data.
In a recent video on Arvin, I talked about their role in making radios for Sears--and indeed this radio was made for Sears by Arvin, in Columbus, Indiana. While Arvin MAY have made all the Silvertone radios in this era, they did not make ALL things Silvertone. No. For example, the Silvertone branded guitars Sears sold weren't made by Arvin but by several other manufacturers, including Danelectro, Harmony, and Kay. Even with all these different makers, Sears guitars all had a kind of similarity or "family resemblance."... Why is that?
"Brand" and "manufacturer" are two words often used synonomously, but they do not mean the same thing. A company CAN be both, as on this radio, where the manufacturer, and the brand, are both Arvin... But this is not so with Silvertone. A brand has a stake in its public reputation that a manufacturer does not. A manufacturer makes its products not for the public, but for the brand. The manufacturer can make products at any level of quality, from the best they know how to do... down to whatever it takes to barely get by. It's the brand owner who decides the look, and the quality level on which they'll put their brand. And that's how the look and feel of Sears's radios and Sears's guitars, though made by entirely different people, have that Searness about them: a little less sleek perhaps than the competition, but at a reasonable price and well enough made to reliably do the job. Your grandfather was right, of course, but then so was your uncle.
Well the story of a company or brand origin is almost never as simple as the business schools would have us believe. You know how they see it: Get license, set up shop, do business, cash checks. The maker of this radio started out as a sewing machine maker, founded in Japan in 1951, called Funai Sewing Machine Co. In 1959, seeing the booming activity in the transistor radio industry, they changed their name to the more general Funai Light Machinery Mfg Co., Ltd. and got into the transistor radio business, choosing the name Wealth as their radio brand. In 1961 the company spun off the electronics division as Funai Electric. So that's how Funai Electric, founded in 1961, made a radio in 1959.
This W610 model has a lot going for it, as you can see! I especially like these louvres. Very fine and delicate and... probably not too practical. One them is already a bit warped. A bet a trip to the beach would turn this grille into something like spaghetti. The dial area is a clear window, all the way around. The radio has a nice shape--not squared off but nicely rounded here and there. I thought this thing on top was some sort of antenna jack but no, it's a mounting screw. The wire handle is a nice touch on a pocket radio and reminiscent of Sony's popular TR-610 model. Over on the back we see more louvres, and a porthole that shows red when the radio is off. I would think red would mean on, but maybe that's just for toasters and waffle irons. The back has lettering that says "unbreakable case" and I can assure you that that statement is pure wishful thinking. There is very little to learn about the radio inside the back, since they provide us with no identifying label, all we see is a generic battery label. The tuning capacitor is a Mitsumi, but I don't suppose that's anything you want to bring up at Thanksgiving dinner.
Wealth... and Funai... were part of that massive second wave in the transistor radio industry, that wave that was less about innovation and all about cost cutting and that gave us the bland, boring 1960s transistor radios--the kind you see here-- that most collectors--the stuffy ones especially--have little use for. As a true enthusiast I've picked up lots of these Plain Jane sorts of radios and maybe you have too. Another picture I was able to find of Funai radios--a very tiny picture-- shows what looks like a Westinghouse radio. This one. It's not a clear enough photo to be certain, but this sure looks like the radio. Here take a look. Pretty small. OK, I'll blow it up for you but it's going to be blurry. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's the same Westinghouse. This bland radio has been in my collection since my earliest collecting days when I just bought every radio I came across. Bland or not, it has just come in pretty handy in fitting another piece of the puzzle into this transistor radio story... And I don't hate it. It was somebody's special little transistor radio back when it was new I am sure. I've looked it all over inside and out--and this similar model-- and I see no trace of Funai's name, nor for that matter anyone else's as the maker. It just says Westinghouse on the front, and "Japan" on the bottom of the back. I can't prove it but for my money, THESE are Funai radios. Well, they must have ramped up their production capacity very quickly for the young company to be producing the kind of quantity that Westinghouse would have ordered, in addition to everything else they were making.... Everything else including the "typical tape recorders" they made. That's a quote, "typical tape recorders." This ad is full of great quotes: Wealth symbolizes high technique and reliability. Sensational. Hi-mechanism! Funny, I have a degree from MIT in "Hi-mechanism." Sensational.
You are probably unfamilar with the Funai name and may think you've never seen any of their products before. But... yes you have. They're the makers of the stuff available today with the Magnavox brand on it. Now, I did a video on Magnavox where I get all into this. I was pretty critical of Magnavox for what it did to itself-- and of Funai for coming along later and using the Magnavox name. It strikes me as less than honest to fool folks at Costco or Walmart into thinking they are buying an American brand when they aren't.
The international electronics giant Philips owns the Magnavox name. Funai just rents the name from Philips. Why not just use the Wealth brand? Because... it's a pretty crummy name. That is my know-it-all opinion and final determination. Crummy. So, then why not just be Funai? That's not a bad name.
I just think that using a name like Magnavox--with a history--a history that's not yours--is not right. It's why I didn't name my eldest son Elvis Presley... I don't know, maybe I should have. And maybe I'll change the name of my YouTube channel here to The Joe Rogan Experience.
Not that it's so bad looking. It's... OK. But you'll notice it's not even a Panasonic. So what am I even talking about. Sigh. In the middle 1960s, after the transistor radio had been around for about ten years, most were sold on the basis of price, with styling only a secondary concern, if that. But a few brands continued to care about design, like Sony, and some even improved over time, paying ever greater attention to styling over the years. And one of those brands was Panasonic. They made some very stylish radios in the 1960s, and even gave us these a bit later. But in the early days of the transistor radio, the 1950s, Panasonic made radios that were well-built, and good performers, but just not necessarily attractive.
Now why am I showing you a Maco radio and talking about Panasonic? Because both were brands of Matsushita Electric. What other brand did Matsushita have that was even a more popular name in the 1950s? I'll give you a hint. It's National. No, I guess that wasn't a hint. National... Maco is an in-between name and a name that doesn't show up much in histories of the corporation that began in 1918 as Matsushita and became, officially, Panasonic in 2008.
So why this Matsushita radio doesn't have the Panasonic brand on it, I don't know. The Panasonic name was coined and first used in 1955 and this radio is from the later '50s. But for whatever reason, it's a Maco. Or I suppose I should say "Mack-O" since it is short for Matsushita Company. I think this is the oldest transistor radio I've ever seen with a textured-finish paint on the grille. This Sony TR-714 had it too, and it was from around the same time. Anyway, it's a nice look. A serious look, true, but that's Mastushita--what their early transistor radios might have lacked in grace, they more than made up for in gravity.
I can't quite figure out what this dial is trying to be. The first time I saw it I thought something must be missing. A piece of clear plastic over it--or something to hide that screw in the center of the dial and the other numbers. The other numbers on the dial that you are NOT tuned to. But no, this is it. This is the design.
There are twin jacks on top--one for the earphone, which, most unusually, is a crystal earphone rather than the typical dynamic earphone found on most transistor radios. And this earphone has an unusual plug... The radio also has a jack for an external antenna wire, which is included in the box as well.
The case is some kind of leather...pigskin perhaps, and appears to be of high quality.
On the back we see that said back is held on with a large screw... and that this radio once belonged to Timmy Bugg. Well, Timmy Bugg, it's mine now. Opening up the back reveals a very crowded chassis. Some of these transistors in here, branded National, are on longer leads than you'd normally see and they're bent over on top of other parts. You'd have to add insulation to all the leads in order to make something like that, and that they did. All in all an impressive piece of work... And inside the back, the label reads Maco, 6 Transistor Portable, Model AB-100, Matsushita Electric.
And here's the instruction book. Matsushita was NOT one of those little outfits in Japan who conscripted one of their employees to stay after hours and translate the instructions into English because he had had a semester of English in high school eight years ago. No, as we have seen, Matsushita DID NOT FOOL AROUND. This instruction book is in impeccable English--although, how would I know? Why me think qualified I am saying such I ain't sure. Still, I am qualified to say that the type in this little instruction book, the font, is... way too small.
Thanks for not throwing out the box, Timmy. I appreciate it. It's a nice looking package for an interesting and rather unusual little artifact from the golden age of the transistor radio.
That's right. We're living in strange times. I collect these things and have a page of them on my website. I was informed in no uncertain terms by the "Lords of the Internet" in Silicon Valley that I was a bad boy for doing that. Their bot visited my website. He put on his big fat algorithm goggles when he visited and did not like what he saw. And so I got the digital equivalent of tsk tsk tsk. In English, that is tsk tsk tsk. And so that page on my website is demonetized and deranked in search engines, effectively censoring it.
Now, I am simply being misunderstood here. By a robot. Obviously, I am not promoting any activity one might engage in with these things, involving lighters or fire or ash trays or anything of the kind. Why would I do that? These things are harmful--even if more doctors... uh. Ahem. Not only are these things harmful, but most of these that I've collected are over a half-century old... I'll bet they're stale.
Do our internet Lords really think people are so susceptible and gullible that things like these must be kept from view? Well, I guess they ought to know. They make their billions showing and suggesting things to a gullible public.
So I don't want to oversell this video as being politically incorrect and thus on some exciting and taboo subject. But, I guess it kind of is. Like I said, strange times.
Like a lot of things I collect, I collect these things for the graphics. Selling this product has always been all about image, and graphics. In some ways, marketers of this product, going back a century or more, literally invented advertising and marketing as it is practiced in our time.
Huh? How so? Well, the product here, the product itself, no matter who sells it, is virtually identical. It's basically a dried plant wrapped in paper, you know? People used to make their own, one at a time. They could have evolved to be sold, one at a time, out of machines, they way you buy gumballs. Nowhere is it written in the stars that these packs should even exist. Why do they? Well, when companies started to make these things commercially, they wanted to distinguish their brand from the other brands and try and build a loyal customer base. What we call brand loyalty. And so they created unique packaging, with graphics and sometimes a slogan. With this branding they basically invented the idea of the customer identifying with a particular look... and building the feeling in the customer that their own look--the customer's own self-perception--was somehow enhanced by this brand choice. Facts didn't matter; it was image that counted. Nonsense? Of course, but this trick amassed fortunes for those who successfully plied this ruse on a willing public.
This approach to marketing, often called "lifestyle advertising" or "identity advertising," is today...everywhere. Here it is being used to sell vehicles. These sociopathic ads don't tell us facts--they don't inform us is any way. They show us images to which we are supposed to respond with open wallets and thrusting credit cards. It's literally comical to see what these marketers think of us... and what they think will appeal to us. Not so funny is how well this works on some of us. They keep doing it...because it works.
More of a box than a pack, here are "Trim, Reducing Aid you-know what." These are from 1955 and say they were clinically tested to help you lose weight. Clinically tested. From the Cornell Drug Corporation. And here's an oldie, with patina, a 1938 pack of Pall Mall. The Modern Blend. Camel, introduced in 1913, is said to have been the first nationally popular brand in the US. Its packs varied over the years but always retained the classic look. See if you can spot the differences in these two packs, one from 1954, the other from 1955. Literally everything on them has changed, yet the overall look remains the same. Out of the goodness of their hearts, the companies who made these things used to distribute these little 4-packs, FREE, as samples, around, you know, high schools. Oh, and these were given out free too, promoting yet another odious habit--America's habit of lifting up its most mediocre politicians to high office. Occasionally, new packaging types were tried out, such as this plastic, flip-top box of Philip Morris menthols from the late 1960s. Viceroy was another brand that adjusted their graphics frequently but always retained a familiar look. The short pack is from 1952; the "flip-open box" from 1955. The Waldorf-Astoria pack would be called, I suppose, a private label brand for the hotel. Notice something about the foil wrapping on this pack. There isn't any. That dates this pack to the war years, World War 2, when metal was being preserved for military uses. Even foil, I guess. The pack is from 1943...
They offshored production, of course, but not in the usual way. They didn't just get an interpreter and get on the phone to Japan and order up somebody else's radios-to be emblazoned with their name. No, they DESIGNED their radios, and were proud of it. This one in particular continued to be offered in Arvin's radio lineup well into the late 1960s. By then, this radio was being made, not in America, but in Hong Kong. By whom, you may wonder. Well, we'll look at that Hong Kong version in a minute but first, let's look at this box. As you can see, Arvin spent almost nothing on boxes. Where the Japanese competition often had satin and felt lined boxes that flipped open and had satin ribbons, as you've seen in other videos on this channel, Arvin figured 90% of people were going to chuck the box immediately so why bother? I was lucky enough to find this very rare box. Rare, because why would you keep it? That's why so few of these boxes have survived, not because it's anything special. They did make fancier boxes for some models, presumably for retail settings where the radio and box would be on display. This radio was issued as a 61R13 model, in this box, but as this sales sheet indicates, it was also issued as a 61R23, with battery, earphone, and leather case. All that might have fit in this box, or they might have also offered a larger box. Lots of the radio makers did this, with the larger boxes often bearing names like "Gift Set" or "Gift Pack."
This little radio was made in Columbus in 1961. Not Columbus, Ohio, but Columbus, Indiana... which was then about 40 miles south of Indianapolis. Where Columbus is now, I have no idea. Arvin had been in the manufacturing business since 1919 making all kinds of things. They began as the Indianapolis Air Pump Company making automobile tire pumps, then car heaters. Cars didn't come with built-in heaters in the early days. In 1924 they purchased the Dan Patch Novelty Company, and got into the toy business. You didn't expect to see a little red wagon in this video, now did you? Arvin got into the radio business in 1933, first with car radios. This makes them quite different from most other radio manufacturers in the US; they were not only, or even primarily, an electronics company. I think the central theme of their products, if there was such a thing, was metal, rather than electronics. Most of what they did was about metal.
