Roy Rogers Always Comes Home to Sky Haven Ranch
If he weren't the top Western star in the land, Roy Rogers could easily become a professional advisor to the world's parents. Roy gets between 80,000 and 90,000 letters each month from all over the globe, about half of which are written by parents asking Roy to write their children telling them to eat their cereal, drink their milk, go to bed on time or take medicine the doctor ordered.
Since Roy is the ideal of all children, they follow his advice blindly. This is a big responsibility for Roy to take on but he accepts it willingly and does a fine job since he is well qualified for it.
The King of the Cowboys has faced the same problems with the three youngsters in his own royal family. There are two crown princesses -- Cheryl Darlene, 7 1/2; Linda Lou, 4 1/2; and one crown prince Dusty (the nickname of Roy Jr.), nearly a year old, who are about as lively and mischievous as any normal kids. Roy solves all his problems as they come up -- fairly and wisely -- and the result is a completely happy family.
Home to Roy is Sky Haven Ranch, about 55 miles from Los Angeles on Lake Hughes. That's where Roy heads whenever he can get some free time away from Republic Pictures Studios and his radio, rodeo and circus commitments. At Sky Haven, Roy is able to indulge in his favorite relaxations of hunting and fishing.
No wonder, then, that when Roy sings "Home on the Range" for rodeo fans, he feels a sharp stab of homesickness, for it is there at the place he loves that the three young Rogers impatiently await their daddy's return from the tour.
From Roy Rogers World Championship Rodeo, 1947
Milwaukee Firemen Scale Musical Heights on Radio
Most people associate firemen with music only in connection with those two immortal ditties, "Fireman, Save My Child," and "Oh, for the Life of a Fireman." It's all wrong. The truth is that firemen -- Milwaukee firemen, that is are likely to be known in the future as challengers of the world in the catch-as-catch-can music, no holds barred and the winner to take all the purse.
For they have burst into the radio firmament through the instrumentality of WHAD, the Marquette University-Milwaukee Journal station and are going strong on that station's programs.
Over on Milwaukee's South Side at 217 National Avenue is the headquarters of Engine Company No.3. In the back room of the engine house, where the stables used to be but which is now the kitchen, daily are given concerts which would fairly knock your ear out. Music? Hot diggety dog!
South Side engine house has come to be the rendezvous of all the musical firemen in town when off duty. An old grand piano that has lost its ear but retains the pep of its youth is installed in the music room (otherwise kitchen). The walls are proof against the most violent jazz.
Merritt Ramus, pianist; Tom Saskowski, banjoist, and August Boehm, harmonicist, trombonist; are the nucleus of the present organization. They began by appearing at various entertainments given by and for firemen and before long they were famous. Now they have attracted other stars and the gang is growing. Most of the practicing is held in Engine House No. 3, where Ramus, Saskowski and Boehm are stationed. Capt. Ernest Glander, of Engine Company No.3 , is the manager of the outfit. Chief Steinkellner appointed him to keep the boys from blowing the roof off.
Not all the music offered by the firemen is instrumental. They have a vocal quartet that takes a back seat for nobody and soloists that need no scaling ladder to reach the high ones. Tom Murphy, Engine Company No. 30; Joe Ross, No. 1O; Adolph Ketelholm, No. 16, and Tom Dugan, retired, are the singers. Between them they can make any ballad extant say "Uncle" and when they all get to going at once there is volume, boys, and nothing but. Snappy stuff is their specialty, but songs like "When You and I Were Young, Maggie," and other classics are put over with the tremolo stops wide open and the harmony true as a die.
WHAD is the result of a cooperative arrangement between one of Wisconsin's leading educational institutions, Marquette University, Milwaukee, and Wisconsin's leading newspaper, The Milwaukee Journal. The transmitting station is located in the new Science building of the university and the technical staff of the station is furnished by the university. The Journal organized and mans the remote control stations, arranges programs, and promotes new ventures.
The university and the newspaper joined forces in January last, putting on the air Milwaukee's first 500 watt radio broadcasting station.
