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Contents
About the Authors xv
Preface xvii
1 The History of Programming 1
The Need for Programming 1
The Early Days of Programming 2
The Beginning of Network Programming: A New Lease for
Radio 3
Radio’s Golden Age:The Advertising Agency Years 3
The Introduction of Television and Its Effect on Radio 5
Programming Cycles and Trends 6
Radio Redux: The Switch from Shows to Formats 6
Television’s Golden Age of Drama 6
Quiz Shows Take Center Stage 9
The Television Networks Take Over Programming 11
The Development of Public Broadcasting 12
The Financial Interest and Domestic Syndication Rule 13
The Rise of Independent Stations and Syndicators 14
The Explosion of Cable 14
Syndication in Radio 16
New Networks with Targeted and Niche Programming 16
The Quest for a Young Demographic 17
Viewing Patterns and Changing Audience Attention Spans 17
The Decline of Longform Programming 19
Supercharged Programming Choices: The Internet 20
New Media Recording Technologies 21
The Rise of Consumer-supported Media 22
The Video Game Explosion 23
Regulations 23
Globalization 25
Exercises 26
References/Notes 27
2 Sources of Television Programming 29
Beyond the Idea—into the “Deep Pockets” 29
Major Production Companies 30
Independent Production Companies 33
vii

viii PROGRAMMING FOR TV
, RADIO, AND THE INTERNET
Foreign Production Sources 38
Networks 39
Stations 40
Buyers 41
Syndicators 42
Advertisers 43
In-House Production 44
Members of the Public 46
Newspapers, Magazines, and Books 46
Managers, Agents, and Stars 48
Exercises 50
References/Notes 50
3 Sources of Radio and Internet
Programming 51
Sources of Programming for Radio 51
Syndicator/Network Programming 52
The Purpose of Today’s Radio Networks/Syndicators 53
From Town to City to Metropolis and Syndication 54
Sources of Music Programming 56
Sources of News Programming 59
Sources of Talk Radio Programming 59
Sources of Other Programming 62
Sources of Satellite Radio Programming 62
Sources of Low-Power FM Programming 63
Sources of Internet Programming 63
Every Computer a Potential Source of Programming 64
Obstacles to Internet Mass Usage 64
Traditional Media Sources 64
Internet-Only Sources 66
Private vs. Public Sources of Programming 66
Exercises 67
References/Notes 67
4 Development 69
Television Development 70
Securing the Rights 70
Attaching a Star,Writer, or Showrunner During the Development
Process 71
The Role of Agents 71
Development Deals 72
Getting Ready for the Pitch: Creating a Log Line 72
Writing an Effective Log Line 73
Getting a Meeting 74
The Pitch Meeting 75

CONTENTS ix
“Laying Pipe” for a Pass 77
Fundamentals of the Deal 77
Public Television Development 78
Syndication Development 78
Station Development 80
The Pilot 81
Development Ratios 82
Testing 83
The Decision 83
Globalization 84
Radio Development 85
Developing a Format 85
Management and Consultants 86
Developing Programming 88
Profit and Other-Than-Profit Motives 89
Satellite Radio Development 89
Public Radio Development 91
Internet Development 92
History of Internet Development 92
Traditional Developers Adapt to the Internet 93
A New Venue for Independent Developers 95
Exercises 97
References/Notes 98
5 Testing 99
Television Testing 99
Awareness Testing 100
Sampling 100
Focus Groups 102
Minitheater Research 104
Cable-Based Research 106
Telephone Research 106
Station Testing 109
Public Broadcasting 109
Radio Testing 110
Sampling 110
Testing Methodology 111
Research Areas 112
Public Radio 114
Internet Testing 114
Testing (Or Not) Simulcast Content 115
Testing Archived and Independently Produced Content 115
Testing User Friendliness 116
Does the Research Work? 117
Exercises 120
References/Notes 121

x PROGRAMMING FOR TV
6 Elements of Successful Programming 123
Television Programming 123
Programming Objectives 124
The Search for a Successful Formula 130
Industry Professionals Weigh In 132
Key Elements for Success 134
Radio Programming 150
Programming Objectives 150
Fundamental Appeals to an Audience 151
Qualities Tied to Success 153
Internet Programming 155
Freshness 155
Targeting Content 156
Consistency 157
Innovation 158
Branding 158
Exercises 159
7 Influences on Television Programming 161
External Influences on Television 161
Station Influence 162
Advertisers 163
The Family Friendly Programming Forum 164
Pressure Groups 165
The Religious Right 167
Timing 168
The Media 169
Academic and Nonprofit Studies 171
The Government 171
Internal Influences on Television 178
The Sales Department 178
The Finance Department 179
The Broadcast Standards and Practices Department 180
The Top Management 184
The Promotion, Marketing and Research Divisions 185
Exercises 186
8 Influences on Radio and Internet
Programming 189
Influences on Radio Programming 189
Internal Influences on Radio 189
External Influences on Radio 193

CONTENTS xi
Influences on Internet Programming 202
Internal Influences on Internet Content 202
External Influences on Internet Content 205
Exercises 212
9 Scheduling Strategies for Television 215
Television Scheduling 215
Fitting the Show to the Available Audience 216
Dayparting 216
Launching the Show:The First Strategy 218
Tentpoling 221
Hammocking 221
Counterprogramming 222
Bridging and Supersizing 225
Blunting 226
Stacking 228
Stunting 229
Crossprogramming 230
Theming 231
Stripping 232
Changing a Show’s Time Slot 232
Overexposure 233
Rerunning and Repurposing 234
Boosting the Audience in Sweep Periods 235
Patience 236
Exercises 237
10 Scheduling Strategies for Radio and
the Internet 239
Commercial Radio Scheduling 239
The Clock 239
Dayparting 243
Launching 244
Satellite Radio Scheduling 244
Public Radio Scheduling 245
Internet Scheduling 247
Exercises 249

xii PROGRAMMING FOR TV
11 Program Evaluation 251
Television 251
Nielsen 252
Commercial Radio 261
Arbitron 262
RADAR 263
The Internet 264
Do the Ratings Work and Do Samples Sample? 267
Variables That Affect Rating Accuracy 267
Rating Techniques 269
Studies and Investigations 269
Programming Aberrations 270
How Programmers Should Use Ratings 270
Exercises 272
12 Changing and Canceling Programs 273
Television 273
Unsatisfactory Ratings 273
Exhaustion 274
A Lack of Focus 275
Social Changes 276
Aging Demographics 276
The Wrong Time Period 277
Excessive Relocation 277
A Lack of Awareness 278
Bringing on the Understudy 278
The Desire for Something New 278
Programming Options 279
Giving a Cancellation Notice 283
Radio 284
Adjusting Program Elements 284
Network Changes 286
Dealing with Unwanted Changes 287
Internet 288
Is It Worth the Trouble? 288
TMI:Too Much Information 289
Facelifts and Add-ons 289
Exercises 290
13 Programming Ethics 291
The Meaning of Ethics 291
Ethics and Illegality 292
Ethics in Programming Decisions and Business Practices 294
Ethics and Lying 295

CONTENTS xiii
Ethical Guidelines 297
Considering Ethics 298
Case Histories: Actual Incidents 298
Checkbook Journalism 299
Make the Deal, but Don’t Close It 300
An On-Air Murder Confession 300
Sex in Public Places 301
Sharing the Wealth 301
Who Is to Blame? 301
Anonymous Complaints at E! 301
A Suicide on TV 302
Images of the Iraqi War 302
The Right to Privacy 303
First Amendment vs. the Sixth Amendment 303
Entertainment Programming Ethics 304
A Series of Ethical Dilemmas 305
Glossary 309
Index 317

About the Authors
Philippe Perebinossoff
Before joining the faculty of the radio,
television, and film department at Cali-
fornia State University, Fullerton, where
he teaches programming, management,
and writing, Philippe Perebinossoff had
a 20-year career as a network television
programming executive. At ABC, he
created guidelines for fact-based pro-
gramming, evaluated programs for
acceptability, and supervised the devel-
opment of more than 200 telefilms and
miniseries. He has also taught at the
New School for Social Research;
Eastern Kentucky University; State Uni-
versity of New York, Plattsburgh; and
University of Southern California.
Brian Gross
Brian Gross is a multimedia artist and
educator. He teaches at EF Education in
Jakarta, Indonesia; previously, he taught
writing, audio production, radio opera-
tions, visual journalism, and multimedia
design for 5 years at California State
University, Fullerton. He has also
designed, developed, and gained funding
for multimedia arts programs for home-
less and at-risk youth in the Los Angeles
area. He is a web designer and consul-
tant, and his prose, poetry, musical com-
positions, videos, art, and theater works
have been presented in anthologies,
books, galleries, radio stations, and per-
formance spaces throughout the United
States and abroad.
Lynne S. Gross
Lynne S. Gross is a professor at Califor-
nia State University, Fullerton, where
she teaches radio–television–film theory
and production courses, including pro-
gramming. She has worked as director
of programming forValley Cable TV and
as a producer for series shown on com-
mercial, public, and cable television and
heard on radio. She is the past president
of the Broadcast Education Association
and a past governor of the Academy of
Television Arts & Sciences. She has
written 10 other books dealing with
media and many articles for refereed and
trade publications.
xv

In electronic media nothing is forever.
New technologies force change. Radio
executives discovered the truth of this
maxim in the late 1940s when their
cozy world was abruptly invaded by an
invention called television. Thirty years
later, TV was turned upside down by a
new use of an old distribution form
called cable. Now, the Internet is chang-
ing established forms and experimenting
with its own possibilities.
But through it all, one thing remains
constant: the need for programming
content. No matter how state of the art
the delivery system is, it does not mean
a thing if the consumers are not inter-
ested in what is being conveyed. The
material must be appealing to audiences,
it must be presented in an attractive
manner, and it must be equal to
the challenges placed against it by all
forces that vie for the attention of the
public.
The goal of this book is to help you,
current and would-be programmers,
succeed in a restless, competitive envi-
ronment by providing practical informa-
tion about television, radio, and the
Internet. Not a theoretical text, this
book is designed to give you a close,
very personal look at how programming
works. It does this by clearly defining
key programming concepts in the text
and in the glossary (glossary terms are
boldfaced the first time they are used)
and by including the experiences of
programming professionals. Not only
will you learn how the process works,
but you also will understand how the
programming of television, radio, and
the Internet affects our daily lives.
We the authors are not clairvoyant,
and are no more able to predict what
TV, radio, and the Internet will look like
in 10 years than anyone else in the busi-
ness. But a programmer who knows the
past and who recognizes that certain
guidelines reduce the odds against
failure is far more likely to prosper than
one who has no touchstones. For that
reason, our first chapter deals with the
history of programming, outlining the
colorful twists and turns that the busi-
ness has taken over the last 80 years to
indicate that current strange and seem-
ingly unprecedented events are not so
unusual.
After Chapter 1, the organization of
the book follows the process of creating
programming and describes the differ-
ences and similarities of this process as
it relates to various media. Chapters 2
and 3 cover the various ways ideas are
generated and the various media deliv-
ery systems available for the ideas. It is
vital that you know the strengths, weak-
nesses, eccentricities, and curiosities of
each of these media forms lest you
design a beach ball for a soccer game.
We describe the various marketplaces
for which you can construct program-
ming and point out how they differ
in terms of creative needs, business
arrangements, and distribution.
The development process—how a
show gets from an idea to a go-ahead—
is described in Chapter 4. As new pro-
grammers will discover, the job does not
Preface
xvii

xviii PROGRAMMING FOR TV
end with the construction of the show.
Generally, it also has to be sold. This
process has proved difficult for many,
but there are techniques that can make
dealing with an idea simpler and more
effective. One of these techniques
involves testing material to see whether
it has a chance of enticing an audience
and how it can be improved. This
process is explained in Chapter 5.
There are no surefire methods of
producing a hit product. But there are
several creative elements that, if under-
stood and properly incorporated, can
provide a better chance of success.
Although they do not guarantee a
winner, the exclusion of too many of
these elements will virtually assure a
failure. These ingredients are identified
in Chapter 6.
Programmers are not alone when
they create program material.With them
in spirit and influence, if not in body,
are a host of forces that have much to
say about the content and placement
of programs. In Chapters 7 and 8, we
describe the many voices that must be
heard before material is seen. These
include advertisers, pressure groups,
government agencies, in-house depart-
ments, and professional critics. They are
important influences on programmers
and are ignored at great peril.
One of the crucial processes in pro-
gramming many of the media forms
involves the scheduling of shows. Over
the years, several strategies have proved
successful (and unsuccessful). Program-
mers must adjust their strategies to
changing times and must look vigilantly
at the plans and procedures being used
by the competition. The vast array of
strategies available to programming
schedulers is the topic of Chapters 9
and 10.
Regardless how the program material
is distributed, there is a need to evalu-
ate its performance. It is not as simple
as looking at a Nielsen rating. Many
other factors determine the success or
failure of a show, and these considera-
tions are reviewed in Chapter 11.
Unfortunately, not every concept
works. Cancellations and restructuring
are a painful but unavoidable part of the
business. When the deed must be done,
there is a right way and a wrong way to
go about it, as explained in Chapter 12.
Sometimes, however, a product can be
saved by creative changes, such as sharp-
ening the focus of a sitcom, hiring a
new disc jockey, or refreshing a Web site.
These possibilities are examined in the
same chapter.
No doubt the electronic media busi-
ness has its fair share of expedient
corner-cutters. But we believe program-
mers behave honorably, for the most
part. In Chapter 13, we present a variety
of incidents that involve ethical consid-
erations. It is our hope that these exam-
ples will alert you to the kinds of ethical
decisions programmers face daily and
encourage you to consider the norms of
ethical behavior when you have to make
your own programming decisions.
We believe this panoramic look at
how programming’s elements are used
throughout the industry will provide
you with the basic knowledge required
by the business. In today’s world, a pro-
grammer may work for Lifetime’s cable
TV channel for several years then switch
to the commercial network CBS.
Someone involved with radio program-
ming may be assigned to oversee the
station’s Web site. People who under-
stand the processes of programming will
have broader knowledge and be more
employable than ones who only under-
stand one particular (perhaps soon to be
outdated) form of programming.
Throughout the book, we include
sidebars that give insight into various
issues or principles. TV, radio, and the
Internet are involved with entertain-

PREFACE xix
ment. As such, they tend to attract
colorful and unorthodox personalities
who help make the business fun, unpre-
dictable, and at times a bit bewildering.
The authorship of this book has
changed somewhat from the first
edition. Philippe Perebinossoff and
Brian Gross are the main authors. Pere-
binossoff, a professor who has more than
20 years of programming experience
at ABC and elsewhere, handled most of
the television material. Gross, who has
teaching and professional experience in
audio and multimedia, wrote the radio
and Internet sections. Edwin T.Vane, an
original author, is retired, but much of
the structure he devised for the book,
based on his many years of program-
ming experience at ABC and Group W,
survives. Lynne S. Gross, who has cable
TV programming experience and has
written 10 other books about media, has
been a coauthor of both editions.
We give special thanks to the many
industry professionals who generously
gave of their time to provide students
interested in the world of entertainment
programming with practical, useful
information to enable them to succeed
as programmers. Since the previous
edition, we have interviewed industry
professionals including Susan Baerwald,
faculty member at the American Film
Institute and former head of miniseries
at NBC; Ilene Amy Berg, vice president
of current programs at ABC; Beverly
Bolotin, executive vice president of
client services at ASI; David Brownfield,
senior vice president of current pro-
gramming at CBS; Martin Carlson, vice
president of business affairs at Fox;
David Castler, president and CEO of
ASI; Kevin Cooper, an agent at CAA;
Olivia Cohen-Cutler, senior vice presi-
dent of broadcast standards and practices
at ABC; Erica Farber, publisher and
CEO of Radio & Records; Scott Gimple,
creator of “Fillmore”; Robert Green-
wald, producer and director at Robert
Greenwald Productions; Doreen Hughes,
senior scheduler at ABC; Rick Jones,
director of theatrical films at ABC;
Kenneth Kaufman, president/COO,
PKE; Robert Lee King, a director and
writer; Philip Kleinbart, producer and
vice president of business affairs at
Robert Greenwald Productions; Ron
Kobata, a KTLA sales executive; Brian
Lowry of Daily Variety and Broadcasting &
Cable; Mitch Metcalf, senior vice presi-
dent of program planning and scheduling
at NBC; Michael O’Hara, a writer and
producer; Judd Parkin, a writer and
former head of movie and miniseries at
ABC; Dan Petrie, Sr., a director; Judith A.
Polone, president of movies and minis-
eries at Lions Gate Entertainment; Eric
Poticha, vice president of television
at The Henson Company; Randy
Robinson, president and executive pro-
ducer at Randwell Productions; Susan
Rovner, vice president of drama develop-
ment at Warner Bros.Television; Howard
Schneider, former vice president of on-
air promotions at Fox; Michael Sluchan,
director of the development of longform
programming at Universal Television;
Eric Steinberg, senior vice president of
research at CBS; Christy Welker, former
head of miniseries at ABC; and Steve
White, a producer and former NBC and
ABC network executive.
We also gratefully acknowledge other
industry professionals we have worked
with over the years whose contributions
to television, radio, and the Internet
provide the text with valuable informa-
tion and insights.We thank Jon Hughes
for the photo of Ira Glass. We also
greatly appreciate the suggestions given
by the reviewers: Susan Baerwald,
American Film Institute; Sylvia M.
Chan-Olmsted, University of Florida,
Gainesville; Joyce Chen, University of
Northern Iowa; Tim Frye, Purdue
University; Louisa Ha, Bowling Green

xx PROGRAMMING FOR TV
State University; Matt Jackson, Pennsyl-
vania State University; Jong G. Kang,
Illinois State University; and Sam
Lovato, University of South Colorado.
And we are grateful for the support
offered by the staff at Focal Press, specif-
ically that of our editor, Amy Jollymore,
who was always there with encourage-
ment and thoughtful guidance. We also
wish to thank the students at California
State University, Fullerton, who read a
draft of this text and provided valuable
suggestions.A special thanks to Philip S.
Mastroianni for his computer knowl-
edge and his work on the index.
Philippe Perebinossoff, Brian Gross,
and Lynne S. Gross