In the years following World War 2, Arvin branched out into all kinds of household goods- metal dinette sets and lawn furniture, washing machines, fans, heaters, waffle makers, ironing boards, and even televisions. They are well known to radio collectors for their little table model radios from the 1940s, in a cabinet, you will notice, of ..metal. Most of their household products had the Arvin name on them but the company name itself didn't become Arvin until 1950 when they changed the name that they'd been using, Noblitt-Sparks, to Arvin Industries. On another note of interest, Arvin was an OEM, original equipment manufacturer, for Sears Roebuck, making radios and TVs for that company with the Sears brand 'Silvertone' on them. You can see the similarity here in this radio branded Silvertone but made by... yes, Arvin. Even the box for the Silvertone is very much an Arvin box.
Now here's that other Arvin I was talking about, the model 67R09--in the box it came in. Made in Hong Kong. On the box there's something that's crossed out with a red marker. Crossed out by Arvin, I wondered? Or the owner? I couldn't resist examining this with a magnfying glass and I found that what was crossed out were the words, "Battery and Earphone Inside." (As you see...) As you'll see in a minute... this radio has an...unnatural gloss to it, the plastic cabinet I mean. It reminds me of those nylon cabinets on some Zenith and Channel Master models. It doesn't say it's nylon anywhere and I really don't think it is. I'd say it had a run-in with Armor-All but it doesn't have the interminable slime that that product imparts to everything it touches.
It's remarkable that this transistor radio model, designed in 1961, was still being made in 1967. On another continent, no less. Arvin... did things a little differently. So if you expected the chassis of this Hong Kong version to be similar to the American, as I did, you'd be disappointed. This chassis has Japanese transistors on it, and a Japanese tuning capacitor, and gives every appearance of having been made entirely in the far east. And you might make another assumption--that this radio was made for Arvin by a Hong Kong company, who cloned the cabinet and put their own chassis inside, with Arvin having little input in its production. That's kind of what I thought--the cabinet, I could make myself believe, was possibly made from molds made from a production model radio. But no. Arvin...
There was choice. Today you have choice. White, black, or silver. And for the car's interior, did you want the beigey-gray? Or the grayish-beige? Whoppee. In the 1950s there were dozens of colors to choose from and not just the outside color... for example, buying a 1956 Ford, you could choose any of these fabrics in any of these colors, in all kinds of combinations.
The story with transistor radios was much the same. The 1950s offerings were fun-- and colorful--and decorative. But in the 1960s, like most of the cars, they got drab. They were reduced to being a single color, often black or white--which some will argue aren't even "colors." And these color-free radios were often trimmed in silver metal... not unlike the dashboard of a '65 Chevy. Color, starting in the 1960s, was beginning to be, not just avoided, but SHUNNED--almost as if... it was FEARED. And we are in the same sorry state today. I hear you grumbling. You don't think it's true. Well, today there is color but it has been assigned... to children. Adults aren't allowed. Certainly not male adults. Men are permitted all the sartorial flair of...Chairman Mao. Rampant, colorless uniformity infests the business world. Even so-called "business casual" forbids color. Wear color and you're "just not serious." You try wearing a green outfit and see how far you get. That wouldn't even be allowed as sportswear. And a pink shirt, as business wear or sportswear? You're not going to want to do that in most parts of America if you know what's good for you. It's not quite so bad over in the women's department, where they're allow pink and a less limited palatte...but go into any department store and you'll have no trouble finding the men's section. It's that gray one. That sea of brownish-gray, that colorless blob where hangs, waiting for you, the clothes you are allowed to wear.
As bad as that is, nowhere is it worse than in consumer electronics. Once again, children are exempted and are allowed to have electronics devices that are yellow or red, or even multicolored. But take a look at what YOU get to choose from. THIS is what's being offered up at your local electronics store for you. See what I mean?
After turning on color in the early '60s, there was, in the late '60s and early 1970s, a short-lived resurgence of it--a brief golden age when color was back. Panasonic issued their Panapet and Toot-a-Loop radios in primary colors. Harvest gold, and avocado-color appliances showed up in the kitchen. This brief golden age of color was quickly swatted down and is spoken of today only derogatorily. "Remember that avocado color refrigerator we had? What were we thinking?" And "oh my gosh, an orange can opener--how could we live like that?"
It's this particular little golden age we are celebrating today, this little island of freedom from the tyranny of monochromism that has gripped this country since the early '60s.
During this time we saw RCA produce "The Floater" radio. JVC made the "Balance-Type Fashion Radio," Hitachi made this. And RCA produced this sweet little radio, which they refer to as a "Color Radio." From the RCA logo used we can date this radio to 1968 or later. My guess would be around 1970. When I first found this radio, in a flea market, I saw that the box says "Made in Hong Kong expressly for RCA." Having seen many radios from the Hong Kong era that were in promising boxes--and having opened those boxes only to be disappointed with drab, bland radios inside, I was very pleasantly surprised to see this beauty come out of the box. Now have a look at this most interesting hang tag, labeled "Color Radio." In it, RCA takes credit for the whole idea of colorful radios--a rather grand statement--while immediately equivocating on the idea. Quoting from the tag: "Color is here, there and everywhere. Now RCA adds color to radio. Accent color that helps decorate a room; express a personality. Bright color, quiet color and warm wood color. Plenty of black-and-chrome for traditionalists, too. This is Color Radio from RCA." End Quote.
What? Did you get that? They say they also offer black & chrome for traditionalists? That's considered traditional? At that point in consumer product design, black & chrome styling was just a short-lived fad less than 10 years old. How did that get to be perceived as traditional? Victorian, Colonial, French Provincial, those are traditional. But black and chrome? RCA's apology to "traditionalists" doesn't sound like much on the surface but it is very revealing. It shows just how strong the anti-color movement was, and is. So strong that RCA had to assure its adherents that they were safe. Color wouldn't hurt them. They could still have their color-free products.... But the so-called traditionalists weren't having it...
And it's not an easy question to answer. You've got to start with Matsushita. That's the company behind the Panasonic brand and they go back to 1918. The Matsushita name WAS used on products in the English-speaking world, but management suspected they'd do better with a name that was easier for western-types to say, and remember. So since 1927 they'd also been using the brand National at home and in many other countries. I'm guessing that's what this says, Japanese being one of the many languages in which I can claim total illiteracy. But there was a problem with them using the National name in the United States since there was already an electronics brand National in the US, the National Radio Company based in Malden, Massachusetts.
So, in 1955, when they were wanting to take a serious crack at the American market, Matsushita coined the word "PanaSonic," a combination of "pan," meaning universal, everywhere, wide, like panorama or pan-Africa... and "sonic" which of course relates to sound. This name they introduced on a hi-fi speaker, THE PanaSonic, as you can see. And THIS is the world's first Panasonic anything.
But they kept using the other names too. And Matsushita used... still another name on products in these years, the name "Maco." Well, I say Maco, but I suppose it is Mack-O since it comes from "Matsushita Company." They seem a little ashamed of this name since official company histories eliminate entirely the existence of the Maco brand.
So what we have here is the oldest product I've ever owned with the name Panasonic on it. And it's got this early Panasonic logo I've never seen on any other product. Incorporated in this rather quirkly logo symbol is the Matsushita three-pointed star... not to be confused with the Mitsubishi three-pointed star. No. That is an entirely different outfit... I've got a couple of this Panasonic radio's cousins to show you too, in a minute, one branded National, and one branded Matsushita--so stay tuned.
This is a quality piece of work. With a quality genuine leather case too. The metal grille is substantial, to say the least. On the side there's an external antenna jack, a hi/lo tone switch, and TWO jacks for external speaker or earphone. You can plug external speaker or earphone into either one, the difference in the jacks is that using the top one disconnects the radio's internal speaker, whereas using the bottom one lets that speaker play in addition to whatever you plugged in. There's a jack for an AC adaptor on the back and this is a premium feature not often seen on transistor radios.
Internal power is supplied by four penlight batteries which, the instruction book informs us will last longer if the radio is played at lower volume. Sounds like the kind of thing my dad would say.
This little instruction book is a high quality piece of work too. It's 12-pages of perfect English without any of those funny translation quirks I like to see. Darn it. On close inspection, one of the pages, the one about battery installation, has a sticker over part of the page where presumably an error had to be corrected. Very neatly done--I almost didn't notice it. On the "Product Service" page the word "Panasonic" appears in a different font and size. Perhaps they are highlighting the new Panasonic name, but it looks to me more like the Panasonic name replaced some other name that was there previously.
But now what's this? A National branded version of this radio. It's also a T-50 model but it's not identical. The dial display is different... and something quite structural is different as well. The National has a white bottom section. On the back we see that the National does not have a battery door where the Panasonic does. There's an inset metal panel on the back of the National that's different, but we see the same AC adaptor jack as on the Panasonic. Over on the side we see that the hi/lo tone switch is gone. Not here on this model. The external antenna jack is here, but moved, and the earphone jacks have moved up... to the top.... And now if that's not enough, ... here's the Matsushita version. It looks in almost every respect like the National version and has all the same things in all the same places. The fact that they issued this essentially same radio with three different names on it is one of the curious questions with unknowable answers that keeps collecting interesting. I wonder if there's a Maco version out there somewhere.
As you can see, this white bottom section on the National and Matushita is removable and is how batteries are changed on these models. It's somewhat of an improvement over the fussier business of battery changing that was necessary with the Panasonic.
Inside the Panasonic looks like this. These people were not fooling around.
Magnavox made radios, televisions, phonographs, and stereos. Their products--and their brand--were highly regarded and widely respected, as is generally the consequence of a company founded by inventors and engineers who desired first to make good things, and, secondarily, to make money doing it. With brand new transistor technology emerging in the mid-1950s, Magnavox issued its first transistor radio, the AM-2, in 1956. But then... shortly after that...Magnavox management made the decisions that would eventually lead to the company's demise. All manner of spin was put on those decisions, then... and now, obscuring the real reasons for the company's failure and serving instead the agenda of whoever was telling the story. But their products do not lie. And their transistor radio line tells the story more honestly than anything else. Have a look at these. These are a couple of Magnavox transistor radios from the early 1960s, made just five years after their first transistor radio. What happened? If you're not a collector of these things, you might not see any big deal here. These radios don't look so bad... and they're smaller than that first one--and would fit in a pocket. That's progress! But beneath the surface of this apparent progress there was a transformation at Magnavox in these years that proved ultimately fatal... The once-proud firm was probably quite proud still of these early-'60s models. And that would be the problem. Proud--that in these few years they had shipped the American jobs that built their radios overseas to the far east so they could undercut their American competitors. Proud--that they could outsource the research and development budget too, by just letting the foreign suppliers absorb the costs and risks. Proud--that they had taken the low road and stripped away any interesting design from these products... that might have cost a penny or two per unit... Pride, always a short-term enterprise, collapsed for Magnavox when in the 1960s Hong Kong got into the radio market in the United States with even less expensive radios and Magnavox learned the hard way that cost cutting was not a strategy for success.
Meanwhile, business was good for The Nippon Electric Company, who made these radios for Magnavox. NEC, unlike Magnavox, was focused on the future. They'd take Magnavox's money, while it lasted, and build them a good product. It wasn't NEC's problem that Magnavox was more focused on next quarters' earnings than on providing customer value. It wasn't THAT hard to make a stylish product, but you don't make one pinching pennies. While Magnavox laid off workers and saved money here and there, NEC took a different path. And where... did those paths lead? Today, NEC's annual revenue--as of 2021, was 27 billion dollars, with 114,714 employees worldwide. And where is Magnavox? Where are their factories and employees? Nowhere. Within a dozen or so years of the appearance of these radios, Magnavox as we knew it was gone. Since 1974 Magnavox exists as nothing more than a brand name owned by the Dutch company Philips. Philips has so little use for it that they license out the Magnavox name to Funai Electric of Japan and they stick it on the front of TVs and accessories that you can find today at places like Walmart and Walgreen's. No, the classic American brand Magnavox doesn't belong to any actual American Magnavox company. Yeah, boys, you can take the flag down now.
What happened to Magnavox? Well, I've got 49 Magnavox transistor radios in my collection--and these are the best looking ones. Not great. That... was part of the problem at Magnavox. But other forces were at work too in American business at the time. Forces that, in the end, resulted in virtually ZERO American-made consumer electronics brands surviving past the early 1970s.
And this is one of them. Oh my. It's kind of big for a shirt-pocket, and that is part of its charm. It's really trying to fit in your pocket. Let's just see how big it is compared to a Regency TR-1 from 1954. Oh, that's a little surprising. I thought they'd be about the same but the Emerson is significantly smaller. So, let's compare it then to a Sony TR-63 from 1957... These two are quite similar in size.
The Emerson Champion is from 1958 and it is Emerson's first pocket-size transistor radio. Well, I guess I should say SHIRT-pocket size since they referred to their earlier, significantly larger radios as pocket size. And by this, they must have meant "coat-pocket size." And a large coat at that. This is the Emerson 888 Pioneer.
