'I Can't Stand Jack Benny' Contest Received 277,104 Entries
So you tore off a carton top? Visualizing thousand-dollar bank notes, shiny new automobiles and post-war electric refrigerators, you were a "goner"' before the announcer's pear-shaped vowels reached "in twenty-five words or less."
On the back of the cart top you detailed in pulsating prose why you simply cannot exist without Fluffo Flakes. With fingers crossed, you dropped it in the corner mailbox and went home to wait for the postman.
But he didn't ring -- with your prize parcel. So you became a skeptic. All contests were crooked. They probably were won by a nephew of the sponsor from Dubuque. Your letter wasn't even read. At least, that's the way you sized it up. Want to know what really happened to your entry after it left your trembling fingers and what were its mathematical chances of copping a prize?
First, consider your chances. If it was an average contest, it drew at least 100,000 entries. So right at the start the odds against you winning first prize were 100,000-to-1. And they weren't much better for you to place or show.
Do you have any idea of who might have judged your entry? It could have been anyone of five: the personnel of the program about which the contest was held, the station or network carrying the program, the program's sponsor, the advertising agency handling the sponsor's account, or, finally, an outside organization.
Usually the contest is the sponsor's baby. But the chances are that the sponsor won't take on the judging, but toss it in any one of three directions. He could hand it to the program personnel, as was done in the cases of the Jack Benny and Guy Lombardo contests. Or he might push it into the lap of the advertising agency handling his account.
The last alternative is to call in an outside organization specializing in contest- judging, This, usually, is the most satisfactory choice. Chances are if the sponsor makes this choice the call will go to the Reuben H. Donnelley Corp. of New York City, the nation's No. 1 specialist in picking contest winners.
There are other professional judges, but Donnelley is No. 1. Prof. Lloyd D. Herrold of Northwestern university does freelance judging, assembling a staff to judge individual contests on assignment. Elsie Dinsmore does all the judging for the Proctor and Gamble contests.
Donnelley has worked out judging to an exact science. It not only has a trained staff that can handle the largest and most complicated of contests, but the corporation knows how to avoid the headaches that plague the uninitiated. For a fee, Donnelley will take over all the entries, picking them up direct from the post office, guarantee that they are impartially and accurately judged, select any stipulated number of winners, and even mail out the prizes. And if anybody gets mad because they didn't win, Donnelley even will try to placate them with documented evidence showing that it was on the up-and·up.
The Donnelley concern got into contest judging quite unintentionally. Up to 10 years ago they had gone in for such services as conducting surveys, consumer-sampling, handling premium requests, compiling mailing lists, and conducting mail order campaigns. Then a client asked them to judge a contest he was sponsoring. The research department was filled with competent, potential judges, so Donnelley obligingly took it on. The contest went off so smoothly that Donnelley decided to take on judging as another of its services.
The Donnelley staff, which includes 150 college graduates, can in a few weeks go through a million entries. This staff does not stand by waiting for contests to be taken on. but are members of various Donnelley departments and are available when there's judging to be done. If necessary, Donnelley can put 600 judges on a contest.
H. G. Davis, Donnelley manager who originated their judging system, points out that there are so many technical aspects to judging a contest that it poses a major headache for a novice. In addition to the large volume of mail, all entries have to be classified, standards set up for judging the contest, and the post Office, sponsor, and contestants kept satisfied that the contest is being conducted fairly.
Here's what happens to your entry, if the contest you submitted it in happens to be Donnelley-handled. First, it is given a reading by one of the primary judges. The only factors that will eliminate it here are illiteracy, illegibility or an occasional obscene or vicious note. Or if it happens to be a right -or-wrong contest, an incorrect answer will send it into the reject pile.
If it hurdles this initial barrier, your letter detailing why Fluffo Flakes gives you the strength to carry on against even the most grueling odds then goes to the secondary readers, or junior judges, Here the entry gets its first real screening, according to standards set up for judging this particular contest. These standards may give credit for originality or novel slant, or it may penalize for using undesirable words or trite approach.
If your letter survives the junior judges, it then goes to the senior judges, who give it a more severe screening and attach an actual rating, scored point by point. The highest rated entries after this screening go to a group of three or four executives, including Davis, who review the ratings and select the winner.
To insure impartiality, Donnelley often keys the entries, deleting both name and address of contestant so that the reader knows the entry only by such identification as "K69" or "TP4". In keying entries, Donnelley often has them all retyped or photostatted. Such a procedure eliminates the suspicion that the sponsor might arrange to have winners geographically distributed so as to maintain goodwill in all sections.
Davis then sets up the standards, or yardstick, by which entries will be judged. This includes working out a tiebreaker, which is the 25 words or less that you add to your suggested title for a bar of soap, setting forth why you think "Breath of Spring" is the best name. Then, if 500 people send in the same name, the winner can be determined on the basis of the merit of the tiebreaking 25 words or less.
