The Network, by Scott Woolley, tells the history of wireless communications, and the stories of the characters that were a part of it. It's the first book strictly about media history that I'm summarizing and adding to my best media books list.

Wireless communications start with wired communications

Wireless communications today of course include cell phones, but The Network takes us from the wireless telegraph, to radio, to television, and finally to satellites. First, it gives a little background on the history of the electric telegraph, the invention which suddenly made it possible to move, in minutes, messages that used to take weeks to reach their destinations.

The electric telegraph was able to change the world thanks to one simple action: The ability to move a piece of metal at the end of a wire. That was enough to develop codes that could transmit messages, based upon the simple movement of that piece of metal. This process started in 1822, when Christian Órsted attached a copper wire to a battery and saw a nearby compass needle move.

There was a several-decade-long race to develop an electric telegraph. The first transatlantic cable was opened for business by 1866. A big customer of these telegraph services were stock traders, who could buy shares in London, sell them a few seconds later in New York, and always profit if their trades were executed in time.

Morse code was the winning format for turning the movement of a piece of metal into messages that could travel around the world. A claim in The Network I couldn't find a source for, but that sounds pretty cool: The clouds in New York City at night used to have projected on them news, election results, and sports scores – in Morse code.

From a worthless accidental discovery to worthwhile wireless

The history of wireless communication started with a discovery as accidental as Christian Órsted's: Heinrich Hertz noticed that metal objects moved slightly when lightning struck nearby. He later conducted experiments where he successfully generated sparks through the air. It was pretty cool, but he concluded that the invisible waves he had discovered were "of no use whatsoever."

Electrical signals that traveled through the air were made very useful, indeed, by Italian inventor Guglielmo Marconi. For much of its early years, most people thought his Marconi Company was a scam. Like the dot-com and crypto booms, many companies at the dawn of wireless technology made off with investors' money. One article, with the headline, "Wireless and Worthless," pointed out that more criminals were being prosecuted from wireless companies than from any other industry.

Besides, what did we need wireless technology for, when there were companies such as The Commercial, which was probably the hottest tech company in New York in the early 1900s? It owned five of the sixteen cables crossing the Atlantic Ocean, and one of the two that crossed the Pacific – which was 10,000 miles long.

10,000 miles was pretty impressive, especially when you consider that in 1896, Guglielmo Marconi could only send a wireless message one mile. What was the point?

The pseudo-events of Guglielmo Marconi

Marconi was good at building buzz for his wireless technology through public demonstrations – you could call them pseudo-events, a la Daniel J. Boorstin's The Image, which I talked about on episode 257. In front of an audience, he'd ask a volunteer to carry around a "magic box." He'd build tension from the stage, then push a lever, which would make the magic box buzz from afar. In 1898, when his wireless range was somewhere around ten miles, Marconi set up a telegraph receiver on the yacht of the prince of Wales. Queen Victoria sent the first mundane wireless text message, asking, "Can you come to tea?" The prince replied, "Very sorry, cannot come to tea." After all, he was on the ocean. By 1899, Marconi could send a message over the English channel, and by 1901, he could send a message 225 miles.

Marconi had competition in trying to send a wireless message across the Atlantic, which was 3,000 miles. Nikola Tesla, with the money of J.P. Morgan, was working on a fifty-five ton, 187-foot-tall steel super-antenna. And Marconi didn't have the funding to build something like that.

Marconi won that race across the Atlantic. In one of his publicity stunts, he was able to relay "Marconigrams," as he called them, from celebrities in London to celebrities at a dinner party in New York. But, that wasn't enough to impress stock traders who relied on wired telegrams – the messages took ten minutes to arrive, with pre-arranged help in expediting them as they traveled to and from coastal locations on wired connections. And radio waves are easier to transmit at night than during business hours, when radiation from the sun interferes with wireless signals.

As the Titanic sank, Marconi rose

But in 1912, the day before Marconi Company investors were to vote on whether to further fund the company, the Titanic sank. Using Marconi's wireless technology, an ocean liner, the Olympic, fielded a message from the Titanic, over 500 miles away, which included coordinates, and said, "We have struck an iceberg." Another ocean liner, the Carpathia, came to the rescue. Thanks to Marconi's wireless technology, of the Titanic's 2,223 passengers, 706 survived.

What followed sounds like the third act of a great movie: When Marconi arrived at a lecture that had already been scheduled, there was a crowd overflowing out the building. He received a standing ovation, including from the once-skeptical Thomas Edison. And the vote of Marconi shareholders, on whether to issue another $7 million in stock to build stations for intercontinental telegraphs, was a no-brainer.

David Sarnoff: The early days of an innovator

Working at Marconi at that time was the young David Sarnoff, who had started at Marconi after being fired for taking the day of Rosh Hashanah off work at Marconi's rival company, the Commercial. A Russian immigrant, Sarnoff's father had recently become unable to work, so he had set off to support the family as an office messenger boy, at only fifteen.

Being a telegraph operator was a hot tech job at the time. David Sarnoff bought a used telegraph key, so he could spend his evenings practicing his coding skills – his Morse-coding skills. He worked his way up until he was managing Marconi's New York office, but then transferred to what seemed like a step down – as an inspector in the engineering department.

Edwin Armstrong's signal amplifier

It was as chief inspector David Sarnoff met Edwin Armstrong, who demonstrated to him an amazing signal amplifier. From a Marconi station in New Jersey, Armstrong's amplifier turned signals from an Ireland station from barely audible, to loud and crisp. They were then able to listen in on signals from competitor Poulsen Wireless, as their San Francisco station communicated with their Portland station. They were even able to listen to Poulsen's Hawaii station, despite the fact Poulsen's own San Francisco station – the breadth of a continent closer – could barely pick up the signal, amidst a Hawaiian thunderstorm.

Sarnoff thought he had found the key technology that would help Marconi dominate wireless telegraphy, and free it from having to share its revenue with rival cabled networks. Instead, Guglielmo Marconi himself refused to believe the results of the story, and another executive publicly chided Sarnoff within the company for conducting the unauthorized experiments, which he believed merely drove up the prices of inventors' patents.

Edwin Armstrong becomes Major Armstrong

Armstrong ended up selling the patent for his amplifier to AT&T. Through the use of that amplifier and other wireless-technology inventions, Edwin Armstrong achieved the rank of Major Armstrong in WWI. During WWI, Britain and Germany cut one another's cables, making wireless communication even more important. The British military took over Marconi's wireless stations within their empire. Armstrong helped intercept Germany's wireless communications.

RCA, born from a patent pool

But during the war, the way wireless technology patents were split up amongst companies became a problem. It was impossible to build useful devices without using a variety of innovations, and thus infringing on other companies' patents. The Navy used its wartime powers to allow American manufacturers to use any wireless patents they wanted, without consequence.

Once the war was over, the military sought to maintain this freedom of innovation, and – as a matter of national security – keep the American radio industry out of foreign hands. They struck a deal to cut off the American portion of the British Marconi company, and pool together patents from AT&T, Westinghouse, G.E., and – interestingly – United Fruit Company, who had patents for communications systems on their Central American banana plantations. The name of this new company: RCA. Its general manager: David Sarnoff.

Sarnoff's radio

Sarnoff had pitched to his bosses at Marconi, in 1915, a "Radio Music Box." Far more complex than moving a piece of metal, voice had first been transmitted over radio waves in 1906, and The Navy had done "radio telephone" calls, but nobody had thought of using radio to transmit to a wide audience. His pitch described a box with amplifier tubes, and what he called a "speaking telephone." He wrote, "There should be no difficulty in receiving music perfectly when transmitted within