Television

Television

Through the window we watch a group of skiers as they glide down the sunny New Hampshire slope. Overhead, the sky is azure. The emerald hue of evergreens, the blue shadows in the hollows, and the bright costumes of the skiers add jewel-like bits of color to the wintry landscape. The voices of the young folk come clear and crisp over the snow. A flock of twittering birds flashes across the picture. The measured tones of a distant bell mark the hour. We turn and look to the other side of the room.

The Tournament of Roses procession in Pasadena, California, moves across the screen of our television set. The brilliant colors of the flower-decorated floats, the flash of sunlight from the brasses of the bands and the accouterments of the riders, the surge of the marchers, the strutting of the drum majorettes, together with the blare of the music, the clatter of hoofs and the cheers of the watching crowd, transport us three thousand miles to another world. Television has performed the miracle of permitting us to be in two places at once. It has outdone the magic carpet of the fairy tale.