Part III

Our first blog of the new year means we’re starting off right—have you got some tunes in the background? Maybe it’s the Grand Ole Opry. Maybe not—and that’s okay. Are you sitting somewhere cozy, maybe with a cup of coffee or tea? Great—let’s go.

If you haven’t read Parts I and II of this series on the Grand Ole Opry, I highly recommend starting there first. This post might be a tad confusing otherwise (or not—maybe you’re already a Grand Ole Opry history nerd). Here, we pick up where we left off: the Opry gained its official moniker in 1927 and became one of the clear channel stations granted 50,000 watts.

I’d love to wrap up the history in this post, but there’s just sooo much to tell! Instead, we’ll cover the highlights of the Opry and WSM throughout the 1930s and early 1940s, finishing at the beginning of World War II.

The Tallest Radio Tower in North America

If you've driven down I-65 S near Concord Rd, you're familiar with that giant radio tower that reaches high into the sky. Well here's a brief story of how that came to exist. 

It was October 1931 in Washington, D.C., where testimony was being heard to determine which stations would be granted 50,000 watts—“superpower” or clear-channel status. Louis G. Caldwell, serving as counsel for WSM, presented a compelling case that ultimately persuaded the Federal Radio Commission. Jack DeWitt also contributed, emphasizing that their audience consisted of listeners in small towns and on farms—communities that depended on the station’s reach.

Caldwell's argument consisted of the following, starting with...

"Mr. Chairman and gentlemen of the Commission, I want to take you now from the seductive climate of Charlotte and the educational walls of Birmingham and the oil of Tulsa to the quiet, historical splendor of Nashville."

Among his key arguments were:

• Lower frequency, longer-wavelength stations like WSM had longer range and should be given preferred treatment.
• WSM had the most advantageous location - dead center of the eastern U.S.
• WSM should be given the nod because it was a locally-owned station with an open-ended arrangement with NBC, while Charlotte's WBT was a property of CBS.
• WSM is as "free as any station to change its connections, or abandon any of them entirely tomorrow...which is likely to best serve the interest of the community, a corporation which is owned and controlled by local people, or one which is owned and controlled by a distant organization?"

Jack DeWitt also added that 50,000 watts would more than double its local footprint to 65 miles in all directions and bring in about 400,000 additional local listeners. 

Despite some trepidation that the station was owned by an insurance company (and questioned whether that said company was advertised on the station), Caldwell clarified that it was not and WSM was granted their 50,000 watts. 

At the time of this testimony, DeWitt was not in Nashville—but that soon changed. He received an offer to return home and work for WSM. After careful consideration, he left his position at Bell Telephone Laboratories and came back to Nashville to become WSM’s Chief Engineer.

He arrived in time to oversee the installation of the new transmitter and tower. The tower was his vision—proposed as an "engineering feat and an electrical marvel". 

According to Havighurst's book (Air Castle of the South - WSM and the Making of Music City)...

"It was to be a tapered diamond of steel standing nearly nine-hundred feet tall, weighing 300,000 lbs, and sitting on a base about the size of a dinner plate, held upright by eight guy wires. It would be the tallest structure ever built in TN, the tallest radio tower in North America, and a striking symbol for National Life."

The tower is still iconic to Nashville geography, but especially when it was built - it became the icon of WSM and in the case of one music star (Alton Delmore) - it was more exciting than auditioning for the Grand Ole Opry...

"...There it was, blinking and flashing its facility out to some little person or persons, who thought they deserved the plaudits of the great Grand Ole Opry audience...It is a strange thing for me to say, but the manager of the station and the others there who heard our audition didn't add up to anything like the challenge that tall tower did." 

Curious about one more tidbit regarding the tower, check it out below...

Dedication Day for WSM's New 50,000-Watt Transmitter and Tower

While November 12th, 1932, was originally meant to be the dedication day, the newly-elected President Hoover threw a kink in WSM's plans. An address by the president interrupted the planned broadcast, so instead, on November 19th - the celebration occurred. 

