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EDWARD R. MURROW: I CAN HEAR IT NOW. 1919 - 1949, THIRTY YEARS OF AUDIBLE HISTORY.
Set of three LP vinyl records in individual sleeves.
Unknown Binding
Published January 1, 1959
About the author
Edward R. Murrow
56 books39 followersEdward R. "Ed" Murrow was an American journalist and television and radio figure. He first came to prominence with a series of radio news broadcasts during World War II, which were followed by millions of listeners in the United States and Canada. Mainstream historians consider him among journalism's greatest figures; Murrow hired a top-flight cadre of war correspondents and was noted for honesty and integrity in delivering the news. A pioneer of television news broadcasting, Murrow produced a series of TV news reports that helped lead to the censure of Senator Joseph McCarthy.
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
October 23, 2025
This is news…
Edward sits in his bed: back against the headboard. The morning is silent; the rooster is dead. The radio speaks downstairs, “It was as illegal to take a drink as it was to prevent a woman from voting,” a radio voice announces.
Edward’s father, Roscoe, mutters loudly, “Too much skin,” then says, “Ethel… More!”
The flavors of Edward’s room are burnt bacon, warm toast, slices of grapefruit, and pancake batter. The floorboards are a mediary between Edward and the journalist, “This is not Nigeria, this is Florida, migrant workers suffer: ‘....you’ll have eleven dollars in your pocket,’ ‘…. I’ve been picking all day,’ ‘Nothin’ in no field.’ These are citizens of the United States. This is how America is fed. Through the work of the hun--”
The radio clicks off. “Slaves for rent!” Edward’s father shouts. “Ethel more bacon!”
This is news….
She was called Denny but her name was Denise. She’s worked at the laundromat for 26 years. Denny has osteoarthritis, plump lips, missing front teeth, and walks with a cane. She finishes taping a “Help Wanted” sign on the window and returns to a wicker basket; it’s filled with muted colors -- each piece carefully folded.
Chip visits everyday, overweight to the point he wobbles through the front door -- bumping into the frame -- at 7Am sharp. He changes his tee shirt once a week; and buys a new pair of sweatpants every two months. He carries a newspaper he doesn’t read, but it’s neatly folded and shoved into his right armpit.
He sits down in his favorite disposable chair, looks at the headline, chews on a stale donut and a bacon sandwich -- pulled from a dirty paper bag -- and says, “They’re comin’, jobs… gone. Coming…” he tucks his chin into his neck, “comin Denny.”
Denny smiles, folds the last of the six dress shirts, and limps toward the bathroom. A gust of wind enters the laundromat as a customer enters. Chip looks at him, chewing his bacon sandwich with zest.
Edward sits in his bed: back against the headboard. The morning is silent; the rooster is dead. The radio speaks downstairs, “It was as illegal to take a drink as it was to prevent a woman from voting,” a radio voice announces.
Edward’s father, Roscoe, mutters loudly, “Too much skin,” then says, “Ethel… More!”
The flavors of Edward’s room are burnt bacon, warm toast, slices of grapefruit, and pancake batter. The floorboards are a mediary between Edward and the journalist, “This is not Nigeria, this is Florida, migrant workers suffer: ‘....you’ll have eleven dollars in your pocket,’ ‘…. I’ve been picking all day,’ ‘Nothin’ in no field.’ These are citizens of the United States. This is how America is fed. Through the work of the hun--”
The radio clicks off. “Slaves for rent!” Edward’s father shouts. “Ethel more bacon!”
This is news….
She was called Denny but her name was Denise. She’s worked at the laundromat for 26 years. Denny has osteoarthritis, plump lips, missing front teeth, and walks with a cane. She finishes taping a “Help Wanted” sign on the window and returns to a wicker basket; it’s filled with muted colors -- each piece carefully folded.
Chip visits everyday, overweight to the point he wobbles through the front door -- bumping into the frame -- at 7Am sharp. He changes his tee shirt once a week; and buys a new pair of sweatpants every two months. He carries a newspaper he doesn’t read, but it’s neatly folded and shoved into his right armpit.
He sits down in his favorite disposable chair, looks at the headline, chews on a stale donut and a bacon sandwich -- pulled from a dirty paper bag -- and says, “They’re comin’, jobs… gone. Coming…” he tucks his chin into his neck, “comin Denny.”
Denny smiles, folds the last of the six dress shirts, and limps toward the bathroom. A gust of wind enters the laundromat as a customer enters. Chip looks at him, chewing his bacon sandwich with zest.
Displaying 1 of 1 review