The Audition That Changed the Lives of Chester Lauck and Norris Goff

A strange sight would have greeted the eyes of anyone entering the board of directors room of the Quaker Oats Company on a summer morning in 1931. On one side of the room you would have found all the staid and dignified directors of the company, seated with their faces to the wall. On the other side you would have seen two young men talking hillbilly dialect to a broom handle!

That was the turning point in the careers of the two boys who have become famous in radioland as Lum and Abner, the Ozark hillbilly philosophers. The boys, Chester Lauck and Norris Goff, had gone to Chicago for their vacation. They had been doing their Lum and Abner show down at radio station KTHS in Hot Springs, Arkansas.

While they were in Chicago they decided to make a try at big-time radio. So they went over to the National Broadcasting Company studios in the Merchandise Mart for an audition. They didn't know much about auditions but they'd heard others speak of such things and so they guessed they'd try one, too.

And so to NBC where they met Sen Kaney. In Sen's office they watched and listened while he tuned in auditions from the various studios. Singers (both men and women), speakers, announcers, sports reporters, newscasters -- the whole gamut passed through that loudspeaker in a parade of aspiring young talent. They noticed that Sen would listen only to a minute or two of each person and then turn back to continue talking to them.

Finally they got their chance. So they got up before the microphone without a script, without anything in fact except their deft young minds and a long memory of childhoods spent in a rural district.

They did about 15 minutes and then hurried back to Sen's office. He didn't say a word as they entered. For a long moment he sat there looking at them. Then he spoke.

"Well, boys, you've got something -- but darned if I know what! You used that word 'thar' 27 times in 15 minutes."

Goff turned to Lauck and grinned. If Kaney knew they had used that word 27 times it proved he had listened to a lot more than just a minute or two of their work. At least he'd listened a lot more to them than he had the others who had been on while they had sat in Kaney's office before their turn came.

Kaney offered them $150 a week as sustaining (non-commercial) artists. They had been working at KTHS in Hot Springs for nothing -- for the fun of it -- but suddenly decided that if they were good enough to go on an NBC network they were good enough to get a lot more money than that.

They turned him down and that was the luckiest move of their lives.

Goff's father was a wholesale grocer and Norris was one of his buyers. The result was that he knew the Quaker Oats salesman who covered the Arkansas territory. The salesman had often suggested that if Norris ever got to Chicago he should look up the company and visit their plant. So before coming the boys had armed themselves with a letter of introduction from Norris' father.

There luck entered the picture once again. That company was sponsoring Gene and Glenn as a radio series. Gene and Glenn were going on vacation and the company wanted something to fill in with during their absence. So one of the officials mentioned the fact and immediately the boys offered to do a Lum and Abner audition for them.

Although Lum and Abner are strictly hayseed characters, old timers from the rural mountains, the boys themselves are really young and modern. They realized they couldn't accomplish a thing if the officers could see them.

So they herded all of the officials in the board of directors room and seated them facing the wall. In such a position they couldn't see the boys work but could hear them just as any radio fan would. Then the boys went to the opposite wall. They spied a broomstick and brought it into service as a microphone.

The Quaker Oats officials liked the act immediately. In fact, they signed them to fill in for Gene and Glenn's vacation although another act had been promised the job.

But let's pause a moment to look back into the lives of the boys and get acquainted with them.

Chester Lauck is Lum. In addition he plays the parts of Grandpappy Spears, old citizen; Butch Dolan; Oscar Fields; Dan Davis; Frank Foster; Clarence O. Willoughby; and Snake Hogan, Pine Ridge's public enemy no. 1. He was born February 9, 1902, at Allene, Arkansas, but soon the family moved to Mena, Arkansas, where he was raised. He attended the University of Arkansas and the Chicago Academy of Fine Arts. He edited a magazine in the Texas Rio Grand Valley. Later he returned to Mena to enter the bank and then became manager of the auto finance company there. He is married and has two children, Shirley Mae and Nancy.

Abner is really Norris Goff, born May 3, 1906, in Cove, Arkansas. He also moved to Mena early in life. He attended the University of Arkansas and University of Oklahoma. Later he worked for his father in the wholesale grocery firm in Mena and finally became the company's secretary and treasurer. He also is married. He has one son, Gary. In addition to being Abner, Norris (Toughy) Goff is Duck Huddleston, proprietor of the store and post office, and some others.

Both men were companions since childhood and used to indulge in much local entertainment. Their first venture in radio came on April 26, 1931, when they were asked to assist the Mena Lions Club in a town-boosting program over KTHS. Lum and Abner had planned to put on an act as black characters but discovered shortly before the program was to go on the air that another team was scheduled for the same performance doing the same thing.

