The Palm Beach Post from West Palm Beach, Florida on December 5, 1976 · Page 54
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The Palm Beach Post from West Palm Beach, Florida · Page 54

West Palm Beach, Florida
Issue Date:
Sunday, December 5, 1976
Page 54
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D4 Palm Beach Post-Times, Sunday, December 5, 1976 Bell From Dl- rent enabling businesses to save substantial amounts by eliminating Bell's monthly rental fees. While Bell was still reeling from the Carterfone decision, the FCC dealt it a second blow opening yet another front to competition. In a 1971 decision, it authorized firms called "specialized common carriers" to compete with AT&T in providing long-distance private line service direct lines between two or more points for business customers. The next year the FCC went a step further by voting to let the specialized common carriers route these "private lines" or more accurately, circuits via space satellites. The new competition in the telecommunications industry delighted many customers. For the first time, they had alternatives. When Continental Airlines went to Southwestern Bell Telephone Co. in 1972 and announced thai it wanted a new type of call-switching and answering system to handle plane reservations, Bell responded that it could not supply the equipment until 1980 at the earliest. Unwilling to wait that long, Continental decided to see if Collins Radio could meet its needs. By April 1974, Continental had an advanced new Collins system in operation. ments of the new "information society." So the debate thus far has left Congress a bit bewildered. "We all agree that we have a good phone system," says Rep. Timothy E. Wirth, a member of the House communications subcommittee. "The question is where are we going from here." v Some Americans can still recall having two phones, and trying to remember, when ringing up a friend, which one to use. "It was out of this experience," says AT&T Chairman John de Butts, "that the supply of telephone service came to be recognized as a 'natural monopoly' an area where service by a single company clearly serves the public better than competition. Ma Bell argues that Congress put its imprimatur on this concept in 1934, when it established the FCC to regulate common carriers. The Communications Act of 1934, which still stands as the basic statement of America's national telecommunications policy, gave the telephone industry what AT&T views as a monopoly mandate: "Make available, so far as possible, to all the people of the United States, a rapid, efficient, nationwide and worldwide wire and radio service with adequate facilities at reasonable charges." panies, ranging from New England Telephone and Telegraph to Pacific Telephone and Telegraph, that provide 82 per cent of the nation's service. (The other 18 per cent is provided also as a monopoly service by 1,600 independent firms that tie into Bell's long-distance lines; for the most part, the nonBell companies operate in rural, expensive-to-serve areas. Ma Bell's other major units are Western Electric Co., her manufacturing and supply arm, which itself ranks 18th on the Fortune list of the nation's 500 largest industrial companies; Bell Telephone Laboratories, a research and development unit that holds thousands of patents; and the Long Lines Department, which operates intercity service. As the Bell system grew and its profits soared, the Justice Department began looking at America's only private monopoly with less than friendly eyes. The Justice Department filed an anti-trust suit against AT&T in 1949, seeking to split off Western Electric. While the case was settled in 1956 by a consent decree that allowed the equipment firm to remain a part of AT&T, the government launched a new divestiture split against the Bell System in 1974. But through the 1950s and most of the 1960s, the one government organization that caused Ma Bell little trouble was the FCC. Accordingly, AT&T was taken aback in 1968 when the FCC handed down what has become known as its Carterfone ruling. Basically, the FCC held that AT&T could not arbitrarily deny customers the right to hook their own equipment in this oase, a mobile radio system into Bell's telephone lines. Virtually overnight an "interconnect" industry sprang up, offering Bell customers the chance to buy a variety of new terminal equipment and interconnect it to AT&T's lines. The most visible sign of change was the appearance in department store windows of antique French telephones and flip-open Fold-A-Fones that started at $12.95 and ranged up to $450 for an original 19th-century walnut fiddleback