In this chapter you will learn about the
following:
• Early radio and television program-
ming strategies
• Advertising’s relationship to program-
ming through the years
• The golden age of network radio
programming and the effect the
introduction of television had on
radio
• The switch from advertiser-controlled
to network-controlled programming
• The legacy of the golden age of
television
• Cable and satellite television’s effect
on programming
• What future programmers need to
know about the cyclical nature of
programming
• The influence of shorter audience
attention spans, interactive content,
and new technologies on current
programming
• Major trends and developments in
programming
• The effect of global markets and gov-
ernment regulations on programming
THE NEED FOR
PROGRAMMING
Broadcast media has an insatiable
appetite for programming content.With
ever more distribution outlets available
in the mediums of radio, television, and
now the Internet, the demands of the
marketplace continue to increase, with
no end in sight to the quest for material.
With nearly 14,000 AM and FM
radio stations broadcasting across the
United States today, most of them 24-
hour operations, simple math shows
that stations must find a staggering
122,640,000 hours of material to air
each year. Most of that material is new
or original. Add to that the 100 chan-
nels that now broadcast 24 hours a day
on two satellite radio services, and you
get a sense of the appetite that radio
alone has for program material.
In television, the National Broadcast-
ing Company (NBC), which began
televised broadcasts April 30, 1939, aired
601 hours of programming in its first
year.1
Forty years later, in 1979, the
number of hours NBC was airing per
year had risen to 5,000.2
With the
explosion of cable and satellite television
services and the subsequent increase in
the number of channels available, as well
as the adoption of year-round original
programming, the need for material
continues its dramatic rise.
Now, enter the Internet, with theo-
retically limitless storage and delivery
capacity. With a steadily growing
number of consumers possessing broad-
band Internet connections, a new
pipeline and hunger for audio, video,
1 The History of
Programming
1

2 PROGRAMMING FOR TV
and interactive programming is coming
online.
All the available outlets clamor for
product. Where does all this program-
ming come from, and how does it find
its way to an increasingly elusive and
fragmented audience?
This chapter provides a brief history
of radio, television, and Internet pro-
gramming. In our quest to demystify
programming, we examine early pro-
gramming strategies and describe some
of the major developments and trends
that affect programming today. We do
not seek to provide a complete history
of radio, television, and Internet broad-
casting here, but rather to provide ex-
amples of some key programming cycles
and strategies. Because broadcast media
programming is in constant flux, it is
important to have a sense of the past to
understand the present and anticipate
the future.
THE EARLY DAYS OF
PROGRAMMING
Early radio did not have programming
departments. The novelty of the
medium was exciting enough that
people would stay glued to their ear-
phones and huge battery-operated sets
just to “hear Pittsburgh,” that is, hear
the call letters and phonograph music
coming from station KDKA in Pitts-
burgh (Figure 1.1), generally regarded as
the first radio station.
The early stations were supported
primarily by companies that manufac-
tured and sold radio sets, and they pro-
grammed whatever free talent wandered
into the studio. For most stations, this
included a preponderance of would-be
operatic sopranos.The goal was to have
something on the air to encourage
people to buy radios. Eventually, the
novelty of radio wore off and per-
formers wanted to be paid, so some
economic means of supporting radio
had to be found.
American Telephone and Telegraph
(AT&T) hit upon an economic idea
based on its telephone experience. It
established station WEAF as a toll
station. People would be required to
pay a toll to broadcast some message to
all radio listeners in the same way that
they paid a toll to send a private message
from a phone booth.The company built
a studio about the size and shape of a
phone booth and waited for people to
come and pay to send their messages.
No one did. After a long struggle,
WEAF, in August 1922, finally sold its
first message, a 10-minute announce-
ment from a Long Island real estate
company that paid $50.
Even after this initial commercial,
advertising was not viewed as a primary
source of income for broadcasting.
Herbert Hoover, who was Secretary of
Commerce during the 1920s, said that
“ether advertising” was possible, but he
quickly dismissed the idea. “It is incon-
ceivable that we should allow so great a
possibility for service to be drowned in
advertising chatter,” he said.3
But the production of radio mater-
ial wasn’t going to pay for itself. As
Figure 1.1
KDKA in
Pittsburgh launched
its radio
programming on
November 2,
1920, with this
broadcast of the
Warren Harding–
James Cox election
results. (Photo
courtesy
Westinghouse
Broadcasting
Company.)

producers innovated the medium
with live music, drama, complicated
sound effects, up-to-date news gather-
ing, and even unnecessary elaborate sets
(Figure 1.2), the quality of radio pro-
gramming improved and the expense
increased.
Bringing in more income could be
accomplished by bringing in more
advertising. But as late as 1930, by which
time the airwaves were drenched with
advertising, the industry was still pro-
fessing its commercial virginity. Before
a Senate committee, Merlin Aylesworth,
president of NBC, testified, “I am
opposed to direct advertising on the air.”
When a senator asked him what he
meant by direct advertising, he replied,
“I mean stating prices.”4
The following
year that distinction fell by the wayside
as advertising established itself as the
means to keep radio growing.
There was a limit, though, to how
much advertising the listening public
could stomach. Somehow the industry
would have to find a way to stretch its
resources further.
THE BEGINNING OF
NETWORK PROGRAMMING:
A NEW LEASE FOR RADIO
The answer the radio industry came up
with to maximize its resources was the
network. The network system involved
producing programs that could be used
by a number of stations, thus reducing
the cost for each station. Wires could
carry the signal of the program pro-
duced in New York, networking it
to stations in Boston, Philadelphia,
Washington, and beyond. The first
network to be established was NBC,
which in 1926 broadcast its debut
program (an orchestra from New York,
a singer from Chicago, comedian Will
Rogers from Kansas City,and dance bands
from other cities) to 22 local stations.
Radio’s Golden Age:
The Advertising Agency Years
When NBC was formed, it purchased
WEAF from AT&T and continued a
variation of the toll station concept,
wherein advertising agencies bought
Figure 1.2
KFI, Los Angeles’s
first radio station,
which began
broadcasting in
1922, had this
rather elaborate
studio. Most early
studios, although
unseen by the
listening audience,
had elaborate decors
that included
potted palms,
common foliage of
the 1920s. (Photo
courtesy KFI.)

blocks of time for their clients and filled
this time with programming and men-
tions of the sponsor and of its product
line. Sometimes the product became
part of the story line—the announcer
would visit Fibber McGee and Molly
and talk about waxing the floor with
Johnson’s Wax.
The advertisers and their agencies
made almost all of the programming
decisions, keeping top-level radio
network executives informed as needed.
The advertisers came up with the con-
cepts, hired the talent, and oversaw the
production (Figure 1.3). The networks
provided the facilities for distributing
the programming around the country.
Of course, the advertisers paid the net-
works for these services.
Under this arrangement, the networks
did little programming decision making.
As long as the advertiser was happy with
the program and its time slot and the
material conformed to the network’s
standards and policies, it was left alone.
The networks distributed the programs
and collected their money. As a result,
many programs aired on radio for years
in the same time slot. Jack Benny was
on radio from 1932 until the mid-1950s
at 7:30 Sunday evening. For much of
his reign, he was sponsored by Jell-O.
George Burns and Gracie Allen were on
from 1933 to 1951, primarily sponsored
by Robert Burns cigars. Dramas, come-
dies, children’s programs, soap operas—
all were handled by advertising agencies.
The only exception was news, which
the networks produced and controlled.
The stability of this system led to
what is often referred to as the golden
age of radio. Radio listeners loyal to
this exciting new medium tuned in
unfailingly to their favorite shows.
Writers and performers rose to the chal-
lenges of entertaining this rapt audience
and, with shows continuing for years,
were able to constantly add to and
modify the formula of their craft. The
golden age of radio also allowed
unprecedented events to be staged across
the country, uniting individuals in the
nation unlike any other media ever had
before.The most striking of these events
occurred in 1938, when Orson Welles’
exceedingly realistic radio adaptation of
H. G.Wells’s 1898 novel War of theWorlds
aired. Under Welles’ direction, the play
Figure 1.3
The Tommy
Dorsey Band was
obviously sponsored
by cigarettes.
Although the home
audience couldn’t
see them, the
enlarged cigarette
boxes were
prominently placed
on stage. Because
this program was
performed before a
live audience, the
sponsor’s product
was constantly seen
by the studio
audience. (Photo
courtesy KFI.)

was performed and written so that it
would sound like a real news broadcast
of an invasion of the Earth by Martians.
A short notice that the production was
fiction played at the beginning of show,
not repeated again until nearly 40
minutes into the show. The broadcast
created mass, if not universal, panic.
Streets were packed with panicked radio
listeners, people hid in cellars and loaded
guns, and some even wrapped their
heads in wet towels as protection from
poisonous Martian gas.
This was the power and reach of the
radio networks into people’s lives.
Because most stations of the day were
affiliated with one of the four networks
(NBC, CBS, ABC, or the ill-fated
Mutual Broadcasting System), stations
mostly transmitted network program-
ming with scant locally produced mate-
rial. The little the individual stations
produced on their own was mainly of
a public service or phonograph music
nature.
THE INTRODUCTION OF
TELEVISION AND ITS EFFECT
ON RADIO
When television broadcasting started to
take off in the late 1940s and early
1950s, television producers adopted the
network programming methods used in
radio. Once again, advertising agencies
provided programs and paid for them in
their entirety—such as “Philco Televi-
sion Playhouse,” “Kraft Television
Theater,” and “Texaco Star Theater.”TV
adopted not only the programming
process of radio but also its stars and
advertisers.
Numerous radio programs made the
transition to television, where they suc-
cessfully established themselves—many
becoming some of early television’s
favorite shows.The list of transfers from
radio to the medium that featured
both sight and sound is a long one
(Figure 1.4).
Television’s early duplication of radio
shows caused radio to take a downturn.
Newer and engaging audiences in both
sight and sound, television siphoned off
radio listeners, giving credence to the
fears radio harbored about the threat of
television.
While radio was floundering, televi-
sion was experimenting with its poten-
tial. Not content to merely have
television become “radio with pictures,”
early television pioneers, such as
Leonard Goldenson, who founded the
American Broadcasting Company
(ABC) in 1953, sought to make televi-
sion unique from radio. Goldenson
wanted to emphasize television as a
visual medium and sought a movie
format instead of a radio format. In his
autobiography, aptly titled Beating the
Odds, he describes his plan: “We would
put programs on film and show them on
the network the same way we showed
feature films in theaters.”5
In so doing,
he looked to Hollywood for inspiration
instead of New York, where radio had
been king.
“The Ed Sullivan Show” (1948, 1932)
“The Lone Ranger” (1949, 1933)
“Your Hit Parade” (1950, 1935)
“You Bet Your Life” (1950, 1947)
“The George Burn and Gracie Allen Show” (1950, 1935)
“The Jack Benny Show” (1950, 1932)
“The Guiding Light” (1952, 1937)
“My Friend Irma” (1952, 1947)
“Our Miss Brooks” (1952, 1948)
“Gunsmoke” (1955, 1952)
“The Grand Ole Opry” (1955, 1925)
Figure 1.4
Included here are
some programs that
transferred from
radio to television
during the early
days of television,
illustrating how
radio supplied
television with
some of the new
medium’s signature
programming.The
first date indicates
when the program
appeared on
television; the
second date shows
when it started on
radio.

ABC had Goldenson as its visionary
in the early days. He was not alone,
however, in seeing the potential that
television offered.The Columbia Broad-
casting System (CBS) had the legendary
William Paley whose vision and impec-
cable taste helped him turn CBS into
the “Tiffany” network, a symbol of
quality in news and entertainment pro-
gramming. NBC had the skillful entre-
preneur David Sarnoff who saw the
future of television in color.
PROGRAMMING CYCLES
AND TRENDS
True to his vision, Goldenson con-
tracted with Warner Bros., which pro-
duced programming for ABC including,
in 1955, “Cheyenne,” the first prime-
time western. By 1959, there were 28
prime-time westerns on television, illus-
trating the important tenet that pro-
gramming tends to move through
cycles.
Anticipating the appeal younger
viewers offered advertisers, which we
describe later in this chapter, Goldenson
sought to program shows that would
attract a younger audience. He did this
because he was convinced that younger
viewers would be more open to change,
that they would be more willing to turn
the dial to ABC than older viewers
reluctant to alter their habits. This kind
of counterprogramming strategy
remains a useful weapon in a program-
mer’s arsenal some 50 years later, not just
in television but also in radio and on the
Internet.
RADIO REDUX: THE SWITCH
FROM SHOWS TO FORMATS
Radio needed to fight back to survive
the threat of television. According to
radio lore, the move to bring radio back
to health began when radio group
station owner Todd Storz was in a bar
one night in the early 1950s, trying to
drown his sorrows about the decreasing
income of his radio stations. He noticed
that the same musical selections from
the jukebox were played over and over.
After almost everyone had left, one of
the bar waitresses went to the jukebox
and, instead of playing something that
hadn’t been heard all evening, inserted
her nickel and played one of the songs
that had been heard over and over.This
gave Storz the idea for Top 40 radio,
which he and several other station
owners used to revitalize radio.
Obviously, Storz’s “vision,” by itself,
did not revive radio. Another important
factor was the rise of rock and roll
music, which gave radio a new sound
and a new audience—teenagers. Thus,
recorded music became the primary fare
of radio and led to a new structure for
radio programming. Importantly, radio
became a local rather than a national
medium. Characteristics of the local
community and the selection of a rigid,
daylong format became major factors
in programming decisions. Advertisers
no longer supplied entire programs: they
merely bought commercials within
news or music programs. Programming
decision making rested with the local
program managers and station managers,
not with advertising agencies as before.
TELEVISION’S GOLDEN AGE
OF DRAMA
The golden age of television is con-
sidered the 1950s, when programs such
as “Kraft Theater,” “Alcoa Hour,”
“General Electric Theater,”“Philco Tele-
vision Playhouse,” “Playhouse 90,” and
“The Texaco Star Theater” flourished,
seeking to make television the “theater
in the home” so many had envisioned.
In keeping with its connection to live
theater and because there was no way to

record program material in the early
days, these shows were almost always
performed live.The actors, director, and
production team rehearsed for 10 days
and then went on the air live, ready to
conquer the viewing public.
One of the reasons the golden age
figures so prominently in America’s
cultural history is that it broke in many
performers, writers, and directors who
went on to significant careers. Actors,
for example, include Dustin Hoffman,
Robert Redford, James Dean, Jon Voigt,
Eva Marie Saint, Marlon Brando, and
Paul Newman. Major writers such as
Paddy Chayefsky, Rod Serling, Horton
Foote, Gore Vidal, and Tad Mosel wrote
teleplays during this time, many of them
working with legendary television
producer Fred Coe, who wanted to
use television to bring Broadway to
America. Directors such as John
Frankenheimer, Sidney Lumet, Sidney
Pollack, and Dan Petrie got their start
during the golden age.
Drama programming, in particular,
was at this time motivated by a desire to
make television be all that it could be
by bringing new and established talent
into people’s homes. Media observer
Anna Everett notes that during the
1950s, “as the nation’s economy grew
and the population expanded, television
and advertising executives turned to
dramatic shows as a programming strat-
egy to elevate the status of television
and to attract the growing and increas-
ingly important suburban family audi-
ence. ‘Golden age’ dramas quickly
became the ideal marketing vehicle for
major U.S. corporations seeking to
display their products favorably before a
national audience.”6
Everett saw advertisers using quality
dramas to cater to the growing sub-
urban population. As more middle-class
Americans purchased television sets,
programming appealed to this growing
audience. Everett saw Paddy Chayefsky’s
teleplay “Marty” as the “quintessential”
work of the golden age and thought
that the title character’s quest to be his
own man and to “embrace his uncertain
future resonated with many of the new
suburban viewers” facing similar chal-
lenges.7
Indeed, “Marty” connected
with television viewers and went on to
further fame as an Academy Award-
winning feature, strengthening televi-
sion’s position as a place where quality
mattered.
This view of early television’s golden
age may put too rosy a tint on the pro-
gramming of the 1950s, ignoring, for
example, the control and censorship that
advertisers exercised. For example,
Alcoa, the sponsor of the “Alcoa Hour,”
in 1956 did not want a lynching in the
teleplay “Tragedy in a Temporary Town”
to be set in a trailer park because most
mobile homes were made of aluminum,
an Alcoa product. Wooden shacks thus
had to be substituted for the mobile
park.8
Indeed, not everything on televi-
sion during this age was of golden
quality.
During any age, what resonates with
the public, as we have noted, tends to
occur in cycles. Many programmers
maintain the quality exemplified by TV’s
golden age, proving the one constant
that matters in programming: quality
depends upon your point of view.
Indeed, some of today’s “quality shows,”
such as “The West Wing,” “24,” and
“Hallmark Hall of Fame,” recall televi-
sion’s golden age, delivering prestige and
audiences.
But from the viewpoint of advertis-
ing, the entity that pays for most media
programming, shows with mass appeal,
although attracting many consumers,
tend to charge the highest rates for
advertising time. If an advertiser’s
product is targeted to a specific group
of people, advertising on a quality show

QUIZ SHOWS TAKE
CENTER STAGE
The idea of advertisers supplying pro-
gramming did not work as well in tele-
vision as it once had in radio. There
were several reasons. For one, television
programming was much more expensive
than radio programming. Advertisers
who had easily been able to underwrite
the costs of several actors capable of
changing voices to play several parts, a
sound effects person, a small core of
audio technicians, a few writers, and a
director found the visual demands for
scenery, props, and additional actors and
behind-the-scenes personnel more than
they could handle financially.As a result,
cosponsorship sprang up.Two or more
companies would share the costs of
producing and distributing a television
series. Programs would be “brought to
you by Colgate toothpaste, Oldsmobile,
and Marlboro cigarettes.” This form of
advertising made it harder for the viewer
to identify the program with a specific
product than it had been with early
radio and some of the single-sponsored
presentations of the golden age of tele-
vision, but it temporarily solved the
budget problem.
In addition, strong-minded TV execu-
tives were becoming more interested
in controlling their own programs.
Sylvester L. “Pat” Weaver, while presi-
dent of NBC from 1953 to 1955,
devised what he called the magazine
concept. Advertisers bought commer-
cial insertions in programs such as
“Today” and “Tonight” but had no say
about program content. Those decisions
were in the hands of the networks.
The trend toward complete network
control was accelerated in 1959 when
the quiz show scandals broke. Quiz
programs on which contestants won
large amounts of money had become
extremely popular. Contestants on “The
$64,000 Question” and “Twenty-One”
were locked in soundproof booths
where they agonized and perspired as
they tried to answer very difficult ques-
tions.The programs were so popular that
Revlon, the company that produced
the control room and saw that one of
the technicians was smoking a ciga-
rette that was not the brand sponsor-
ing the show. Petrie was called over
and told to have the man get rid of the
cigarette or be fired. Petrie understood
that if he did not follow through and
have the man get rid of the cigarette,
he too would be fired, even though
what was going on in the control room
would never be seen by viewers.
For Petrie, the advertisers’ greatest
interference in the creative process
was the blacklist, a list of performers
deemed un-American for alleged
Communist ties. All performers had to
be “cleared” of any association with
Communism before they could be
cast, and no one on the list could be
cleared. Petrie remembered being
called by blacklisted actress Madeleine
Sherwood, essentially begging him to
cast her in the “Robert Montgomery
Presents” production he was directing.
Sherwood needed work, but Petrie
knew that she could not be cleared.
Still, he thought casting her as an extra
might slip her under the radar. During
a rehearsal, however, the agency
representative showed up, zoomed
in on Sherwood, and demanded that
Petrie “get rid of her.” Again, it was
understood by Petrie that if he did not
get rid of her, he would be fired as well.
Petrie is not sure if the sponsor com-
plained or if legendary television
golden-age producer Robert Mont-
gomery (father of “Bewitched” televi-
sion star Elizabeth Montgomery) was
offended, but he was fired after his
second assignment directing a “Robert
Montgomery Presents” because he
cast a black actor as the roommate of
a white man.