With a half hour to work in, they decided to "sit and talk" much in the manner of the old Ozarks residents whom they had known all their lives. With five minutes to spare before the program opened they decided to call themselves Lum and Abner. The presentation was such a success that Lum and Abner were invited back to KTHS to repeat for eight more broadcasts. The deluge of fan mail was the greatest up to that time in the station's history.

That led them up to the Chicago audition and their first sponsor. They stayed with the Quaker Oats Company long after Gene and Glenn returned to resume their broadcasting. When that happened the company sent Lum and Abner to broadcast on stations in Fort Worth and Dallas, Texas.

Subsequently the team was sponsored by the Ford Motor Company, for whom Lum and Abner developed a program known as the Pine Ridge Sociable in addition to their nightly 15-minute show.

The Horlick Malted Milk Company of Racine, Wisconsin, took over sponsorship of the act during the early part of 1934. No network spot being available at that time, Lum and Abner were shipped up to Minneapolis to do a one-station stand via WCCO.

At the instigation of the Horlick Company, the Mutual Broadcasting System was formed in the fall of 1934 in order to bring Lum and Abner to a wider radio audience. The network consisted of WGN, WLW, WXYZ and WOR.

About their personal habits: both of them go in for golf, handball and tennis. For real entertainment they visit places like Coney Island. They have the native horse-sense of their home territory when it comes to business dealings, and considering the fact that they are among the best paid stars in the radio world they live lives that some people might consider modest and frugal.

The answer to this frugality is that they have laid the groundwork for eventual retirement by investing in annuities, insurance polices for their wives and children, and property holdings of one type or another that will net them an income in the future. Not given to lavish entertainment, both men prefer an evening of bridge and conversation with a few friends.

And there you have Lum and Abner, the men themselves, the characters of their radio series and something about the history of how they reached fame via the Ozark Mountains -- a fame which was proved when they offered to give away copies of their newspaper, the Pine Ridge News, and 350,000 requests came in!

From Radio News, July 1938

Old Time Radio · Comedy · Lum And Abner · Chester Lauck · Norris Goff · NBC · Mutual · Arkansas · KTHS · Quaker Oats ·

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Al Benny's Broadway Boys (Harry Bidgood) - Tip Toe Through The Tulips (1929)

Al Benny’s Broadway Boys recorded the song "Tip Toe Through the Tulips" in London for Broadcast Twelve Records on October 30, 1929. George McQuillan played the harp on the recording.

Harry Bidgood was a composer and band leader who recorded music under numerous names using studio musicians.

"Tip Toe Through the Tulips with Me" was created by Al Dubin (lyrics) and Joe Burke (music) appeared that year in the musical movie the Gold Diggers of Broadway. It became a hit song again almost 40 years later when the singer Tiny Tim performed it on the pilot episode of the TV show Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In.

Old Time Radio · Songs · Harry Bidgood · Al Dubin · Carmen LombardoJoe Burke · Broadcast Twelve ·

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Fanny Brice Made Her Name on an Amateur Night

Every night this week, in movie theaters in small towns as well as in the big radio studios of New York, scared girls in homemade clothes -- amateurs -- are doing imitations and singing songs. Hoping!

Thirty years ago, too, there were amateur nights. More brutal amateur nights than those today. They were held not in vast modern studios with an unctuous Major Bowes or a wise-cracking Fred Allen as master of ceremonies, but in variety halls, as they were called then, and with no ceremony at all.

The audiences booed and shouted. A stagehand held a long pole with an iron hook at the end, with which he none too gently dragged the failures into the wings. There were scared girls in homemade clothes in those days, too. Hoping.

And one of them was Fanny Brice.

Out of every thousand amateurs today, nine hundred and ninety-nine are never heard of again. It was the same then. Fanny is the one who didn't fail. As you read this, two theaters in Broadway, facing each other actress the street, carry her name in lights. One is a huge movie house where The Great Ziegfeld is showing. The other offers the show which that very Ziegfeld originated in 1907, and which is going on every year even though Ziegfeld himself is dead: The Follies. And you hear Fanny, in addition, over the air. The theater, the movies, the radio: There are no more worlds for her to conquer.

What memories she has!