wall model. But a more heated battle was shaping up in the business-equipment field, where firms rushed to tap the market for PBXs (business switchboards), key telephones (sets with pushbuttons to answer several lines), and answering machines. Some of the devices were a generation ahead of anything then being marketed by Bell. What's more, they were for sale rather than for As the telephone industry celebrates its centennial year, it has pretty well met this goal. More than 149 million telephones provide service to 94.5 per cent of America's homes; virtually every U.S. business is served by telephone. "Universal service'', says de Butts, "has to all jntqV land purposes been achieved. Bell feels it accomplished this in large part through a rate structure that has brought the cost of having a telephone to within the reach of virtually everyone. If the regulated telephone monopoly has been good for America, it has also been very good for Ma Bell. By any index, American Telephone & Telegraph Co. is the largest corporation in the world today. Its total assets exceed $80 billion far greater than the net worth of many third world countries. AT&T employs 1 million Americans (making Ma Bell second only to the federal government in that category), and it has more shareholders (3 million) than any other U.S. company. In the second quarter of this year, its earnings topped $1 billion the first time any corporation has achieved that mark. Actually, AT&T is made up of a number of companies. It is the parent of 23 operating phone com And while the airline, paid $600,000 for the new equipment, the system replaced Bell devices that Continental had been renting for $6,000 a month and thus will pay for itself in a matter of years. The FCC feels the new competi- ; tion in the terminal equipment fields has forced Ma Bell to change for the a better. FCC Chairman Richard E. !: Wiley observes, "The old monopolist ' philosophy that 'You can have it if "' we choose to offer it' has given way to a new receptivity and responsive-' ness to the public which best can be ,J' summed up. by AT&T's recent and ' highly publicized motto: 'We hear ' you.' " De Butts, however, makes no pretense of thinking that having to j "sell" the customer is a good idea. -"It is costing the customer," he c says. "This marketing organization c didn't come for free, you know." - Whatever the truth of these argu-g ments, one would be inclined to con-cluJe from the amount of effort AT&T is putting into the battle that Ma Bell is being hurt and badly. That hardly seems to be the case. In a $35.3 billion telecommunications ' industry, AT&T had annual revenues -in 1975 of $29.6 billion - or 84 per ' cent of the market. Its interconnect and private-line competitors, in con- -trast, had revenues of only $186 mil- ' lion. Nor do Bell's rivals seem to be -seriously squeezing Ma even in the ' areas open to competition. C. Gus Grant, president of Southern Pacific Communications, ' points out that the private-line ser-j vices competing with Bell had total 1 revenues in 1975 to $43 million, while 1 AT&T's revenue in that sector was up $77 million to just more than $1 ' billion. Observes Grant: "Bell is growing annually by an amount larger than our total piece of the ac- ' tion." J Why, then, does Bell want "clari- ' tying" legislation so badly? Industry ' observers feel that AT&T has looked ahead and concluded that the big fu-' ture expansion in the telecommuni- ' cations business will take place in the data communications field. And ' that's where Ma Bell's competitors ' are scoring heavily. ! How much of an impact will the electronic communications revolu- tion have on American business and industry? "We believe SBS will help ' American business be more efficient, and in turn, lower cus-' tomer prices," says President Philip N. Whittaker. "It's sort of analogous ' From DL Tokyo Rose f? - Kff ye f 7 sSs. s,." Lawutf lkMLttMk' j!S J .. . mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmJSltHtk ered by the Army and Justice Departments during her imprisonment in Japan on the basis of which both had dismissed charges had been destroyed. Only six recordings of her broadcasts could be found. Nonetheless, on being assured that other Americans who took part in English-language programs at Radio Tokyo would be similarly charged, the grand jury issued an eight-count indictment of treason against Iva Toguri d'Aquino. Her defense was built around the P.O.W.s with whom she had worked most closely on "Zero Hour." Major Cousens, cleared of treason charges at home, came from Australia at his own expense to testify for Iva. He told the court that he had