As Goodwin writes, the “exposure of
the quiz show fraud took on monstrous
proportions.”11
It was seen as a massive
betrayal of public trust, America’s loss of
innocence. Much to Goodwin’s displea-
sure, the networks did not reap most
of the blame, claiming they also were
deceived and blaming the producers and
advertisers.
Goodwin believes the networks knew
what was being done. He accuses the
networks of cowardice on a grand scale,
quoting critic John Crosby who wrote
that “the moral squalor of the quiz show
mess reaches through the whole indus-
try. Nothing is what it seems in televi-
sion . . . the feeling of high purpose, of
manifest destiny that lit the industry
when it was young . . . is long gone.”12
Indeed, the networks fired anyone,
guilty or innocent, who was publicly
associated with the quiz shows.
THE TELEVISION NETWORKS
TAKE OVER PROGRAMMING
For our purposes, the effect of the quiz
show scandals cannot be overempha-
sized.Tabloid headlines proclaimed tele-
vision’s betrayal of the bond between
the broadcasters and the public, fueling
the furor.As people became increasingly
cynical about television, trust needed to
be restored. One ready solution was
to create broadcast standards and
practices departments to function as
overseers that censored objectionable
programming, thus reassuring the public
that responsible people were minding
the store. More importantly, television
changed the way it operated; specifically,
advertisers who had controlled televi-
sion programming during its infancy,
including television’s golden age, lost
their status as the primary programmers
at the networks.
Whereas radio networks had already
revitalized their programming strategies,
ceasing to rely on advertisers and adver-
tising agencies for programming, it was
only after the quiz show scandals that
television fully embraced a new way of
programming. After the scandals, the
networks, which were already on their
way to controlling programming, really
took over. They began selling commer-
cial time in most of their shows rather
than allowing advertisers to sponsor
them.
This change led to a new philosophy
of program decision making. Networks
began to consider their programming
schedule as an overall entity. Previously,
a network generally continued to air a
program as long as the advertiser was
satisfied with it. But after the quiz show
scandals, networks had to take responsi-
bility for the programs they broadcast—
and they started to exercise authority
over them, using programming to opti-
mize profits from advertising. By the
1960s, the amount of money a network
could charge for a commercial
depended on its rating. Networks,
instead of depending on advertisers,
depended on the public; the networks
wanted shows that produced ratings and
thus allowed higher advertising rates.
Even if an advertiser wanted to pay the
total cost of a program, the network
might not want the program because it
proved to be a poor lead-in to another
program that contained commercials
from several advertisers.
This happened in 1963 when the
“Voice of Firestone” was canceled. The
Firestone Tire Company was the sole
sponsor of this half-hour classical music
TV program on ABC on Monday nights
at 8:30. The audience was small but
appreciative, and Firestone wanted to
continue sponsoring the program.
Unfortunately, the low rating for the
show provided a poor lead-in for the
show that aired at 9:00 P.M. After
Harvey Firestone, the chairman of the

company, refused to move the show to
Sunday afternoons, ABC cut its losses
and canceled the show.
In the 1960s, network programmers
started exercising their muscle by con-
trolling what shows would air. Using
available research sources, they deter-
mined what the public wanted to see:
selecting a program such as “Batman,”
which became the first midseason show
in 1965, or a program such as “The
Fugitive,” which portrayed in a sympa-
thetic manner a man convicted of a
crime.
Radio too had started researching its
programming decisions—which songs
to play for which audiences and how
often. More about the development of
testing and evaluation strategies is
covered in subsequent chapters.
THE DEVELOPMENT OF
PUBLIC BROADCASTING
The purest version of network pro-
gramming began in the 1960s when
public broadcasting of radio and televi-
sion started. By “pure” we mean that the
content and shows produced and aired
by public broadcasting, at least as it was
first envisioned, were determined by the
network without concern for the wants
of advertisers—because there were no
advertisers. Both public radio and tele-
vision had been around earlier than the
1960s in a weak form usually called
“educational broadcasting.”The govern-
ment had set aside part of the FM band,
88.1 to 91.9, for noncommercial radio
services and had reserved specific TV
channels in each major market for edu-
cational TV. Programming decisions
for all educational stations were made
locally. Most of the radio stations played
classical music and produced talk shows
that featured one or two people plus
some programs from other local educa-
tional stations supplied through an
exchange that mailed programs from
station to station.
Although there was some excellent
programming such as “The Great Amer-
ican Dream Machine,”“The NET Play-
house,” and “Black Journal,” produced
by African-Americans, most of the
product that aired as educational broad-
casting was extremely dull.
Then, in 1967, Congress passed the
Public Broadcasting Act, which imple-
mented most of the recommendations
made by a blue-ribbon Carnegie Com-
mission set up to develop improvements
for educational broadcasting. The Cor-
poration for Public Broadcasting (CPB)
was devised to receive funding from
the government and apportion it among
local public TV stations, the Public
Broadcasting Service (PBS) TV net-
work, local public radio stations, and a
radio network, National Public Radio
(NPR). With this infusion of money
from the government, the quality of
public broadcasting programming
improved significantly (Figure 1.5).
The noncommercial programming
structure is different from that of the
commercial networks. In television, PBS
does not produce any programming
itself but rather relies upon its affiliated
“member” stations to produce shows
that it can offer to other stations. Some
Figure 1.5
Public television’s
first big hit was
“Sesame Street,”
which reflected the
changes to quality
brought about by
the Public
Broadcasting Act of
1967.The
children’s program
was produced by
the Children’s
Television
Workshop and
began airing in
1969. (Photo
courtesy
Children’s
Television
Workshop/
Richard
Termine.)

examples of affiliate-created shows are
the popular “Antiques Roadshow,” and
the critically acclaimed “Frontline,” pro-
duced by WGBH in Boston, and
“Frontier House” and “Charlie Rose,”
produced by WNET in New York. PBS
also acquires programming from foreign
countries, such as “Teletubbies” pro-
duced by the British Broadcasting Cor-
poration (BBC), and from independent
producers, as evidenced in PBS’s show-
ing of many independent short films
and documentaries.
In public radio, on the other hand,
NPR produces much of its own pro-
gramming—which sets it apart from
commercial radio networks that often
make programming decisions and do
much production at the local level.
NPR also acquires limited material from
other sources, such as from its member
stations. It may acquire shows to make
them national, as it did with WBUR in
Boston’s “Car Talk,” or air shows such as
“Fresh Air with Terry Gross,” produced
by WHYY in Philadelphia. NPR’s
reluctance to air material from public
radio stations led several of these stations
to form a competing network in 1983,
American Public Radio, which, in 1994,
after taking a more global stance,
changed its name to Public Radio Inter-
national (PRI). NPR and PRI, however,
are not mutually exclusive organiza-
tions—many local public radio stations,
such as KCR
W in Los Angeles, program
material from both networks in their
daily schedules, such as NPR’s “All
Things Considered” news program and
PRI’s “Marketplace” financial show.
Public broadcasting has significantly
changed in recent years, causing some
observers to question whether the
Federal Communications Commission
(FCC) qualified too many stations into
existence. Because money is tighter and
underwriters want to know their money
is properly allocated and that their
message is coming across. In brief, they
cannot ignore ratings and want to know
that the shows they are underwriting are
delivering an audience.Thus, contrary to
the original intent of public broadcast-
ing, ratings have come into play, espe-
cially as audiences have become more
fragmented and some cable stations have
adopted some of public television’s fare.
Reluctantly, PBS head Pat Mitchell
acknowledged the quest for ratings on
public broadcasting and tried to mini-
mize reports of declining ratings for
PBS. Underwriters also want their
“message of support” to avoid being too
discreet. ExxonMobil requested full 30-
second spots to continue underwriting
“Masterpiece Theatre,” and even when
this concession was granted, they pulled
out, looking for other avenues to
explore. ExxonMobil may have chosen
to explore other avenues, but 30-second
spots, which are increasingly like com-
mercial advertisements, are now more
common on public broadcasting. PBS is
adamant that its messages are not adver-
tisements, insisting it is careful not to
cross the line because its messages do
not mention prices, price comparisons,
or inducements to buy and do not
include jingles or location information.
However, Jeffrey Chester of the Center
for Digital Democracy said that it is
wrong for PBS to insist that its under-
writing messages are not advertisements,
blaming the FCC for laxity. He says,
“but even if it walks and quacks like an
ad, the FCC says it’s not an ad.”13
THE FINANCIAL INTEREST
AND DOMESTIC
SYNDICATION RULE
When advertising agencies were phased
out as suppliers of programs, the net-
works found other means of obtaining
program material.They produced a great
deal of it themselves and bought from

established feature production compa-
nies. They also started buying from
new independent production companies,
such as Mary Tyler Moore’s MTM,
Norman Lear’s Tandem-TAT, and Aaron
Spelling Production that had formed
specifically to produce programs for
television. The networks underwrote
most of the cost of production for the
right to air the program and to sell
commercials within it. In addition, the
networks received part of the profit
from the sale of the show in the syndi-
cation or rerun markets. With all of
these revenue sources, television net-
works started to look like fat cats getting
rich off of the “public” airwaves.
In 1970, the FCC took a hard look
at this situation, declaring that the net-
works had too much power. As a result,
the FCC instituted financial interest
and domestic syndication (fin-syn)
rules that barred networks from having
a financial interest in programs produced
by outside production companies. The
networks could no longer receive part
of the profits when the programs were
sold to stations as syndicated reruns.
Rules were also instituted that limited
the amount of programming networks
could produce themselves.
THE RISE OF INDEPENDENT
STATIONS AND SYNDICATORS
A handful of independent television
stations unaffiliated with one of the
major networks—NBC, CBS, or ABC—
had existed since early television. Until
the 1970s, the programming on inde-
pendent stations was confined mainly to
reruns of network shows. These inde-
pendent stations seemed to the public to
be little more than younger siblings trot-
ting out worn, hand-me-down clothes
that the networks had outgrown. The
independent stations collected limited
revenues from local commercial spots
inserted into their network reruns, but
many independent stations saw that
much more advertising money would be
available to them if they could compete
with network programs instead of just
rerunning them.
With the power of the networks
diminished as a result of fin-syn, and
with the FCC’s simultaneous authoriza-
tion of more broadcast television
stations, the role and presence of
independent stations expanded. In
1961, before fin-syn, there were only 28
stations unaffiliated with one of the
major networks. In 1979 there were
103, in 1989 there were 339,14
and in
1994 there were 400.15
These independent stations, although
still showing network reruns, began to
struggle to offer the public something
different and to fill the remaining hours
of their broadcast day. Initially, indepen-
dents started running theatrical films
broken by commercials. They later
branched out to original, first-run pro-
grams, usually produced by third-party
production companies called “syndica-
tors” who sold product to stations as
opposed to networks. With so many
independent stations on the air, hungry
for programming, and with fin-syn laws
requiring the networks to purchase pro-
grams from third-party syndicators,
syndication blossomed into a big and
diverse business.
THE EXPLOSION OF CABLE
Meanwhile, a sleeping giant was about
to awaken in the middle of the already
rapidly changing television landscape.
Cable television had been around since
the early days of television broadcasting.
No one knows exactly how it began,
but one story says that it was started by
the owner of a little appliance store in
central Pennsylvania around 1947. He
noticed that he was selling sets only to

people who lived on one side of the
town. When he investigated, he found
that people on the other side could not
receive a good signal. So he placed an
antenna on top of the hill and ran the
signals through a cable down the hill to
the homes with poor reception. When
someone on the weak side bought a TV
set from him, he hooked them to the
cable (Figure 1.6).
Cable grew during the early days
because the only way communities
without TV stations were able to obtain
TV programs was to put up an antenna,
catch the signals as they traveled through
the air, and run a cable, often strung from
tree to tree, to individual homes. From
the 1940s to the 1970s, cable TV was
mainly used to retransmit signals from
existing TV stations. Usually these were
local stations, but as time passed cable
companies imported station signals from
distant areas to provide their customers
with a wider variety of programming.
Because the cable signals traveled
though wire and not through the air-
waves, cable systems had more usable
channels than broadcasting could
accommodate. For example, no local
area could air broadcast stations on both
channel 5 and channel 6 because the
two signals would interfere. But on
cable, where the signals were shielded,
all the channels (then 2 through 13)
could be used. As a result, some of the
cable systems provided viewers with
inexpensive “local programming” placed
on one of the extra unused channels.
The most common form of this “pro-
gramming” was a thermometer and
barometer with a camera focused on
them to allow local residents to see the
temperature and barometric pressure.
Not much was needed in the way of
program decision making.
Not much was needed in the way of
regulation either. Broadcast stations
complained to the FCC when some
cable systems showed a distant channel
playing the same program (e.g., the same
“I Love Lucy” episode) as the local
station because this practice obviously
lessened the audience size for the local
station. The FCC responded by estab-
lishing a rule called syndicated exclu-
sivity, which said that cable systems had
to black out the distant station when the
programming was the same. But gener-
ally the FCC left cable alone to grow
on the fringes of the rapidly expanding
television universe, and local govern-
ments granted numerous cable
franchises.
But all this changed in the late 1970s
when Home Box Office (HBO) began
selling a satellite-delivered movie service
to local cable systems.Although this was
a difficult sell at first, mainly because
cable systems did not want to invest in
the satellite dish needed to receive the
signal, once the idea caught on, the
floodgates opened. A variety of cable
networks sprung up, offering program-
ming to be placed on the spare channels
of the cable systems. So much program-
ming became available that engineers
devised ways to show more than 12
channels through the TV set.
Figure 1.6
Early cable TV
systems placed an
antenna on top of
a hill to catch
television station
signals.Then a
wire with the
station signals in
it, was run down
the hill and
attached to various
homes.

Between 1980 and 2003, the number
of households subscribing to cable TV
(and its subsequent companion, satellite
TV) grew from 22% to 80%. From 1980
to 2001, the advertising dollars spent
went from a meager $53 million to a
robust $14.5 billion, and the number of
programming networks from 1980 to
2003 rose from 8 to 290.16
Cities that
had not needed cable TV because the
reception was excellent suddenly found
numerous companies pounding on the
doors of city hall—all begging for fran-
chises to lay cable in the area and collect
their part of the pot of gold at the end
of what seemed to be a promising
rainbow.
Essentially, cable television services
added more independent channels to
the already expanding listing of inde-
pendents. Though some of the new
channels, such as ESPN and Cable
News Network (CNN), produced most
of their own programming, many of
the new cable stations clamored for
more programming from syndicators,
further strengthening the business of
syndication.
SYNDICATION IN RADIO
Strong national networks, of the kind
that persisted in television, were a thing
of the past for radio—it evolved into
a local medium. But although there
were no laws like fin-syn governing
where radio stations obtained their pro-
gramming, radio stations started to pur-
chase programming from third-party
syndicators.
In radio, the line between a network
and a syndicator has blurred. Radio sta-
tions select material provided by net-
works, syndicators, and their own local
programmers and mesh it into a unified
whole with a local feel. In other words,
both networks and syndicators serve the
same purpose to the programming of
local radio stations—they provide
content, such as national news reports
and other programs that appeal to local
audiences in many locations.
NEW NETWORKS WITH
TARGETED AND NICHE
PROGRAMMING
While networks were losing their defi-
nition in radio, new networks were
developing in television. The first of
these networks, the Fox Broadcasting
Company, started operation in 1987.
The WB (1990), Universal–Paramount
Network (UPN, 1995), and PAX (1998)
followed.
When Fox began, it was not officially
a network because it did not broadcast
more than 15 hours of programming a
week (the legal amount needed to be
considered a network). It nevertheless
provided a large block of programming
for many independent stations and cut
down on their immediate need for syn-
dicated material.
Standing in the shadow of the three
big networks, CBS, NBC, and ABC,
these fledgling networks, if they were
to survive, had to find a way to wean
advertisers from their longstanding rela-
tionships with the majors. Instead of
trying to compete head to head, these
upstarts focused on creating program-
ming that appealed to specific groups of
viewers. The initial lineup at Fox, for
example, was geared toward urban hip-
sters. PAX appealed to viewers seeking
wholesome family entertainment; UPN
to urban audiences seeking comedies
with an ethnic vibe; and the WB to
teens, teens, and more teens.
On cable television, a similar, though
more focused, change occurred as pro-
gramming executives sought to give their
networks a clear identity. If the majors
were broadcasters seeking the widest pos-
sible audiences, the cable networks went

after the smaller, targeted audience (a
technique known as narrowcasting).
This became known as the search for the
“niche” audience—committed viewers
who identified with the programming of
a particular cable network.
These changes forced the big three to
change, too, as you will observe in the
next section, where we examine some
key broadcasting trends.
THE QUEST FOR A YOUNG
DEMOGRAPHIC
Following the arrival of cable and niche
programming, mass appeal ceased to be
the primary goal of the majors. No
longer were they competing simply for
a broad audience. It was the right audi-
ence that became the key to success.
Many advertisers started to favor certain
groups, or demographics, of con-
sumers. The coveted demographic
quickly became 18 to 49 year olds,
ideally 18 to 34.The assumption behind
this thinking is that young viewers are
freer with their disposable income and
that it is important for advertisers to
establish brand loyalty early. For
example, young people may not be able
to afford a new car, but when they can
afford one they will purchase the car
they are aware of through advertising
and they will be loyal to that brand
throughout their lives. So goes the
thinking, and finding shows that appeal
to a young audience has become a pro-
grammer’s primary mission.
This belief in the power and attrac-
tiveness of the young demographic
helped Fox when it first aired. The
ratings were not stellar, but young
people were watching Fox.This became
a point of pride, something positive that
Fox could say about its slate of shows.
Similarly, the WB has received strong
advertising dollars for shows such as
“Smallville,” “Gilmore Girls,” “7th
Heaven,” and “One Tree Hill.”What the
WB is proclaiming loudly and con-
sistently is that its shows attract the
desirable younger viewers; that the
household ratings may not be in the top
10 or the top 20 is secondary, because
it is the young demographic that counts,
not the household rating.
Ron Kobata, formerly a WB/KTLA
sales executive, says that the WB appeals
to younger viewers. Younger viewers
are what advertisers want, not entire
households.
Even syndication, which has tradi-
tionally been viewed as a haven for older
viewers, wants to lay claim to young
viewers. A study by Nielsen Media
Research, released in July 2003 by the
Syndicated Network Association, says
that “About 72% of the audience watch-
ing sitcoms in syndication is in the adult
18–49 demographic, compared to 61%
of the sitcom audience on cable TV.”17
This quest for young viewers signifi-
cantly affected today’s programming. If
a program tests “old” or is perceived to
appeal only to older viewers, chances are
it will have a hard time getting on or
staying on a schedule. A show such as
CBS’s “The Guardian,” which, according
to researchers, was not watched by many
under 50, could not remain on the air
indefinitely; it was canceled before the
start of the 2004–2005 season. The
desire for the young demographic influ-
ences story selection, language, and most
notably pacing. The strategies or types
of programming that proved effective
with the 18 to 49 demographic are
taken into account when developing
new programming.
VIEWING PATTERNS AND
CHANGING AUDIENCE
ATTENTION SPANS
In 1983, a new cable network, Music
Television (MTV), caught fire with the