As she stands before the microphone, and as she stood before the cameras while she was making the picture dealing with Florenz Ziegfeld's life -- she who was Ziegfelf's closest female friend -- the memories flooding into her mind were enough for a dozen lifetimes. Of Ziegfeld himself, first of all. Of how he heard when his new-born Follies were only three years old, of a girl with a funny face who was stopping the show nightly over at the Columbia Burlesque. Of how he sent for her. Of how she took her mother along.

"How much do you want?" asked Ziggy in his dry, squeaky voice.

"Forty dollars a week," said momma promptly.

Ziegfeld chucked, made it seventy-five, and signed a contract for a year. Fanny stood on a Broadway corner and showed that contract to everyone who passed -- cops, tourists, song-pluggers, everyone. Irving Berlin, at that time grateful for forty a week himself, remembers that she showed it to him five times. It was worn to tatters.

Already Fanny Brice had put behind her, then, the 13-year-old girl from the slums -- whose only pals were newsboys -- pushed out violently on the stage of Keeney's Fulton Street Theater in toughest Brooklyn to warble, "When You Know You're Not Forgotten by the Girl You Can't Forget."

Already she had put behind her other amateur night successes and failures. Then Tin Pan Alley. Then the rear row of a burlesque show chorus. Then a show where the great George M. Cohan had groaned, "I can't stand it. She's holding up the whole chorus. Back to the kitchen!" Then a touring road company where she lay on the stage under a painted canvas ocean and grabbed the hero's legs as he swam by. (She was an invisible alligator.) Then burlesque.

Then, at last -- Ziegfeld.

From Jack Jamison in Radio Guide, November 28, 1936

Old Time Radio · Comedy · Fanny Brice · Florenz Ziegfeld · Ziegfeld Follies · Baby Snooks · Major Bowes · Fred Allen · Burlesque ·

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Lew Stone and His Band - A Sailboat in the Moonlight (1937)

Lew Stone and His Band recorded the song "A Sailboat In The Moonlight" with the singer Sam Costa for the Decca label on August 20, 1937. The personnel included Alfie Noakes and Chick Smith on trumpet, Eric Breeze and Joe Ferrie on trombone, Joe Crossman, Ernest Ritte, Bill Apps, and Don Barrigo on reeds, Bobby McGee on piano, Sam Gelsley on guitar, Arthur Maden on string bass and Jock Jacobson on drums.

Stone was a jazz pianist, bassist, cellist, arranger, and dance band leader who led one of the most popular bands in England in the 1930s. He was also the musical director of British and Dominion Films for several years that decade.

The song "A Sailboat in the Moonlight" was written by Carmen Lombardo and John Jacob Loeb and was first recorded by Johnny Hodges and His Orchestra the same year as Stone. It has been covered by other artists, including Guy Lombardo, Sonny Stitt and Dick Robertson.

Old Time Radio · Songs · Lew Stone · Sam Costa · Carmen Lombardo · Jacob Loeb · Guy Lombardo · Decca ·

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Saving Uncle Marmaduke by John Eugene Hasty

A short story by John Eugene Hasty from Radio magazine, September 1925

You know, I rather think there might be something in what these philosopher gents say about the darkest hour coming before the dawn. Of course, I imagine that dawn has been following the darkest hour for so many years that it's quite a habit with it by this time; but what I mean to say is that when a fellow gets in a bad jam and then up pops some friend to rally around him in the time of need, it sort of brings home the truth. Here I was facing the disagreeable experience of starving to death -- or what is worse, having to go to work -- when Bill Curtiss drifts into the picture, and … But maybe I had better start at the beginning.

Curtiss is one of these amateur radio sharks, you know. We'd always been more or less chummy, having both been turned out of the same school -- Curtiss with a diploma and I with a reprimand from the dean; so when I decided to become one of the great audience of radiocast listeners, he volunteered to run down to the old homestead and give me some top hole advice as to whether I ought to get a superiodine or a degenerative set. Then this other affair broke loose; and for the time being I forgot all about him.

I was in my room at the club, restoring old tissues with a bit of the pure and unadulterated dreamless, when the telephone rang. Feeling more or less of a blank, I jerked myself out of the downy couch and groped through the cold, gray dawn to the phone. It was my sister Ruth calling. Just what she was doing in the city at that ghastly hour, I couldn't quite fathom; but finally it began to percolate through the old bean that she was all upset about something and wanted me to meet her at breakfast at the St. Francis. One thing about Ruth: when she makes up her mind about a thing, you might just as well give up the struggle. I mean to say that she's firm. Adamantine. The old rock of Gibraltar and that sort of thing. So an hour later, I was sitting across the table from her, waiting for the news. It wasn't long in coming.