recruited her for "Zero Hour," assured her it was to be straight entertainment and urged her to place herself under his orders. Wallace Ince, cleared of treason charges by the U.S. Army and promoted to major, confirmed Cousens' testimony. As final defense witness, Iva testified she had had no intent to harm the U.S. and had believed throughout her employment on "Zero Hour" she was only entertaining her countrymen. She reiterated that she had retained her citizenship and loyalty to the U.S. throughout her ordeal in Japan, despite hardship and pressure from the Japanese to renounce them. The jury began its deliberations on Monday, Sept. 26. In the early ballots it stood at 8-4 for acquittal, but after 20 hours it had swung to 9-3 for conviction, where it deadlocked. The foreman, John Mann, reported his jury was unable to reach a verdict. That evening Judge Roche called the court into session and told the jury, "This is an important case. The trial has been long and expensive to both prosecution and defense. If you should fail to agree on a verdict, the case is left open and undecided. Like all cases it must be disposed of at some time. There appears no reason to believe that another trial would not be equally long and expensive to both sides, nor does there appear any reason to believe the case can be tried better or more exhaustively than it has been tried on each side." So instructed, in the manner now known as the "Allen," or "dynamite," charge, the jury returned to its deliberations, emerging two days later with a verdict of innocent on seven counts and of guilty on an eighth. On Oct. 7, 1949, Judge Roche sentenced Iva to 5-10 years in the penitentiary and a fine of $10,000. Thus, at 33 she lost the U.S. citizenship she had taken unusual steps to preserve steps that, in fact, had provoked her trial. Felipe d'Aquino had come to San Francisco for the trial and now Iva said goodby to him. He was returned to Japan with a warning against reentering the U.S., and Iva was taken to Alderson Federal Reformatory in West Virginia to serve her sentence. In the years of Iva's imprisonment, her lawyers made frequent appeals based on her unlawful detention, her lack of access to counsel, her failure to receive a speedy trial, the destruction of evidence favorable to her, the misconduct of the prosecutors and prejudicial instructions by the judge. All were denied by the appellate courts and the Supreme Court three times rejected appeals for review. Requests for presidential pardon begun under Eisenhower have been ignored. When Iva was released from Alderson in 1956, her sentence reduced for good behavior, she went to live with her family in Chicago. But her ordeal was not at an end. She had no way to raise the $10,000 fine imposed on her and in 1968 the Justice Department demanded payment. In Chicago District Court Iva was ordered to surrender her only assets, the cash value of two life insurance policies, a total of $4,745. In 1971, the Justice Department again summoned her into court for the balance of $5,255. She was able to satisfy this demand at the death of her father, whose will stipulated that the balance of Iva's fine be paid from his estate. For all her troubles, Iva has remained stoic. "Heck, you just have to adjust your life," she says. "I'm grateful for my friends. They're all aware of my background, but they never bring up the subject." Iva has not kept up with Felipe d'Aquino, although she knows he is in Tokyo. She denies any bitterness toward her country, saying, "I'm just disappointed in the way justice is handled sometimes." She has a square, handsome face, clear eyes and a resonant voice that clangs like an iron bell. There is an abruptness to her speech, an all-business tone, but her laughter is sudden, called forth by remembering some preposterous turn of her life, and as American as her frequent "hecks" and the Midwest flatness of her "a"s. Sometimes her responses are immediate, but when she must delve through the decades to recall loneliness and fear in wartime Tokyo, or during her trial, she rattles and wanders as she searches for familiar paths. She is numbed by questions. People have been questioning Iva Toguri d'Aquino for 30 years. She admits to lapses of her memory, but what she does recall is supported by the record and credited by the clearly intelligent people around her. Those who once challenged her are now silent. This is how she remembers the first half of her life. She was born in 1916 and grew up in Southern California; she likes to remember that her birthday, July 4, was always celebrated with fireworks. Her mother and father, being Japanese-born, were denied