The little Emerson Champion is a delight. It's cabinet is all molded plastic, even the grille--a grille much more sculptured than was used on the Regency TR-1 radio. Plastics were one of the key advancing technologies in the 1950s, along with the transistor and the printed circuit. An advanced state of all three of these technologies found a home simultaneously in this remarkable little radio. High tech? Well, I guess!
In an echo back to earlier times we see gold grille cloth being used behind the grille, protecting chassis and speaker and providing a nice bit of sparkle. The tuning knob is a luscious piece of underpainted plastic. As we've seen in other videos on earlier Emersons, underpainted plastic was definitely something they believed in, and excelled at, and it's great to see it continue on into the later '50s. Most other American brands, if they used it at all, had dropped the technique by this time. The only metal visible at all on the outside of this radio is the dial thumbscrew, a nice gold accent to this marvelous little package.
On the back, it's marked "Emerson Television and Radio," then "Emerson 999 'Champion.'" Then toward the bottom it says "Emerson Radio and Phonograph Corporation, Jersey City, N.J., USA.
Two tabs on the bottom, and two on top, are what holds the back on this radio. Inside we see a paper label with battery changing instructions. The battery connector is definitely old-school. As you can see, the chassis is mounted circuit board side out so the parts are kept from prying hands. Those of us 10-year-olds who had soldering irons back in the day could still attempt "improvements"--but, fortunately no one tried that here. I am loathe to put at risk anything as original and nice as this by dismantling it to see the other side of the board. But here it is as shown in the Howard Sams service literature for those who want to see it. Am I being too cautious here by not taking the chassis out? I don't know. I don't think so. You see, I WAS that 10-year-old with a soldering iron and I've grown a bit more conservative about such things in the years since.
Nowhere on this radio does it say how many transistors it contains. The knob on the front just says "All Transistor." I guess in this way they could put as many, or as few, transistors as they wanted to in this radio, and even change the number along the way in the model run. According to that Sams literature I referred to earlier, this radio has just four transistors. Well, I guess that's why they're not bragging about the number.
In 1958 the battle for dominance in the shirt-pocket radio market was just beginning to heat up. Sony's TR-63 with SIX transistors was about to make things very hot for Emerson and the other American-made brands.
The Emerson 999 Champion. Designed and built in the USA, it's a great looking radio. And lest you think it is all about the color, check out this gorgeous white one... and the black... this is a radio that, in any color, is one of the most stylish little transistor radios ever made.
Ah yes, well, these people have basically left no trace of themselves so it's hard to say what reason they may have had for putting such a name on a radio. Is there a Mr. Omsco behind all this? And did they make bigger radios that are Omscos... and smaller ones, like this, that are Omsco-LITEs? Well, we can answer that question right now. Here's a radio that is a little bigger and it's an Omsco, an Omsco Power pack. But... here's another one, bigger still, and it's an Omscolite. So I guess my theory is pretty flimsy. Let's see if there are any clues inside this one as to who these people are. No, the only thing I can see in here is that it calls for an Eveready battery, the clip for which is broken off. On the tuning capacitor it says this: ((FUJ V.C. CO., LTD))... Not Fuji variable capacitor company limited. Fuj. Well, that's pretty funny because it really is supposed to be Fuji. Here's an ad of theirs with the same Mount Fuji logo that appears on the tuning capacitor in this radio. So, OK, a typo. On your product? I mean, you misspelled your own name on your product? Well, that is pretty funny but before we get all judgy and feeling superior about it, let's have a look at this Chevrolet ad from 1974, selling the bicentennial line of Chevys in red, white, and blue colors to celebrate America’s 200th birthday. Read that headline. This ad ran in several national magazines before someone noticed that the headline said "A limited edition of Chevrolets in Amerca's favorite colors." Amerca. Ooo. Now THERE'S a typo.
Let's look over this Omsco radio and see if it was made by the same people. It says on the front of this one, "All Transistor, 2-2-3," whatever that means. The dull brown trim pieces would have been bright gold when this radio was new. A coat of lacquer would have made them stay bright gold, as we see on many other radios like this, but I don't think the Omsco people thought it necessary. Well, it obviously was necessary. The volume knob is on the back on this one. That's something you don't often see... Inside there's... not much! I see 2 transistors, branded NEC, and 2 diodes, but in the way of labels--or information--nothing. The Omsco mystique lives on.
But let's get back to the Omscolite with the giant "7" on the grille. There's an older video on this channel about the transistor wars--those claims for ever-greater numbers of transistors that peaked at around 15 or 16 in a pocket-size radio. This is an early entrant into that contest with 7 in a radio of quite small size. In those days, they were still trying to shoehorn the parts into these little things in various ways and you can see on the side here the unusual earphone jack nut, normally a donut shape, which was made with flat sides--or I like to think shaved down... to fit--along with the earphone jack itself inside the radio. And before we get inside the radio, have a good look at this. Made in U.S.A. Well... that's unexpected. A radio like this, as small as it is, and that looks in every respect like a Japanese radio, is marked Made in U.S.A. Well, I guess we'd better get inside and investigate. Inside the back... there is... nothing. Nothing to learn there. Now, this chassis. Ah, well, what looks American in here? Nothing, that's what. The speaker magnet even says "Japan" on it. The battery label calls for an Eveready battery. That's the most American thing in here--and that's only a word. The tuning capacitor says Sankaishi, Japan. The transistors say TEN on them, T-E-N, which my regular viewers will know is the major transistor maker Kobe Kogyo. But no, Kobe Kogyo did not make this radio. It looks NOTHING like the radios they made, which are, frankly, a lot better looking than this little guy.
Now there's a story you may have heard about a city or area in Japan that was named Usa. U-S-A. The story goes that it was given this name so that products that came out of the factories built there could be said to be "Made in USA." I haven't confirmed this one way or the other. But what we are looking at here in this Omscolite may be just exactly that. Because there is just no way that this is an American-made radio.
Another possibility is that some shyster lawyer advised the Mr. Omsco--or the Omscolite people-- that if they were to import radio cabinets from Japan... and import radio chassis, separately, from Japan... they could put them together somewhere in the US and claim they are "Made in USA." I like this story because... well, I just do. And I like to think that the filed off earphone jack is a result of those shenanigans... and that the money they were going to make on this little deceit was all spent...and more... on paying somebody to get the earphone jack to fit. Hah. Serves them right. That's why I like this story.
Choose either one. You could buy either one and you were going to get the NEC. NEC, the Nippon Electric Company, made them both.
Magnavox presumably knew how to make transistor radios. Their previous American-made models were presumably made by them. But like a lot of American brands around 1960, they found it cheaper and easier to contract with manufacturers in the far east to produce their goods for them. You don't often get to see side-by-side versions of such products as produced by the maker under their own name, and as produced under contract for an American brand.
Obvious stylistic differences include the more deluxe embossed grille on the NEC, as opposed to the Magnavox's more plain grille. And there's what engineering-types will call the escutcheon, this area where the knobs and dial window are. The Magnavox escutcheon is a rather simple piece of metal. But it's not just open, though, there's an inset piece of clear plastic in the window opening. The NEC, on the other hand, has a far more attractive--in my opinion--dial window that features the technique of underpainted clear plastic in which the brand name appears and in which appears a large "6," indicating the number of transistors.
You can see in this side view that these plastic cabinets are not at all the same... though the two radios are about the same depth. On the NEC the front is shallower and the back deeper than on the Magnavox. And turning to the back we see that the info there that NEC has to say is molded into the plastic while the Magnavox has a nice little inset plate. The back of the Magnavox, however, is not held on with a screw as is the NEC's, but is secured solely by four little plastic tabs in the typical fashion of the later, less expensive transistor radios.
There is one other way, externally, that the NEC is a bit more deluxe and that is in the lettering below the grille. It says there "All Transistor" and it does so in molded-in letters that are finished in gold paint. This is a nice look I've talked about in other videos and that was just about to go extinct in consumer product design at the time. The Magnavox has its brand name in this area--below the grille--and as you can see it has not aged well but is hardly visible. It would have been a bright gold when the radio was new but because the lettering was applied with stamping rather than molded in, a few trips in and out of a leather case would have worn it off. Now if you're going to skimp, the last place you want to skimp is your branding.
The takeaway here in this comparison is that in almost every difference between these models you can see that Magnavox's interest was in... cost-cutting. And of course the very fact that they outsourced this radio to a Japanese company in the first place...is all about cost-cutting. Here they were, in the middle of one of the hottest fads in the 20th century, and all they can think about is offshoring production and cutting costs? OK, so where did it get them. Today they are a brand name, nothing more. No plants, no R&D department... they are a brand name that belongs to the Dutch company Philips, who licenses the Magnavox name out to Funai Electric of Japan to put on TVs that old people can find at Costco or WalMart and go, "Oh look, a Magnavox!" And where is NEC today? Doing just fine, last I heard. 27 billion dollars in annual revenue, 114,714 employees.
I like looking at the owner's manuals for these little radios. Here in the Magnavox's is the typical stuff, a few words extolling the virtues of the printed circuit, and some talk of what a terrific advancement the transistor was over tube technology. When it comes to the actual operating instructions, there's not much to say. Turn it on. Tune it. Change the battery. And the Warranty is on the back. The instructions for the NEC--which I don't have--may well be more interesting in that they may have some funny translation errors and stylistic quirks that amuse collectors. But the instructions for the Magnavox Pocket Mate are clearly not a translation but originated in the United States--even if those words are the only thing in this entire package that did.
Magnavox's relationship with NEC continued on with other radios, and we'll look at them in other videos.
So, it's 1960 and you're looking for a little radio like this. Assuming both of these radios are a roughly similar retail price, which one would you choose?
3D movies, the Hula Hoop, the Frisbee, the Slinky, and the transistor radio. Like the others, the transistor radio's rise was remarkably quick. Like the others, it too could be considered a fad. But the transistor radio also had staying power. How many hours a day could you play with a Frisbee? A Slinky? ...But how many hours a day could you play a radio? I don't know--how many batteries you got?
What we're looking at today is a radio made at the height of the transistor radio's popularity. It's the Magnavox "Weekender" transistor radio from the early 1960s.
This is a sort of "everyman's radio" or "everyradio"--to coin a word--simple, but tasteful. Functional, not flashy. Suitable for anyone. I like its styling for just that reason. Don't get me wrong. As a collector, I'm always going to favor the flashy, colorful, and bombastic designs, but when you've been collecting awhile, it just seems natural to have an increasing appreciation for radios like this. I think I might like this radio better in red or some other bright color. Still, the monochrome quality highlights just what this radio is as an "everyradio" and so I'm happy to have it, just like this.
Yes, to the collector, this radio may look rather plain considering the exuberant curves and tapers in the designs that preceeded it, in the style some called "Taperform." But what we may now perceive as plainness was perceived then as "smart" and "crisp" and even "elegant." This radio is a mild transitional design to the style known as "sheerform" that would come to dominate such things as automobile dashboards and consumer electronics in the middle '60s and later. Black was definitely one of the few favored colors for sheerform... and so while this wouldn't be my first color choice, it IS in keeping with the design.
Magnavox was one of the transistor radio pioneers, offering their first model, the AM-2, in 1956. I cover this first Magnavox transistor radio in depth in another video.
After their first few transistor radio models, Magnavox was soon outsourcing its transistor radio production to the far east, same as every other American brand eventually did. Magnavox's first oursourced radio was this AM-23 model, a good-looker built for them by one of the many smaller Japanese firms set up at the time to do such work. After that, Magnavox contracted with Nippon Electric, what we know as "NEC" to produce these models, the AM-22... the AM-60.... and the AM-80. You can see more on these in other videos.
Shortly thereafter appeared this, the AM-62 "Weekender," which is stamped on the bottom, almost impercetably, "Japan." This radio has six transistors but seems a bit shy about it. Usually a transistor radio would proclaim the number of transistors it contains on the front in some fashion--sometimes exuberantly like this Global GR-900-- and sometimes to the point of absurdity, as on this Omscolite radio. But on this unassuming little Magnavox, the transistor number isn't even mentioned. Not only that, but this radio does not even mention the word "transistor" on its front at all as nearly all transistor radios at the time did. Is this perhaps the FIRST transistor radio NOT to have the word "transistor" on the front of it? Maybeeeee.
The Magnavox AM-62 Weekender... This "everyradio" you would think would be rather common. But I've only ever found this one.
This Admiral radio sports a nice "deep vee" trim motif as well as the figure of an atom on the front. How "mid-century" can you get? This is a radio at home in any radio or mid-century modern collection. But there's much more to interest a collector in this radio--namely, its rare solar power option. That's right, this radio could be had with an optional "Sun Power Pack"-- making it the first solar powered radio ever available.
Collectors know that in late 1954 Regency made the first commercially-available transistor radio. Regency was quickly followed by several other U.S. radio manufacturers, including Emerson, G.E., Magnavox, Motorola, Raytheon, RCA, and Zenith who all introduced their own transistor radios during 1955. Chrysler, the car maker, even offered an optional transistor radio in some of their cars. Seemingly everyone wanted to get on the transistor radio bandwagon! Yet there was one prominent American radio manufacturer who had not yet produced a transistor radio. But they were working on it--and they were hoping to bring to market not just a radio, but a totally new concept in electronic technology.