18 to 49 demographic. Some people
credit (or discredit) MTV’s success in
this demographic with subsequent
changes in the pacing and cohesion (or
incoherence) of television program-
ming. The fledgling network featured
back-to-back 3-minute music videos,
turning the longstanding television
staple of hour or half-hour shows on
its ear.
Not only were the “shows” short, but
they often sacrificed storylines in favor
of spectacle. In some ways, this was the
nature of the music video beast. How
do you make a story out of a song
with a single sentiment, such as Cyndi
Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”
or the Thompson Twins’ “Hold Me
Now”? The nonstop spectacle of the
music video, many cultural critics have
suggested, reduced viewers’ attention
spans—accustoming them to non-
stop action rather than nuanced
development.
To be fair, nonstop action was not a
new development with MTV or a new
concern in television. Programs such as
“I Love Lucy” put a high premium on,
as Lucille Ball put it, not “losing” the
audience by keeping things moving.The
criticism that many levy at today’s
action, though, is that it often relies on
simple visual stimulation rather than the
dramatic tension that “I Love Lucy”
used. In the late 1990s, some shows,
especially children’s cartoons, became so
reliant on quick cuts and flashy graph-
ics that they were linked to causing
epileptic seizures in their young viewers.
With so many entertainment choices
available on the networks, independents,
and cable, programmers believe that they
cannot risk losing their targeted audi-
ence because a show is not moving
quickly enough. Quick action scenes are
often substituted for fully developed
ones. In television, it is assumed viewers
would rather see the action than several
expository scenes. Likewise, in radio,
talk show hosts go for the controversial,
explosive comment, frequently ignoring
the background information. Or, in the
case of so-called shock jocks, such as
Howard Stern, programmers and pro-
ducers assure that each moment of
material is so inflammatory that it
needs no introduction or denouement
to catch—and hook—a listeners’ ear. In
2003, there were more than 1300 talk
stations in the country,18
most of them
employing such attention-getting
tactics.
Many point to the 1986 debut of
Steven Bochco’s NBC show “LA Law”
as the start of the trend toward short,
action-packed scenes in traditional tele-
vision drama. Programmers think they
have to keep it moving to keep the
viewer from using the dreaded remote.
A show such as Fox’s short-lived “30
Seconds to Fame,” on which contestants
performed for a mere 30 seconds to
compete for a $25,000 prize, did indeed
keep it moving. In the half-hour show,
24 hopefuls had a half-minute each to
make an impression.The creators of this
show assumed that viewers could not
get bored in 30 seconds.
Shorter attention spans have created a
new viewing style called dropping in,
which takes place when viewers choose
to view only a short sequence of a the-
atrical movie that has aired several times
on television. Many viewers are too rest-
less to watch all of a repeat airing of
Pretty Woman, a favorite drop-in movie,
but they are willing to tune in for a
favorite scene—for example, when Julia
Roberts puts down the salesgirl who
had been rude to her.
Producers are challenged by the quest
for numerous short scenes. For example,
a television movie in the early 1980s
might have had 80 scenes in it. Today,
that same movie would be likely to have
150 scenes, with no increase in the

license fee or in the number of shoot-
ing days. How is a producer to make this
work? Additional scenes require time
and money, and neither is available in
the current market. It is not easy to keep
adding new scenes, and it requires a lot
of inventiveness on the part of the pro-
duction team to make a tighter, more
complicated schedule work. But pro-
grammers are ever fearful of losing the
audience’s attention, and one way to
guard against this is to pack more action
and less talk or introspection into a
scene.
Shorter attention spans coupled with
the large number of people who multi-
task while watching television make pro-
grammers think they have to bombard
the audience with action to keep them
interested. The threats of video games
and Internet activity make programming
an increasingly difficult task.
THE DECLINE OF LONGFORM
PROGRAMMING
The decline of longform programming
that started in the early 1990s is another
significant change in the broadcasting
landscape, one directly connected to
viewers’ shorter attention spans (Figure
1.7).Viewers find it increasingly difficult
to commit to watching a 2-hour block.
By the 1990s, programmers might have
questioned whether viewers would
commit to a miniseries that lasted
more than 4 hours, such as “Roots,”
“The Winds of War,” or “Shogun,” but
now it is considered iffy to expect a
viewer to invest even 2 hours in a tele-
vision movie that is not presold with
name recognition much less to commit
to a 4 or more hour miniseries spread
over several days or weeks (see the
miniseries sidebar).
Figure 1.7
The telefilm
“Dallas Cowboys
Cheerleaders,”
directed by Bruce
Bilson, was the
highest rated TV
movie of the
1978–1979
season. It aired
when longform
programming was
at its peak.
(Photo courtesy
Bruce Bilson.)

the World Wide Web, which started
entering the mass culture of the United
States in the mid-1990s.With hypertext,
links, and ever-present search engines, the
audience can wander off as quickly, as
often, and as far as they wish.
The key for programmers of web
content is to make a website sticky—
in other words, not necessarily to keep
viewers on one page of the site but to
give the viewer a diverse buffet of
content that will keep them moving
from one page to another without click-
ing to another site. Though modes for
advertising on websites, and therefore
generating direct revenue, are still
developing, advertisements are generally
placed as banners along the periphery of
each page. This mode of advertising,
unlike channel changing with radio and
television, makes audience choices to
move to other content desirable because
it exposes viewers to new advertise-
ments—as long as they stay “stuck” in
the domain.
Equally important for web program-
mers is giving the visitor the impression
that content on the site is regularly
updated, thus giving them a reason to
return. Through experience, web pro-
grammers have found that users are not
shy about complaining if a site is not
updated often enough.
NEW MEDIA RECORDING
TECHNOLOGIES
Although less interactive than the Inter-
net, many other new technologies have
and are affecting television and radio
programming.
Magnetic audio tape was introduced in
the late 1940s, but its effect on radio was
most noticed on the production side.
Shows could now be prerecorded for
later broadcast. Bing Crosby was the first
to use this technology, recording 26
shows for the 1947–1948 season on a
Magnetophon recording device for
delayed broadcast on ABC. Audience
members with tape recorders, of course,
also had the option to record radio pro-
grams and listen to them again, but this
capacity did not have a marked effect on
radio programming strategies.
Likewise, in 1980 the videocassette
recorder (VCR) was introduced into the
commercial market, and by the late
1990s it was nearly as common a fixture
in consumer’s homes as television sets.
Programmers first saw the VCR as a
danger to their carefully laid program-
ming choices. Members of the public
no longer needed to watch programs
when the network executives wanted
them to; they could tape them and
watch at their own convenience,
skipping through commercials. But
notorious interface challenges with
setting up a VCR’s record timer dulled
the device’s promise—and threat.
Although many people learned to
operate their VCRs, the device’s main
effect was to draw viewers’ attention
from broadcast programming. Video
rental stores sprung up everywhere,
giving audiences more choice about
what to watch at home.
The late 1990s and early 2000s saw
the introduction of souped-up digital
versions of the videotape and VCR.
Digital video discs (DVDs) offer higher-
quality reproduction of video material
than videotape, and set-top hard-disk
video-recording devices, such as TIVO,
have user interfaces that make recording
programs for later viewing much easier
than the VCR did.With this new tech-
nology, programmers are wringing their
hands as they did with the introduction
of the VCR. And advertisers worry that
the ease with which hard-disk video
recorders can skip commercials will
force them to reconsider the traditional
commercial break advertising strategy—
moving toward conspicuous product
placement and product integration
in program material.

Cashing in on viewers’ short attention
spans and the new technologies, both
NBC and ABC aired 1- to 3-minute
movies in 2003–2004, NBC hoping that
inserting 1-minute movies into com-
mercial clusters will keep audiences
from switching the dial. Some of 1-
minute movies aired in four parts. Tele-
vision commercials are able to present a
full story in 30 seconds, so why should
a 1-minute movie not be able to do the
same, particularly when viewers have
such short attention spans? And why not
have 1-minute soap operas, as Soapnet
tried in 2003–2004?
By 2002, there were more than
800,000 households with hard-disk
video recorders. With many consumers,
especially the prized younger demo-
graphic, turning to their computers as
the hub of media consumption, many
manufacturing companies are experi-
menting with ways to seamlessly pack
television, radio, and the Internet into
one multimedia box—with one hard-
disk onto which viewers can record
media from any broadcast medium.
With all of these technological pos-
sibilities looming, the art of program-
ming may be affected in innumerable
unknowable ways. What used to be
niche markets may become big business.
For example, there are undoubtedly a
large group of people who are horse
enthusiasts in the United States.
However, the number of horse enthusi-
asts may not be large enough to make
it a sound financial decision for a cable
or satellite company to set aside one of
their 100 or so channels for a 24-hour
horse channel. But with TIVO or other
computer-augmented recording systems,
a de facto horse channel could be
offered to horse enthusiasts without
setting aside an actual channel for it.
Horse programming could be trans-
mitted as data in the background, over
the Internet, or during off hours in the
middle of the night to the horse enthu-
siast’s recorder, which would then store
it until the viewer is ready to see it.
THE RISE OF CONSUMER-
SUPPORTED MEDIA
Although the future of many aspects of
programming may be up in the air, it
is certain that the viewing audience for
traditional advertiser-supported radio
and television has been, at least partly,
eroded by increasing consumer-
supported media offerings.
When television was introduced, the
film industry feared for its life as more
people stayed home to watch the new
theater beamed into their living rooms
for “free.” Although the audience for
films took a hit as a result of television,
television no more killed film than film
killed live performances. Each medium
has its own pull on audiences. Just
because audiences may have new
choices does not mean that they will
abandon the old options.
Still, the number of available con-
sumer-supported media options, such
as pay-cable networks, DVDs, and video
games, is becoming more attractive to
consumers, especially if they have
become weary of advertising. In 2002,
according to the Communications
Industry Forecast by merchant bank
Veronis Suhler Stevenson, U.S. con-
sumers spent an average of 3,599 hours
with the various forms of media. Time
spent with advertiser-supported media,
such as traditional radio and television,
accounted for 57.8% with consumer-
supported media, such as DVD, pay-
cable networks, and video games,
accounting for the remaining 42.2%.
This is a marked change from just 5
years earlier, in 1997, when the distri-
bution was roughly 68% advertiser-
supported to 32% consumer-supported
media.20

THE VIDEO GAME EXPLOSION
Video games, which generate more
income per year than theatrical films,
allow players to control the action,
playing the game when and how they
wish, in the process having a direct
effect on programming. A video game
such as “Grand Theft Auto: Vice City”
sold nearly 3 million copies in its first
month on the market in 2003, and the
gaming industry as a whole had sales of
more than $6.5 billion in 2002.There is
no evidence that the video game indus-
try has reached its peak (Figure 1.8).
These dollar figures did not go unno-
ticed by the entertainment industry as
video games became an increasingly
integral part of people’s lives, revealing
how the public wants to spend its leisure
time. With the VCR, video games,
TIVO, and the Internet, it is increasingly
clear that the public wants to control its
programming choices.
A study released in July 2003 by the
Pew Internet & American Life project
suggests that the public is capable of
exercising this control. The study found
that both male and female students who
play electronic games are able to do
so without neglecting their studies or
becoming loners.21
Television, which
began as a family viewing activity, has
become the solitary activity, and video
gaming with friends has replaced it as
the communal viewing activity.
Video game players are used to greater
interactivity and to faster action, something
programmers are aware of as they seek to
retain an audience.Wanting and needing to
capture some of the excitement that video
games provide, programmers would love to
bring groups of viewers to the television
set in the same way games attract groups
of friends.
To accomplish this, television shows
such as TNT’s “Witchblade,” “Dark
Angel,” and “Super Mario Brothers”
have attempted to capture the feel of
video games by adopting the same visual
look and narrative style, much in the
way feature films such as The Matrix and
the video-game-based Lara Croft
movies starring Angelina Jolie are struc-
tured like video games.
REGULATIONS
After the fin-syn regulations limiting
the television network’s financial rewards
were imposed in 1970, there was, as
noted, a proliferation of independent
stations and independent producers
ready to cash in on the lucrative distri-
bution market.As the number of broad-
cast choices increased with cable and
satellite distribution, an argument sur-
faced suggesting that strict regulations
were no longer needed. The networks
lobbied hard that mergers did not hurt
program diversity and did not eliminate
local coverage.They did not want to be
hurt financially, claiming that continued
∑ Three quarters of Nielsen TV households with a male between 8 and 34
years own a video game system.
∑ TV viewership among male gamers age 18 to 34 appears to be slightly
lower than among males age 18 to 34 in general.
∑ The average male gamer plays video games about 5 times per week and
spends at least 30 minutes doing so each time he sits down to play.
∑ Nearly as many males 8 to 34 say they prefer playing video games (29%)
as say they prefer watching TV (33%). This group also prefers playing sports
(48%) and going to the movies (26%) over video games (13%).
∑ More than one quarter (27%) of active male gamers noticed advertising
in the last video game they played, with heavy (31%) and older (35%) gamers
being the most likely to recall advertising.
∑ Heavy gamers are particularly enthusiastic about product integration;
more than half (52%) like games to contain real products and most (70%) feel
that real products make a game more “genuine.”
Figure 1.8
Some of the key
findings of a 2004
study conducted by
Activision and
Nielsen.
(Courtesy
Nielsen.)

regulations would destroy them. Con-
glomerate mergers became the norm for
both television and radio as the FCC
surveyed the marketplace, agreeing with
the networks and deciding that greater
deregulation was in order.
The result of this deliberation was the
Telecommunications Act of 1996, which
increased the number of radio stations a
single owner could own. In June 2003,
the FCC got rid of the cross-owner-
ship rules that prevented a broadcaster
from owning a newspaper and a televi-
sion station in the same market and
allowed a broadcaster to increase hold-
ings to cover 45% of the country from
the 35% that the 1996 Telecommunica-
tions Act permitted. Following much
debate and controversy, the cap was
changed to 39% with further modifica-
tions likely. Other chapters will examine
the role of the FCC in detail, but it will
suffice here to note that the concentra-
tion of broadcast ownership has signifi-
cantly affected programming.
Many people, producers and govern-
ment representatives alike, believe that
consolidation, which results in fewer
owners, has a negative effect on pro-
gramming diversity. They worry that
programming will become homoge-
nized as fewer different voices are
allowed into the tent. They see fewer
risks being taken and argue that hit
shows of the past, such as “The Mary
Tyler Moore Show” or “Seinfeld,”
would never have gotten on the air.
They also object to the growing number
of programs owned wholly or partly
by the networks airing the shows
(Figure 1.9).
Others, such as television critic
Alessandra Stanley, disagree vehemently
that consolidation of ownership destroys
programming creativity. She cites “The
Wire” on HBO, a gritty police show set
in Baltimore created by David Simon.
HBO is owned by media conglomerate
Time Warner, and for Stanley, “The
Wire” is a risk-taking, worthy show that
has not suffered by the Time Warner
ownership. She believes that television
has never been more diverse and that
dramas in particular are taking many
chances under consolidation.23
Consolidation in the ownership of
radio stations raises concerns because of
radio’s local reach. Independent musical
artists worry about the centralization
of programming and music selection
decisions, combined with efforts to
maximize profits to keep corporate
stockholders happy. Local artists, in the
past, counted on local radio stations to
help “break” local talent—to either a
local or a national audience. Radio
corporation executives—such as John
Hogan, chief executive of Clear
Channel Radio, which owned nearly
10% of all radio stations in the United
States in 2003—insist that although
ownership may be centralized, program-
ming decisions are left to local pro-
gramming directors. They admit,
however, that their operations are pri-
marily concerned with economics and
giving the public what they want—not,
as may have been true in the more
autonomous past, a passion for exposing
the public to inventive or “new”
music.24
This controversy about the influence
of deregulation on programming is not
likely to go away soon. Too much
money is at stake for both the owners
and the independent producers. As
∑ In 2002, Warner Bros. Television and in-house studio Turner Television
were behind 15 of the 18 pilots ordered by the WB.
∑ Walt Disney-owned Touchstone Television produced or coproduced all of
ABC’s comedies and had a piece of at least 21 of 23 pilots.
∑ NBC Studios produced or had a piece of 17 of the 20 pilots that NBC ordered.
∑ At Fox, at least 5 of 10 pilots were from parent company News Corp.22
Figure 1.9
Ownership of
programming.

independents continue to lose ground
to the conglomerates, will creativity and
diversity suffer? This heated debate con-
tinues on many fronts.
GLOBALIZATION
From the 1970s through the beginning
of the 1990s, the active foreign market
eased the way for producers and pro-
grammers. Significant money could be
made through foreign distribution,
enabling programmers to relax a bit
about budgets as they anticipated that
the foreign dollars would provide ade-
quate money to produce a quality pro-
duction. Likewise, producers were more
willing to take on large deficits because
they would recoup their investment
abroad.
Shows that portrayed Americans in a
particular light sold well abroad and
made international stars of the cast
members. Many times, a performer
whose star had faded in the United
States remained a significant draw abroad
and a major selling point for foreign
sales, though of little value to American
network executives. Oftentimes, pro-
grammers still have to swallow casting
such performers in a project simply to
keep the foreign potential alive.
Shows such as “Baywatch,” which
featured beautiful people doing heroic
actions; “Beverly Hills, 90210,” which
revealed American teenagers at their
photogenic best; and “Twin Peaks,”
which revealed a quirkier side of the
American way of life performed well
abroad. But the foreign market dried up
in the last part of the 20th century,
hurting both the networks and the
producers.
Foreign countries increasingly seek to
produce their own programming, but
U.S. broadcasters are nevertheless forced
to continue to look abroad for revenue,
even if the foreign market is not as
strong as it was. In addition to produc-
ing their own programming and resist-
ing American product, several foreign
governments, such as China and France,
have imposed severe limits on the
number of hours of foreign program-
ming that can be aired, thus hampering
the American seller. When foreign
broadcasters adapt successful shows that
aired in America, they must adjust the
formats to suit local customs. For
example, Dubai failed to adjust the
reality show “Big Brother” to local
standards in 2003, and the show was
canceled within a month. When this
happens, the negative influence of
Western culture is blamed, making it
even more difficult for American pro-
gramming to sell abroad.
Germany used to be a major market
for Americans, but it no longer buys
at the rate it used to. One has only to
attend a National Association of Televi-
sion Program Executives (NATPE)
convention, where producers and dis-
tributors meet to sell their programs, to
realize how difficult it is to make deals
abroad.The convention center floors are
quiet, and cash registers do not ring. For
example, a television movie that would
have generated in excess of $1 million
in foreign sales several years ago will be
lucky to bring in $400,000—and that
is little cause for joy. Often, there is
no sale, particularly if the program is
deemed too soft, as is the case with
many movies made for Lifetime, the
network for women. Even if there is a
sale, it is often the poorer countries that
continue to buy American shows at low
rates; the richer countries focus on local
productions.
Interestingly, the tighter foreign
market dovetails with the push toward
deregulation. Conglomerates point to
the softening of the foreign markets as
justification for all the financial assis-
tance they can get.