U.S. citizenship and they taught her, along with her brother and two sisters, the good fortune of being a native-born American. The Toguris lived in a typical Los Angeles neighborhood, spoke English at home and went to the Methodist church. As a student at Compton Union High School, and later at UCLA, she draws herself as an exuberant bob-bysoxer, enjoying' friends, sports, her Chrysler and a crush on her favorite actor, Jimmy Stewart. At the time of her college graduation, June 1941, the Toguris had a letter from Iva's uncle in Japan saying her aunt had fallen seriously ill. Since her mother was also in poor health, Iva was chosen as family emissary. Ship passage was arranged and application made for her passport. The State Department did not issue her a passport, but instead a certificate of identification authorizing a six-month stay. Although the family treated her as one of their own children, Iva found the diet and language strange and the customs awkward. Most of all she missed her freedom to come and go and do as she pleased. Wherever she turned there were new restraints. In a letter carried home by an acquaintance, she told of censorship and the destruction of previous letters by postal authorities, of police surveillance, of government restrictions on everything, of how different her cousins and their friends were in their humor and ideas of a good time. On Dec. 1, a week before Pearl Harbor, Iva's father Jun cabled her to come home, urging her to book passage on the Tatsuta Maru, sailing next day for California. She tried but was denied clearance by Japanese authorities. It was just as well, for Tatsuta was in mid-Pacific as the war broke out and was ordered back to Japan. Caught in what was now the enemy fortress, Iva was questioned by the police and pressed to take Japanese citizenship. She explained she was American, raised an American, unfamiliar with Japanese customs, barely able to speak the language, and refused. Accordingly, she was classified an enemy alien and denied a food-ration card. If Iva had managed to get home she would not at this point have fared much better. The U.S. had rounded up the ; 110,000 persons of Japanese ancestry on the West Coast, Iva's fainily included, confin ing them to rllA?airtilei and. imposing a curtew, netore shipping them to inland detention camps. Iva had enrolled in the Matsumiya Language School to improve - her Japanese, but her clumsiness with the tongue and, she says, her outspoken loyalty to the U.S. provoked the suspicion of neighbors. Children taunted her and the police called on her several times a week. The discomfort of her aunt and uncle was such that she moved to a boarding house. With little money left and no ration card, she was in a fair way to starve, so she asked the Japanese authorities to intern her as an American national. Citing the food shortage, they refused. She looked for and found odd, part-time jobs. One, at $20 a month, had her monitoring and typing English- to the introduction of labor-saving devices onto the factory floor." Nationwide department store chains and manufacturing concerns with branch plants and distribution centers around the country are two of the types of businesses that could benefit dramatically. "If you're able by a good communications netwom to reduce the amount of goods you have to carry in inventory by only a i few percentage points," says Whit-' taker, "your savings are enormous." 1 The battle over the "Bell Bill" seems certain to intensify in the year ahead. While small firms now struggling for a tiny piece of the market may not be part of the battle of Titans yet to come, they see their - very survival at stake. Emanuel Satellite Corp., a specialized com-' mon carrier that provides the satellite transmission facilities that enable the Wall Street Journal to publish regional editions, told Congress: "You are being asked to put us out of business." Two other specialized common carriers, MCI and Southern Pacific, put together an ad hoc committee for competitive telecommunications, and set up a Washington office to lobbv against the Bell legislation.' Operating with a budget of $500,000, the committee has hired Richard Drayne, the well-connected former; press secretary to Sen. Edward M. Kennedy, as a consultant. ! Congressional sources say they; also expect to see some of the other big competitors - like RCA and ITT; plav a greater role in the debate; in 1977. ITT, through a wholly-owned! subsidiary called United States; Transmission Inc., is already build- ing a microwave network between! Hartford, Conn., and Houston, Tex.s' and sources hint that its ideas go fan beyond that. 1 Lending