From Radio Age, April 1926
Popeye Gave Up Spinach for Wheatena Toasted Wheat Cereal
Radio was a magical media for the children who heard it during its golden age. Just like the adults had their favorite programs, the small fry also had theirs. For the most part, these programs featured the children's favorite comic strip characters. Not only could they read about them in the Sunday newspaper, the children could also hear them live and in person over the airwaves. One of the comic strip characters is the subject of this article.
On Tuesday, September 3, 1935, the stations of NBC's Red Network debuted the first episode of Popeye the Sailor. It was a serial program heard three times a week (believed to be Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday) at 7:15 p.m.. It was the story of Popeye, who was all Navy from head to toe -- complete with the grizzled accent of an "Old Salt." His girlfriend (for the most part) was Olive Oyl, who adored Popeye, but also had something of a fickle nature. Popeye's friend was J. Wellington Wimpy, or "Wimpy" as he was referred to by his friends. His love was hamburgers--- and lots of them (too bad McDonald's didn't sponsor this program). Matey was a young boy who was adopted by Popeye. Swee' Pea was a baby left on Olive's doorstep. Last but certainly not least was Bluto, a big, rough, mean sailor who loved to stir up trouble -- and to beat the starch out of Popeye.
The characters and the stories on the radio program were similar in content to the comic strip -- with one noticeable exception. In the comic strip, when Popeye was completely out of gas, he always had a can of spinach in his shirt. He had enough strength to pop the can open and pour the contents into his mouth. In split-second speed, Popeye had the strength of 10 men (amazing stuff that spinach). In no time at all, Popeye whipped the daylights out of Bluto, won Olive's heart (for the moment), and everyone lived happily ever after -- until the start of a new story in next week's comic strip.
If spinach were the sponsor of the Popeye radio show, it would be the perfect fit. During the 1930s, there were makers of canned fruit and vegetables (including spinach), but none of them came forward. For a radio program to survive on the air, it was very important to have a sponsor. Wheatena wasn't spinach, but it was the sponsor of the Popeye radio program (if you're not familiar with Wheatena, it was a hot wheat cereal). As you already know, the sponsor called the shots on the radio program they sponsored, so the trick here was to involve Wheatena into the program. There was only one answer:
Wheatena replaced spinach as Popeye's strengthening food.
At the beginning and end of each broadcast, there were the usual Wheatena commercials narrated by announcer Kelvin Beech. While Beech made Wheatena sound so good, the small fry in the listening audience were wondering how it would be involved in the story.
In one episode, Olive, Wimpy, and Matey planned a picnic. They boarded a streetcar that was going to the city limits. This streetcar had a reputation of going fast. On this trip, it was a little too fast. With some sharp curves coming up, the streetcar operator tried to slow it down, but the brakes jammed. After the streetcar hit a truck in the tracks, the driver was thrown out. The conductor of the streetcar showed his bravery by voluntarily jumping off. It was Olive, Wimpy and Matey on the speeding streetcar by themselves. In a nutshell, it didn't look very good for the trio.
With the streetcar gathering more speed, Popeye came to the rescue. He stood in the middle of the tracks, bracing himself to stop the streetcar. This may not necessarily be the smartest thing Popeye or anyone else could do. The speeding streetcar continued its deadly pace. It appeared Popeye was headed to the ship in the sky. Miraculously, Popeye wasn't hit by the streetcar, but he was hanging on to the opposite end for dear life.
The streetcar was now approaching a busy area of the city. Something had to be done -- and fast. Matey started cooking some Wheatena. Popeye said that in order to stop a fast-moving streetcar, not to mention heavy, he needed three bowls full of Wheatena. Popeye devoured the Wheatena. In split-second speed, he had energy and strength. Popeye slowed down the streetcar. It took a few seconds, but Popeye managed to completely derail the streetcar before it approached the busy intersection. It was a scary moment, but the good news was nobody was hurt -- except Popeye's feet that felt the heat from the friction of slowing the streetcar down.
Although Wheatena gave Popeye superhuman strength on the program, the makers of the cereal don't promise the same result to everyone who eats it. Eating Wheatena at breakfast time supplied the energy needed to get the day off in the right direction. Wheatena worked out very well in Popeye's stories on the radio. Good thing the sponsor wasn't something that was not to be eaten. Working that into the story might be very interesting.