"Reggie," she said, after the waiter had taken our order and had toddled out to the kitchen for a game of checkers with the cook, "Reggie, what would you call a man who hid behind a woman's skirt?"

"In view of the present styles," I peeped, "I'd call him a magician. But if you've got any more riddles, save 'em until later in the day. Right now I'm a bit thick."

"Perhaps you' re not too thick to get this," she came back. "You and I are just about to lose every cent we possess. Uncle Marmaduke …. "

"What!" I shouted. "You don't mean to say he's mixed up with another chorus girl?"

"Worse than that. This time it's a medium."

"Medium?" I repeated, "Referring to a steak?"

"Don't be an ass, Reggie, I'm talking about a spiritualist medium -- Mrs. Hoagworth, the new housekeeper. Of course, you know about her."

"I don't," I breathed, all aquiver, "tell me."

She did, to considerable length. It seemed that this estimable Mrs. Hoagworth is a spook sister; one of these ladies who pals around with ghosts, and goes in for table rapping, slate writing and messages from the great beyond. According to Ruth, she's jolly well succeeded in getting Uncle Marmaduke all wrapped up in the subject, and has put in a direct leased wire to the spirit world in order to give him all the advance tips.

"It's positively outrageous the way he follows that woman's advice," Ruth went on, "Absolutely hides himself behind her skirts; won't do anything or say anything without first asking Mrs. Hoagworth what the spirits have to say about it. And lately, mind you, she's been teaching him how to receive spirit messages on his own hook."

"Oh, well, it could be worse," I said, champing on a piece of toast which the waiter had just brought in, "It's certain that any communications he might have with the spirits won't turn up as Exhibit A for the plaintiff in a breach-of-promise suit. If the old boy gets any fun out of it, let him proceed. I'd say it was. all quite harmless."

"Harmless!" Ruth snapped, "Harmless! Do you know what the spirits have been advising him to do? Why, to turn over the entire Rockford-Peebles estate to the spiritualist cause, which means to Mrs. Hoagworth. If that woman succeeds with her plot, you and I will be left without a penny. We'll be paupers. And yet you can sit there calmly eating your breakfast, and say it's harmless."

Of course, that was a horse with a different face -- as the expression goes. I mean to say that after having been raised in the lap of luxury so to speak, it's a bit muggy to be informed that you appear to be a winning candidate for the bread line.

"But-but what am I going to do about it?" I stammered, gulping down the toast.

"You're going home with me," Ruth said, "and you're going to stay there until you've rescued Uncle Marmaduke from that old dragon's clutches. The car is waiting for us outside. Here, waiter, let us have the check; never mind the coffee. Come on, Reggie."

That's the kind of a girl Ruth is. I mean to say firm. Righto!

Being a light hearted and carefree chap who loves to revel among the bright lights, I usually find our country place a bit depressing. On this particular day, it seemed even more so. The lawn was overgrown with rank grass, the hedges needed trimming, and there was a sort of a run-down, gloomy air about the place which reminded me of the old mansion in the book where they break in and find the body of the eccentric millionaire who had been struck over the head with a blunt instrument by parties unknown.

"What, Ho!" I said to Ruth, "The home of my happy boyhood days has a lean and hungry look. What's wrong -- gardeners on a strike?"

"Uncle Marmaduke has discharged all the servants, excepting the cook," she informed me, "It was the will of the spirits."

Inside of the house, things were just as bad: dust over everything, the blinds drawn, and the place so deucedly quiet that it gave a chap an uncomfortable, creepy feeling between the shoulder blades. When I heard a step on the upper landing, I leaped like a frightened young gazelle. Looking up, I saw a large, solid female coming down the stairs. I judged it was Mrs. Hoagworth. I can't say there was anything spiritual about her. Rather beefy, in fact. The sort of a woman who looked as if she might he dangerous to the chap who would try to thwart her. She didn't say anything; but before she disappeared into the library, she shot me a grim, forbidding glance. It made me feel as if I were something the dog had dug up and brought into the parlor. I mean to say it seemed that she resented my being there; and was just biding her time to slip a slug of poison into my coffee.

The whole business was getting on my nerves. Somehow I caught myself tiptoeing about as if there had been a death in the family. If there had been anyone about to talk to, I would have probably spoken in a whisper. But there wasn't. Ruth had gone to her room; Uncle Marmaduke was taking his afternoon nap; and the Hoagworth woman had vanished somewhere in the rear of the house. Finally, the afternoon dragged itself out; and Ruth came down to dinner. Uncle Marmaduke had a tray sent up to his room; so Ruth and I ate by ourselves by candle light. The electric current had been shut off -- another idea which had been passed on to Uncle Marmaduke from the spirit world.

