Detroit News, December 31, 1920, page 1:
 
GET  A  1921
  NEW    YEAR'S  
GREETING
________

     The  Detroit  News  radio  department  will  stage  a  goodby  to  the  Old  Year  and  a  greeting  for  the  New  at  midnight  tonight.
          All  wireless  operators  are  urged  to  invite  their friends  in  to  hear  the  concert  tonight.
     Enjoy  the  latest  novelty  in  New  Year  celebrations.
     Hear  the  old,  old  song,  "Ring  Out  the  Old,  Ring  in  the  New."
          There'll  be  bells  in  the  air.

January 1, 1921, page 1:
 
News'  Radio  Sounds  Taps  for  Old,  Reveille  for  New
_____________
FOR the first time, as far as known, a human voice singing a New Year's melody of cheer and good fellowship went out across uncounted miles over the invisible, mysterious waves of ether that are the media of the wireless telephone, as Louis Colombo, Detroit attorney and famous baritone, sent his resonant tones into the mouthpiece of the transmitter in the office of The Detroit News at midnight Friday.
        The voice rushed out into the night in an ever-widening circle, carried by The News wireless telephone equipment, and it needed only a receiving outfit for men and women many, many miles away across forest and field, river and boundaries, to receive it. And many amateur stations did receive it.
FOR  HEARING  EARS.
        The voice was carried over Detroit at boisterous play over villages and towns where only churches and scattered homes showed lights and indications of watchers for the new year, over silent, snow drifted farms, over the timber lands of Canada, over the gray, cold waters of the lakes, rushing unheard past the listening ears of birds and of untold thousands of men and women who were up and about, unconscious that the melody of "For Them Alone" was swirling, drifting, spinning above their heads, a cloud of music between the chill streets and the high distant stars.
        In Detroit hundreds of receivers were set and waiting for the concert to begin. As the hour hands drew their slender lengths together, a trumpet was raised by Robert J. Hovey and just before the hour was struck, the saddest, sweetest music of all the Army sounded out, the soldier's good-by, "taps," an echoing farewell to the old year that was done. Then came the rousing "I can't get 'em up" of reveille.
        From the web of streets about the downtown section there was a roaring tumult of sound, a flashing of lights, a singing of "Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot" and echoing them came the dull rumble of deep toned whistles, the screaming wall of sirens, the crash of guns and the mad chimes of hundreds of bells from church tower and belfry.
        But even as the thunder rose to afront a silent sky the sweet voice of the singer in the wizard room at The News rang on and on and the waves carried it safe and secure through all those battling, clashing other waves so that not a word, not a note was missed by those listening in.