urgency to the battle in; AT&T's view is the need to get com-! petition barred before big competi-; tors get not just their feet, but perhaps an arm and a shoulder, in-! side the door. Warns de Butts: "If; may not be long before the fragmen- tation of the intercity communica-! tions field among multiple suppliers; may be so far advanced as to defy undoing." Hut even though AT&T intends to reintroduce its legislation, the so-, called "Bell Bill" may never come, to a vote. A handful of lawmaker are already talking about rewriting; the Communications Act of 1934 in; its entirety, and trying to come to. grips afresh with the underlying" question: "What should be the basic; aim of America's communications' policy?" If it tackles this imposing task, Congress will quickly learn that contrary to what some lawmak-l ers still believe, it is not simply pon- dering the future of the telephone business. Certainly, preserving a phone sys-j tern that serves America well is an important consideration but it is only one consideration. A national communications policy also must take into account the high-technolo-; gy communications needs of Amern ca's new "information society." ! Congress is going to find sorting out the sophisticated economic ano social arguments that will be madi by both sides far from easy. Th$ preliminary hearings held by the House communications subcommittee this fall did not even address many of the significant questions, and still managed to leave a trail of confusion. "After two days of hear ings, we know we have a good system and nobody wants to destroy! it," remarked Rep. Louis Frey Jr. "After that, nobody agrees on AP Wirtphoto Iva Toguri d'Aquino hands a petition to San Francisco postmaster Lim P. Lee which was mailed on to President Ford in hopes of obtaining a presidential pardon for Tokyo Rose. Miss d'Aquino (left) is shown shortly before the beginning of her treason trial in 1949. itary movements or attacks, indicating access to secret military information and plans . . ." and summed up, "There is evidence Mrs. D'Aquino found this work distasteful." The Justice Department took another six months to conclude "that Toguri's activities, particularly in view of the innocuous nature of her broadcasts, are not sufficient to warrant prosecution for treason," and on Oct. 26, 1946, she was released from Sugamo Prison. To the d'Aquinos, Iva's case appeared closed. They settled in Tokyo and by 1947 were expecting a child. It was Iva's wish that this child be an American-born U.S. citizen. Moreover, she wanted to see her family again. Her mother had died in 1942, and her father, brother and sisters had moved to Chicago and opened a business there. So Iva applied again at the American Consulate for her passport. News of Iva's determination to come home was released in the U.S. during the fall of 1947, and it set off new tremors. The State Department could not deny her, for she was a native-born citizen cleared by Army and Justice Departments. Nevertheless, there were protests from civic and veteran's organizations throughout the nation. In October, Assistant Atty. Gen. T. Vincent Quinn had told the State Department there was no objection to issuing Iva a passport, explaining that, "after a careful analysis of the available evidence, this department concluded that prosecution of this individual for treason was not warranted." But in November, Quinn went back to her file and reassessed the wisdom of prosecuting her, reporting in early December that, while it was arguable whether she had given "aid and comfort to the enemy," there was no question about the purpose of "Zero Hour." It was to demoralize allied troops, and her acceptance of the job had been voluntary. t. So, on Aug. 26, 1948, Iva was ' arrested again, charged with treason and brought to San Francisco. Home after seven years, she saw her family at last through the bars of the county jail. She has never forgotten her father's words to her, "I'm glad you did not change your stripes." In October, a federal grand jury heard the evidence against Iva. Much of the original material gath language shortwave broadcasts at Domei news agency. Here, in 1942, she met a Portuguese citizen of Japanese ancestry named Felipe d'Aquino. He had been educated by the American order of Maryknoll Fathers and his sympathies also lay with the U.S. Iva liked him, called him Phil, and they saw each other constantly. Late in the war, in April 1945, they were to marry. In August of 1943, Iva took a new part-time job as typist in the business office at Radio Tokyo. Here she made friends with some of the 30 prisoners-of-war assigned to the station. When