Danny Godwin in Return With Us Now, July 2009
Texaco Star Theater Became Radio's Biggest Hit Show
How many persons throughout the United States wonder what has become of Theda Bara, most glamorous of the movie sirens of more than a decade ago? And how many others are intrigued by the idea of hearing the bewhiskered Santa Claus of Hollywood's famed Santa Claus Lane on the air; or George McManus, creator of the popular comic strip dealing with the doings of Jiggs and Maggie; or Tom Mix, hero of a thousand cinematic gun battles and now a famed rodeo star?
With shrewd showmanship, producer Ed Gardner, who directs the Hollywood half hour of the Texaco Star Theater, has taken advantage of the public's curiosity about celebrities whom they have never heard on the air, combined it with human interest, gentle ribbing and fast-moving comedy to make the show one of the most popular on the national networks.
Gardner strives for the unusual in the matter of guests on the program. One week it may be a famed film star who has dropped from sight. The next it may be an author of a bestseller. Among the guests he has had on the show, in addition to McManus, Mix, Bara and Dale Carnegie are Mack Sennett, father of the custard pie comedy; Mae Murray of The Merry Widow fame; Bela Lugosi, whose role of Dracula is outstanding among the screen and stage horror performances; Basil Rathbone and many more.
"The public is tired of hearing from the big names in films today," says Gardner. "What it wants is human interest. Everybody wonders what has become of the old timers. Everyone is curious about celebrities who are seldom heard on the air."
"We think we've got the answer. Naturally, a cut-and-dried interview would be dull, but combine it with laughs and you've got something."
Credit for the idea goes to Gardner, who took over the show this fall. Believing the guest star business to be overdone, Gardner sought a substitute -- one that was unique and yet combined all the good features of the guest star idea with greater human interest and the present Texaco show is the result.
Emceeing the program is wisecracking Ken Murray who works with Gardner and the writers on the comedy. A former screen and vaudeville actor and for several years a nationally syndicated humorous columnist, Ken fits perfectly into the writing picture and works hand in glove with the production staff.
Between Ken and Gardner, they decide upon guests, evolve the idea of the evening's skit and work out the fast-moving comedy dialogue.
A new addition to the cast of the program is Irene Ryan, the wisecracking, slightly hard-boiled young damsel who keeps Murray in line on the show by her caustic remarks whenever Murray's ego threatens to get the better of him. She never fails to bring down the house with her vitriolic interruptions.
Irene recently came to the coast with her equally well known husband, Tim, with whom she trouped for many years under the team of Tim and Irene. And no sooner did Gardner hear of her arrival than he signed her as a regular member of the cast.
Musical interludes of the program are supplied by Frances Langford and Kenny Baker, top ranking singers in the radio field, who are also being used in the comedy skits since Gardner took over the production reins.
Baker is cast as a naive, slightly dumb young fellow, while Frances, as Francie-Lou, wins the audience with her typically Southern accent -- a holdover from her childhood days in Florida.
Furnishing the musical background for Frances and Kenny's songs are David Broekman and his band, while commercials are deftly handled by the suave Jimmy Wallington, veteran announcer of the show.
From Radio Varieties, January 1940
Hedy Lamarr Saved Radio Show That Found Homes for Orphans
I can tell you now the poignant story of how a complete half hour radio program was kept on the air for 13 weeks through one rather famous listener's impulsive and sentimental gesture.
The story begins on a Sunday in July a year and a half ago, with the first broadcast over the Mutual network of a half hour program called Nobody's Children. Its studio setting was unique, for it broadcast from the reception room of the Children's Home Society of California, dramatizing the stories of the orphans at the Society. Movie guest stars interested in the program appeared without payment, making brief talks.
The program ran over a year, always with the hope that a sponsor would take the broadcasts. None did and so, on a Sunday this past fall, Walter White Jr., who conceived the program and directed all its broadcasts, announced to listeners that the program would have to end. It could not afford to be continued, he explained, without sponsorship to absorb the costs of broadcasting the program.
A few days later, White had a check for $1,800 -- enough to keep the program on the air several more weeks without sponsorship. The check was from Hedy Lamarr.
Grateful, he respected a request that the gift remain anonymous, but news of it reached Louella Parsons and was published in her column.