They planned to market not just a transistor radio, but a solar-powered transistor radio. Now, solar cell technology was brand new in 1955. The first practical solar cell was invented just a year earlier, in 1954. Invented... at Bell Labs, the very place the transistor itself was invented just 8 years prior, in 1947.
And so in August, 1955, the Admiral Corporation of Chicago set out to outdo the other radio makers with a radio that was not just transistor, but was solar too.
That same month, August of 1955 was a milestone in the history of consumer electronics for another reason, on another continent, right Bill?
Oh, definitely. That was the very month in which Tokyo Tsushin Kogyo released to the Japanese market Japan's first transistor radio, the Sony TR-55.
The first product ever to bear the name "Sony."
That's the one. But back in Chicago, Admiral engineers Harry Thanos and Roger Weber had acquired seven small silicon solar energy cells--each about the size of a half-dollar coin. These came from the semiconductor division of National Fabricated Products of Chicago and cost $25 EACH. The engineers wired the seven cells in series to create a 1-½ volt “sun battery” which Mr. Thanos attached to a prototype 6 transistor radio. On August 26, 1955, he demonstrated this prototype “SUN RADIO” to representatives of Mallory, an Indianapolis maker of batteries and electronic components. By the way, the P. R. Mallory Company helped develop the modern alkaline battery and is today better known by the name of their most successful product... Duracell. Anyway, this prototype radio shown to Mallory operated entirely on sunlight--WITHOUT batteries.
And more! . . .
Truetone was one of those brands of radios that didn't have a factory. Truetone radios were made FOR them by radio manufacturers, usually with not much more than a bit of styling input from the marketing department at Truetone. Since brands like Truetone were already outsourcing production of electronics, it was easy for them to outsource their products later to Japan, when that seemed like a good idea in the late-1950s. And that they did. This is one of those Japanese-made Truetone radios. But their first transistor radio, the one we are looking at today, was made in America.
The Truetone brand appeared on televisions too, and on all the other electronic entertainment items Western Auto sold--stereos, record players, clock-radios, and more. As collectors, we're focused on THINGS and we like to talk about who was the first to MAKE a thing or the first to OFFER a feature on that thing--things like that. But I think it's also interesting to look at who was first to SELL a thing. Where did the public first SEE these items for sale? When the transistor radio was new, you had to go out of your way, into the city, to find a Regency radio at a specialty shop, or a Bulova radio at the jewelers. Or you had to go to a radio and TV shop to see a Zenith or Emerson or Admiral.
Here's where the role of the "store brand" comes into the story--and this is a role that is often overlooked. By "store brand" I'm not talking generics, those unbranded bargain items we started to see in the 1970s, I'm talking store brands--perhaps it helps to think of one of the best known store brands, historically, and that is Craftsman, which was a store brand of Sears Roebuck. Sears had lots of store brands including Kenmore and Coldspot (which was Sears's answer to General Electric's HotPoint). Two of today's most popular store brands are "Great Value" sold at Walmart, and "Kirkland," a store brand of Costco. You don't see store brands on electronics much anymore, but you used to. And we may well see more of that in the future.
The thing about store brands is that they are sold by stores YOU WERE ALREADY GOING TO for other things-- necessities like clothes, hardware, tires, and stuff like that. So a shopper could be exposed to a new product--a product they weren't particularly even looking for-- just by virture of a store having ITS version of the product on display. And this is where, and how, many people first saw a transistor radio. Not by going all over town specifically looking for one. In the beginning of the transistor radio era, 1955 and '56, FOUR retailers were first to offer their own "store brand" transistor radios. Montgomery Ward was one of those, offering their Airline brand. Sears offered their Silvertone brand. Firestone, believe it or not, was one of these first retailers, offering TWO store brands: "Firestone" and "Air Chief." And Western Auto was one of these four retailing pioneers offering Truetone.
And this is the first transistor radio they sold, The Truetone DC-3715A. It's an interesting looking radio that employs just four transistors and runs on one of those fat 9-volt batteries like the Burgess 2N6 seen here on the left. Who actually made this radio is a subject of some confusion. Here's the earlier Raytheon T-100 model and you can see the obvious similarities. While I try and explain what happened, I'll show you the Raytheon's other descendents, branded Airline, Symphonic,... and an interestingly upside-down Hallicrafters.
The Raytheon T-100 was one of the earliest transistor radios ever made. There's a video all about it on this channel. It can easily be assumed that Raytheon made the Truetone, and these others. But, the story isn't that simple. In 1945, Raytheon, out of Massachusetts, had acquired Chicago-based Belmont Radio, and made radios there in Chicago under both the Belmont and Raytheon brands. Then in 1956, just after the first Raytheon transistor radios were made, Belmont was sold ...to Admiral. So, now we have more personnel changes in the styling and production departments as the Admiral name goes up over the door and the Raytheon-branded models are retired. But these other versions of this radio continue under Admiral... and where in this timeline any particular one of these models was made is hard to say. You could say they are all in some sense part Raytheon, part Belmont, and part Admiral. Going forward into the later 1950s, some of the design motifs first seen on transistor radios of this style--designed under Raytheon--continued on in radios made by, and branded Admiral.
And... what happened to Truetone and Western Auto? There's a video on this channel called "What Happened To Western Auto" and it tells all about it. It's the most successful video on this channel at this point so... maybe...go have a look.
I got this radio back around 1990. Someone had found a small group of these, all new and never opened. It is my understanding that the radios came from a closed traveling circus or carnival or something like that. They were given as prizes--as the grand prize--if you knocked down all the pins or whatever it was. Of course no one ever did--since the pins were probably bolted down--but they had to have the prizes on hand, just in case. Anyway, they had them on hand until the end--all unopened. The circus, or carnival closed for good at some point and the stuff put in storage. ...Where these radios were found, eventually, by a radio collector who then doled them out to other collectors around the country willing to step up to the price. A rather steep price, it was, as I recall. But it was do-able, as opposed to knocking down the pins, so... I did it. And I don't regret it! And here's one of those radios.
The radio is called the Tom Thumb. And the maker was Automatic Radio, out of Boston.
"Tom Thumb. World's Smallest...Most Powerful...Personal Portable Radio. ...Manufactured by Automatic Radio."
I really like the idea of this as a time capsule, the idea of owning something that's old, very old, and yet is still brand new. It's like going back in time to open up something that has never been used. When I got it, it was still sealed. I was, of course, tempted to leave it sealed. But I wanted to SEE it. And if it were still sealed, this wouldn't be much of a video, now would it?
The operating instructions inform us that the radio has a, quote, "Super Magna-Loop antenna built right into the radio." Well, that's good. It tells you how to work the knobs. Great. There's a parts list on the back, with prices, so you can order replacement parts if you like. You can even order a whole new plastic cabinet for the radio for $3.50. A new tuning knob will costs you 90 cents. Inside the operating instructions we get battery installation help, and there's stuff about what to do for service. There's also a schematic diagram in case you want to try a little servicing yourself.
And here's the main reason I wanted this radio in my collection. It's a great looking little radio. And what better way to own a great-looking radio than new-in-the-box? Opening it up this way, I really get a sense of how attractive, and cute, and stylish it is. It's got that little handle on top that collapses down when you aren't using it. That nice gold tuning knob that uses the luscious finish technique of underpainting. Another feature--and an unusual one on a small radio-- is seen with the tuning numbers... they're raised up above the rest of the cabinet and are painted over with gold paint. Man, the way they used to make stuff. I'm not saying better... or worse... I'm just saying different. Different than today. Those dial numbers are already starting to show wear--just from the padding in the box. Those numbers--and the Tom Thumb logo on the front--are quick to wear off in use, ...so used examples of this radio are rarely found without significant loss to these gold areas.
Automatic Radio also made a hybrid model of this radio, model TT-600.
Inside, the first thing we see is a warning to "Remove Rundown Batteries to avoid damage due to leakage." You used to see warnings like that in flashlights all the time too. Batteries leak, and ruin things. Manufacturers of devices like flashlights and radios grew weary of their customers blaming them for battery failures...and would routinely warn customers to remove their batteries when they weren't going to use the device. No one ever did, of course. Because how would you know you weren't going to use the device tomorrow? You didn't. So you left the batteries in there. What are we, fortune tellers who can predict the future?
Most of the rest that's going on inside here is pretty well covered up. They didn't want you messing around in here. And we're just going to respect that and leave well enough alone. And new is new. If I start unscrewing things and taking stuff apart, well, then it isn't new anymore. I've never even put batteries in this radio to test it. And I don't intend to either.
Speaking of new: The printed circuit was still a very new technology when this radio was made. And this radio was one of the first consumer products to have one. Some consumers were quite curious about this new way of wiring things. That may be another reason Automatic Radio chose to hide it. Curious fingers weren't going to do it any good.
The first transistor radio, the Regency TR-1 used this technique in 1954. And the first few Zenith Royal 500 models, beginning in 1955, used this technique. But later in the Regency's first year of production, they replaced the technique with another. That's when they began to use hot foil stamping equipment to apply their logo to the front of their radio's cabinets. Before that, and going back decades, lettering and logos applied to plastic were usually...molded into the plastic at the time of the original molding, and then painted in--literally--with paint... often gold paint as was seen on the Regency and Zenith. But by the late 1950s, this technique had all but vanished on not just radios but all consumer products. Lettering molded into the plastic itself.. fell from favor and was replaced generally by graphics applied instead to badges and trim pieces--using techniques like foil stamping and silk screening. This little Wilco was one of the LAST consumer products to have been made that old fashioned way, with the lettering literally molded into the plastic cabinet and painted in gold. The gold paint on all the old products that were done this way has long since oxidized, usually to a dark greenish brown, so if you find a radio with bright gold painted letters, it has probably been restored. This oxidization was known to be a problem even back in the day. Radio suppliers sold servicemen a paint stick they could use to spiff up their customer's radios that were in for servicing.
Now, how can a guy be THIS observant about somthing THIS trivial... and yet not notice a new dress or hairstyle on the woman he loves? ... I don't know.
It's a cutie, this little Wilco. It's the ST-630 model and it has a design style I call "architectural." Now this is probably a pretty ignorant thing to say but, there, I've said it. What I mean by it, I guess is the asymmetric layout of the front, the fact that the grill wraps around the left side but not the right. And I like the way the on/off volume knob runs vertically on the front and has a little notch on the side so you can see the word "off." As to the grille, to continue in my ignorance, I call this type of grille "tuck and roll" even though it bears only a passing resemblance to that upholstery technique and there is literally no upholsetering going on here. Vertical stripes is another way to put it, perhaps less ignorantly, or vertical indentations--but then I literally begin to cringe at how mundane these descriptions can get. Like that Toshiba that some collectors call the "bathroom scale" model. How mundane can you get? Or refering to the marvelous Panasonic Panapet as the "ball and chain." Yikes. Those things don't sound like any fun at all and I'm a big believer that collecting should be fun, full of life, even joy. Not mundane. ... Whoa! Holy Cow! Fabulous. ...But guess what the mundane call this wonderful radio from Toshiba? Go on, guess... The coffin. Really! I am not making this up.
You know, I never really thought about this painted in lettering stuff before this... but here it is on this Toshiba too. This 6TP-304 Toshiba.
So back to our little Wilco. And as we open it up we find it to be full of very small electronics parts. And inside the back an even smaller schematic diagram. The transistors here are made by TEN (Kobe Kogyo), who supplied transistors to a great many of the smaller Japanese manufacturers. I talk at length about Kobe Kogyo in some of the other videos on this channel. And I talk there with less ignorance than I'm doing here about design styles. ...Or do I?
Wilco didn't make a lot of transistor radios. They are perhaps best known for this ST-7 model. A bit larger than the sorts of radios some people prefer, but what's not to like about this?
The Wilco name even appears on a micro transistor radio, the "Wilco Minipac AP-122," which has an amazing 12 transistors inside this little thing. Astute observers will recognize this little Wilco micro as similar to, and, internally at least, quite likely a clone of the Masterwork M-100 from Columbia Records... that's shown in the book "Vintage Micro Transistor Radios.
The ST-630 from Wilco, an interesting company off in an interesting corner of the interesting hobby of collecting transistor radios.
Emerson. That's who was first to market with the smallest full-featured radio--with a speaker-- in the pre-transistor era. What made this race to miniaturization even possible was the recent development of miniature vacuum tubes, what were called SUB-miniature tubes. Most of these tiny tubes were flat, like the ones you see here, and were very tightly packed inside the devices in which they were used, which was mostly hearing aids, and, beginning with this Emerson model 747, radios.
But this Emerson radio was ahead of its time in more ways than one. Its lavish use of underpainted plastic--all over its front--was greatly influential in the designs of transistor radios to come in the following years. Especially radios made in Japan. Japanese designers took the art of underpainted plastic in product design soaring to new heights by the late 1950s. Not so much the American makers. There was limited use of the technique by them. It is not a coincidence that it was Emerson, among the American radio makers, who continued using the technique most in the transistor era.
