itvt

– by Chris Davison, davison@intellcap.com

September 7, 1927. San Francisco. A young man transmits the image of a horizontal line from one room to the next. As the invisible EM waves slip silently through the wall, they stimulate electrons to light up a screen in the next room, a glow that has reflected down through the past 79 years and in which we all still bask. To announce the enormity of his achievement in his own uniquely understated way, the young genius says, "You’ve got television."

The young man in question is Philo T. Farnsworth, born in a log cabin in Indian Creek, Utah on August 19, 1906. By the age of three he was already showing signs of being a true wunderkind: Philo’s father had allowed him to see the inside of a train for a few moments, and when they got home the toddler demonstrated a photographic memory by spontaneously reproducing a detailed schematic of the train in perfect detail.

In Philo’s later boyhood years the Farnsworth family left Utah and moved north to Rigby, Idaho. Philo was thrilled to discover that his new home had electricity, and was even more excited when he went up into the attic and discovered a large cache of scientific and technical magazines. Philo was an avid reader and by 1920 he was aware of scanning disk television technology, though he already knew it would never work as a practical device. Thirteen-year-old Philo reasoned that mechanical televisions were impractical since their large spinning disks could never spin fast enough, safely or otherwise. In 1921, Philo had an epiphany while plowing his family’s potato fields: he noticed that the plow created long, straight lines one by one, which when viewed as a whole created a larger picture. A flash of insight occurred and Philo realized that if only he could somehow figure out a way to control electrons, to make them scan and line up in perfect rows, that he could use them to create pictures, images that could be transmitted and received using radio waves. A few years later, Philo told his girlfriend about his ideas for television and she promptly dumped him, saying that the man she would marry had to be headed someplace.

Undaunted, Philo chanced to meet beautiful young Elma "Pem" Gardner, and when he told her about his ideas she loved them and offered to help in any way possible.

Not long afterward, Philo and Pem were married and on their wedding night Philo said, "There’s something I need to tell you. There’s another woman in my life…." Before Pem could faint, he added "…and her name is television." Philo then suggested that the two of them work together on his vision so that they could spend a lot of time with each other. Pem accepted and so began the partnership that would lead to the birth of television.

In 1926, Philo approached bankers at San Francisco’s Crocker National Bank and told them that if they funded his experiments he’d scan, transmit and display TV images by 1927. From a purely engineering standpoint, think about the chutzpah of this fellow: a teenage boy with no formal training promising some hardnosed bankers that he could go from concept to working prototype by the next year. Any trained engineer–then or now–would have said that it’s impossible, but here we are today retelling the story because Philo was right. Back east, companies like GE, RCA and AT&T were hiring PhDs and spending millions of dollars to develop a working electronic television system, while Philo’s San Francisco team consisted of himself, his 18-year-old wife and her 21-year-old brother, Cliff–three untrained kids working on a combined R&D budget of $1000 per month.

On August 30, 1927, Philo and his team tried their first test, but the images produced were unclear. Philo proceeded to strip everything right down to the bare bones and within one week he had either refurbished or replaced every single component. On the night of September 7, Philo tried again and the historic image of a horizontal line was transmitted. Naturally, nobody was interested in this simple glowing line except, of course, for players of Pong 50 years hence…but I digress. In all seriousness, Philo T. Farnsworth had just created television and–not to put too fine a point on it–he is the man who put the "TV" into "ITV."

Shortly after his first successful transmission, Philo sent a telegram to one of his financial backers, saying, "The damn thing works!" Television was born at 202 Green Street in San Francisco, and if you’re considering a pilgrimage you’ll be glad to know that there is a historical marker at the site. Word of the breakthrough spread quickly and many people came to San Francisco to see this new invention called television. Among the visitors were film actors Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, who wanted to see if this new media technology was something that they and others in the movie business should be worried about. Sound familiar? During the final years of the 1920’s, Philo and his expanding team continued to make improvements and give demonstrations while also filing for patents.

By 1930, Philo had caught the attention of David Sarnoff, head of the Radio Corporation of America. Sarnoff sent Vladimir Zworykin to visit the Farnsworth lab, learn all he could and report back. Zworykin was a PhD electrical engineer who had been working for years to develop his own electronic television system, and upon a demonstration of Philo’s technology he said, "That’s wonderful! I wish I’d have invented it myself." Zworykin reported back to Sarnoff, who subsequently offered Philo a substantial amount of money to sell his patents and come and work for him; but Philo refused, preferring to remain independent. This set off a legal battle that extended throughout the 1930’s and ended in 1939 when the courts found in favor of Farnsworth and his patents and RCA was forced to pay royalties.

Farnsworth’s original television patents were set to expire during the 1940’s, and the combination of the RCA court battles plus the outbreak of World War II meant that Philo never became rich off of his invention. By the time the war was over and the television industry was beginning to boom it was already too late: Philo’s patents had expired and RCA and other companies were far ahead in their progress toward commercializing the technologies. In 1953, the true power of television was demonstrated when millions of people tuned in to watch Lucy give birth. From the first Boomers through the Gen-Xers and the children of today, most Americans have grown up with television: we are the TV generations, and so the impact of television on us, our culture and our nation cannot be overstated.

In the end was it all worth it for Philo T. Farnsworth? From his first flash of insight through his first broadcast, through the legal battles and the post-war explosion of TV programming, did Philo feel that it was worth doing? The answer to this question may be found on July 20, 1969. Philo was an avid space buff and he and Pem were watching live images of men walking on the moon–images beamed back and displayed using technologies that Philo had invented. This experience had such an impact on Philo that, as per her recollections (below), he turned to Pem and said, "That has made it all worthwhile!"

Postscript: next year will mark the 80th anniversary of the birth of television. I’m planning to throw a party in honor of Philo and you’re invited.

Chris Davison is a Los Angeles-based writer who has written for the American Film Institute (AFI), the Hollywood Radio and Television Society (HRTS) and others, and who grew up basking in the reflected glow of September 7, 1927.

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