That is why I am able to write this story at all. I don't know whether the program will continue longer on the air, now that the additional weeks have passed. I hope it will, because as White wrote me, "The purpose of our program is to acquaint listeners with the problems of the homeless and underprivileged child, also to stimulate interest in the older children, to the end that they will be given such essentials as a home, foster parents, and affection, understanding and opportunity."
He also wrote, "Miss Lamarr gave in the spirit that most gifts from the heart are made, in all sincerity, and even dated the check she sent me with her little adopted boy's own adoption date."
Fred R. Sammis in Radio and Television Monitor, March 1941
David Freedman: How to Make Visual Comedians Funny on Radio
It has been my good fortune as a radio writer to be associated with such stars as Eddie Cantor, Lou Holtz, Fanny Brice and Al Jolson. In every case I strove to transplant the magic personality of these stars to the medium of the air by creating a sound substitute for those qualities that were purely visual.
Cantor's electric personality with eyes popping, hands vibrating and every part of his being reaching out to warm an audience is a difficult thing to convey through mere words coming out of a loudspeaker. It was necessary to create a character that would bring into every home a picture of this live, vivid comedian whose art is not merely slapstick and whose humor is not merely gags.
We hit on the idea of making him Uncle Sam's advisor -- Eddie Cantor, U.S.A. -- and immediately he seemed to have a permanent and important place in the scheme of things. His comedy became timely and topical and just as in a circus there was always a clown who got tangled in the carpets and bungled all the jobs of setting up the apparatus, so Cantor got tangled in world affairs and extracted comedy out of all the big problems that confronted the nation.
In addition to the character, we also invented comedy sounds that would take the place of his running up and down the stage, darting glances and clapping his hands. The ear has as great a sense of comedy as the eye if you tickle it properly.
A scene in an aeroplane where he talked faster if the plane went faster and talked slower when the plane slowed down gave the complete illusion of an air adventure to the listeners in the home. When he flew to great heights his voice became shrill and when he descended, it grew bass. These were sound tricks that could not have meant much on the stage, but on the radio created a complete comedy illusion.
I could give any number of such examples. In a mock parting between Cantor and Jimmy Wallington they both became so overcome by emotion that they cried. Finally Wallington pretended to become so hysterical that Cantor had to read the commercial advertisement for him and he read the entire announcement in a sobbing broken voice choked with tears.
If you saw the scene it would have spoiled the illusion -- but listening to it over the radio, it proved to be hilarious fun.
David Freedman in Radio Guide, August 12, 1933
Jack Benny Tells on Wife Mary Livingstone
I'm glad of this opportunity to write the lowdown on Mary Livingstone, because at home or on the air I never get the chance to say anything. There's a gal that always has to have the last word, and trouble is, it's usually funny.
Yes, Mary and I have our differences, but about the only time we ever really clash is on Wednesday night. As far as I'm concerned the only good thing about that program is Kenny Baker, who, incidentally. has a higher IQ than Fred Allen. Now don't think I have anything against Fred personally -- I just can't stand him. If Mary tunes in on him next week I'm going to take the earphones and run 'em through the meat grinder. (Well, I guess I should wish Freddie a Merry Christmas. That's the trouble with me, I'm not a louse.)
But getting back to Mary, she loves to entertain. And I think she should -- I like to have people in, too. Incidentally, Bob Taylor and Barbara Stanwyck have been at our house seven times this month. We've been to their house only three times and the month is nearly over. I wouldn't mind that so much, but Taylor eats like a horse. I don't know how he keeps his figure.
Another thing, Mary always tries to give the impression that I'm tight. Well, I'll tell you something about her. When I was making Charley's Aunt, she wouldn't even lend me a girdle. I had to go out and buy one! And I needed it for only eight weeks. Oh well, I'll think. of some way to use it now.
Anyhow, there's one thing I can say for Mary -- she's not the least bit jealous. She was out at the Korda studio watching me do a very passionate love scene with Carole Lombard the other day, and when I kissed Carole Mary just laughed and laughed. Clark Gable was standing there and he laughed too. I'm glad that Mary and Clark aren't narrow-minded.
Guess that's about all for now. I've got to go out and get my Christmas tree. I've got a swell one picked out. Hope you all have a very Merry Christmas.
Jack Benny in Movie-Radio Guide, December 20, 1941
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