You get inside this radio through the front. But how do you get this very beautiful, but delicate-looking piece of plastic off of here without breaking it? Where do you start?--there's no obvious place to press or tug or pull or finesse in some way. Fortunately, I found on the instruction sheet for this radio it said to, quote, "Insert finger in opening for "B" battery and gently apply pressure to front cover from inside until it releases. But don't force it." That's what it says. Don't force it. OK.... so you go through that side battery cover... And speaking of things fragile, this whole radio is fragile. Most examples I've seen of this radio have cracks and chips on them--on the front, of course, and also by the battery covers. I don't think this plastic cabinet is any match for the radio that's inside of it. By that I mean the chassis inside here is really heavy--and if this radio is dropped--even a very minor drop--it's not going to go well. The chassis is going to take gravity's side, not the cabinet's, in that sort of an argument, with the weight of that chassis contributing to far more damage than this plastic cabinet could ever handle.
You can see a couple of the little flat subminiature tubes in here. There are four all together powering this radio. And the tubes here are branded Emerson. And speaking of power, this radio has two battery covers because it takes two different batteries. Those unfamiliar with tube technology in the pre-transistor era, may be interested to learn that the tubes themselves needed their own power source just to light them up. Like the tiny, dim light bulbs they kind of are. Anyway, that power supply for the tube filaments is separate from the main power supply that makes all the rest of the radio work. In this radio, the filaments are lit by a 1-1/2 volt battery which loads through the bottom battery cover... and the rest of the power is supplied by a long 45 volt battery that loads through the side. Here's what that long battery looks like. That Emerson branded one is exactly the battery specified in the instructions for this radio, the Emerson EM-86 battery. The instructions say that that long battery will last 5 to 7 times longer than the other one. That's good because it looks expensive! In tube-type radios, batteries that light the tubes are known as "A" batteries and the ones that do all the rest are "B" batteries. The "A" battery in this one--for lighting the filaments-- is a standard 'C'-cell battery. The instructions say you'll only get about four hours of radio play out of that battery. Lasting 5 to 7 times longer than the "A" battery, that long "B" battery should last for about 25 hours of radio play.
And here's a nice bonus you don't usually get with a collectible radio--the original receipt! It's dated September 30, 1953 and it's from Bates Radio & Television, not too far from USC in South Los Angeles. The customer paid $40 for it, plus tax, and he got the case and batteries thrown in with the deal. Well, that seems like quite the bargain... until you toss that figure into an inflation calculator and see that that's over $400 today. Still well worth it, I am sure. And it's lasted this long!
And here's Emerson's ad that appeared in several national magazines and might well have motivated the sale of this beautiful radio.
Here's a classic pair of glasses in a frame that's called the "Liner." These frames were made by American Optical from the 1940s on into the 1970s. Wire frames, or metal frames as they can also be called, were pretty much the standard since the beginning of using lenses to correct for vision problems, going back to at least the 13th century. Ben Franklin, who invented the bi-focal in the 18th century, wore metal frames. This was literally the standard for hundreds of years, up until the advent of plastic frames. Plastic frames began to overtake metal in popularity in the 1940s and '50s and by 1960, even grandpa had given up his metal frames and was wearing plastic. THAT is why it was so counterculturally hip when John Sebastian, Roger McGuinn, and John Lennon started sporting wire frames in the later 1960s.
Personally, I really wanted to be equally hip in 1967, though I was only 14. I found an old pair of some old person's glasses in a yard sale and bought them. Though I had worn plastic-framed glasses since the second grade, I couldn't wear the wire framed ones I found because of course they did not have my particular prescription in them. I appealed to my mother, arbiter of all that was proper in our household, to let me get my prescription put into the wire frames. Absolutely not, was the response, along with something like "I don't want you going around looking like some hippie." But I was able to negotiate a deal with my parents at the time of my next eye exam. I would get new "proper" plastic glasses, as normal, but--if I spent my own money--I could have the wire frames made up with the new prescription as a spare pair of glasses. And I did. It cost me $15. Now that sounds cheap, but realize that that $15 is about $120 in today's money and I was only 14, scraping together money mowing lawns for people and other sorts of odd jobs. But I worked hard because I wanted those glasses and I did look good in them, if I say so myself.
For my high school graduation picture my mother insisted that I wear my stupid plastic glasses, though by that time I never wore them to school and almost never anywhere else. But after putting up a half-hearted fight I knew I'd lose, I did as she asked. But then I also scheduled another photo session with another photographer I paid for myself... where I had this taken, with my beloved wire frame glasses. I was a wiful child.
By the mid-1970s, this happened. The fashion in eyeglasses was for huge gaudy monstronsities. All of the glasses styles with small lenses were swept from the marketplace. And that was a problem for me because by this time, my poor old wire glasses were pretty well worn out. After all, they were used when I got them and I wore them pretty much every day for nine years or so. Here I am in 1977, still wearing them. You can see how thick they were... my eyesight was pretty poor and I needed pretty thick glasses. So when I went for an eye exam that year, I sought a replacement for my wire frames. All the eye doctor had on display were rows and rows of giant, ridiculous frames. Now, I would have chosen one of those if I had too. After all, that was the fashion, and as we've already seen, I was a follower of fashion with not a little vanity to boot. But... as I said, I needed pretty thick lenses... and the laws of optics being what they are, if I were to get an eyeglass frame with large lenses, as was the fashion, they would be like an inch thick on the edges. Coke-bottle lenses even worse than what I had. So no, I couldn't have that. I would have to choose a frame with a small lens size. And did the eye doctor have anything like that? "Welllll," he says, after rooting around in the back of his office somewhere, "they still make these." And what he showed me--and what I bought--and what I have worn ever since--was a pair of American Optical "Liners"--what he said at the time was the last wire frame made.
Here's me in my first pair of American Optical Liners in 1978. Goofing around, pretending to be serious for the camera. And here I am these days.
It's a good thing they are so well made. And I guess there's a good reason for their exceptional quality. After all, they didn't appear until the 1940s, which was very late in the game for wire frames. So they were made with the benefit of many decades of experience. When these were designed, plastic glasses were already coming into vogue. American Optical knew that if the all-metal Liner was to succeed, it had to be as good as they knew how to make it. It was never a glamorous frame, and it wasn't cheap either, but it has stood the test of time--and I don't think it's an overstatement to say that today it stands with certain other icons of twentieth-century design--such as Levi's jeans and Converse All Stars shoes--highly regarded as superior in quality and, if not beautiful, at least timeless in design.
And this is it, the Yashica YT-100. Yashica--or is it Yashica? I don't know.
Quite unlike any other transistor radio, this was not something made by one of the major Japanese radio makers, on the front of which Yashica stuck its logo. I could be wrong, of course, but this interesting radio is so unique I've just got to believe it was made by Yashica itself, perhaps their first and only self-made transistor radio. I do know of another Yashica model, this one, their AR-665 model. But this one was not made by Yashica but by someone else. Can you guess who?... Well, it's very small, as you can see, and quite delicate. We also see this model as a Viscount, a Packard Bell, a Zephyr, and as an Aiwa as you can see in this photo from a book on Zephyr. And your best clue is right in this picture. Which of these brands was more than just an importer, but a company that had actual factories in Japan? Yeeesss, it was Aiwa. And indeed it was Aiwa who made this little one. .. But this YT-100 does not have any family resemblance to any of the Aiwas I've seen, or, as I say, any resemblance to any other brand either. That's how I get to the conclusion that Yashica made this one themselves. Inside we see that some of the parts are marked "National," which is, of course, Matsushita, better known in the US as Panasonic. The serial number is hand-written on a small strip of paper affixed to the speaker magnet. The radio has a wire carrying handle which swings around to become a stand for the radio. The tuning knob is strangely plain, but not unpleasantly so. It is altogether quite a stylish little radio and it did in NO WAY deserve the indignity inflicted upon its speaker grille by some careless lout at some time in the past. Shame on you for not taking better care of your toys!
The leather case is very thin and feels to be of high quality. It too says made in Japan but it doesn't say out of what. I've heard people refer to this kind of thin leather generically as "pigskin," but I can't say. You can, if you want to. I won't stop you.
Growing up, my father had a Yashica movie camera, purchased for him by my uncle who was serving in the military in Korea and had access to bargain prices on Japanese-made stuff. On one trip home, my uncle told my father about the cheap prices he could get on cameras and electronics directly out of Japan. This appealed to my father, and to lots of other Americans in those days. And this helps to account for some of the interesting and rare Japanese-made goods we collectors sometimes are lucky enought to come across--goods that were not yet officially imported to the United States. In case you were wondering, this is actual home movie footage filmed by my father on that very camera. Not bad, huh? That's...the awesome and beautiful Niagara Falls, of course, Augusst 1963.
The Yashica shirt-pocket transistor radio YT-100. One of the many many reasons I like to collect transistor radios. Every one of them has a story. And all those stories help inform the other stories just a little bit. If you're into it, this can be a lot of fun.
Yes, I run out of words to describe radios like this. And if you've watched any of my other videos you know I am just FULL of words.
This wonderful little radio was made in Japan around 1959 or '60. The plastic bar running vertically down the front--its chief architectural feature--is underpainted with a couple of stars... and has clear window areas to reveal the dial tuning numbers and the logo plate which runs vertically. The rest of the front is all a good-looking metal mesh grille.
On the back, this model has a battery door. On most transistor radios at the time, the entire back came off for changing the battery, but this one has a door with a latch which is operated by a chrome button. It's a little primitive and the battery cover can easily fall right off of there. And so that is why this other example of this radio that I have, a black one, has no battery cover--long since lost--I can easily imagine it being consumed up out of a gold shag carpet--no doubt with a lot of clacking--by a big green Hoover vacuum cleaner sometime in the 1960s.
In my earliest days of collecting these radios, I scoured flea markets and swap meets with a vengeance, always asking each vendor if they had any little radios. Occasionally, I'd be told, "Oh yeah, I have some of those at home, I didn't think anyone would want them." Sometimes they'd promise to bring what they had to the next flea market and sometimes they'd even suggest I come over to their house later that day and see what they had. Of all the times I did that, the only time it worked out--where I really found something good--was the time I went over and picked up this Trans-ette. The black one without the battery cover. And the seller was going to look for that battery cover because she was sure it was around there somewhere. And indeed I followed up with her several times about that...until I grew weary of it--and she with me. That's when I dreamed up the Hoover story instead as a way of getting closure on the matter.
Now what's this Valiant transistor radio? It's EXACTLY the same size as the Trans-ette, and despite the very different styling, there is a certain 'family resemblance' between the two. This Valiant has a nice underpainted top with a bulging magnifier window over the dial. When we turn it over we see that same sort of battery cover as the Trans-ette and our suspicions of a family resemblance are confirmed. They are almost certainly from the same maker.
These are very fragile looking radios with very thin plastic cabinets so I'm not inclined to risk opening one up to look at the chassis. They are obviously not intended to be opened up and besides, by the time these were made, the chassis in Japanese transistor pocket radios were pretty generic.
The Trans-ette's box is built the way Marvel boxes are made--the Marvel brand radios tended to come in boxes like this-- with a kind of an axle hinge from which the top flips up. And there's a cutout in the lid that reveals a compartment that holds accessories. Look at this case--it looks as unused as a new pair of Florsheims at the mall. And stamped on the back it says it is "Genuine Top Grain Cowhide, Hand Saddle-stitched." The little matching leather earphone pouch is here too--inside of which the earphone is still wrapped in its original plastic bag.
Putting it all back together we see the package that must have delighted thousands of kids, many Christmases ago. Imagine opening this up-- a gift from grandma--who usually gave you socks and stuff--and even one Christmas gave you suspenders for crying out loud! Imagine opening up this gift from her and finding this wonderful Trans-ette inside. "Oh, I was going to get you handkerchiefs," she says,"you know a boy needs hankies... but your grandpa thought you'd like that instead."
Thanks, grandpa!
Yes, they are the Emerson 747 from 1953, the Silvertone 4212, sold at Sears, from 1954, the Automatic Tom Thumb from 1955, and the Hoffman Nugget, the radio we're looking at today. What do these all have in common? They're the smallest full-featured radios made at the time, and they were all made in the United States of America, ...and not one of them has a transistor in it. That's right, these are NOT transistor radios.
At the end of the first electronics era, just before the transistor was about to revolutionize all of electronics--that's when these radios were made. Just at the end. Instead of transistors, they use vacuum tubes, the same technology as was first used in the 19-aughts--the first decade of the 20th century. But these little radios WERE high tech at the time. Because they didn't just have the normal vacuum tubes you'd find in other electronics in that era. No, these four radios have these little flat tubes in them--the tiniest tubes available. Very few devices were made using these flat tubes. These four are the smallest radios to use them right at the dawn of the transistor era. Now we looked at these little tubes in another video, a video about the very interesting 1947 Belmont Boulevard earphone-only radio, which owed its existence to these little tubes. You can find that video on this channel. But today, we're looking at these, and specifically the Hoffman Nugget, produced here, at the Hoffman Radio Corporation in Los Angeles California in the mid 1950s.
Now, as you can see, this is a very stylish little radio--very angular and crisp, and with a great looking underpainted dial area within which is a clear area exposing the dial pointer from underneath. I like these louvres, these blockish parallel louvres that make up the rest of the front and provide most of the crispness I'm talking about. It's a good look. I can't resist showing you another radio, a larger, and probably earlier portable with what appears to be those exact same louvres. By the way, it's nothing more than coincidence that this larger radio bears the Raytheon brand and the fact that the little flat tubes in the Hoffman were developed originally by... Raytheon. The Raytheon radio does not have the flat tubes. It's a pretty big set and has plenty of room in it for regular tubes. Raytheon made those too and was, in fact, a leading maker of vacuum tubes. They were also a leading maker of transistors. For more of their sordid story, see the Raytheon videos on this channel.