Right after dinner, I decided that if there were any rescuing to be done, it had better be done with dispatch; so I toddled up the stairs and knocked at Uncle Marmaduke's door. For a minute or so, there was nothing but silence; then I heard him tell me to come in -- in one of those sad, faint voices that sound like the bleat of a far-off sheep. I opened the door and oozed in. Even in the candlelight, I could see that the poor old chap was pretty far gone. He was huddled up in an armchair by the fireplace, looking pale and wan, as the poets say.

"Cheerio, Unc," I said, in my sprightliest manner, "What's wrong? The old liver out of joint? What!"

He gave me a cold, fish-like hand, and wearily waived me to a seat before replying.

"I'm afraid I'm not long for this world, Reggie."

"Oh, nonsense," I retorted, "You're quite long enough. Five feet, nine inches, if I remember correctly; or is it five feet, ten?"

But the wisecrack didn't register with him at all. He continued to stare off into space and to speak in a solemn, crushed voice.

"I've been a wicked man in my day, Reggie, a very wicked man. I must make amends before I pass on; and the time of my passing is not far off -- no, it is not far off."

"Oh, you haven't been so bad," I said, comfortingly, "Of course, that affair you had with the chorus girl was a bit of a mess; but by and large, I 'd say you would stack up just about par. There's been lots of chaps much worse than you: Jessie James or Gyp the Blood, for instance. Besides, who has been giving you all the inside dope about your passing?"

"The spirits!" He said it with a soft, sliding sound, biting the word off quickly at the end and then continuing with a hollow-voiced sing-song effect. "The spirits, Reggie. They come to me in the quiet of the night. Rapping, rapping, gently rapping. Revealing what is to be. Guiding and advising me. And always-always they say, 'Purify yourself of all wealth. Remove the taint of earthly gain. The time of your passing approaches.' They say it over and over again -- over and over again."

I say, you know, that sort of thing in a dimly lighted room is likely to make a chap's nerves crawl; but I managed to keep myself bucked up.

"Rot! You've got a plain case of heebie-jeebies. Get out the old golf clubs, play eighteen holes with me tomorrow, and you'll feel better. This spirit business is the …"

I was about to say, "the bunk," But just then something happened that positively made my spine curl. In the center of the room stood a small table. All of a sudden, there came from it three distinct raps. For a moment, I just sat there with my mouth open, and the little shivers frolicking up and down my back.

"The spirits," Uncle Marmaduke whispered, "The spirits, signaling a message."

It was all quiet for an interval, so quiet that I could hear Uncle Marmaduke breathing through his nose like an acrobat getting ready to do a stiff trick. Then the table began rapping again, very slowly-- rat-tat tat-tat-tat. I saw Uncle Marmaduke writing something in a notebook which he took out of his dressing robe pocket. The table kept up the rapping for a minute or two; then stopped.

"The spirit message," Uncle Marmaduke said, handing me his note book. He had written on one of the pages, "Beware of evil influences, Free yourself from the taint of earthly gain. The time of your passing cometh soon."

I've read that chaps, whom Fate. has given the old K.O., have a habit of picking themselves up and piecing themselves together again, so to speak. There's a lot to it. I know, because that's just what I did -- or, at least, tried to do. After the seance in Uncle Marmaduke's room, I felt pretty shaky. I mean to say that the full horror of the thing rolled over me. A fellow can put up a scrap against another fellow; but I ask you, what can he do against a ghost? Absolutely nothing. Right!

But the next morning with the merry sunshine pouring through the windows, I began to feel different about it, sort of got myself together. Here, says I, is a chance to exercise the old bean. Solve the mystery of the rapping table, and win a fortune. I t was worth trying.

So when I heard Uncle Marmaduke go down to breakfast, I gumshoed into his room for a bit of sleuthing. Naturally, my first hunch was that the knocking was produced by strings or wires attached to the table. But there weren't any. I studied the table, moved it about, went over every inch of it with an eagle eye for clues. All minus. The table looked just about like maybe a million other tables I had seen. The thing had me fairly stymied.

Worse than that, it meant I was doomed to be thrust out into the cruel world without even a crust upon which to rest my weary head. I mean to say that the future looked pretty black for the younger generation of the Rockford-Peebles family. No question that Uncle Marmaduke was thoroughly sold on the spirit messages; and it was only a matter of time until he revamped his will as per the spirits' directions. I could close my eyes and see Mrs. Hoagworth, grim and cruel, clutching the deed to the property in one hand while she ordered Ruth and I out of the house with the other.