In this chapter you will learn about the
following:
• The primary suppliers of television
programming content
• The effect of the 1996 Telecommuni-
cations Act on the distributors and
creators of programming content
• The role of the public, stars, agents,
and managers as sources of
programming
• What future programmers need to
know to succeed as suppliers of
programming
Regardless of the electronic media
form, the person in charge of program-
ming must figure out how to fill the
hours of the day with specific shows, a
daunting task. For example, an indepen-
dent station on the air 20 hours a day,
7 days a week must schedule 7300 hours
of programming a year. In 2003, the
average home received more than 100
channels. Where does all the program-
ming come from?
The answer is complex. Ideas for
programs can originate from just about
anywhere. For example, legend has it
that one night Mrs. Merv Griffin said to
her husband,“Why don’t you do a game
where the contestants get the answers
and have to give you the questions?”
Merv liked the idea, and “Jeopardy”
recently celebrated its 40th anniversary.
A big-name independent producer
driving to work may hear a radio story
about surrogate mothers and think of a
heart-tugging idea for a movie-of-the-
week. Writers may formulate ideas for
a children’s program while reading
bedtime stories to their children. Early
morning disc jockeys have been known
to plan skits based on the dreams they
had the night before. A soap opera
writer has confessed to gaining ideas by
going to bars and encouraging people to
dump their problems on him. A group
of students developed sketches about
college dorm life for a public access
cable series. You have, no doubt, had
several ideas that you felt would make a
wonderful TV show, radio program, or
website.
BEYOND THE IDEA—INTO
THE “DEEP POCKETS”
Simply having a good idea does not a
TV series make. Most ideas must be
funneled through an organized structure
of suppliers. These companies provide
the money and the technical and pro-
duction know-how to make program-
ming a reality. Despite the massive need
for product at networks and stations, the
2 Sources of
Television
Programming
29

number of supply sources is surprisingly
limited.
The financial risks of making a
program are high. Few companies have
the “deep pockets” to suffer significant
financial reversals while waiting for the
next project to take off and earn money
in syndication and subsidiary markets.
Buyers tend to rely on suppliers that
have delivered successes in the past and
have a strong financial basis to survive
for more than a season.
A supplier who has not previously
deficit financed a program, that is, pro-
vided the funds that covered the deficit
between what the network paid for the
program and the cost of production, will
generally not be allowed to function as
the sole production entity. Such sup-
pliers are traditionally partnered with a
company that has previously supplied
deficit financing because networks do
not cover the full cost of production. In
recent years, the deficits have markedly
increased, more frequently necessitating
those deep pockets.
Programming executives are warned
against getting into business with sup-
pliers who lack a substantial track
record, both in creating successful shows
and in having established a sound finan-
cial base. Fledgling executives are fre-
quently challenged by business affairs
negotiators: “Why would you want to
do business with companies whose
finances are so shaky that they can’t
come up with $50,000 to close a license
fee?” It is thus extremely difficult for
newcomers to get in the game.
With the increased number of
mergers that have taken place in the
world of entertainment since the
deregulation in the 1980s, vertical
integration has become the standard
for corporate achievement. With the
expanded role of conglomerates, a
company can now control both the pro-
duction of programs and the distribu-
tion systems of those programs, making
vertical integration extremely attractive
to stockholders and division heads alike
(Figure 2.1). For example, NBC’s strate-
gic alliance with Universal Television in
2003 gave NBC a source of program-
ming that the network could subse-
quently distribute over the airwaves.
NBC, owned by General Electric, had
been the last major network that did not
have a studio alliance.
Because the networks are parts of
companies that now own major studios,
the role of “the majors” as sources of
programming continues to increase
dramatically.
MAJOR PRODUCTION
COMPANIES
Large companies such as Universal
Studios, Paramount Pictures, Warner
Bros., Fox, and Disney have the
resources to staff several departments
to develop and produce product for
commercial and cable television. These
majors are the key suppliers of programs
for broadcasters. To maintain their
dominant positions, many majors strike
umbrella deals with creative indi-
viduals housed at the studio. It is the
studio’s hope that these deals will lead
to the creation of hits, as exemplified by
John Wells’s deal at Warner Bros., which
resulted in “ER,” “The West Wing,” and
“Third Watch,” among others.
Network Studio
FOX 20th Century Fox
NBC Universal
ABC Disney
CBS Paramount
The WB Warner Bros.
UPN CBS/Paramount
Figure 2.1
Network affiliations
with major studios.

Broadcast and cable networks, station
groups, and stations like to do business
with these companies, not only because
they have a history of success and access
to some of the best producers, writers,
performers, and craftspeople but also
because they are financially sound and
will not have to default on a commit-
ment if unforeseen and expensive
hurdles arise. Buyers know that if a
program is not coming together well,
the majors have the resources to do
whatever is necessary to fix it.
Every year, a close tally is kept of the
number of pilots and shows a company
has received. Bragging rights are at stake;
careers hang on these numbers, and a
company’s financial well-being hangs in
the balance.
Warner Bros. Television, under the
leadership of Peter Roth and Susan
Rovner, achieved impressive results with
shows such as “Third Watch.” Granted,
Warner Bros. has the WB network ready,
willing, and able to embrace its devel-
opment of shows such as “Smallville,”
and “Everwood” (Figure 2.2), but the
success rate of Warner Bros. is neverthe-
less extremely impressive, a testament to
sound programming instincts.
Individuals with an interest in pro-
gramming as a career might be wise to
consider associating with one of the
majors early in their careers. Not only
will they learn the intricacies of the
business but they also will be working
with companies that have many off-
shoots, one or more of which might
lead to several different employment
opportunities.
Feature films, produced by major
companies, are also a source of pro-
gramming for networks and stations.
After a movie has finished its theatrical
run, it is released to television. However,
networks and stations do not get first
crack at it. The distribution is under-
taken through a series of windows—
the amount of time that transpires as the
film is released to different media forms.
Often a movie will have a 6-month
window between the time it finishes its
theatrical run and the time it is available
to cable TV pay-per-view systems.
Then it has another window of a month
or two before it is distributed in video
stores. Following this is a window that
leads to the pay cable services such as
HBO and Showtime. Only after all of
these stages are films made available to
commercial networks. Even further
down the pecking order are local TV
stations and basic cable networks such as
USA Network and Lifetime.The length
of time of the various windows differs
from film to film. On rare occasions, the
order of the releases varies and com-
mercial TV may obtain a movie before
it is shown on cable. Sometimes the net-
works and stations buy the rights to air
the films from the major production
companies, and sometimes they buy
them through syndicators.
A successful, or unsuccessful, showing
at the U.S. box office is no clear
Figure 2.2
The series
“Everwood”
exemplifies the
dominance of
Warner Bros. as a
source of
programming.
(Globe Photos,
Inc.)

indicator of how a feature film will
perform on television. Oftentimes, a
film with strong buzz before it opens
theatrically will command a high price
from the commercial or cable networks
only to fail both at the box office and
with television viewers. For example,
The Bonfire of the Vanities, sold to ABC
at a high price before opening in
theaters, disappointed at the box office,
and subsequently performed poorly on
the air.
On the other hand, a film that disap-
points at the box office can be a sur-
prise hit on television, such as the Julia
Roberts/Nick Nolte romantic comedy
I Love Trouble or The Shawshank Redemp-
tion, about a prison uprising. Then
there is the perennial favorite, The Ten
Commandments (1956), which defies all
analysis, having aired on ABC for more
than 30 years around Easter and never
failed to generate impressive ratings,
proving that new is not always best and
that a classic film can bring viewers to
the set year after year (Figure 2.3).
Sometimes networks will have too
large an inventory of theatrical films,
preventing them from acquiring addi-
tional films, possibly missing out on a
winner. Also, to show that a network is
“in the game,” executives may pay a
large amount for a “must-have” film,
such as Spiderman, making it difficult
to have money left over to buy a lot
of other films for the network. For
example, Spiderman II sold to Fox and
FX for approximately $50 million, a lot
of money by any standard.Adding to the
complexity of the theatrical acquisition
game is the cyclical nature of theatrical
films on television. At times, feature
films are seen as good fillers for the
commercial networks because they tend
to perform within a given range; at
other times, they are deemed to be “not
working.” Cable networks such as HBO,
Cinemax, The Movie Channel, Starz,
or Showtime always want to be able to
announce a strong slate of movies, the
very movies that everyone wants to see.
Direct TV and the other direct broad-
cast satellite services (DBSs) also play a
significant role in the airing of theatri-
cal films, touting their film offerings in
competition with the other distribution
outlets.
Feature films also have been the basis
for many TV series developed by the
same major production companies.
Before the picture is made, the company
will usually negotiate the right to
produce a TV version if it seems to lend
itself to that medium.Years ago, a small
film, Moonrunners (1975), written and
directed by Gy Waldron, led to the suc-
cessful series, “The Dukes of Hazard,”
which Waldron created. Similarly, we
cannot forget the granddaddy of them
all,“M*A*S*H,” or “9 to 5” and “Buffy
the Vampire Slayer.” Also memorable are
a host of television failures such as
“Clueless,” “Dirty Dancing,” and the
big 2002–2003 failure of “My Big, Fat
Greek Life,” based on the surprise hit
independent movie, My Big, Fat Greek
Wedding.
Figure 2.3
ABC’s perennial
ratings workhorse,
The Ten
Commandments.
(Photo © ABC
Photography
Archives.)

Both the majors and the independents
(see the next section) borrow from them-
selves to develop new shows. Many
successful programs contain subsidiary
characters who have the potential to
carry a new program. Called spin-offs,
these shows are frequently scheduled
immediately following the parent
program to maintain continuity with
the established audience. “Laverne and
Shirley” was spun off from “Happy Days,”
which also spun off “Mork & Mindy.”“A
Different World” was spun off from “The
Cosby Show,” “Frasier” from “Cheers,”
and “The Ropers” from “Three’s
Company.” (Not all work: stars on one
show do not always succeed the next
time around. For example, look at the
victims of the so-called “Seinfeld” curse,
which predicts future failures for the
“Seinfeld” cast, such as Michael Richards
of “The Michael Richards Show,” Jason
Alexander of “Bob Patterson,” and Julia
Louis-Dreyfuss of “Watching Ellie.”)
In terms of successful spin-offs, few
can rival Dick Wolf’s “Law & Order,”
which spun off “Law & Order: Crimi-
nal Intent” and “Law & Order: Special
Victims Unit.” In 2002–2003, CBS spun
off “CSI: Miami” and in 2004–2005,
“CSI: New York” from the Jerry
Bruckheimer series “CSI: Crime Scene
Investigation,” a surprise success for
CBS, which had expected “The
Fugitive,” not “CSI,” to dominate. “The
Fugitive” failed and “CSI” went on to
monster-hit status.
INDEPENDENT PRODUCTION
COMPANIES
Until deregulation, independent pro-
duction companies were a prolific
source of shows. Known as indies, these
are usually small companies whose
owners frequently function as the chief
creative contributors. Indies such as the
one formed in 1970 by actress Mary
Tyler Moore and her then-husband
Grant Tinker made significant contribu-
tions to television. Named MTM, its
impressive credits include “The Mary
Tyler Moore Show,” “Hill Street Blues,”
“St. Elsewhere,”“WKRP in Cincinnati,”
“The Bob Newhart Show,” “Lou
Grant,” “Phyllis,” and “Rhoda,” the last
three being spin-offs of “The Mary Tyler
Moore Show.”
Notable independents in the 1980s
and 1990s include Witt/Thomas/Harris,
who created “Soap,” “Empty Nest,” and
“The Golden Girls,” and the incredibly
successful team of Marcy Carsey and
Tom Werner. Former colleagues at ABC,
Carsey and Werner’s hits include “The
Cosby Show,” which sold into syndica-
tion with an initial offering of more
than $500 million;“A Different World”;
“Roseanne”; “That ’70s Show,” which
produced superstar Ashton Kutcher; and
“That ’80s Show” (once again, every-
thing cannot succeed).
Since the deregulation that culmi-
nated with the 1996 Telecommunica-
tions Act, however, it has become
increasingly difficult for indies to survive
as prolific suppliers. Because the broad-
casters can own the syndication rights,
indies often find it difficult to make a go
of it financially. Several years ago,Tinker,
independent producer and former
president of MTM, foresaw the diffi-
culties facing independent producers.
“I don’t know if the business even
exists anymore . . . in a way that I would
like to be in it,” he said in reference to
the already receding network audience,
the lower license fees granted to pro-
ducers, and the rising costs of produc-
tion. Add mergers, consolidation, and
the abolishment of fin-syn (see fin-syn
sidebar) and you have the bleak realities
that indies face.

Some independents have succeeded
in adapting to the changing climate.
Writer and producer Steven Bocho, for
one, has been consistently rewarded
with hefty development deals based on
his ability to generate quality shows
such as “NYPD Blue,” which provided
ABC with one of its highest-rated
shows year after year.
Robert Greenwald,a prolific producer
of long standing whose credits include
the groundbreaking telefilm “The
Burning Bed” (1984), about spousal
abuse, and “Blonde” (2001), based on
Joyce Carol Oates’s interpretation of the
life of Marilyn Monroe, said that for an
indie to survive it must explore creative
financial arrangements, such as previ-
ously untapped tax credits or filming in
different locales (Figure 2.4).
Greenwald notes that the syndication
and foreign markets have declined and
production costs have risen, yet license
fees have not. At one time, a producer
might have scoffed at the idea of simply
receiving a fee to produce a project,
insisting on some type of ownership to
cash in on syndication and foreign sales,
but that same producer might prefer
a fee to ownership in the post-1996
Telecommunications Act climate.
had been producing movies and tele-
vision series for many years. When
the Fox Broadcasting Company was
formed to distribute programs to inde-
pendent stations, the Fox production
company provided some of the pro-
gramming, as did other production
companies such as Columbia Pictures
(“Married . . . With Children”). In no
way did Fox want to lose out on the
money it was making from syndicating
its TV series, which included, among
others, the highly profitable “M*A*S*H.”
So Fox Broadcasting Company said it
was not a network. According to the
FCC rules, a network had to “deliver at
least 15 hours of programming a week
to at least 25 affiliates in 10 or more
states.” For several years, Fox kept its
program offerings below 15 hours.
Then in 1990, Fox decided it would like
to program 18.5 hours, so it petitioned
the FCC for a waiver from the fin-syn
rules. In a spirit of collegiality, it also
asked that NBC, CBS, and ABC be
given a “waiver.” Valenti and company
saw through this maneuver and quickly
objected. The FCC gave the waiver to
Fox but not to the other three.
“Wait a minute,” said the networks.
“This doesn’t seem fair.” The FCC,
tired of the bickering, told the networks
and the Hollywood community to hold
meetings on their own and come up
with a solution. “If you can’t agree,”
said the commissioners, “we’ll get back
into the fray and come up with some-
thing no one likes.” Truer words were
never spoken. The two sides stale-
mated, and, in April 1991, the FCC
came up with new rules, which, indeed,
no one liked.
Then the 1996 Telecommunications
Act abolished fin-syn, making things
more difficult for indies, particularly in
connection with syndication.
Figure 2.4
Robert Greenwald’s
production of “The
Audrey Hepburn
Story” starring
Jennifer Love
Hewitt was filmed
in Montreal.
(Globe Photos,
Inc.)