And peering inside the Hoffman we see one of the earliest circuit boards ever to appear in a product. Even some of the earliest transistor radios weren't even using circuit boards. Though, as I said, Raytheon developed these little flat tubes, in the 1940s, the ones in this radio are branded "Hoffman," and I assume were made by them. Hoffman, I mean. The Hoffman folks were serious players, especially on the west coast of the US. They made and sold a great many television sets in their heyday, as well as developing and marketing the first serious solar radios. It's astonishing to learn how long solar-power technology has been around and how little we've done with it in the grand scheme of things.
And the case for the Hoffman Nugget has the look of good cowhide when in little-used condition, like this one is. But it's not leather. It's "leatherette." Before we called vinyl "leatherette," THIS was the stuff we called leatherette. It's a kind of a fiber board and as you can see it looks nice. But it doesn't wear well, that's for sure. It's a two-part case, with four snaps holding the top part to the bottom. Sometimes when you see this radio, that top part is missing. Gone to that black hole that consumes battery covers, tupperware lids, and the occasional sock...
The Hoffman Nugget, a radio that was very small for its time--and was considered quite high tech--for a little while. Its techie edge evaporated quickly with the appearance of radios like the Regency TR-1 in the mid-'50s, transistor radios that didn't have small tubes, or tiny flat tubes, ...or any tubes at all.
Yes, yow, wow, zowie! What a stunning example of the finest Japanese transistor radio artistry! Made on April 18, 1960--exactly--this magnificent transistor radio has six transistors and has a LOT of gorgeous design features. There's that underpainted dial area. Those plastic louvres running horizontally across the front with a bit of a rise in the middle, kind of pleasantly poofed up. And there's that little metal lettering badge on the lower front corner, parially painted in with white paint--a very nice touch. And the radio's got a wire handle that also serves as a stand. The back isn't the usual ivory color you might expect. No, it's a pale peach color. One of the overall things that I like best here is that nothing in the shape of this radio is straight--everything has a bit of a curve to it and, at least in part because of that, it is a delight to look at and to hold.
It looks VERY fragile, and I guess that's part of its beauty too. I'm sure that the fact that so few of these have survived is at least partly due to that fragility. I've only ever seen one example of this radio--this one.
The folks at Yaou used the name "General" on some of their products, as this 1957 ad shows. They were also, as the ad says, "The leading largest television maker in Japan." Whether they were thwarted in attempting to use the name "General" in the United States by the American General Electric company, I can't say. But I kind of bet they were, since clearly they knew that the brand name "Yaou" was a less than ideal name in the American market...and, as shown in that ad, they were already using the General name on their televisions and larger radios. So... for whatever reasons, they used both names. Over the years I've managed to find a roughly equal number of Yaou-branded, and General-branded, radios, all different from each other. Some of them are pretty plain, and some of them pretty wild. That's a two-band General on the left, pulling in a shortwave band, in addition to the standard AM band. Next an 8-transistor shirt-pocket model with the kind of dial I like to call the speedo dial, or speedometer dial. Probably the strangest of the lot, and most interesting is this one--and it has a model number in it--6G780. I'd say this one was the earliest of this group of Generals but I can't prove it since there's no manufacturing date inside of it as we see on many of their other radios, especially the Yaou-branded ones. And this last one, on the right, HAS the date...but no model number. It was made January 9, 1961. This radio says General on the front, but Yaou on the label inside. The radio this video's about, this one, says Yaou on the front, AND on the label inside where it says its inspection date is April 18, 1960. Unfortunately, I can find no model number on it anywhere.
Inside we see that it has a "P. D. Speaker," whatever that means. We also learn that the speaker is "ultra high fidelity." Of course it is. The transistors are branded "TEN," which is the maker Kobe Kogyo which later evolved into Fujitsu Ten, and exists today as Denso Ten, making car audio, video, and other stuff under the Eclipse brand. There's more about Kobe Kogyo, including what is believed to be THEIR first transistor radio, in other videos on this channel. ..It looks nicely made inside here with a battery compartment that really means business. There's a metal plate in here protecting the "ultra high fidelity" speaker, where most transistor radios have nothing more than a piece of card, or paper, in this area.
What's this hole on the side? Well, to be more accurate, let's call it a notch. We see this occasionally on transistor radios and though we might not like that the notch is there, I don't think we can really call it a flaw. Not when you know what it is. It is there to accomodate the wire of a battery eliminator, a source of power that let a radio be powered externally, usually by plugging it into the wall. These were available as a generic accessory... and some radios, notably Universals and Candles, sometimes came equipped with battery eliminators in the box.
Now, it's sometimes said about design...that great design...can happen by accident, but that great designers can repeat. Well, this radio's design is so great--in my humble opinion--that it far outshadows the Generals I showed you, and most Yaou radios. So was the radio we're looking at today just a design accident... or could Yaou repeat. .... Well, it's completely different but I think I've got to admit: Yaou could... and did repeat the accomplishment of a terrific radio design...with this gorgeous model, their 6G-908. Neither of these radios borrows any element of its design at all from the other. Both are fresh and original and have just the two things in common: their brand name, and the word that best describes them: Yaou!
It's the 2012 Woodward Dream Cruise, where the automobile in all its permutations is virtually worshipped for hours on end. Oooo, a Camaro RS convertible. And a '57 Chevy. The interior of that Camaro is amazing. Look at the seats! Every year, on the third Saturday of August, the stretch of Woodward Avenue between around 8 mile road to the south and the city of Pontiac to the north turns into a kind of rush hour for cool cars, with spectators lining the road. We walked for miles up and down this event and off on the side streets to the special exhibits from GM, Ford, Chrysler, and some of the specialty car clubs. Then later we got out into this mess on the boulevard in a 1982 Chrysler LeBaron convertible. But it's early in the morning yet and we're looking at the parked specimens of notable automotive art. I dwell on the cars that interest me because, well, hey, it's my video. I don't spend a lot of time looking under hoods, although I can appreciate how much that aspect of it means to people. As with all the tech collectibles I enjoy, I appreciate and value these three things: The style, the technology, and the history. With cars, you get all of those--in fairly equal measure when you're in a museum. But at the Dream Cruise, you also get exhaust and a lot of revving engines. Air pollution AND noise pollution wrapped in the American flag.
Studebakers! They're not so well-represented here. I think the folks here in the Detroit area lump them in with all the other foreign cars. They were made, after all, in Indiana! That's a cool one. Way ahead of its time, styling-wise.
The 1960 Chevrolet--all the features of the '59, without the grace. But there's a rocket on it and you gotta love that rocket. The fins, the rockets, the flying "V"s--it's all here. It's like an air show on the ground.
Oh and I'm checking out the tires here. This ridge outside the whitewall. Just like the tires originally built by Continental Tire for this particular car, the Mercedes SL series with the pagoda hardtop, made between 1963 and 1971. Pretty, isn't it?
Now back to Woodward and a '55 Chevy. If you live on the south end of Woodward, it's Woodward. If you live on the north end, it's Wood-erd. It's the same--oh look at this kid, he's cooool. And a '56 Cadillac. Anyway, 'Wood-erd' is the same regional dialect that puts an "s" after all the store names, like Krogers, Wal-Marts, and K-Marts.
I spot a couple of Cords over there. Cords! Fantastic. I always expect to see Cary Grant or Tyrone Power stepping out of one of those whenever I see one. In the same way, I guess, that I expect every '57 T-Bird to be driven by Suzanne Sommers.
Back on the road. And now at the Chrysler Corner. A Dodge. '57, 8, or 9, I can't tell. And here's Ricardo Montalban standing guard. Tell us, Ricardo, about that fine Corinthian leather in this wonderful vehicle. The Chrysler corner is at Woodward and 13 Mile Road. What's a "mile road?" Later.
Dodge Custom Royal. Oh yeah. And with one of the grandest rear-ends since, well never mind.
Wow, look at this! I don't know it. The license seems to say Plymouth. Well, that is one nice Plymouth.
Another Dodge, a different year, this one. Maybe 1959. And an earlier Chrysler product, the DeSoto. My brother would know exactly what year this is but I'm just going to guess 1940. And the old guy. Dad. Who owns the LeBaron convertible in which we too shall cruise.
Some smart-aleck parked a 1970-something Fiat in with the Chryslers. This was around the time the two companies got together, so I guess it's OK. I happen to like Fiats, so it's OK with me.
Another '60 Chevy with the side rocket. In a nice blue & white two-tone. This one's a four-door with a post. They're all collectible now.
And we're on the road again, crowded in with a bunch of examples of the bland stuff Detroit produces today blocking our view of the good stuff we came to see. There's some irony there I suppose, if I could find it. But right at this point, I'm just trying to breathe.
We go up, and down. Up to maybe 16 mile road, then turn around and go back down to 8 mile. Lunch is at the White Castle there. Oh boy! These "mile roads" they have in Detroit are, as the name suggests, a mile apart. Woodward starts in downtown Detroit, near the river, and heads north, north-west to Pontiac, ticking off mile roads on the way. Wood-erd, uh, Woodward, has the distinction of being the first mile of concrete-paved roadway in the United States.
Woodward is what is generally known as a strip--a section of road that goes off of the downtown of someplace and out to another place. I suppose all roads go somewhere and a road out of town doesn't HAVE to be a strip. But when such a road gets lined with hamburger stands and motels, it's a strip. Like Van Nuys Boulevard or the Sunset Strip in LA. Or the strip in Las Vegas. Or ten-thousand other places. . .
No other decade in automotive history spanned so large a swing in auto design as the 1950s. Just to show how much styling changed in that decade, take a look at the 1950 model Chevrolet... and the 1960 Chevrolet. That's a 10-year difference and it is obviously... a big one. For comparison, take a look at the 10-year difference in a 2008 and 2018 Chevrolet. Excuse me while I yawn. Hardly any difference at all in those two.
Not only did styles change with increasing FREQUENCY in the 1950s, but the breadth of those changes widened like never before, with styling running a wide range in those years from the mundane to the insane. The single wildest year in all of auto styling came at the end of the '50s, 1959.
As high flying things do, auto design began to come back "down to earth" in the 1960s. "Down to earth is an apt phrase for it since auto design spent the '50s absolutely obsessed with the imagery of...flight. The fins, wings, rockets, and flying V's had been the prevailing theme ever since Cadillac's first use of the tailfin on its 1948 model.
All of this more or less ended in the 1960s, with the biggest change coming--all of a sudden--immediately following that wildest of years, 1959, in the changeover to the 1960 model year. This occurred to me while walking through Deer Park Auto Museum the other day, down in Escondido, California.
There are pretty much all convertibles in this place--wide open cars in which you waved hello to your temporary neighbors out on the open road. And there are lots of great store signs and advertising signs here too. Many in neon. Neon has been friend to the automobile ever since 1924, when the first neon sign in America was installed in Los Angeles-- at a car dealer, selling Packards.
So let's look at that big model change that came in 1960. The big 3 top sellers in 1959 and '60 were the Chevy, Ford, and Plymouth. Check out these '59 models. That's the Ford. But as you can see, the '59 Chevy is already itching to get to 1960 with its lower headlights and slimmer grille. By contrast, the '59 Plymouth--along with the Ford-- both still feature those Elizabeth Taylor eyebrows over the headlights and are looking dated compared to the Chevrolet. But look how far Ford went to catch up in 1960. This '60 model Ford front end didn't just catch up-- it zoomed past Chevy in the styling department. What a difference from the '59.
Back in 1957, Plymouth thought they had the future figured out when they proclaimed in promo materials for their 1957 model, "Suddenly, It's 1960!" But by the time ACTUAL 1960 rolled around, the "forward look" that Plymouth and all the Chrysler products promoted...didn't look so forward anymore.
Things don't turn on a dime, of course. And there are many many style details, exceptions, and downright abberations that are a part of what makes collecting cars so interesting. Here is one of those: Chevrolet, in 1960, having one last fling with the flight-obsessed '50s, with this terrific side rocket.
But the '50s ended that year, 1960, both literally and figuratively... in automotive design. The cars toned down just as everything else was heating up.
We only know from hindsight which of the styling trends you see here would fade and which would survive. The same can be said for auto design in the present day, of course, but the fading of current trends can't come fast enough for me. These trends are all on display at the annual auto shows the car makers put on... to show their new models. At one of these, you can be dazzled and amazed at the gadgetry... but as to the design trends, what you'll see are... cocoon-like cockpits, short windows, darkened glass, and all the rest of it--all designed to foster anonymous--and aggressive--driving. Like the car ads on television for many of today's leading auto brands, the appeal is to all that is sociopathic in today's driving experience.
Few realize what I'm about to say, and fewer still would admit it, but for many people, the only power they still wield in modern life is when they are driving. When they're cloaked in the anonymity of today's cars, this power is sometimes dangerously abused. Today's automakers know all about this power dynamic and cynically exploit it for profit, no matter what the cost to life and limb of the rest of us on the road just trying to enjoy the ride.
Rather than secreting ourselves in our little cocoons, I remember when THIS was the future we were promised. A bubble top--inside of which it was easy to see and be seen. Or even better--no top at all, like the cars here at Deer Park. No, you can have your auto show. I'd rather be in a room like this full of convertibles--all exuberantly different designs, wide open to the world.