They offered a variety show from 10-11:15 p.m. over roughly 40 stations. Other performances included musical tributes from other NBC stations in New York, Cleveland, Chicago, and San Francisco. Francis Craig broadcasted from Denver. And Edwin Craig offered a heartfelt dedicatory address as he presented "the new WSM":

"As we join the ranks of America's radio giants, we realize not only our increased opportunities, but also our heavily increased obligation to the public service."

WSM in the 1930s: Growth, Experiments, and a Few Flops

The 1930s were a decade of change for WSM. The station got a new tower, upgraded its downtown studios with shiny new Acoustone tiles and control panels, and shifted management a bit with making Harry Stone the newly-created position of station manager. And then it was the question of programming; while NBC provided a big chunk of the programming, WSM’s personality came from its local shows and artists.

The station experimented with different formats—sustaining versus commercial shows—to see what worked. Most couldn’t match the ever-popular Grand Ole Opry, but increasingly acts were paying for 15-minute commercial spots to entertain, teach, or promote products. One particularly memorable flop was a show by a “red-headed kid named Rod Dinwiddie,” who gave tap-dancing lessons over a microphone placed right on the floor by his feet.

My Favorite WSM Show (Other Than the Grand Ole Opry)

Another standout WSM show was created by Ed Kirby in January 1936. "The Story of the Shield" was billed as “a study of man’s first and most important form of protection,” tracing heroes from the dawn of time to the present. The program dramatized figures like Robin Hood, Charlemagne, and King Arthur, blending real and symbolic shields. With a new announcer who could speak to both kids and adults, the show was designed to appeal to listeners of all ages.

Where Rails Meet Rhythm

While the Grand Ole Opry continued under the management of ="" p="">

The train’s whistle had already been musically immortalized by DeFord Bailey, who frequently performed his harmonica impression of the locomotive in “Pan American Blues” on the Opry.

Trains and music—especially at WSM—have long gone hand in hand, and by the 1930s Nashville had firmly established itself as a city of both music and transportation. You can probably think of countless songs that reference trains, from Johnny Cash’s "Folsom Prison" opening lyrics of “I hear the train a-comin’, it’s rolling ’round the bend…” to, as Havighurst notes in his book, how “steam moved Hank Williams a few years later to capture the train and its place on radio with his plainspoken poetry.”

Just as the Pan American feature on WSM created a meaningful connection among listeners nationwide—made possible by another transformative invention, the radio—the Grand Ole Opry’s success was also shaped by the unfortunate arrival of the Great Depression. Havighurst makes this point in a somewhat punny way...

"WSM's listeners needed escapism like the Pan American and the Grand Ole Opry because when the Depression hit, it hit like a locomotive." 

And to continue the point even, Havighurst also states that "almost anything attached to radio thrived during the Depression." It was a great advertising tool; something WSM thrived in. 

WSM and the Grand Ole Opry are Pop-u-Lar

The show’s success paid off in more ways than one. With the previously mentioned Depression-era setting, it became a real asset for the National Life company—salesmen often used their WSM connection as a friendly way into potential clients’ homes before pivoting to, “Now, let’s talk about insurance.”

With its growing fame, Edwin Craig also found himself fielding constant requests from musicians eager to get on the show. His son Neil later recalled that people would corner his father in the “uncanniest places,” even while the family was on vacation. Edwin’s go-to reply? “If you can get yourself over there, we’ll put you on the Opry.” That open-door approach worked early on, but it wasn’t station manager Harry Stone’s style and eventually led to a more formal audition process.

Stone, as Havighurst describes him, was a strict rule-follower—sometimes clashing with colleagues—but he was also widely seen as fair, professional, and deeply principled. He was admired by artists like DeFord Bailey, who even considered naming his youngest child after him. In the end, Stone’s biggest impact was shaping the Opry in lasting ways, from introducing a studio audience to changing its location and staging—decisions that carried the show into the modern era.

This Show is Recorded with a Live Audience

I know this post is long—thanks for sticking with me. As WSM and the Grand Ole Opry experienced growing pains, they expanded by building a studio large enough to function as an auditorium. Studio C, as it was called, could seat several hundred people—introducing the Opry’s live audience element. Was it perfect at first? Not exactly. Early crowds were about as lively as a fence post; the next group was almost too enthusiastic. For a moment, leadership questioned whether a live audience was a good idea. But it was too late. Stone and Hay soon realized the Opry needed a live audience as much as it needed country music—which meant it needed a new home.