One specific adjustment Philip Klein-
bart, Greenwald’s producing partner, has
made is to pay more money to secure the
services of a star. He feels that the net-
works are more interested than ever in
star power.Thus, if the network says they
will pay no more than, say, $300,000 for
a star and the star’s representatives want
$350,000,Kleinbart may step up to cover
the difference.This is not something he
would have done previously. In the past,
he would have simply “moved on,” but
that is no longer possible because a
backup star may not have the pull to
interest investors and the networks in
paying for the movie to be made. The
whole endeavor and the costs of devel-
opment up to that point may be lost.
Randy Robinson, whose company,
Randwell Productions, produced “Pro-
foundly Normal” (2003) with Kirstie
Alley, has survived in a down market by
keeping a “tight focus.” He does not go
after everything hoping that something
“will stick.” After some 20 years in the
business, he also knows the kinds of proj-
ects the networks will develop as opposed
to the kinds of projects the networks will
make and air. Thus, Robinson will not
pursue stories he believes will not be pro-
duced. He notes that some producers
have numerous projects in development,
priding themselves on having “30” proj-
ects in development, whereas he concen-
trates on a few projects that he knows
have a good chance of being made. This
philosophy keeps him focused, enabling
him to keep his overhead under control.
Robinson has carved out a niche
making movies that are “slightly outside
the box.”Therefore, he is often called by
executives who steer him into key proj-
ects. For example, he was once con-
tacted by an executive at CBS who told
him he wanted to “gift him into” a
project because of his reputation as a
niche supplier. Robinson does double
duty: he develops and he is on the set
every day unlike producers who are
either creative producers (development
only) or physical producers (involved in
production on the set). These factors
enable Randwell to survive.
Clearly, Jerry Bruckheimer is one
of the most successful independent pro-
ducers working in television in the early
21st century. When this high-voltage
film producer with a knack for intuiting
what audiences want turned his atten-
tion to television, he and his producing
partner, Jonathan Littman, struck televi-
sion gold. In 2003, his series “CSI”
(Figure 2.5) was broadcast in 175 coun-
tries, becoming the most-watched tele-
vision program in the world. As a point
of comparison, at its height in the 1960s
and early 1970s,“Bonanza” aired in only
70 countries.1
According to Rich Bilotti, a media
analyst at Morgan Stanley,“CSI” in 2003
supplied more than 24% of CBS’s total
Figure 2.5
A photo of the
phenomenally
successful “CSI,”
one of Jerry
Bruckheimer’s
television hits.
(Globe Photos,
Inc.)

profit from prime-time programming,
about $259 million.2
When CBS
launched the spin-off “CSI: Miami” in
2003, the results were again impressive,
making it the most highly rated new
show of the season. In addition,
Bruckheimer’s “Without a Trace” and
“Cold Case” both served CBS well,
clearly establishing Bruckheimer as the
producer of the moment.
In cable, few producers have achieved
the success of Tom Hanks and his
company. His Emmy wins for both
“From the Earth to the Moon” (Figure
2.6) and “Band of Brothers” attest to
how high a bar he has established,
helping HBO to have a near-lock on
high caliber longform programming.
The producing team of Robert Green-
blatt and David Janollari also had great
success on cable with another award-
winning HBO program, “Six Feet
Under.”
When it comes to public television,
the indies, as well as the majors, have
little involvement. The structure and
programming needs of public television
are so different from the commercial
and cable outlook that production com-
panies do not really fit in.
There are, however, some companies
(most of them nonprofit) that supply
shows to public broadcasting. One of
them, Children’s Television Workshop,
started in the late 1960s, is in a class by
itself. This organization, which has pro-
duced such highly acclaimed children’s
series as “Sesame Street,” “Electric
Company,” and “3-2-1 Contact,” is sep-
arate from PBS but is so closely tied to
it that it could not exist in its present
form without the public TV structure.
A newer production company, Ken
Burns Enterprises, has supplied public
television with some highly rated docu-
mentary series, including “The Civil
Figure 2.6
“From the Earth
to the Moon”
demonstrated
HBO’s hold on
quality longform
programming.
(Photo courtesy
the Academy of
Television Arts &
Sciences.)

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“These notes are perhaps not conclusive, yet they have established in my own mind that
the negro in Cuba is not an idler or a clog on industrial progress. He will do his part in
rebuilding the industries of the Island, and no capitalist need fear to engage in enterprises
because of an indefinite fear regarding negro labour. In the country, for a time, the black
labourers may be in the majority. That is one of the results of the reconcentration. The
blacks stood it better than the whites, and relatively a larger number of them are left for the
work in the fields. When the present conditions are improved the question will arise over
the immigration of labour. No need for discussing it has yet arisen. The leading blacks are
opposed to the wholesale negro immigration to Cuba, and the mass of their people
apparently agree with them.
“On its political side the black population of Cuba has a definite status. Social equality
does not exist, but social toleration prevails. There is no colour line. Visitors to the Island
invariably remark this fact. In places in the interior I have seen the coloured serving-
woman occupying a box at the theatre with the family, and no one seemed to be the worse
for it. The custom is not general, yet the toleration of the white and black races is strong
enough for an incident of this kind to pass without notice. I have heard Americans say it
won’t do at all after the Island is Americanised. One ambitious young fellow from a
Southern State said to me that he was going back because the coloured race occupied too
prominent a place in Cuba. He did not speak with bitterness or intolerance. He had been
brought up under different conditions and felt that he would not be in harmony with such
surroundings. Those who feel as he does had better stay away.
“The part taken in the insurrection by the blacks has unquestionably strengthened their
future influence. In order to depreciate the white Cubans the Spaniards were in the habit of
giving all the credit for the warfare of the bush to the black insurgents. Some Americans
have thereby been led into error. When the insurrection began the population of the Island
was about two-thirds white and one-third black. That proportion was maintained among the
insurgent troops. In some of the regiments more than one-half were black, but in others
they did not amount to twenty per cent. In the beginning Maceo drew a large following in
the eastern provinces, and this was almost entirely of blacks.
“When the insurrection spread over the entire Island the disproportion between the two
races was removed. Many of the officers among the insurgents to-day are blacks. They
have few officers of the higher rank, because most of these were killed. Of all the insurgent
generals who are seen in Havana—and there is a legion of them—the one who attracts the
most attention from Americans is General Ducasse. He is a mulatto, and was educated, I
think, at the French military school of St. Cyr. A brother, more famous than he, was killed
during the last year of the insurrection in Pinar del Rio Province. This General Ducasse is
of polished manners and undeniable force of character. A few weeks ago I read an address
of his to the black insurgents, in which he counselled them with moderation, and impressed
on them the duty of preparing for their new responsibilities.
“These coloured Cubans have at no time been clamorous for recognition. They seem
disposed to ask less than is due them. At least they are not forward in their demands. Back
of all this is a consciousness of their own strength. In the States a jovial piece of advice

used to be given the negroes—‘Don’t hit the white man, but if you do hit him, hit hard.’
Such advice would be unnecessary in Cuba. It is not probable that a temporary influx of
Americans with inherited race prejudices will ever succeed in creating a colour line in
political affairs. If that should happen the black Cuban would not need to be advised about
hitting the white man hard. He would hit both hard and quick, and it would be a long time
before Anglo-Saxon civilisation recovered from the blow and proved its superiority.
Fortunately, this is never likely to happen. The black man will share the future of Cuba
with the white man.
“The race has far more than its proportion of criminals. Some tendencies toward
retrogression have to be watched. But in the midst of many discouraging circumstances the
unprejudiced student must recognise the great advance that has been made. When Cuba has
a system of common schools the advance will be greater. What is significant in the present
is that the black man has been doing very well. He will continue to do well, and even
better, if too many people do not stay up nights worrying other people with their fears of
the future.”

U
CHAPTER VIII
SANITARY WORK IN CUBA
NDERLYING the prosperity and happiness of the people of any country is
health, for without it there can be no strength, no energy, no success,
even if all other conditions be favourable. This is true of every section
of the world, and is notably true of Cuba, which with almost every
advantage that nature could bestow has ever been feared for its malarious
diseases, the fatal typhus, and the dreaded “yellow jack,” which
acknowledges no master save the frost. For years the world has quarantined
against Havana, and other cities have drawn away from this sister in the
tropics as from one plague-stricken. Yet this condition is not of nature’s
making, but of man’s, and by man shall it be changed into something better.
Spain in herself was a tyrant contagion and everything she touched became
diseased and rotten to its vitals. And this terrible condition was not only
physical, but moral, for moral uncleanness is sure always to follow physical
uncleanness. This truth constitutes a corollary out of which has grown the
maxim, “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.”
The first consideration, then, with the American authorities who have
undertaken to clean Spain’s Augean Stables in Cuba is sanitation; and
already the best thought and knowledge and experience we have are being
brought to bear upon the stupendous task before us.

STREET VIEW, SANTIAGO DE CUBA.
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY J. F. COONLEY, NASSAU, N. P.
As has been stated, Cuba is not naturally unhealthful for a hot, wet
country; and among the mountains in its interior and in many places along
the coasts, removed from the filthiness of aggregated population, the
average mortality is not higher than it is in lands of better repute for
healthfulness, and the general health is quite as good. As might be expected,
there is not that strength and robustness of physique characterising the
people of the higher latitudes, nor is the climate conducive to the pink-and-
white health of northerners; but though the people are less rugged of
constitution and frame and lungs, and lack the outward signs of northern
health, they are by no means constant subjects for physicians’ care and they
are anything but chronic candidates for the cemetery. Even in the nasty
cities they are not all so, for there are many who are able to have their own
houses well located, and to adopt modern methods of sanitation for their
own private use. But the public health is not considered of importance, and
there is not a city in Cuba which is not wofully lacking in good water, good
drainage, and good health. One or two towns, which in America would have

a contagion flag run up over them, are so much cleaner than the average
that in every description of them by any writer appears the statement that
they are said to be the cleanest towns in Cuba. It may be said in this
connection that the towns are not large.
Beginning with Havana, the capital of the country and the largest city in
it, the stories of its great filthiness can scarcely be believed by those who
have seen the place upon the surface and moved about in beautiful parks, in
brilliant cafés, on the lovely drives, and elsewhere, among pleasure-loving
people, all clothed in their clean white suits and smoking their dainty
cigarettes. Yet Havana is viler than words can express; and the vileness has
slopped over until her harbour is a veritable cesspool, whose waters are
deadly, and whose bottom is so covered with filth that ships will not drop
their anchors in it, because it is necessary to clean and disinfect them before
they can be taken on board. Havana has been in Spain’s possession for four
hundred years, and that harbour is a typical result of Spain’s good
government. In the city itself the poor people are huddled in ill-built houses
—there are only about eighteen thousand houses in the entire place—more
densely than in any city of the world, on narrow streets without sewerage,
upon the surface of which garbage and all kinds of refuse are thrown. No
attention is paid to ventilation. The houses are built so low that the floors
rest upon the soft, damp—in many places swampy—ground; the material is
a porous conglomerate which absorbs moisture as a sponge does. Sinks are
totally inadequate or absent. Water is not sufficiently supplied, and there is
scarcely any effort by the authorities to exercise that care and provision for
the public well-being which is characteristic of every properly governed
city in the world. As an indication of what might be expected from such a
condition of affairs the following table, prepared for American officials by
the Havana Department of Sanitation showing the number of deaths for the
first eleven months of 1898, is cited:
January 1,081
February 1,518
March 1,500
April 1,411
May 1,298
June 1,129
July 1,381

August 1,975
September 2,390
October 2,249
November 1,828
Total 17,760
And this out of a population of about 200,000, in which there were only
a few, if any, reconcentrados to starve to death. During this period there
were only 2,224 births, showing a net loss of 14,336, or about seven per
cent. of the population; a condition of health which would produce a panic
in a northern city as soon as the figures were known. Speaking of these
figures, Captain Davis, who has been inspecting hospitals, prisons, and
public buildings under General Greene, says:

“Vienna, with its million and a half of population, has been called the pest-hole of
Europe, because of its death-rate of more than twenty-five to the thousand; yet Havana,
with less than one-sixth of its population, has more deaths in one month than Vienna in
twelve. The deaths this year in Havana will outnumber those in Chicago by probably five
thousand, and will exceed the totals of Boston, St. Louis, Baltimore, and San Francisco
combined.”
New York City at this rate would have a death-roll of 270,000 a year and
London 450,000, and the deaths in the United States, which are now about
1,000,000 a year, would be about 7,000,000. Of course the figures for 1898
are greatly in excess of other years, owing to the war and the generally
disturbed condition of affairs, but even in the healthiest years the death-rate
was two or three times greater than the average of other cities.
The leading diseases are consumption, a common disease in hot, wet
countries; diarrhœa, dysentery, cholera infantum, and fevers, worst of which
is the yellow fever, which is present in Havana every month of the year,
although much worse at certain times than at others. It is said that portions
of Havana are permanently infected by yellow-fever germs, but Surgeon-
General Sternberg, Dr. Wyman, Supervising Surgeon-General of the Marine
Hospital Service, and other authorities say that by proper sanitary
regulations and careful quarantining, the city may be made free of the
disease and kept so, as is the case in Jamaica, where the English have had
control for years. The work of sanitation will be difficult and expensive, and
years will be required to accomplish it, but it must be done before Havana’s
future is assured. Sewers are few and far between, and those which exist are
filled with refuse from the streets and are never cleaned, as the odours that
rise from them constantly most disagreeably testify. They empty into the
bay. Most of the drainage is surface, and as the city lies so low that a heavy
wind across the waters of the bay will inundate many of the streets, it will
be understood that the drainage is sluggish, and that what should be carried
off by water is usually left to be rotted and dried by the sun—except in the
rainy season, when it rots without drying. Much of the lower part of the city
is built on swamp and “made-land,” and what this means for the health of
those who live upon it needs no elucidation.
The following statement, made by José M. Yzquierdo, civil engineer, of
Havana, under date of September 28, 1898, will throw some light upon
street-sweeping contracts in Havana, show why the work cannot be

properly done, and also indicate the part that the city authorities have
always taken in the good cause:
“I now have the contract for cleaning the streets and have been connected with the city
government a long time. The present system of cleaning the streets is a combination of old
and new. When I took up the work about five years ago, I ascertained that the system was
very deficient, so I went to New York and studied up the matter. To begin with, the
pavements were very bad. The automatic street-sweepers cannot be used to advantage,
though I have two sweeping-machines. At night time my people go out with the sweeping-
machines and a sprinkler and clean the streets, and from there the dirt is taken to the
railroad cars and from the station about nine miles from here, and there I do some business
with it; that is, I make a kind of fertilizer. I employ 230 men. We have no furnace to burn
up the garbage. I am now going to make a proposition to the city council to clean the cities
for the same price and use crematories, doing it on the American plan. For cleaning the city
I am to be paid $2350.50 weekly, but I do not get the money; they owe me $180,000. A
year or two ago, by giving ten per cent. to the city mayors, etc., I collected $20,000 in one
week. Immediately after I got the contract the aldermen called upon me and directed my
attention to certain articles in it, so that I finally had to take these aldermen into partnership
in order to collect the money.
WATERMAN IN THE COUNTRY.

“I have also had the slaughter-house privilege. I paid the city council $800,000 per year
for the privilege of collecting the slaughter-house taxes, and one year I collected nearly
$880,000, out of which, of course, I had to pay my men. This has fallen off a great deal. To
slaughter cattle, you have to pay 4½ cents per kilo, $1 per head for the corral, $1.25 to kill
and dress it, and then 50 cents to take it to the market. The present slaughter-house is a new
one, and not very efficient at present, but it could be made into a good one. All the refuse
from the slaughter-house now goes into the bay.”
What is true of Havana is true in lesser degree of the other cities and
towns of the Island, the degree being governed chiefly by the difference in
size; the larger the town, the nastier it is.
Cienfuegos, which, by the way, is the most promising town in the Island,
in the commercial sense, is notoriously ill policed, and is a sprouting-
ground for all manner of diseases. A report dated November 21, 1898, made
by D. E. Dudley, Sanitary Inspector, U.S.M.H.S., notes the fact that its
elevation above sea-level is only about eight feet and it is surrounded by a
belt of lowlands from eight to ten miles wide. The streets are seventy feet
wide, unclean, and out of repair, and in the wet season are fields of nasty
mud. There are three sewers, one from the Hotel Union, and another from
buildings in the same block, and the third and only public sewer is from the
Civil Hospital. The first two of these sewers empty into the bay at the
steamer wharf, about two feet above the water-line, and when the wind is in
the right direction the gases and vile odours are blown back into the
buildings, filling them with stenches. The Hotel Union, the Charity
Hospital, and a few private dwellings have modern water-closets, but
elsewhere over the city the houses have shallow privy sinks, which are
emptied at night and the contents dumped against the cemetery walls.
Around the cemetery is also the dumping-ground for garbage, dead animals,
and all the refuse of the city, the disposal of which is not under any especial
authority. This dumping-ground is a mile and a half from the Hotel Union.
Dr. Dudley says:
“Here in this garbage reservation can be seen large numbers of buzzards, feasting on
dead horses or dogs, or perched on the cemetery walls, waiting for fresh consignments.
Extensive lagoons and lakes of fœcal matter taken from privy vaults lie spread upon the
ground. A small section of this reservation faces the bay, and here the collector of the
garbage has his living-quarters, in an old tumble-down hut.
“The only cemetery is situated a mile and a half from the heart of the city. It is
surrounded by a wall twelve feet high, which furnishes vault room. The cemetery is very
small and the section reserved for paupers is more than overcrowded. During my visit ten

graves were being dug. By actual measurement I found these graves three feet in depth.
Coffins are loaned by the municipalities to paupers, and the bodies alone are buried. In
these pauper graves three bodies are buried, one over the other; and then, in less than one
year’s time, they are reopened and made ready for new bodies. Portions of skeletons were
thrown out of each of the ten graves I saw. In consideration of a dollar, a grave was opened
for me, and I counted four skulls. In closing up the graves, these bones are packed around
the new bodies. As a rule the topmost corpse is so near the surface that the earth has to be
banked up a foot in order completely to cover it.
“Water.—This is one of the most serious problems which confront the municipal
authorities of this city, and one of much concern to us, if American troops are to be
quartered there. The supply is absolutely inadequate to the demands of the city. The hotels
and a few residences have cement cisterns built in the ground and use rain-water; but the
chief supply comes from a small (and said to be badly polluted) stream, the Jicotea River, a
small branch of the Cannau. The water is pumped into two aqueducts; the principal one,
which is called after the Jicotea River, holds four hundred thousand litres; a smaller one,
the Bouffartique, holds three hundred thousand litres. Pipes from these two aqueducts run
through a few of the streets, above ground, alongside the curbing. The gates are open only
two hours daily. The hospitals use this water, after boiling. As a remedy for this condition, I
am told, there was a project to bring water from a point twenty miles distant, from the falls
of the Hanabanilla River, 1200 feet above the sea. Absolute freedom from pollution was
claimed. It was abandoned on account of the war. The estimated cost for this work was
$1,000,000. The Jicotea aqueduct is simply a large open cistern, built of rock and cement,
attached to a brick building in which the Spanish quartermaster has his stores. There are
about two hundred wells in the city, but infected, the privy sinks being within a few feet.
“Quarantine.—At a point nine miles from the city, on the western shore, I found, in my
opinion, an ideal location for a quarantine station. The place, the Concha, owned by the
Marquis de Apezteguia as a winter resort, can be purchased. The palace, built on a terrace
near the water’s edge, was burned by the insurgent forces. A pier thirty to fifty feet can be
built so that steamers can have eight fathoms of water. An island about one-half a mile
distant could be used, and a hospital for infectious and contagious diseases built.
“In concluding this report I wish to call your attention to the probability of an extensive
spread of smallpox in the interior. At a town eight hours’ ride from Habana to Colon, I saw
beggars convalescent from smallpox.”
During the first ten months in 1898 the total number of deaths in
Cienfuegos was 3626, out of a population which before the war was 21,500;
adding soldiers and reconcentrados, it might be said to be 25,000, and at
these figures a monthly death-rate of 362 is something fearful to
contemplate. Estimating the deaths for a year at 4144, we have a rate of 166
per 1000. In the ten years ending December 31, 1889, reported by Dr. Luis
Perna, over fifty per cent. of the deaths were from infectious and contagious

diseases due almost entirely to bad or no sanitation. During the same year
the births exceeded the deaths by 1982, a much better showing than in
Havana, the difference there being 12,433 against the population in four
years, and in Matanzas, 2397 lost in eight years.
Of the effect of proper sanitary regulations and personal attention on
tuberculosis, Dr. Perna says:
“There can be no doubt that the ravages of tuberculosis could be materially arrested by
compliance with the laws of hygiene. Infractions of civil law may or may not be punished,
but infractions of the laws of hygiene are inevitably paid for sooner or later. In combating
tuberculosis we must consider the air we breathe, the food we eat, the roof that covers us,
and the clothes we wear. The disease should be recognised as contagious. Phthisical
patients should be kept in well-ventilated apartments; sputa should be disinfected, and
clothing and utensils used by such patients should be disinfected.”
Matanzas is situated on high ground, with the rivers San Juan and
Yumuri running through it, and the natural facilities for drainage are
excellent; but only two streets have sewers, and these drains have few or no
connections with buildings. The water supply is of excellent quality, from
springs seven miles away; but only two thousand of the five thousand
houses take it, and the majority of the people prefer to buy water from street
vendors, who are quite as likely to get it from fever-infected wells as
elsewhere. There are public fountains, but those who need Cuban water
most are too lazy to carry it home. Privies and sinks are more numerous
than modern closets, and are handled as elsewhere, with the usual results.
The streets are narrow (thirty feet wide), dirty, and unpaved; in the wet
season they are vile. The houses are built of porous stone, which absorbs
the dampness; the floors, laid on the ground, are overflowed by the rains,
and their smell at all times is difficult to describe and dangerous to health.
The deaths per year for 1895 were 1465, with a nominal population of
50,000, although it was cut to 35,000 by the insurrection; in 1896, 2399; in
1897, 6795; and in 1898, to September, 3901—which fearful figures may
be accounted for by the fact that Matanzas was the centre for
reconcentrados, and they died like sheep—eighty per cent. of them from
starvation. The only disinfection that could reach this condition was applied
to Spain by the United States, and there will never be any more epidemics
of starvation in Cuba, or any more reconcentrados, for that matter. But even
without her reconcentrado population, Matanzas is no health resort, and the
cleansing hand must be applied to her early and rigorously.