Feeling pretty low, I dragged myself downstairs, and went out in the garden to puzzle the thing out. There was a Ford car parked in front of the house; and coming up the walk was Bill Curtiss. He looked as fresh and fit as a dew-covered violet. Somehow, the very sight of him seemed to steady the old nerve centers, gave me new born confidence, as it were.

"I say, Bill," I shouted, rushing at him pell-mell and grasping his hand like a drowning man grasps the well known straw, "how in blazes did you happen to drop in?"

"Why," he said, looking a bit ruffled, "I seem to have the impression that you invited me down for the weekend to give you some advice on radio sets."

"So I did! I So I did!" I chortled, dragging him up to the porch, "But sit down; I've got something else on my mind. What do you know about these people who put you In touch with spirits?"

"You mean bootleggers?"

"No, no; spiritualists, mediums."

"Not very much. Why?"

I told him, unburdened my bruised nd bleeding soul to him, so to speak. He listened attentively until I had finished the whole harrowing tale.

"Is your uncle's housekeeper present when these spirit manifestations take place?" he asked.

"No. I mean she wasn't around last night, anyway. Not a sign of her."

"You say you examined the table carefullv?"

"Righto! It's just an ordinary table, been in the family for years."

"Does your uncle, when he is communicating with the spirits, ask questions which the table answers?"

"No, the table seems to do all the talking. I mean to say it raps out messages like, like …"

"Like a telegraph instrument?

"Yes, by Jove, that' s it exactly, just like a telegraph instrument. Unc takes the messages down in a little book."

"Hmm, I wonder if there's any chance of my sitting in on a seance; I'd like to see the table perform. Perhaps you can palm me off as being somewhat of a medium myself."

"What, Ho! There's a brainy thought," I said, jumping up, "we can't get ruled out for trying, anyway. Come along, I'll speak to the old boy about it."

"Wait a minute," he answered," I want to get something out of my bag. And by the way, Reggie, let me borrow your wristwatch for a while."

"What for?" I asked, unstrapping the watch and handing it to him.

"Never mind. Tell you later."

He ran out to his car, fussed around for a moment getting something out of his bag, and was back on the porch in a jiffy.

"All right, Reggie, my boy, lead the way."

We found Uncle Marmaduke in the library with Mrs. Hoagworth. She was talking to him in low tones, but cut her conversation off sharply as we entered.

"Here's good news, Unc," I said, "Meet Professor Bill Curtiss, world-famous medium, the man whose remarkable psychic powers have baffled the scientists of two continents."

Uncle Marmaduke smiled weakly and bowed; but the Hoagworth woman sat bolt upright in her chair and gave me another hard look. I pretended not to notice it, however, and babbled on. "I was just telling the prof about your table rapping stunt, and he says that's kindergarten stuff. He can make it do a song and dance. Eh, professor?"

"I'm afraid your nephew overestimates my ability," Curtiss said, smiling, "I'm merely a student of the occult, and would appreciate attending one of your seances."

"He doesn't hold seances," the Hoagworth woman interrupted.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," Curtiss said smoothly, "No doubt, I misunderstood the facts. If Reggie, here, were simply boasting, why … "

Sunken into the depths as he was, Uncle Marmaduke had still retained a few drops of the old Rockford-Peebles sporting blood. I mean to say that what Curtiss said rather cut him. His face went red, and he completely disregarded the warning glance which Mrs. Hoagworth shot at him.

"I make no claim at being a medium," he said testily, "but if the spirits see fit to communicate with me, I see no reason why you shouldn't witness the phenomenon."

I started to shout, "bravo," but changed it into a cough when I caught the expression on Mrs. Hoagworth's face. I've seen the same look on some of the wild animals at the zoo; a sort of oh-if-I could -only-get-at-you-for-about-a-minute effect.

"The spirits seldom manifest themselves at this time of day," she said.

"Indeed?" Curtiss replied, giving it the rising inflection, "Then perhaps we'd better not disturb them. Frankly, I had my doubts regarding the matter, anyway."

This was too much for Uncle Marmaduke.

"See here, young man," he fumed, "I'll have you to understand that my nephew told you the truth. Come up to my room and I'll prove it." He turned to Mrs. Hoagworth, and went on in a wheedling voice. "There can't be any harm in it. Why don't you join us?"

"I'll have nothing to do with it," she said frostily.