The phenomenon of the Beatles was huge in my generation. People have long since forgotten just how huge. The music survives, of course, but most of the rest of the phenomenon is all but forgotten. Today we're going to look at a surviving relic from that time, the Big Beatle Fun Kit Magazine. This is the kind of history I like--not a retelling by some old geezer of something he only half-remembers--but a firsthand look at something real from the era. Not a memory of what was, but a look at what IS. I'm often surprised when I do this--and we may find surprises here too. Let's dig in. You dig?
Here's a Beatle bumper sticker. "The Beatles For President." Yes, other than the age and citizenship requirements, it seems like a good idea.
Beatle Fun Kit. Including...
This amusing, and useless, can of Los Angeles smog is the sort of thing you would take back to somebody after a vacation at Disneyland or Hollywood or someplace around LA. It says... contains hydrocarbons, nitrogen oxides, sulfer dioxide, organic oxides, aldehydes, and formaldehydes. Mmmmm. And it says "This is the smog used by famous Hollywood Stars ... made in Los Angeles... by angels. To insure freshness and purity keep container tightly sealed. Beware of Imitation! Accept none but PURE Los Angeles Smog... No pollutants or Irritants Removed.... Packed for Los Angeles Smog Corporation.
One of the tenets of capitalism is the benefit of efficient markets. For the consumer, this means that, acting in our own self-interest, we will naturally be efficient with our purchases, engaging in what we believe to be fair exchanges for our money, choosing utility over the frivilous.
So what possible claim to utility could be made by the capitalist purveyors of a can of smog? Or this? Or this?
As consumers, it is said that we know best how to spend our own money--we each know best what we want as individuals and that no one else should choose for us. For that reason, some of the purer capitalists among us take a dim view of governments choosing things for its citizens. Even if that government is making choices the public wants, and needs, and can't get any other way, like pollution standards and safety regulations. These purists still don't like government making those choices for people.
So when it comes to gift giving, such thoughts about capitalism can come into conflict. Obviously, gift giving is utterly inefficient to the capitalist mind. Becaaauuuuse by definition, gift giving almost never allocates resources to their most efficient use. Uncle Billy truly does not need another necktie at Christmas and giving him one is a waste of the material, time and labor it took to make it. Uncle Billy doesn't even want it.
And so capitalism has a problem. And yet, as capitalism does, it has a solution. And this is sort of the way it operates. Careful observers will notice that what the marketer calls "creating demand" and "filling a need" is sometimes just another way of saying "creating a problem and selling a solution." Rather like the shop owner who is paid a visit by a local thug who says, out of the side of his mouth, "it'd be a shame if something happened to that nice, pretty, new front window you've got there. You could probably use some protection." This approach to business is nothing new. Here Listerine points out a problem--in this case, bad breath. "Halitosis Makes You Unpopular," it is kind enough to point out. Doing you a favor. Even your kids can't stand to be around you, Listerine, again, is kind enough to tell you. And then it offers a solution. In this case Listerine. Surprise, surprise. There might well be more effective solutions, or a health issue involved, but you're not going to hear about them from a marketer... Yes, as insane it it seems, I have Listerine in my collection. This giant vintage bottle of the stuff. This is how it used to come. Wrapped in paper like this. And here's an even bigger one, the giant economy size full quart.
And so, back to the gift giving dilemma. What sort of solution could capitalism devise to deal with our desire to give gifts to people--a desire which is, as we have shown, the essense of inefficiency? How could the inefficient concept of gift giving be justified? Capitalism looked to a strange bedfellow for this justification. It looked... to humor. Now I said strange bedfellow because capitalism is not known for humor. In fact, it is the least funny economic system ever developed. But somehow it found its way to humor for a solution to the gift-giving dilemma, and it came up with... the gag gift.
Yes, this is a gift where the entire point is its utter uselessness. Rather than feign some value in some useless product--as advertising usually does--with the gag gift, the uselessness is celebrated. The point of the gift is not the thing itself but the experience, the JOKE--the gag--the smile or laughter or embarrassment or whatever that the receiver of the gift experiences when receiving something like, oh, this "Bedroom Mood Meter." This is the sort of item you would ALSO find while on vacation. Funny how that's so. I guess they like to come for you when your guard's down. Anyway, this you'd find in a gift shop at some entertainment attraction or in a Stuckey's or some other roadside stop along the highway. The recipient of such a thoughtful gift is supposed to hang this on their bedroom door. Then husband, wife, or whatever, can use the. . .
Yes, here's a little pamphlet we were never supposed to see. Published in February 1956 by the Chevrolet Division of General Motors, this pamphlet was intended to instruct and motivate their salesman on how to sell more Chevrolets. I've had some of these techniques used on me, and I'll bet you've had some of them used on you too! Let's find out just what General Motors was telling its salesman in order to separate us from our money.
When I found this magazine in a flea market I thought it must be a different Life magazine. Perhaps one that preceded the well-known picture magazine I had grown up with. Well, no. This IS that very same Life magazine--just an earlier incarnation. The familiar look we all know began in 1936, when Time magazine bought Life. And that's when the emphasis on photography in Life began. Before that, the magazine looked like this. Let's look inside and see what's going on the week of February 17, 1927. Well, first we see that there's an Alibi Contest on page 11. We'll get to that. The cover art is great. Oh and there's a caption: "The other fellow had the brakes." Ha.
"THIS IS THE EDSEL... never before a car like it. ... newest expression of fine engineering from Ford Motor Company." No time for complete sentences here--the excitement is just too great!
"The one car that can look you in the eye and say you never had it like this before." Huh? Never "had it" like this before? Had what? Oh, and this car is a little low to the ground to look me in the eye. Look me in the belt buckle perhaps.
To continue: "This is the Edsel and there has never been a car like it. Originality is clearly written in the elegance of its every line--from its bold vertical grille to the sweep of its low, wide flight deck.
Flight deck.
You sense this originality, too, in Edsel's effortless performance. And you command a new kind of automotive power--effortless, quiet, unsurpassed for flexibility and responsiveness.
The Edsel is the result of eleven years of planning and testing. Indeed, no new car has ever come to you with such a proved background--for example, more than 1,250,000 over-the-road test miles alone!
Concentrated in the Edsel is more than a half century of manufacturing experience and engineering skill of Ford Motor Company. But to really know how completely its designers have spurned the commonplace, you must drive it.
OK, all together now, "spurned."
And when you do you will know why Ford Motor Company has proudly named it after Edsel Ford, the son of its founder. In all its fresh new beauty and all its advanced engineering, this is...the Edsel!
Never Before So Much That's New.
Control Center Instrument Panel--Following aircraft practice, the Edsel instrument panel places instruments, controls, and operating warning lights in three parallel horizontal rows with every unit clearly visible--right within fingertip reach. It provides for integral mounting of optional accessories as well.
And here they are:
EDSEL CITATION...Convertible...4-door hardtop...2-door hardtop.
EDSEL CORSAIR... 2-door hardtop...4-door hardtop.
EDSEL PACER... 2-door hardtop...4-door hardtop...convertible...4-door sedan
EDSEL RANGER... 2-door sedan...4-door sedan... 2-door hardtop...4-door hardtop
And the EDSEL Station Wagons...4-door 9 passenger Bermuda...4-door 9 passenger Villager...
4-door SIX passenger Bermuda...4-door SIX passenger Villager...and the 2-door 6-passenger Roundup.
Yes, it's kind of like that old riddle, "What's black & white and red all over?" You know that one, right? I'm talking about something really really rare, yet it is a thing seen by millions. Well, here: At station breaks on the Tonight Show all through the 1970s, TV watchers would see this graphic. Johnny would say "We'll return right after this word from our sponsor" and then there would be SEVERAL words from their sponsor. A LOT of words, then they'd show this graphic again and you would think the show was about to come back on. And sometimes it did. But sometimes it would devolve into a lot MORE words from sponsors before getting back to Rodney Dangerfield--and Doc and Ed and Johnny.
So imagine my surprise one day looking through some paper goods at the flea market--old magazines, stuff like that--and here's this. Now, being an old school graphics guy myself, I recognize the protective cover sheet. Back before graphics were done on computers, it's what an artist would put over every piece of commercial production art he or she produced. So it's some kind of original commercial art. So I lift up the cover on this thing I had never seen before--and there is something I HAD seen before. Hundreds of times. And if you stayed up later than 11:30 in the 1970s, so did you. Holy moley! It's the Tonight Show... station break thingy. The seller at the flea market didn't think it was much so I got it cheap. I don't remember the price, just a few bucks, I guess. I ALWAYS remember when it's a lot. This wasn't. So I bought it. I still don't know what to call it, really. I think "title card" is a fair enough name for it. As I was walking out of the place I remembered that I had more such "title cards" at home. Older ones, that I had found at another flea market years earlier. I'll show you those in a minute. But first, how do I KNOW this is an authentic NBC title card? Well, I don't. I can't prove it. I got it at a flea market less than ten miles from where the Tonight Show was taped, but there aren't any markings on it that I can see or show to prove it to be genuine. But the thing that convinces me is this. The letters you see here are not IN the picture. This isn't just --what we would call today--a "screenshot." No, this is a photo print of Johnny Carson and the white letters are hand applied ON TOP of the print. And very well done I might add. Would you expect less from the graphics people at NBC? You can see when you get close how a bit of the "J" has rubbed off. These letters were applied by hand but they are not "hand-lettered" in the sense of being applied with a pen or brush the way a sign painter would do it. No, these letters would have been applied from a sheet of something called "transfer lettering," sometimes also called "press type" or "rub on letters." Some of you may remember these sheets. They were used to make headlines or small signs or anything like that in the graphic arts. These are some of those sheets. The ones we're looking at here are from the 1980s. They came in all kinds of styles. The type is almost always in black--but they did make white in some lettering styles--as was used on the Tonight Show graphic. You would rub each letter down, carefully pressing not too hard, not too soft, and trying not to accidentally rub off any adjacent letters or have them rub off from your hand or fingers that were holding the transfer sheet in place. This was very fussy business and took a lot of practice to do well. Oh, and here's a white one. Not the same style of course, but just exactly the sort of sheet that would have been used to apply the lettering to the Tonight Show title card.
Now, I don't know if you've noticed, but TV these days is jittery all the time. For younger people, it's always been this way. So it might be hard for some to believe that there were things on TV in the '90s and earlier that HELD STILL for a few moments. But there were... and they did. Title cards.
And now here are these other ones I mentioned. They are pretty old--I'd guess them to be from the mid- to late-1950s. One of them is dated 1956.
As the World Turns, Walter Cronkite with the News, rehearsal in progress, Art Linkletter's House Party, oh my mother liked that one. The Late Show, Big Hit Movies, The Edge of Night, a generic sort of one. Operational Difficulties--please stand by, a Seal of Good Practice, the CBS logo. It's Arthur Godfrey Time--oh yeah my mother liked him too. When I want to get a guitar and be a Beatle like every other kid in 1965, my mother said absolutely not. There was to be no rock 'n' roll in our house. Etc., etc., etc.
And Raytheon was a transistor RADIO pioneer as well--one of the very first companies to produce a transistor radio. Many of the makers from the earliest days of the transistor radio no longer exist. Raytheon is one of those that, unfortunately, still does exist. Why would I say unfortunately? Well, have you seen what they are up to lately? I don't want to talk about it.
As I've mentioned elsewhere in these videos, like any collector I've sometimes been accused of "living in the past." It's an unfair accusation, of course, Liking old things doesn't mean I can't move freely between an appreciation for the old as well as the new. Anyway, for this video I am going to stay stuck in the past. Because that is the only way I can enjoy a Raytheon product--back in the day when they even MADE products. Things that made people's lives better. What they do to people's lives today is...well... I don't want to talk about it.
This T-100 model was Raytheon's first transistor radio to fit into a coat pocket and their first plastic transistor radio... and as such it is a favorite among collectors. It's from 1955 and has just four transistors. It is powered by the fat 9 volt battery type 246, or 1602, or 2N6, all of which look like the Burgess-brand example shown here on the left.
Earlier in 1955, Raytheon had produced their first transistor radio, the 8TP series. And this is just the SECOND commercially available transistor radio ever made. As you can see, it was a larger radio--and by all accounts it outperformed the only other transistor radio on the market at that time, the pioneering Regency TR-1. You'll find videos on the 8TP series, and on the Regency, on this channel.
These radios are hard to find. I always thought that was so because Raytheon was a Massachussetts outfit and would have sold more radios in the eastern United States, far from the flea makets where I found most of my radios. But actually, Raytheon's radio and TV division was in Chicago. So I guess they are hard to find not because they were so far away from me but because they just didn't make or sell that many of them. And from what I gather, collectors in Illinois and in Massachussetts haven't had much better luck finding them than any of the rest of us.
We see rather unusual construction on this radio. For servicing, the chassis is removed from the front, after removing the front panel. And battery access is from the rear through a cover that uses a metal latch to hold it on to the rest of the radio. Raytheon used this same layout for their next, and last, plastic-bodied transistor radio, the T-150.