they told of their privations at Bunka Camp she brought them fruit, vitamin tablets and tobacco. Their ranking officer was Maj. Charles Cousens, an Australian captured at Singapore. Another officer was Capt. Wallace Ince, U.S. Army, captured at Corregidor. Both had had radio experience and they had been put in charge of the English-language "Zero Hour" broadcast. When Radio Tokyo decided to add a female voice to "Zero Hour," Cousens requested Iva for the job. He would testify later that he and Ince had yielded to Japanese pressure to produce the program after agreeing between themselves to minimize, if not actually sabotage, the intended propaganda. Iva was their candidate for announcer because her voice, which they thought was "masculine," would in itself be a thwarting of the Japanese purpose the female announcers were supposed to sound sexy and because, they said, she was the only available woman they could trust not to betray their efforts at subversion to Japanese authorities. These, they claimed, consisted mainly of making the "Zero Hour" scripts as bland as possible. When they found Iva reluctant to take part in a propaganda broadcast, Cousens assured her that, "her job would be purely and simply the reading of the script that I had written, which was the introduction of the musical items." Iva was persuaded, and in November 1943 she began announcing a brief program of recordings, reading the script prepared by Cousens and Ince in the role, suggested by them, of "Orphan Anne." She was indeed an orphan and easily identified with the wistful comic-strip character, Little Orphan Annie. "And now, gentlemen, the 'Zero t,Hpur' brings you Orphan Anne and her Languideers," Iva began a typical program. "Cheerio once again to all my favorite family of boneheads, ;.lh fighting Gls in the blue Pacific This is Orphan " Anne at this' end -of the situation, hanging ' her shingle out for a few minutes. What for? To do business of course . . . Lend an ear to the fighting GI's choice for favorite vocalist singing a well-known melody, 'Two Hearts That Pass in the Night.' " The female voice on "Zero Hour" was not always Iva's. She was often replaced by one of the 13 women who announced Radio Tokyo's many English-speaking programs. Moreover, similar female disc-jockey programs, beamed at American forces in the Pacific, were originating from nine other stations out Asia. None of the women at any of these stations called herself Rose. But in the loneliness of steamy Quonset huts and lurching fo'c'sles from the Aleutians to New Guinea, American servicemen were building, out of their frustrations and yearnings, the fantasy of "Tokyo Rose." Hers was so pervasive a myth that fur most Americans she was as famous a Japanese as Emperor Hi-rohito. At war's end, in the summer of 1945, the first American journalists ashore sought her story. When two Hearst reporters, Harry Brundige of Cosmopolitan and Clark Lee of INS, were told that her voice was that of many girls, they insisted on meeting one of them. Iva knew of "Tokyo Rose" from foreign news dispatches and an item in Time magazine. Indeed there was some rivalry among the Radio Tokyo girls as to which was the more entitled to the name and notoriety. Iva has admitted an awareness that in claiming it she would open herself to a charge of treason. At the same time, she felt that she had done nothing wrong and, when she was offered $2000 for an exclusive interview, she accepted. On Sept. 3, the day after the formal surrender in Tokyo Bay, Iva went to Lee and Brundige's room at the Imperial Hotel and, while Lee typed, she explained how the name "Tokyo Rose" was thrust upon her. She told of her life in Tokyo during the war years and of how she and the P.O.W.s had had to function under constant Japanese pressure. Iva did not receive $2000. Instead she was rewarded by visits from U.S. military police, and eventually taken to Sugamo Prison in Tokyo where General Tojo and other Japanese prisoners accused of war crimes were awaiting trial. Here Iva , remained for 11 months, unaware of 'the charges against her, denied legal counsel, bail and a speedy trial. During the year. of her imprisonment by the U.S. Army- (the latter half of it for the Department of Justice) she was questioned regularly by both military and Justice Department authorities. She insisted on her loyalty and pointed out that she would not otherwise have clung to her U.S. citizenship, On April 17, 1946, the Army legal section decided, "There is no evidence that (Iva d'Aquino) ever broadcast greetings to units by name and location, or predicted mil

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