She arose, swept out of the library and up the stairs, with the rest of us following along behind to Uncle Marmaduke's room. In the light of day, it wasn't so dashed spooky. In fact, I was beginning to get quite a kick out of the affair. We waited for about five minutes, and then the table signaled a message. Rat-tat-tat. It was followed by a pause, and, at length, a prolonged rapping. When the knocking finally stopped, Curtiss roused himself from his seat near the table.

"A remarkable psychic demonstration," he said, "Did I understand you to say that you had no control over these spirit manifestations?"

Uncle Marmaduke nodded. "I haven't anything to do with it. Whenever the spirits have a message for me, they knock on the table. Mrs. Hoagworth taught me how to translate the rappings. You see, the various knocks stand for different letters of the alphabet. For instance, one short knock followed by one long one stand for the letter A."

"Yes, I . understand that," Curtiss answered, "In fact, I was able to translate the message. It was, 'Put not your faith in false prophets; for they shall vanish away!' I've had considerable experience with these kind of spirit messages myself."

"You don't tell me?" he said, perking up in his chair.

"Yes, indeed," Curtiss went on, "and what's more, I can usually control the spirits; make them give me messages whenever I'm in the mood. If you'll excuse me for a moment while I run down to my car, I'll be glad to conduct a seance right now."

By this time, Uncle Marmaduke was so tickled that he was twisting about like an electric fan. "Oh, by all means! I would be delighted, positively delighted. And so will Mrs. Hoagworth, I'm sure. I'll send for her."

But he didn't have to send. Curtiss had hardly left the room when in popped Mrs. Hoagworth, her face the color of a bottle of ketchup.

"See here," she shouted, "what's the idea of letting this bum put on a seance? Let this bunk artist pull any of his tricks around here, and I warn you, you'll regret it."

"I can't see why the seance should have any serious consequences. What is there to warn me about?"

"There's this," she hissed, "The minute this smart Alec starts his tomfoolery in this room, it means that the our of your passing is at hand. Just think that over."

With that, she turned and bounced out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Uncle Marmaduke turned a bit pale; but there's no denying that the old boy was game. H e didn't even flicker an eyelash when Curtiss returned, bringing with him a couple of dry cells, a coil of wire, a push button and a little oblong box, all of which he placed on the bureau.

"Before we start the seance," he began, "I want to explain my interest in this table of yours. It is the only spirit table I know of which transmits messages in Morse code. When Reggie told me about it, I was so fascinated that I decided to try a little experiment. I borrowed Reggie's wrist strap, took out the watch, and inserted a compass in its place." He took off the wrist strap, handed it to Uncle Marmaduke, and went on, "Ordinarily, the hand of the compass points north and south. But when the compass is brought into an electromagnetic field, the hand points in the direction of the electromagnet. I noticed that it did that very thing during the time you were receiving the spirit message; that is, instead of pointing north and south, it pointed toward the table."

"But-but what has all that to do with the spirits?" Uncle Marmaduke inquired, fidgeting about like a small boy waiting for dessert.

"I'm coming to that," Curtiss resumed, "just have patience. Now there's another little device which is also affected by electromagnetic waves. It is called a coherer; and it consists of a glass tube filled with particles of iron between two solid electrodes. These particles of iron offer resistance to an electric current under normal conditions, but when they are brought into the presence of electromagnetic waves, they cohere, and allow the current to pass through. The result is that you can transmit signals between two points without the aid of connecting wires. In fact, the coherer is one of the earliest radio receiving devices. To demonstrate …"

He had been hooking up the dry cells to the oblong box as he spoke. Now he did something to the push button. There was a series of shrill buzzes and the snapping of electric sparks. But what bowled me over, so to speak, was that the table was rapping with every buzz coming from the oblong box. Uncle Marmaduke fairly bounded from his chair.

"What's that?" he gargled, "What does this mean, sir?"

"It means," Curtiss said calmly, "that if you search Mrs. Hoagworth's room, you'll probably find just about the same equipment which I have here: a spark coil, a battery, and a push button or telegraph key. Moreover, if you'll remove the top of the table, you'll find a coherer arranged so that the hammer of the bell strikes against a hollow wooden block. I'll pay for the table just for the satisfaction of proving that I'm right."

He snatched up a poker which stood by the fireplace, and whacked it across the table, splitting the top. Sure enough, concealed in a little partition just underneath the broken top, was a couple of dry cells and the apparatus he had described.

"Why, sir," Uncle Marmaduke roared, "Mrs. Hoagworth has been sending me all these messages herself! I see it all now! It's a fake! I've been deceived!"