As you see, we are looking at two different colors of this radio today, the T-100-1, which is the yellow and black model, and the T-100-5 which is ivory and gray. This radio came also in a T-100-2 which is ivory and yellow, a T-100-3 which is black and red, and a T-100-4 which is ivory and red. The Owner's Guide for this radio is dated December 1955, as is the Service Manual we'll look at in a minute. Inside that Owner's Guide we get some basic instructions for use along with an illustration to assist us with battery replacement. That illustration is actually numbered and has a small caption "Drawing No. 1329." Ha. Engineers! This was clearly put together by the engineering department and not the goofballs in marketing. In the Service Manual we also see a couple of illustrations of the parts layout. This manual talks about transistor servicing and says that substitution is the only reliable check for a transistor suspected of being defective, downplaying any sort of transistor testing methods. We get instructions for removing the chassis and for battery replacment, which is a slightly longer version of the battery instructions than are in the Owner's Guide and that use the same illustration. Then we see radio alignment procedures... and the schematic diagram. On the back is the replacement parts list.
The founding of Raytheon dates back to 1922. They began as the American Appliance Company and found success in the design and manufacture of radio tubes. They used the name "Raytheon" on these tubes which is a word construction meaning "light from the gods." Imagine back in those early days seeing the warm orange glow of those vacuum tubes bringing in radio broadcasts right out of the sky... well, light from the gods indeed.
One wonders about the "light from the gods" Raytheon rains down on people today--in distant wars that somehow never end. I don't want to talk about it.
I first saw this CBS transistor radio in the World Book Encyclopedia as a kid. I remember what a clunky looking thing it was pictured there. I saw it because I was interested in radio and had looked up the subject under the "R's" in the encyclopedia. Now, even at a young age I was noticing how confused adults seemed always to be. What I knew to be a transistor radio was small, usually pocket size, made in Japan, and cute. What I saw in the encyclopedia was none of those. Was this another example of that adult confusion I'd been noticing? Were they in full possession of their faculties? Or were they just hopelessly out of step with the times? It was the '60s man... get with it! I remember thinking... I'd better keep my eye on these people. Adults, I mean. I'm not sure I can trust them.
When I began to collect transistor radios years later, I thought again about that clunky transistor radio in the encyclopedia and thought it would be fun to find one of those radios for my collection. If it was even real. I didn't know. I looked it up again and noticed that the photo credits the picture to CBS Radio. Ah, so now that I'm thinking probably the guy who wrote the article worked for CBS or something. When I was a kid I didn't realize that encyclopedia articles were written by mere mortals. School teachers accepted the contents of encyclopedias without question so I just assumed those contents came down from the mount with Moses. So now I'm thinking maybe a CBS connection is the reason why the encyclopedia shows as a "typical" transistor radio something that was not typical at all, then or now. I don't know about you, but such things make me wonder what other ways corporations influence, or skew, the culture--and education in particular. That didn't used to be concerning, back when we generally, if naively, believed that companies acted honestly and for the benefit of all of us. But it's concerning now--now that corporations have adopted the neo-liberal belief that their only duty is to shareholders, with no duty at all to society at large. What a concept! It's even the law!
The later incarnations of this style radio as we see from Truetone, Sonora, and of course Trav-Ler, use the strange Eveready #226 battery. But this CBS uses an even stranger 13-1/2 volt battery that attaches to a plug that is inside this radio. The tuning dial on this CBS has a polished gold finish while other branded versions of this "Power Mite" radio had dials that were dull gold, or silver. The first Trav-Ler radio of this type, the TR-250, also had the polished gold knob and the simple horizontal speaker slots as this CBS.
Across the page, the encyclopedia showed you how to build a crystal set radio. And as a kid I did that very thing, building this radio as instructed.
Everything about this radio indicates that it is early--earlier than Magnavox's other early shirt-pocket radio, the AM-22. And though the AM-22 model number preceeds that of this AM-23 Companion, I still can't help but believe that this one was first. Supporting that idea is that service literature was issued for this AM-23 BEFORE the AM-22.
Though made in Japan, this radio sure looks like it was at least DESIGNED by Magnavox. It has the same simple and straight lines of their first transistor radio, the American-made AM-2. It's a little hard to explain this--it's a kind of style thing you either see or you don't. And sometimes--I will confess--in the arts and even elsewhere, one sees such things when they may not even be there.
But there's one thing I know for sure: this one's a cutie. I remember finding this radio rather early in my collecting days and how it went right to the top of my favorites list. I knew about, but had not yet found a Sony TR-63, the radio on which this Magnavox's design was obviously based, and so to me, this Magnavox--which I did not know about in advance--was a treat to get and stood in nicely for that Sony I hoped to find. And then when I found that Sony, I didn't appreciate this Magnavox any less, and it remains one of my favorites to this day.
It says "Japan" on the back, but we don't get a lot of clues as to who in Japan made it. NEC, the Nippon Electric Company, made many of the later Magnavox transistor radios in Japan. There's a logo on the back of the speaker in this one that LOOKS like it might say NEC--with a diamond shape around it, but the letters aren't exactly legible. And whatever it says, it could be referring only to who made the speaker. There isn't a lot about the rest of it inside that looks like the exacting, precision work of NEC. And most of the NEC radios I've seen have had the chassis mounted the other way around so all you see is the circuit board. So that also casts more doubt on idea of NEC being the maker.
Sometime after finding this Magnavox, I found this Uni-Six. Ah! I thought. I'm going to be able to compare and learn and understand more about this Magnavox. That, to me, is really at the heart of collecting. I'm talking about not just the discovery of things, but the learning and comparing that come after. These things, to me, are actually more important and more satisfying than the mere possessing.
As you can see, the Uni-Six looks like a variant of the Magnavox--different name and different tuning knob, but other than that the same radio. Same straight, simple styling, same dial pointer arrow. But, as we used to say. Nuh-uh. When I opened up the Uni-Six, all was completely different from the Magnavox. Now, manufacturers sometimes did this--completely changing the chassis in a radio --the Zephyr ZR-620 comes to mind--there were three entirely different versions of the chassis in the model run of that particular Zephyr. So here in this Uni-Six, the different chassis does not by itself mean that it's a different manufacturer than the Magnavox or that it isn't "esssentially the same radio." Here's a look at them both, side by side. Entirely different, obviously. No, the different chassis' don't necessarily prove that these radios are not siblings. Or at the very least, cousins. But THIS does. They are not even the same cabinets. If they were siblings, made from the same mold, the back of one would fit on the other, wouldn't you think? It doesn't. So, they are not siblings. One of them is a copy. Maybe both of them are a copy of something else!? I have to assume that no one copies themselves, so I'm concluding that these aren't step-siblings either--made by the same company--but are rather strangers who never met until coming together in my collection, the home for wayward transistor radios.
Inside the back of the Uni-Six radio is molded the words "Iwata Electric Co, Toyko, Japan." As promising as I thought this might be as a clue for learning more about these radios, it proved to be a dead end. I could find scattered references to a couple of Iwata Electric companies that started up in the years after this Uni-Six was made, but there seems to be no trace of the apparently long-gone Iwata Electric who made this Uni-Six.
It's a nice leather case on this Magnavox--with a side pouch for the detachable antenna rod which came with this radio originally. It is most unusual for a six-transistor to come with an antenna rod. Both the Magnavox and the Uni-Six have jacks on top for these antennas.
That hints at another possibility. What AM-only radios typically DID come with an antenna rod? The Boy's Radios, of course, those two-transistor toy radios. Could it be that this Magnavox and Uni-Six were made by outfits that produced boy's radios? Well, here's one of those.
On a map, what's the nearest foreign country south of Detroit?--the closest country to the south of Detroit, Michigan? Mexico? Cuba? Panama? Nooooo. It's Canada. What? Yes, really. And what is the city right there in Canada, right next to Detroit? That would be Windsor. The significance of this in the naming of this Windsor radio cannot be overstated. Nor, in fact, can it be understated. In fact, it should not have been stated at all. It has nothing to do with it. But you learned something here today and if you win a few bar bets with this knowledge, I hope you'll share the proceeds with me.
This Windsor is a two-transistor boy's radio. This is the style of boy's radio that I've found the most common. And it's probably one of the best looking. I like that Crown business that is adorning the dial window. And I'm never going to be opposed to having not just one, but TWO badges on the front. The sides have that zig-zag shape where the front and backs meet and that adds another bit of pizazz to this cute, if cheap, little radio.
Inside we see the usual circuitry, with not enough transistors to do a really effective job of radio reception, but enough to be called a radio. But few enough to still be classified as a toy for import purposes. A cheesy vinyl case completes the ensemble. Well, not exactly complete. This radio would have come with a rod antenna as well that would screw into the jack at the top. This would help reception but probably not much. An extra transistor would have helped more--and probably have cost the manufacturer less than the antenna rod--but then the radio would not have qualified for the tax exemption it enjoyed as a toy. I've found through the years that a lot of strange things in the world--things that just don't seem to make sense--have their basis in some kind of weird tax policy. Where I live they are building massive numbers of apartment buildings--expensive apartments--that no one can afford to live in so they sit empty. Why do they keep building more? I suspect it's the same reason this Windsor radio comes with an antenna rod instead of an extra transistor. Some kind of tax policy that helps some special interest--and mystifies everyone else.
Don't get me started.
As you may know, boy's radios don't have a model number. Or do they? You almost never see a model number on an actual radio--a boy's radio--but there is sure a model number on the box for this one. It's a great box, as you can see and includes the original price of this radio, $14.95. Now, that doesn't seem quite right. I thought these boy's radios were cheaper than that. Perhaps that price is just a suggested retail price, or perhaps this radio was made earlier than I first thought, when transistor radios were more expensive. By the mid-'60s, this would have been a $4 radio. So now I'm thinking that, at the $14.95 price, and with a box as nice as this, this radio may have been made around 1959.
They really do the crown thing--the English royalty thing--up right on this box. I expected to find a couple of complimentary tea crumpets tucked inside. I am clueless of course about what I just said and, well, I just made that up--"tea crumpets"--I don't even know if that's a thing. But I said it anyway, just to make a joke. I can kid around with England because, I hear, it's one of the few remaining countries on the planet that can take a joke.
This one. One of the 8TP series from Raytheon, introduced in February of 1955. It's an eight transistor, as compared to the four transistor Regency--and with a much larger speaker was a better performer in every way. But, of course, this one is NO WAY going to fit in your pocket like the Regency could.
Where the Regency's price was $50, the Raytheon's price was $80. The Raytheon came in a choice of four colors schemes, with a different model number for each. What we're looking at today is the 8TP-3 model. The 8TP-1 model is more of a tan color, the 8TP-2 is a dark brown, and the 8TP-4 is a two-tone red and black. And that's the one they show in this ad for the 8TP series. "Everybody's talking about it!" "Cuts yearly battery costs from dollars to dimes." "NO TUBES!" And this is a remarkable statement, "no tubes." Why? Because Raytheon was in the tube business. Most of the biggest players in American consumer electronics in that day, GE, RCA, Raytheon, and the rest, had substantial investments in their tube technology and manufacturing plants. This would account for some corporate dragging of feet when it came to embracing the transistor as the future of electronics. It was after all, two outsiders: Regency, working with Texas Instruments, to be the first to offer a transistor radio. Why wasn't that RCA? Or Emerson? Well, it wasn't. There was just ONE among all the establishment corporations in the vacuum tube business that went full throttle into the technology that would replace it. And that was Raytheon. In the early '50s, they were the first to produce transistors for commercial sale. By 1955 they had sold nearly two million transistors, more than all other manufacturers combined.
The company was founded in 1922 as the American Appliance Company. For their tubes they used the name "Raytheon" because "ray-theon" is a word construction meaning, at its roots, "light from the gods." In the early 20th century when radio was perceived as more or less a kind of technological miracle, seeing the warm orange glow of vacuum tubes sticking out of a radio, bringing in distant voices and music-- right out of the sky... well, there's your light from the gods.
Peering into the back of this historic transistor radio, we notice some interesting things. First, it looks as if it was built like military equipment and would survive for a month, under fire, in a muddy trench somewhere. And this example kind of looks like it already did! Second, there is no printed circuit board. We still find the old-style point-to point wiring being used here. Third, the transistors aren't soldered to a circuit board--because there isn't one, remember--the transistors are plugged into sockets, just like tubes would be. And there's a sizable 4-inch speaker in here, the same size and type as you would find in a table radio at home made in this era.
The cabinet is made... of wood. It's a wood box, upholstered with leather--rather like a suitcase. The leather is top grain cowhide. The radio takes four standard D-cell flashlight batteries for its power source, rather than the exotic and expensive batteries tube radios required, or the smaller and even more exotic batteries some of the other early transistor radios required. And the Raytheon was VERY efficient with its power consumption--they claimed that in normal use those four D-cells would last you a year.
Raytheon's first plastic transistor radio, their T-100, would came later that year, in 1955. You'll find a video about that radio on this channel. It was smaller than the 8TP, and had just four transistors, like the Regency. But it was nowhere near as small as the Regency.
For the radio buyer in 1955, the Regency TR-1 was incomparable. In-compare-able. There was nothing to compare it to--no other choice if you wanted a real radio to fit in your pocket. But in the larger, portable size like this Raytheon, you could get a comparable radio with tubes in it for just $30. The tube radio would burn through batteries faster--but you'd have a battery budget of $50 before you ever even got to the starting price of the Raytheon. So why spend $80 on the Raytheon? Well, we tell ourselves stories all the time to justify what we think and do. What we tell the spouse is... honey, think how much we'll save on batteries.


