Or did you?
What had the rioter said to him? Everybody’s on edge.
It didn’t make too much sense to Ed Wonder. Admittedly, he was thoroughly familiar with the world of radio and TV and knew the dependence of most citizens on the entertainment they provided. But Ed Wonder had been a performer, rather than a passive viewer and, at least subconsciously, was contemptuous of his audiences. He viewed TV himself, only as part of his work, in common with his colleagues.
Back at his own apartment house, he remembered to go to the drug store for a newspaper before ascending to his rooms. The manager had saved a paper for him, otherwise, as the day before, the morning edition of the Times-Tribune was sold out.
He showered, utilized his No-Shav cream, and dressed in fresh clothes, and then, before sitting down to read, he dialed himself a glass of ale. The autobar failed to respond and he scowled down at it. The gadget was designed for a variety of forty different drinks, and operated through a distribution center which served this part of the city in much the same manner as his kitchenette worked. He tried dialing a Fish House Punch with the same results.
Irritated, he went to the phone and dialed the center. A harassed ash blonde appeared on the screen and before he could open his mouth, said hurriedly, “Yes, we know. Your autobar is failing to function. Unfortunately, stocks have run short due to unprecedented demand. New supplies are being rushed up from Ultra-New York. Thank you.” She flicked off.
Ed Wonder grunted and sat down in his reading chair. Unprecedented demand, yet. Well, it wasn’t surprising. With nothing else to do, people had upped their drinking considerably.
The paper had no inkling of the real nature of the blight on the world’s entertainment media. None whatsoever. Evidently, Buzz De Kemp was the only journalist exant who realized the actuality, and his city editor had ominously warned him not to mention Ezekiel Joshua Tubber and his curses ever again. AP-Reuters and the other news services hadn’t a clue. Learned articles and columns pursued this theory and that, ranging from sun spots, or radio emanations from far star systems, to sinister schemes on the part of the Soviet Complex or Common Europe to disrupt America’s balance by withholding needed restful entertainment from the man in the street. Just how this was being accomplished was moot. Those who argued against the charge, pointed out that the same disruption was taking place throughout the realm of the Soviet Complex and throughout Common Europe as well.
In fact, if anything, the problem was already greater in some lands than it was in the United Welfare States of America. England, for instance. There were riots in London, Manchester and Birmingham. Evidently they were senseless, meaningless riots, not directed toward anyone or anything in particular. Simply the rioting of crowds of people with nothing to do.
Ed Wonder felt a cold apprehension edge up his spine. He had seen that mob the night before. In fact, he had been manhandled by it.
He had skimmed quickly through the paper looking for the story of the lynch mob who had all but finished off the unhappy movie projectionist who had been blamed for the failure of the film. He had trouble, to his amazement, finding the item. Ed would have thought it called for front page coverage, in a town no larger than Kingsburg. It was probably the only attempted lynching in the city’s history. But no, it was buried in the inside and the story passed over more as a joke than a serious affair in which hundreds had been sprayed with high pressure fire hoses and police brought in by the dozen to quell the fury.
Ed got it. The story was deliberately being played down. The city fathers, or whoever, didn’t want to bring to the attention of the populace how easy—and perhaps how entertaining—it was to riot. Face reality, during the height of the trouble last night, that mob was having the time of its collective life—men, women and teenagers.
He went back to the front page. The president had made with some sort of gobblydygook explanation of the disruption of TV and radio. He hadn’t gotten to the movies yet. When he did, that was going to be a dilly. Sun spots to foul up TV reception? Sure. Possible. Or strong radio emanations from space? Well, yes. Possible. But movies? How were they going to explain the fact that movies no longer flickered in their well-established way?
Ed shook his head. He was just as glad he wasn’t chief executive of the United Welfare States of America. That job President Everett MacFerson could have.
There was another item from Greater Washington. A plea on the part of the White House for all retired actors, circus performers, vaudeville veterans, musicians, singers, carnival attractions and all others however remotely attached to show business, and however long ago, to report to the auditorium of the nearest high school. There was a barb on the end of the plea. Failure to comply would automatically cancel any unemployment insurance benefits being enjoyed by those involved.
Ed Wonder rubbed the end of his nose with a thoughtful forefinger. That would include him. He would have to report. The conclusions were obvious. The radio-TV curse had only come about a few days ago, but already Greater Washington was deciphering handwriting on the wall. Ed wondered uneasily just how bad those riots in England had been.
He went into his kitchenette and dialed himself a lunch. It tasted nothing, in spite of the fact that he hadn’t had a decent meal since the day before. He threw it, half-eaten, into the disposal chute.
He began to think about Helen. Strange about Helen. Somehow, these past few days had altered his feelings about her. He liked her fine enough, but there was no urgency about it. One week ago and she had been the most important single matter on his mind.
He took the elevator down to the street. This was a new development. There was a crowd outside the liquor store and a fat tub of a man standing in the doorway itself explaining something or other. When Ed Wonder got nearer, he got the message.
“Sorry folks, not a thing left. Sold out. Waiting for new deliveries.”
“Well, how about gin or rum?” somebody called to him.
“No, I mean everything. Whiskey, gin, rum, brandy. Everything. All sold out.”
“Nothing at all?” Somebody else said incredulously.
The proprietor was apologetic. “All I got is a few bottles of Creme de Menthe.”
“What’s that?” the inquirer grumbled. “Is there alcohol in it?”
“It’s a cordial,” Ed told him. “Sweet and tastes like peppermint. Not quite as strong as whiskey.”
“How would it mix with Coke?” somebody else said.
Ed closed his eyes and shuddered.
“Well, I’ll take a bottle. I gotta have something around the house. It’s driving me batty.” The speaker had no need to mention what it was that was driving him batty.
“Let me have one too.”
The group pushed in. The fat proprietor said hastily, “Only one bottle to a customer, folks. I only got a few bottles left. And you got to realize this is special stuff. Fifteen bucks a bottle.”
Ed Wonder walked back in the direction of his apartment.
On the corner a crowd was gathered. He came closer and stood on tiptoes to make out their interest. There was a trio of kids in the center, doing tricks, minor tumbling tricks. The crowd watched them glumly, although every once in a while somebody would call out encouragement. From time to time the youngsters would be tossed a coin or two. The repertoire was strictly limited.
It reminded Ed that he was going to have to go to the nearest high school and report as an unemployed member of show business. He did that the next day. It didn’t take him long. There weren’t as many actors, musicians and show folk in general as there once had been. And evidently no vaudeville, circus or carnival veterans at all in Kingsburg. Automation had come to the world of entertainment as well as to every other field. Given TV and a comparative handful can entertain two hundred million persons at once, where in the old days of vaudeville a couple of thousand at a time was maximum. Given movies and a dozen actors can perform a play for the million mass, while in the day of the legitimate theatre a few hundred at most could follow the show. Given radio, a pop singer’s voice could become known on a worldwide basis, while a nightclub singer of old could bring alcoholic sobs to the occupants of a few score tables at best. And musicians? But here automation had reached its ultimate with the canned music of record and tape.