"It's 'a fake, all right," Curtiss said with a grin, "but you haven't exactly been deceived. I'd say that the table gave you some rather reliable advice. Didn't it warn you against false prophets, and didn't it tell you they would vanish away? Well, if you'll just glance out of the window, you'll see Mrs. Hoagworth vanishing down the road."

John Eugene Hasty (1894-1974) was an American detective fiction writer who wrote a three-novel series about a California cop and World War II veteran named Rick Gillis: The Man Without a Face (1958), Angel with Dirty Wings (1961) and Some Mischief Still (1963). He also was a radio writer and producer.

Old Time Radio · Fiction · John Eugene Hasty · Spiritualism · 1920s ·

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Oscar Rabin and His Band - Moonlight Serenade (1947)

Oscar Rabin and his Band recorded the song "Moonlight Serenade" with Harry Davis in 1947 for the Parlophone label. Though the British band was named for Rabin, he primarily handled the business duties and Davis led the band in performances while Rabin played the saxophone. Their partnership lasted from 1924 to 1953, when Davis moved to California to live with his daughter Beryl, who had been a singer in the band for many years.

The swing instrumental "Moonlight Serenade" was composed by Glenn Miller, becoming a phenomenal hit upon its release in 1939 and one of his signature tunes. The non-instrumental version has lyrics by Mitchell Parish.

Old Time Radio · Songs · Oscar Rabin · Harry Davis · Glenn Miller · Beryl Davis · Mitchell Parish · Parlophone ·

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Early Radio Announcers Invented Their Profession in the 1920s

Anyone who listens to the radio knows that the announcer or disc jockey has gone through some form of training to do the job right. But obviously in the early days of radio, there were not any schools to train people in the field of communications. So that meant anyone who wanted to do on the air work could just walk down to the local radio and ask for a job, and most likely they would get one.

The first person who deserved to have the title of announcer was H. W. Arlin who got his job just by hanging around the local radio station. He attended the University of Kansas and earned a degree in 1917 in electrical engineering. He was working in the east Pittsburgh plant of the Westinghouse graduate student training course.

At the time that the station KDKA went on the air in 1920, he was a supervisor, which would allow him to get all around the studio. He peeked in the studio one night and after a conversation with the person who was working at the station, got himself a job.

On Jan. 1, 1921, Arlin became the first permanent station announcer. The studio did not look like one -- basically, the studio was anywhere from which you could broadcast. A tent was set up next to the station shack that housed the transmitter, but the tent was not every helpful when any kind of bad weather came around!

Also, the 8:30 p.m. train did not help them any, as its whistle was heard during any program that was on, and this was a major annoyance. One night a tenor was brought in to sing. When he opened his mouth to sing, an insect tried to explore his mouth and the tenor said some words you do not say on radio, let alone anytime. The engineer did not wait to cut the power.

Arlin was everything that a radio station needed. He also became the first sports announcer in the nation when in 1921, he broadcast a prizefight at Motor Square Garden that was transmitted via telephone to Arlin in the studio.

The first New York radio announcer was Thomas Cowan. He was given the job when station WJZ went on air. The studio was a shack on a roof at the Westinghouse plant in Newark, New Jersey. He officially started on October 1, 1921. At 8 p.m. he went on air with these famous words, "This is WJZ, WJZ, WJZ, the radio telephone station located in Newark, New Jersey. This is announcer Cowan. Please stand by to tune.

The station only stayed on the air for two and a half hours, but that is a lot of time for a radio announcer. He decided to play phonographs on the air. He had earlier borrowed a phonograph and some records from his friend Thomas Edison. A few days later, Edison called and asked the station to stop playing the records, so they returned them and bought their own.

Cowan also brought singers to go on the air. After a while, he did not have to request that singers go on air; they volunteered.

WJZ made up a new studio with carpets, drapes and a better piano. Limousines were rented to pick up the singers, and their photos were hanging on the walls. Cowan later resigned from being an announcer but became a station manager and brought in Milton Cross. Cross took the job because he was a singer and thought that singing on the radio would enhance his musical career, plus he would get paid $40 for four nights of singing. He even read the Sunday comic strips when the Newark author didn't show up to read them.

However, there was one rule on his job that probably not many announcers appreciated: They were not allowed to use their own names on the air. So Milton Cross became "AJN."

Ryan Mihalak in Old Time Radio Gazette, February 1994

Old Time Radio · H.W. Arlin · George Cowan · Milton Cross · 1920s · KDKA · WJZ · Pittsburgh · New York ·

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