What other homes did the Grand Ole Opry test out before the Ryman? Good question...

• 1934 – The Hillsboro Theatre (Belcourt Ave): Located near Ward-Belmont School, the Opry spent about a year and a half here before outgrowing the space.
• 1936 – The Dixie Tabernacle (Fatherland Street): The show moved to what was described as a large shed on Fatherland Street, offering more room for its growing audience.
• 1939 – War Memorial Auditorium: The first Opry tickets were sold here after admission fees were introduced. When the Grand Ole Opry debuted on NBC, it was broadcast as the “Prince Albert Opry” from War Memorial Auditorium, reflecting its presenting sponsor.
• 1943 – Ryman Auditorium (“The Mother Church”): The Opry found its enduring home at the Ryman Auditorium, cementing its place in country music history before relocating to the Grand Ole Opry House in 1974.

From Church Clothes to Overalls

The physical location wasn’t the only thing to change for the Grand Ole Opry. As the famous show was finding its destined footing, a few other modifications were made in order to help the program succeed. Around this time, Opry manager George D. Hay reshaped both the image of the show and its performers, moving away from the polished, church-ready look common in early radio and leaning into a more deliberately “hillbilly” aesthetic—floppy hats, overalls, work shirts, and bandanas meant to signal rural authenticity. The shift proved effective: publicity photos leaned heavily into this image, and in 1935 the show earned national recognition from Radio Star magazine for its supposed lack of professionalism and abundance of “authentic” performers.

That same year, WSM embraced an even grander identity when Ed Kirby dubbed the station the “Air Castle of the South,” a name—and image—that would endure for decades as both a promotional symbol and a reflection of the station’s growing ambition.

WSM closed out the 1930s with a reputation as a “super-colossal production,” according to Havighurst, noting that “the station sent three shows each week over the NBC network, including the Grand Ole Opry…” Meanwhile, the Opry continued to thrive, launching the careers of future legends like Minnie Pearl and Roy Acuff. Roy, in particular, helped transform the show from a fiddle-driven hoedown into a true showcase for singers.

Minnie debuted her now-iconic character in April 1939 at a convention in Aiken, SC. After Harry Stone heard about her performance, she was invited to audition. Overcoming stage fright and hesitation about committing fully to the comedic persona, she aced the interview and received her first offer—$10 a week—beginning a decades-long career that would make her one of the Opry’s most beloved stars.

War, Wires, and WSM

As the 1940s were largely defined by the war, the same was true for WSM. Broadcasts during this time included “The World in Preview,” delivered by Jack Harris before he left to work with Ed Kirby and the War Department. With the Tennessee Maneuvers taking place in nearby Manchester, WSM engineers and reporters followed the exercises for two weeks using a portable shortwave transmitter.

I’ll wrap up with one final story. When an even larger set of maneuvers was staged in Louisiana, the station sent a new announcer and several crew members to oversee coverage. As Havighurst describes it, the scene was massive—rows of tents, a sprawling mess hall, and a strong national media presence, including Jack Harris.

"WSM listeners heard a pontoon bridge being built in the middle of the night, the metallic rumbling of tanks, and the thud of artillery fire..."

When the final exercise concluded, Harry Stone hosted several generals in his hotel room for before-dinner drinks. One of WSM’s young reporters, Jud Collins, was tasked with purchasing the liquor—apparently unaware that alcohol probably shouldn’t appear on an expense report. Another WSM staff member, Aaron Shelton later shared his account of the story.

"When the document reached the third-floor treasury department, Shelton related, 'The Whole Building fairly shook and Jud had to endure a lecture on expense reporting. After redoing his expense account and listing two fictitious meals instead of two real bottles of booze, Jud's 'swindle sheet' sailed through without question."

There’s still plenty more to this story—so keep following along with my blog series on the history of WSM and the Grand Ole Opry.

Research for this post is credited to Craig Havighurst’s book, Air Castle of the South: WSM and the Making of Music City.

All images depicting the WSM studios are used courtesy of the Grand Ole Opry Archives.

'Til next time, 

Sarah