MARIANAO WATER VENDOR
Cardenas, a city of twenty thousand people, more or less, is set down in
the midst of a swamp, rarely more than ten feet above sea-level, and oftener
only three or four. Its narrow streets are lacking in pavements or sewers.
Lying contiguous to the south-east side of the city are more than thirty
thousand acres of swamp, a fecund breeding-ground for typhus-and yellow-
fever germs. Twenty years ago a commission was appointed to inquire into
the construction of a canal to drain this swamp into the Anton River, but at
this present date no canal is in sight, and the fever germs go merrily on in
their work of supplying the cemeteries with subjects. The water supply is
good, but many of the people prefer to buy dangerous well-water from
street vendors, because of its cheapness. At Cape Hicacos, near Cardenas,
are extensive salt-pits, the chlorides of which are supposed to act as a
disinfectant, and that immediate locality is said to be the most healthful
along the coast.
Puerto Principe, a town of forty thousand inhabitants, the largest of the
inland cities, is situated on high ground, well watered and well drained, and
though antiquated and utterly lacking in modern conveniences or sanitary

regulations, as they are known among northern people, is so much more
healthful than other Cuban towns as to warrant a milder animadversion than
in the case of others. Yellow fever is only known sporadically, if at all, and
contagion and infection are so much less flourishing than in the coast towns
that Puerto Principe seems positively healthful in comparison, albeit in an
American community the condition of the city would warrant the
impeachment of any board of health having control of its sanitation.
Santiago de Cuba, with a population of, say forty thousand, is next to
Havana in importance among the cities of Cuba, and has been accumulating
filth since 1514, when the first Spaniards settled there. Just what nearly four
hundred years of Spanish sanitation means is better imagined than
experienced. Moreover, its location is down among hills which shut off the
breeze, and in summer the city becomes intolerably hot and dangerous to
health. It is situated on a hillside, with a landlocked bay before it, removed
from all sea or coast currents, and for 384 years the drainage of the town—
not by sewers, for they do not exist—has gone into this bay, until its bottom
and waters are vile beyond expression. In the city itself filth everywhere
prevails—or did prevail until the United States authorities took charge,
since which time Governor Wood and his assistants have done an amount of
cleaning up that is as wholesome as it is difficult to accomplish. This work
has been so vigorously prosecuted and the results so beneficial that a
chapter has been devoted to the subject. It is said that in time man may
become accustomed to any condition of life, and the dozen generations of
Santiagoans seem to have got used to their town, for its ordinary death-rate
was but 29.8 per 1000, with an increase to 33 to 35 when yellow fever or
smallpox became more violent than usual. In 1895 the death-rate went up to
51.2 per 1000, and in 1896 to 82.77. Four thousand people died in that year,
and this is the last record known. This large increase was due to the
presence of unacclimated troops from Spain, and though it may explain the
high death-rate, it scarcely can excuse a sanitary condition which is so fatal
to Spanish soldiers, who have had experience with Spanish sanitary
regulations in their own country until they ought to be almost used to it. In
1896 there were 372 deaths from yellow fever and 509 from smallpox.
Santiago has one inventive sanitarian in the person of Dr. Garcia, who, five
years ago, devised a “cold box” for the case of yellow-fever patients. As is
known, the frost will kill the germs of yellow fever; and as natural frost is
impossible in Cuba Dr. Garcia hit upon the idea of producing artificial cold.

His device is simple enough. The main feature is a small house, say five
feet by seven, and six feet high, which is practically a refrigerator, with
double roof and walls for packing the ice. A window is put in for light, and
the patient is laid in his bed in a temperature of about freezing. He has no
attendants inside, except when needed, and he is watched through the
window. This method usually kills or cures the patient in from twelve to
thirty-six hours. At first the box was not successful, for condensation
practically drowned the patient out; but that was remedied by draining the
water off. There is a great difference of opinion in relation to the efficacy of
this treatment; some physicians entirely disapproving it, while others as
strongly recommend it.
What may be done for the proper sanitary regulation of Santiago is a
serious problem, as, owing to the distance from the sea and the landlocked
character of the bay, the sewage, which may be easily drained down the
sloping streets of the town, is bound to remain near the shore. For the
present, Major Barbour, Superintendent of the Santiago Street Department,
disposes of the sewage by sprinkling it with petroleum and burning it.
Manzanillo, population nine thousand, with a large and beautiful military
plaza, has filthy streets and no public improvements of any kind looking to
the health or comfort of the people; and the people seem to like it. The
streets are unpaved, and Manzanillo mud is an alliterative term which has
become a household word for the nastiest mud on the Island. The town is
twenty feet above the bay, with hills to the rear, and near it are great
swamps filled with mosquitoes and malaria, which spread themselves
abroad in every direction.
Guantanamo, population nine thousand, seven miles inland, one hundred
and fifteen feet above the bay of the same name, is situated on the river
Guaso, and might be easily and thoroughly drained; but no efforts have
been made in that direction, and malaria and fevers prevail. With any kind
of decent care, the city could be made as healthful as any in the same
latitude.
Pinar del Rio, the capital of its province, with 5500 population, is
situated 25 miles from the sea, 160 feet above it, and on a hill 70 feet high.
It is in the midst of the famous Vuelta Abajo tobacco district, and it might
be made a clean town; but its streets are narrow and filthy, its people are a

mixture of French and African, and it is a reflection on the great American
Republic, in that it was founded in 1776.
Batabano, the southern seaport of Havana, thirty miles away, in its
narrow, dirty streets presents a condition of neglect and nastiness suggesting
that it is also a receptacle for the surplus refuse of the capital.
Guanabacoa, a high and beautifully located city of twenty-five thousand
people, just outside of Havana, several degrees cooler than the capital city,
in the midst of pleasant breezes and cool groves, has narrow, filthy streets,
no pavements, no public improvements, small houses with no modern
conveniences, huddled together, and is a dozen times worse than if nature
had not done so much for it.
Güines and Marianao are so much cleaner and sweeter than any other
towns as to make one wonder why they are the exception instead of the
rule.
Possibly it is hardly fair to call attention to or animadvert upon the
sanitary regulations and conditions of Santa Clara, an inland city and capital
of Santa Clara Province, seeing that in ten and a half months of 1897 there
were over one hundred thousand deaths in the province, of which nearly
one third occurred in Santa Clara district. These were chiefly
reconcentrados, and show that there are some things Spanish even worse
than Spanish sanitation. The town has a population of twenty thousand, is
situated in a healthful locality, and while little has been done toward public
health, there is no yellow fever.
As with the cities and towns above mentioned, with the two exceptions
named, so of all Cuban aggregations of population. Everywhere there is
ignorance, carelessness, filth, disease, and death, and only education, care,
and time can remedy the evil. It may not, cannot be that Cuba will ever
enjoy the robuster health of the north, but she can be clean, and to that end
must every ability of knowledge, labour, and means be directed, not only by
those who are in authority, but by those whose direct welfare is at stake.
Outside of the cities, conditions prevail which will be more difficult, if
not in many cases impossible, to remedy. Much of the Island along the
coasts is swampy; there malaria and fevers breed, and these sections, if not
capable of drainage, must be deserted by man, and left to the alligators,
toads, and lizards. Many of the swamps may be drained and the land
converted into fields yielding rich harvests; these should be given the

proper attention. In many places the tropical forests are of such dense and
tangled growth that no sunlight ever penetrates them, and here, after
nightfall, deadly miasmas arise, full of poison and disease. Vast areas of
such forests are filled with valuable timber, and when these woods are
cleared and converted into money, and the sunlight can get in and exercise
its saving grace upon the land, a wonderful improvement will follow.
Back from the coasts, particularly in the eastern part of the Island, the
land is high and well drained, with mountains in some portions rising from
five thousand to eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. While the
heat and humidity incidental to the latitude prevail all over the Island, they
are much less in the uplands than along the coast, and the climate for half
the year is very agreeable and the air has a brilliant clearness that has
become famous. Over all these lands there should be in the future a
population which should develop into a contradiction of the tradition that
the people of the tropics live because they are too lazy to die.

T
CHAPTER IX
CITIES AND TOWNS OF CUBA
HE political divisions of Cuba, known as provinces, are six in number,
and are named as follows, beginning at the west: Pinar del Rio, Havana,
Matanzas, Santa Clara, Puerto Principe, and Santiago de Cuba; the
capital city of each bearing the same name as its province.
Of the provinces it may be said that Pinar del Rio, with an area of 8486
square miles, has a population of 225,891 (167,160 white and 58,731
black), and is the centre of the tobacco industry, the famous Vuelta Abajo
district lying within its limits; sugar, coffee, rice, corn, cotton, and fruits are
also raised. Havana, with an area of 8610 square miles, has a population of
451,928 (344,417 white and 107,511 black). It is the centre of manufacture,
the capital province, and the most populous province of the Island.
Matanzas, with an area of 14,967 square miles, has a population of 259,578
(143,169 white and 115,409 black), and is the centre of the sugar industry;
corn, rice, honey, wax, and fruits are produced and the province contains a
deposit of peat and copper. Santa Clara, with an area of 23,083 square
miles, has a population of 354,122 (244,345 white and 109,777 black), and
it is rich in sugar, fruits, and minerals, including gold deposits in the Arino
River. Puerto Principe, with an area of 32,341 square miles, has a
population of 67,789 (54,232 white and 13,557 black), and is a
mountainous region, with the largest caves and the highest mountains;
building and cabinet woods and guava jelly are its chief products. Santiago
de Cuba, with an area of 35,119 square miles, the largest of the provinces,
has a population of 272,379 (57,980 white and 114,399 black), and not only
possesses all the agricultural products found in the other provinces, but also
has deposits of gold, iron, copper, zinc, asphalt, manganese, mercury,
marble and alabaster, rock crystal, and gems, and its commerce is most
extensive.

SQUARE IN FRONT OF GOVERNOR’S PALACE AT SANTIAGO DE CUBA.
There are 115 cities and towns in the Island having an estimated
population of 200 and upwards named as follows:
Cities Population Cities Population
Havana 200,000 Macurijes 4,100
Matanzas 50,000 Bayamo 3,634
Puerto Principe 40,679 San Luis 3,556
Santiago de Cuba 40,000 San Cristobal 3,522
Cienfuegos 25,790 Guira de Melena 3,500
Guanabacoa 25,000 Morón 3,017
Santa Clara 24,635 La Cruces 3,000
Cardenas 20,505 Alfonso XII 3,000
Trinidad 18,000 Arroyo Navanijo 3,000
Sancti Spiritu 17,540 Sabanillo del Encomendador 2,991
Sagua la Grande 14,000 Palmira 2,987
Regla 10,486 Guanajayabo 2,879
Manzanillo 9,036 Nueva Paz 2,737
Guantanamo 9,000 Alquizar 2,700
San Antonio de las Baños 7,500 San Felipe 2,311

San Juan de los Remedios 7,230 San Juan de las Yeras 2,267
San Fernando de Nuevitas 6,991 Jaruco 2,200
San Julian de los Guines 6,828 San Jose de las Lajas 2,170
Colón 6,525 La Esperanza 2,147
Bejucal 6,239 San Juan y Martinez 2,100
Jorellanos (Bemba) 6,000 Corral Nuevo 2,092
Santiago de las Vegas 6,000 Consolacion del Sur 2,000
Guanajay 6,000 Guines 2,000
Pinar del Rio 5,500 Santa Cruz 2,000
Holguin 5,500 Quemados de Guines 2,000
Caibarien 5,500 Quivican 1,950
Baracoa 5,213 Bahia Honda 1,889
Guira 5,000 Batabano 1,864
La Isabela 5,000 Bolondron 1,758
Artemisa 5,000 Santa Domingo 1,750
Santa Isabel de las Lajas 4,924 Mariel 1,637
Guana 4,650 Cuevitas 1,629
Gibara 4,608 Cervantes 1,560
Macagua 4,100 Ranchuelo 1,533
Cabañas 1,509 Managua 896
San Antonio de Cabezas 1,500 Ceiba del Agua 892
Zaza 1,500 Roque 800
Calaboya 1,500 Salud 800
Cartagena 1,497 Canasi 700
Calabazar 1,481 Caney 700
Palmillas 1,471 Jibacos 696
Aguacate 1,427 Cidra 695
San Diego del Valle 1,403 Vereda Nueva 672
Jiguani 1,393 Santa Maria del Rosario 660
Mantua 1,380 Rancho Velez 656
Cayajabos 1,352 Santa Ana 601
Marianao 1,225 San Jose de los Remos 570
San Antonio de Rio Blanco del Norte 1,200 Lagunillas 520
Candelaria 1,200 Guane 510
Ciego de Avila 1,167 San Matias de Rio Blanco 400
Catalina 1,165 Alto Songo 400

San Antonio de las Vegas 1,136 Limonar 330
Tapaste 1,130 Amaro 320
San Nicolas 1,100 San Miguel 300
Melena del Sur 1,082 Madruga 300
Santa Cruz del Sur 1,000 Cimarrones 300
Bainoa 1,000 Mangar 209
Sagua de Tanamo 981 La Boca 200
Vinales 925 Alonso Rojos 200
In addition to these are 132 places with less than 200 population,
including railroad stations, bathing and health resorts, and farm hamlets.
As will be observed by the student of municipal nomenclature, the
Spanish were liberal to Cuba in christening the towns in the Island, however
parsimonious the mother country was in respect of all other things; and
many Cuban towns have more name than anything else. The oldest town is
Baracoa, in the province of Santiago de Cuba. It was laid out in 1512. Its
chief products are bananas, cocoa, and cocoa oil, and there are some
remarkable caves near by, noted for beautiful stalactites and well preserved
fossil human remains.
The largest city in the Island is Havana, the capital, to which a chapter is
devoted elsewhere in this volume.

A MULE TRAIN, SANTIAGO DE CUBA.
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY J. F. COONLEY, NASSAU, N. P.
Matanzas, in size the second city of the Island, and the capital of the
province of Matanzas, is, in some particulars, the most attractive city of
Cuba, although but one-fourth the size of Havana. It lies seventy-four miles
by rail to the east of Havana, on the fine bay of Matanzas, with beautiful
hills at its back. The town is divided into three parts by the rivers San Juan
and Yumuri, two streams which water the valley of Yumuri, situated behind
the hills of Matanzas, and presenting the most exquisite scenery in Cuba.
The climate and soil of the valley make Yumuri, to Cubans, synonymous
with poesy and Paradise. Notwithstanding the commercial importance of
Matanzas, the Spanish authorities have neglected the wharves and permitted
its harbour to become so filled with sediment from the river that ships are
compelled to load and unload by means of lighters in the roadstead. The
city was founded in 1693, and has paved streets, usually thirty feet in width,
with three-foot sidewalks; interesting stuccoed houses of two stories,
coloured drab and ochre, with balconies; pleasant parks, with fountains and
flowers; a pleasure promenade and drive—the Paseo; one of the best hotels
in Cuba; several theatres, among them the Esteban; some notable churches,

including the Hermitage, on Mount Montserrat, at whose shrine marvellous
cures are said to be effected. The people are well content.
The leading industries are rum distilleries, sugar refineries, guava-jelly
factories, machine and railroad-car shops. Shipments of sugar and molasses
to the United States in 1891-95 were about $60,000,000. The city has gas-
works and an electric-light plant, but no street-cars, and since 1872 it has
had a fine water supply, though only about half the houses are connected
with the water system, and many of the people still buy water of street
vendors, without knowledge as to the source of supply or purity of the
water. Sewers run through only two streets, though the location of the city is
well adapted to secure excellent drainage. The suburbs, or rather divisions,
of the city by the river are known as Versailles, on the north-east, and to the
south-east, Pueblo Nuevo. Through the latter part of the city leads the road
to the famous caves of Bellamar, three and a half miles, where many
invalids resort for the health-giving qualities of the warm air of the caverns.
The most beautiful and striking feature of Matanzas is the cañon of the
Yumuri, a great gorge of perpendicular walls green-clad with tropical
vegetation through which the rivers of the Yumuri Valley flow down to the
sea. This is a constant resort for the pleasure-loving Matanzans, and they
thoroughly realise its beauty and value to the city. There are many
interesting drives and excursions by river and rail from Matanzas. The
waggon roads extending into the interior, as everywhere in Cuba, are in
wretched condition; the railroad connections by several routes are fairly
good, the roads being equipped with American-cars and engines. Its
population of fifty thousand is nominal, having been reduced about one-
third by the war.
The third city in the Island is Puerto Principe, capital of the province of
Puerto Principe, and known to the natives as Camagüey, the original name
of the town and province. It is forty-five miles from the south coast and
thirty-five from the north, although it is forty-five miles from its seaport,
Nuevitas, with which it is connected by its only railroad. It is located in the
midst of what once was the grazing district,—though the cattle are now
destroyed,—and being on a plain seven hundred feet above the sea it is a
healthful place. Camagüey is a back-number town, so to speak, having
narrow streets with narrow sidewalks, or none at all, old houses, old
fashions, and fewer foreigners than any of the other Cuban towns. It is
distinctively Cuban, and the new era of Cuba will no doubt work a long

