Media See-Saw

Recess time in grade school meant children raced to the merry-go-round, swings and see-saws to secure a spot to ride and play on during our short time out in the fresh air and warmth of the sun before returning to the confines of our wooden desks, our crayons and pencils, Big Chief tablets and the smell of Old Colonial oil and sawdust on wooden floors.

It was important to rush out and grab a spot because there weren't enough spaces on the playground equipment for every single kid. 

Media fifty years ago and media today can be seen and understood in playground terms.

When media choices were few, advertisements paid for all content, by easily, although expensively, reaching mass audiences. We school kids rushed out the door after school to watch one of three television networks or to listen to one of two or three AM stations that played the Beatles or Rolling Stones.

With the arrival of the Internet, media choices exploded and there are not enough advertising dollars  to pay for all content or to reach mass audiences, which are dispersed among the new multitude of choices. 

Advertisers now target selected audiences, the 18-35 year-olds, the golfers, the investors, the arts and crafts crowd, the vampire or zombie set, etc.

Mass content supported by ads becomes few in number, such as tonight's Oscar awards, the Super Bowl earlier this month, last summer's Olympics, the Presidential debates this fall,  and the few dominating the mass market on TV, such as CSI, Glee, etc. 

Specialized program content increases: subscription programs like Boardwalk Empire, Girls, Downton Abbey, which we receive through grants, donations and ads, stand side by side with open-source content like Wikipedia, You-Tube and blogs and Internet sites on music, film or any one of a thousand subjects of limited interest, sometimes but usually not supported by ads, now added to the pool of special-market, but-not-mass content.

Quality of entertainment on the playground was determined by the scarcity of our choices. We raced for spots because there were many of us who wanted to ride. When our choices for entertainment, news and information are numerous, it is important to notice what these changes might mean: We can slow down and decide more carefully where to spend our time, based on our interests at the moment.This is a sea-change in our role. We are the decider, as a former president would say.

The up-side to scarcity of content is that ad dollars once paid for quality mass appeal programming. We shared a national conversation about the episode of Bonanza or the film that aired on NBC Saturday Night at the Movies.

The downside to scarcity of of content is that left-handed tennis players were left out in the cold without their own magazine and Americans who were not mainstream were largely unseen, or possibly worse, only in stereotyped portrayals.

The upside of abundance of content is that any of us now have a place in the marketplace of ideas, it is up to us to raise and hold the interest of an audience.

The downside of abundance is our teachers are not on duty, and it is we consumers who are in charge of the playground, while many of us may be unaware or unwilling to step into our new roles as 'the decider'.
Ad dollars cannot support it all, so mass content quality can decline even as our specialized content increases.

What happens to the content is important. In the early days of the computer era, it was common to hear the equalizing explanation of the power of computers: GIGO (garbage in, garbage out).

A great post by Seth Godin helps to flesh out this sea-change in media and our roles in the marketplace of ideas. Seth Godin

Return of the 8th Grade Mystic, Clairvoyant Catholic

Remaining: the 4 square blocks of the old Ursuline Academy school boundaries in Laredo, Texas. The school is now named St. Augustine. Most of the old buildings are still there, including the High School and Convent where the nuns lived, and the courtyard there where we held dances with a rock and roll band.

Gone: the giant mesquite tree near the 5-8th grade classrooms under whose shade I memorized Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl," the trees on the corner where we carved our initials with boy's names we had crushes on, now forgotten; the grotto where I had my only moment of accidental mind-reading: After lunch at home two blocks away, I sped to my classmates on my bike and blurted out the name Sam Jaffe, the name of TV doctor Ben Casey's mentor. The girls spun around and said "shhhh!!!" as they were playing charades. I don't know why I blurted his name. I had plucked the name from the air and said it out loud before I even knew they were playing charades.

Gone: the 3rd floor open room in the convent where we were gathered to watch (great fun) a film. A film about the horrors at Auschwitz (what is most the opposite of great fun?) We cringed and cried to see the mounds of skin and bones. Where was God in all this terror?

Remaining: the office where I sat as an 8th grader, stunned to know I was being asked to leave my school of 9 and a half years (since kindergarten), and would be enrolling at public school. Less austere today is the office than when the nuns were in charge. It is now bright orange in color and students and staff breeze in and out, as I careen between the present and past, its shadows and whispers from 40 years ago.

Remaining: the chapel where we sat each week for prayers or Mass on the first Friday of the month, little Kleenex's pinned to our heads when we forgot to wear our beanies (little caps). The chapel has had a make-over, with new stained glass windows. The square chairs are still there, and the old plaster statues are fragile from the years of standing guard in the humidity of Laredo. I see the statue of the Virgin Mary there, and gaze carefully to catch her eye. I remember the week we learned about the miracle at Lourdes and we all prayed so fervently to repeat the miracle. One girl (not me, I swear on sharp cheddar cheese) thought she saw Mary shed tears and the news of the vision spread from class to class. For days the nuns played traffic cops to a little parade of penitents praying before the statue hoping they could witness her crying.

Gone: the scared 8th grader that was too much for the nuns. She left the old school shamed, but collected herself in short order, making new friends and learning from new teachers. The nuns, when they said good-bye promised to pray for her. The girl is grown and approaching 60, and thanks them for their prayers; she is thriving and so is the old school. There were more than 3 million dollars in scholarships awarded to the 120 graduating seniors this year. Isn't that miraculous?

I miss the old mesquite, the dances under the night sky, the conspiracy of little mystics. I am so happy to have returned and seen how well we are both doing, the school heading toward its 150th anniversary, and one of its once-clairvoyant minor mystics moving well on her divine path, whose journey of learning in life was so strongly shaped within those 4 square blocks.