time on the good people of Camagüey before they set aside the old things
and step out into the procession of progress, clothed in the uniforms of the
modern “hustlers.” In this city of over forty thousand people there is not a
hotel, and the inhabitants are noted for their hospitality.
Of great commercial significance is Cienfuegos, one of the south-coast
cities, and in some respects one of the best towns on the Island. It is situated
on the landlocked bay of Jagua, with one of the safest harbours in the
world, and though built only since 1819, and restored after a hurricane in
1825, it has developed a spirit of energy and progress rare in Cuban cities. It
has an extensive and growing commerce, with numerous wharves and piers
for its shipping; a railroad 190 miles to Havana and one to Sagua la Grande
on the north coast; electric lights and gas-works; 25,790 people; 3000 stone
and wooden houses; the famous Terry theatre and one of the finest plazas in
Cuba; a good location for drainage, but with stagnant water in the streets,
and no sewers; much bad health, and one of the finest opportunities on earth
to take advantage of the new order of things and convert its energy and
youth into a power that will make Cienfuegos the Chicago of Cuba. There is
one good hotel. The only serious strike that ever occurred in Cuba took
place in Cienfuegos among the longshoremen, and resulted in the sending
of all the recalcitrants by the authorities to the Isle of Pines as criminals.
The bay of Jagua is noted for its beautiful clear blue water with a bottom of
the whitest sand. The climate is more variable than that of Cuban coast
cities as a rule, the mercury marking as high as ninety-three degrees in
summer and going down into the fifties during the night in the rainy season.
The Cuban city held to be the most healthful, though sanitary regulations
are practically unknown, is Trinidad, in the province of Santa Clara. It is
also one of the oldest, having been founded by Diego Velasquez in 1514. It
is three miles in the interior from its seaport, Casilda, though coastwise
vessels of light draft can approach it by the river Guaurabo. The town has a
picturesque location, on the slope of La Vija (“Lookout”), a hill rising nine
hundred feet above the sea. The harbour of Casilda is three miles long by
one and a half miles wide, and has only about eleven feet of water. From
this bay Cortez sailed for Mexico. There are several fine public parks and
drives, and socially Trinidad in the winter season is one of the gayest cities
on the Island. It is lighted by gas, and though it has no sewers, its location is
such that the rains keep it washed clean. The population is eighteen
thousand. In good times Trinidad has shipped to the United States $903,700

worth of sugar, mahogany, coffee, and honey in one year, but times have
been poor in recent years, and Trinidad is one of the towns which will feel
the reviving effects of the new era of prosperity.
Santa Clara, the capital of the province of that name, has a population of
twenty-five thousand, and is popularly known as Villa Clara. It was founded
in 1689, and was once known for its great wealth and beautiful women; its
glory in this latter regard still continues. It has one excellent hotel, kept in
modern fashion, and a fine theatre. Its railway connections are excellent in
all directions; indeed, it is the terminus of the Cuban system of railways. It
is 248 miles by rail from Havana, and thirty miles from the north and forty
from the south coast. Its location is high, and a fine grazing country
surrounds it. Minerals also abound, and ten thousand tons of a fine
asphaltum have been shipped in a year. Silver yielding as much as $200 per
ton has been found, but the mines have not been worked. Evidences of
natural gas are present near the town. Santa Clara has wide streets, and
despite its healthful location, it is, by reason of poor or no sanitary
regulations, an unhealthful place, though there is never any yellow fever.
YUMURI RIVER AND ENTRANCE TO THE VALLEY, MATANZAS.

The capital of the province of Santiago de Cuba is Santiago de Cuba,
generally known as Cuba to the natives and Santiago to foreigners. Owing
to its war record it is the best-known town in the Island. It is situated on the
south coast, one hundred miles from the west end of Cuba, and its harbour
is one of the safest and finest in the world, having an opening into the sea
only one hundred and eighty yards in width, extending back six miles into a
beautiful bay, three miles wide at its greatest width. Santiago has a
population of forty thousand (estimated sixty thousand in 1895), and is the
second oldest city in Cuba, the capital having been removed thither from
Baracoa in 1514 by Velasquez. It is historically the most interesting city in
Cuba, and it promises to be for the future second in importance to none in
the Island, except Havana. It became a bishopric as early as 1527 and is
now the metropolis of the Catholic Church in Cuba, the Archbishop of
Santiago being the Primate. The celebrations of church festivals are
conducted with ceremonies more elaborate than those anywhere else in the
Island, and the cathedral, in the Hispano-American style, is the largest in
Cuba, if not the handsomest. It is said that in a Santiago theatre Adelina
Patti made her first public appearance, at the age of fourteen years;
Velasquez is buried in this city, and so is Antomarchi, the physician of
Napoleon, who died, as his emperor did, upon a foreign island. Cuba’s
greatest poet, José Maria Heredia, was born here, as were Milanes, Dona
Luisa Perez de Montes de Oca, Dona Gertrudis Gomez de Avellanda; and
Placido, next to Heredia in merit, passed several years here.
Although well located for drainage, Santiago is one of the most
unhealthful towns in Cuba, and its beautiful bay is little better than a
cesspool. Yellow fever and smallpox have been the prevailing epidemics for
years, but under the new order a new condition will arise. Santiago, with
very poor business houses and offices, does a flourishing trade, wholesale,
retail, and in shipping. The surrounding country has many people employed
not only in agriculture, but in mining as well, for Santiago is the centre of
the mining district. Its railway facilities are practically nil, being located
two hundred miles east of the last railway leading anywhere. The city is
Moorish in its aspect. It is sufficiently ancient to be without hotels, though
there are several clubs where civilised beings may be entertained
comfortably. The fortifications about the city are interesting: the Morro,—
which is one hundred years older than that of Havana,—La Socapa, La
Estrella, and Smith Key—all these have received much mention during the

late war. The mining interests of Santiago will be considered under a
separate chapter.
Cardenas may be said to be the newest town in Cuba, and is known as
“the American city,” owing to the fact that many Americans are located here
in business, or make it their headquarters, with business interests elsewhere
in the Island. It was founded in 1828, is a thriving town, with wide streets,
numerous wharves, a plaza with a bronze statue of Columbus, and is a
purely commercial city. The harbour is shallow, and the piers running into it
are from three hundred to one thousand feet in length. Although without
sewers and located on swampy ground, Cardenas is not unhealthful as the
term is understood in Cuba. There are fine water-works, but many of the
people still prefer to buy water of street vendors. Gas and electricity light
the town. Its chief business is in sugar, but, unlike other Cuban cities, it
possesses numerous and varied manufactures, producing liquors, beers,
metal-work, soap, cigars, fabrics, etc. It has connection by steamer and rail
with the chief points of the Island. The population is 20,505, over 15,000 of
which is white. Cardenas exported goods in 1894 to the amount of
$10,008,565, of which $9,682,335 was in sugar shipped to the United
States, as against $10,000,000 the previous year. Her imports in 1892 were
$4,900,000, and in 1895 the United States sent 32,283 tons of coal to this
port. Situated in one of the richest agricultural sections of Cuba, Cardenas is
also not poor in mineral wealth, notably asphalt. Peculiar mines of asphalt
are found in the waters of the bay. The mineral is broken loose by bars
dropped from ten to twelve feet through the water upon it, and the pieces
are scooped up with a net. The supply of the mineral is renewed from some
unknown source as fast as it is taken away. One of these mines has
furnished as much as 20,000 tons, and the supply is inexhaustible. Asphalt
of the first grade is worth from $80 to $125 per ton.
Sagua la Grande, twenty-five miles from the mouth of the river of that
name, is almost wholly a sugar town. It has a population of 14,000, and is
the northern terminus of the Havana Railway system. Its seaport is La
Isabela, with a poor harbour; and its exports in 1895 reached nearly
$5,000,000—with a great falling off since, as it has suffered as much as any
town in the Island from the insurrection. As an indication of this it may be
said that immediately before the insurrection there were 23,500 cattle, 4500
horses, 4000 hogs, 700 sheep, and 450 mules in the Sagua district,
practically all of which have been destroyed or stolen. Sagua has an ice

plant whose product has sold at $3 per hundredweight. The railway from
Sagua to Cienfuegos marks the boundary between the western and eastern
districts of Cuba.
Caibarien is another nineteenth-century town, having been founded in
1822. Its houses are of brick, and its warehouses of recent styles of
architecture. Its population is fifty-five hundred, and it is said to be not
unhealthful, though its general level is not much more than ten feet above
the sea, and the country is swampy. Its chief industry is sugar, although
recently an active business in sponges has grown up, principally of local
consumption, the annual value approaching half a million of dollars. The
harbour is extensive, but shallow and poor. A railway extends to San
Andres, twenty-eight and one-half miles in the interior. Some waggon
roads, unusually good for Cuba, connect it with various sugar estates. The
future possibilities of Caibarien are numerous and great.
Manzanillo is the best town on the south coast between Trinidad and
Santiago, and was founded in 1784. It has a population of nine thousand,
and is the seaport of several interior towns and a rich sugar district, and is
also the gateway to the fertile valley of the Cauto River, the most important
stream in the Island. It has a fine plaza, and numerous inferior houses on
fairly good streets, wider than the usual Cuban street. There are no water-
works, gas-works, electric lights, or street-cars. The town is one of the most
unhealthful in the Island, and of Manzanillo mud the author has spoken in a
previous chapter. The principal shipments are lumber, tobacco, sugar,
honey, and wax. In 1892-93-94 four million feet of mahogany and two
million one hundred thousand feet of cedar were exported.
Pinar del Rio, the capital of its province, should be particularly
interesting to Americans, as it was founded in 1776. It is a brick and stone
town of 5500 population and is neither clean nor attractive. It has very few
foreigners and is in no sense a modern place. It is, however, of commercial
importance, being the centre of the famous Vuelta Abajo tobacco district,
which produces the finest tobacco in the world. Pinar del Rio is essentially
a tobacco town. It is connected with Havana by a highroad (calzada) and
also by railway. The town is lacking in most of the modern conveniences,
and the spirit of the people is not quick to respond to new notions.
An alphabetical list of the lesser towns may serve a useful purpose to the
reader whose geography of Cuba is as yet not complete.

Artemisa (Pinar del Rio) is a town of five thousand people, with a paved
road to Guanajay, nine miles, and a railway to Havana, thirty-five miles. It
is in a fine tobacco and sugar district, and is a low and unhealthful place,
but beautifully shaded with palms.
PANORAMA FROM THE ROAD TO THE CAVES, MATANZAS.
Bahia Honda (Pinar del Rio), with about two thousand population, is one
of the chief seaports of the mountain coast; and although it possesses none
of the visible evidences of future promise, still it is one of the places which
impress the visitor with belief in its future greatness. Its population is
largely black, its wharves are miserable, its houses are poor; though over
one hundred years old, it is not a port of entry—and still Bahia is
promising. The harbour is one of the finest on the coast, the surrounding
country is rich in tobacco and sugar soil, the climatic conditions are
favourable, and the new times will be good times for Bahia.
Cabanas (Pinar del Rio), with a population of fifteen hundred, has a
landlocked, shallow harbour, four miles by seven in extent, and its
connections with the interior are bad. It came into prominence during the
war, and was partly destroyed by General Maceo.
Consolacion del Sur (Pinar del Rio) is, after Bahia Honda, the chief
commercial town of the province. It has a population of two thousand, and

is in the centre of the Vuelta Abajo tobacco district, with eight hundred
plantations tributary to it.
Guanajay (Pinar del Rio) has a population of six thousand, is the
junction of several paved roads, and is considerably above the average
interior town in progressive spirit. It is lacking, however, in modern
conveniences and suffered by the war.
San Cristobal (Pinar del Rio), though one of the oldest towns in the
Island, is very enterprising and its people are energetic and prosperous. It
has a railway and good waggon roads, and its thirty-five hundred people
have a good climate and good health. It is in the midst of the Vuelta Abajo
tobacco district.
San Diego de los Banos (Pinar del Rio) is to be especially mentioned for
its wonderful sulphur baths. In one enclosure there are four of these springs,
having a temperature of ninety degrees, and they have effected cures in
leprosy, other cutaneous diseases, and rheumatism which are passing belief.
It has beautiful surroundings of hill and sea and its caves of Arcos de
Carguanabo are famous.
Vinales (Pinar del Rio), a small town of 925 people, is the interior
terminus of the railroad running to the north coast and the celebrated San
Vincente mineral springs.
Batabano (Havana) is the southern seaport of the city of Havana, thirty-
three miles to the north, and connected with it by rail and paved roads. The
town, in two parts, La Plaza and Surgirdero, is meanly built, and has about
nineteen hundred people. It has no harbour, but is the western terminus of
the south-coast line of steamers. The waters about Batabano are notable for
the beautiful submarine views they present to observers on steamers.
Batabano is hot and unhealthful.
Bejucal (Havana), built in 1710, has a population of six thousand two
hundred, an elevation of three hundred feet, and a situation in the midst of
pleasing scenery. The town itself is unattractive to the eye, but its health is
good, the people being noted for their long lives.
Cojimar (Havana), four miles from Havana, has a beautiful sand beach,
the finest in Cuba, and in time will become a profitable seaside resort,
though now unimproved. The British landed here in 1762.
Guanabacoa (Havana) is practically a suburb of Havana and has a
population of twenty-five thousand. With every opportunity and possibility

of being a clean, modern city, it is quite the reverse.
Güines (Havana), thirty miles from Havana over a fine waggon road, and
forty-four by rail, has a population of about seven thousand, and one of the
most desirable situations in the Island. It has bridges over the river Catalina,
a good hotel, a fine railway station; about it lies a rich agricultural and
grazing country, and the town is, in respect of health, thrift, and progress, a
model town—for Cuba.
Jaruco (Havana), with a population of two thousand two hundred, claims
recognition chiefly because it is clean. Naturally its health is better than that
of most Cuban towns.
Madruga (Havana) is famed for its warm mineral springs. It is fifty-five
miles from Havana by rail. Population three hundred.
Marianao (Havana), a suburb of Havana six miles away, has a population
of twelve hundred, and is said to be the cleanest and prettiest town in Cuba.
Its people are entirely of the better class.
Regla (Havana), a suburb of Havana, connected with the city by ferries,
has the largest and finest sugar warehouses in the world and a bull-ring
vying in popularity with those of Havana.
San Antonio de los Banos (Havana), with seven thousand five hundred
people, twenty miles from Havana, is the most popular mineral-springs
resort in the Island and its climate is famous for its health-giving qualities.
Colon (Matanzas), on the railway between Matanzas and Cardenas, in
the heart of the sugar-producing district of this section, has six thousand
five hundred people and is of much commercial importance. Like all the
others, it needs public improvements.
Jovellanos (Matanzas), also known as Bemba, is a coloured town, the
bulk of its population being negroes, and its only hotel is kept by a
Chinaman.
Macagua (Matanzas) is noted for its extensive sugar estates. Some of the
largest in Cuba are immediately around it. Population four thousand one
hundred. It has a railway to Colon and Santa Clara.
Calaboya (Santa Clara) has a population of fifteen hundred and
possesses, in the bridge over the Calaboya River, the longest railway bridge
in Cuba. Otherwise it is not important.

La Cruces (Santa Clara) is a railway junction and was at one time
actively engaged in shipping horses, cattle, and sugar. The people are active
and energetic, and have been complimented with the name of the “Yankees
of Cuba.”
La Isabela (Santa Clara), called also Concha and La Boca, is the seaport
of Sagua la Grande, and has five thousand people. It is the shore terminus
of the railway to Sagua and is of considerable commercial importance, with
a cosmopolitan people.
Remedios (Santa Clara), with a population of seven thousand, is in a fine
country and is one of the cities of the future, naturally and logically.
Sancti Spiritus (Santa Clara), also known as Santo Espiritu, founded in
1514, is one of the old towns of the Island. Despite its size (seventeen
thousand), it is of no great commercial importance, and is a dirty town in a
good location for cleanliness.
Santa Isabel (Santa Clara), with a population of five thousand, does a
good business in sugar and cattle. Cienfuegos is its seaport and is connected
with it by a railroad twenty-five miles long.
Tunas de Zaza (Santa Clara), with fifteen hundred population, is in such
a poor country agriculturally and aquatically, that the railway has a
monopoly in carrying vegetables and water supply to the people. The town
is hot and healthful. It has shipped as much as half a million dollars’ worth
of sugar, mahogany, cedar, honey, beeswax, etc., to the United States in one
year.
Nuevitas (Puerto Principe), population seven thousand, is a town of
promise and no public improvements. Water, in the dry season, commands
nearly as high a price as whiskey. It is the seaport of Puerto Principe,
Cuba’s largest inland town, and is connected with it by forty-five miles of
railroad. It has a fine harbour and a good location for drainage. It was at or
near Nuevitas that Columbus first saw Cuba. Its annual exports to the
United States have, in a good year, exceeded one million dollars.
Banes (Santiago de Cuba) is noted for its fruit business, as many as
4,651,000 bunches of bananas having been exported since 1890. Thirty-two
thousand pineapples were shipped in 1894, but the insurrection ruined the
business in 1896.
Baracoa (Santiago de Cuba) is the most eastern port of importance on
the north coast. It is the oldest town in Cuba and formerly was the capital. It

was founded in 1512 by Velasquez, whose house is still shown to the
traveller. Baracoa is far behind the times, but it has all the potentialities for
future greatness. The country along the coast is not healthful, but the
interior is not only fine scenically but also excellent as to its health
standard. There are no good roads and no railways of any kind. Baracoa
imports about nineteen thousand pints of beer per annum from the United
States, and Milwaukee sells at twenty-five cents a bottle. Copper, cocoanuts
and oil, bananas, and cocoa constitute the exports. General Maceo and his
followers inaugurated the last Cuban revolution in Baracoa, on the 20th of
February, 1895, and within a year had marched through the Island to
Mantua in the west of Pinar del Rio.
THE PLAZA, CIENFUEGOS.
Bayamo (Santiago de Cuba), with a population of about 4000 and an age
of about 350 years, is a Spanish relic city, being very like the earlier cities
of the mother country. It has eleven churches. It has none of the modern
conveniences and no railways, and its waggon roads are impassable in the
wet season. Bayamo never had a boom. It was the cradle of the Ten Years’
War.

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