If you stage a nationwide contest, chances are inspectors from the post office department will be around to see you before the contest is many days old. Since the entries pass through the mails, they become of federal concern, and Uncle Sam is interested to the extent that all entries are read and all sponsorial promises kept.
Donnelley's charge for handling a contest varies with the type of material to be judged, but the fee is on a unit basis. It may run anywhere from 10 cents for short letters to 90 cents for entries including objects d'art fashioned from box tops. Anything that adds to the work of the judges, adds to the judging fee.
After a contest is over, Donnelley bales up the entries, all of which have been initialed by the judge who checked them, and sends them to the sponsor for final disposition. It is necessary for entries to be kept for awhile in case a contestant has a beef about the handling of their entry.
Donnelley, for instance, handled the recent Woody Herman contest, a typical box-topper. This contest, with six weekly winners and a final grand winner, called for carton tops of the sponsored product along with 25 words or less on "why I like Woody Herman's music."
Sometimes the "boners" committed by contestants are amusing, but they also have the sobering effect of eliminating the contestant from the running. In the Woody Herman contest, a lot of entries were sent to the wrong address. Instead of sending in a hair tonic box top, one mother sent a snapshot of her four-year-old son. One contestant wrote his 25 words on why he liked the sponsor's product, ignoring the dulcet charm of Herman's music.
Jack Benny handled his own contest, due to the fact that the contest idea originated with him and his writers, and because practically all hands save his press agent advised him against it. Contests, he was told, were to praise the product, not to damn the talent. But Jack figured the radio public could go along with a gag. So he set up a loose organization, headed by Peggy Perrin, wife of one of his script writers. On the basis of early returns, Jack estimated the contest would draw 75,000 letters. By the end of the first week 68,000 had come in. He got a larger place and frantically drummed up a staff of readers, nine on the day shift and eight on the night shift.
By the time the contest closed, Jack and his readers had gone over 277,104 letters, some of them four times. It cost Benny a little more than the $10,000 he gave away to judge the contest, which was tough on a man with Benny's reputed financial philosophy. It must have yanked his heartstrings as well as those of his purse when he had to pay $4 daily on letters sent with postage due.
In case you're determined to win some of that "easy" money, here are a few points to keep in mind. If you don't follow the rules, there's no point wasting the postage. The same holds true if you write illegibly. Keep in mind that you'll be up against thousands of other "easy" money seekers, many of whom will send in entries that would do justice to a $15,000-a-year copywriter. So unless you're willing to take a little time and do a workmanlike job, you'd be better off to put your money on a sweepstakes ticket -- it'll stand more chance of bagging a winner.
Sam Justice in Tune In, September 1946
Jack Grose and His Metropole Players (Jay Wilbur) - Alone With My Dreams (1932)
Jack Grose and His Metropole Players performed the song "Alone With My Dreams" in London on September 6, 1932, for Eclipse records. The personnel included Jay Wilbur as director, Billy Farrell and Bill Shakespeare or Max Goldberg on trumpet, Ted Heath or Tony Thorpe on trombone, Laurie Payne, Jimmy Gordon, and George Clarkson on reeds, Norman Cole on violin, Billy Thorburn or Pat Dodd on piano, Bert Thomas on guitar, Harry Evans on string bass, Jack Kosky on drums, and Jack Plant on vocals.
Jay Wilbur was a British bandleader in the Big Band era who recorded under his own name and many pseudonyms, as he did in this recording as Jack Grose and His Metropole Players.
The song "Alone With My Dreams," which has words by Frank Eyton and music Jack Buchanan, is from the 1931 movie A Man of Mayfair. Eyton was a British lyricist who contributed songs to several films in the 1930s and 1940s.
Cobina Wright Jr. Makes Radio Singing Debut at 17
At 17, attractive Cobina Wright, Jr., isn't the least bit worried by microphones. In fact, says she, "I love 'em."
And she speaks from a wealth of experience, for the blond and beautiful daughter of an equally well-known mother has appeared before some of the nation's best mikes. These ventures into radiodom include guest appearances on We, the People, with Eddie Cantor's Camel Caravan, Consolidated Edison's City of Light, and the True Story hour, not to overlook a recent fling into the mystic realms of television.
Cobina Jr., is pretty enthusiastic about broadcasting. "I like it because you can do so very much more in front of a microphone," she declared, opening her blue eyes wide with sincerity. "Radio reaches so awfully many people. I think broadcasting is one of the most fascinating things I've ever tried."
The young lady, as you probably know, is the talented protege of her astute mother who, after seeing the Wright fortunes collapse in the general melee of 1929, set out anew to restore the social and financial status of both Cobinas by a vigorous application of wits, talent and good business sense. She did it.
High-pressured to the ranks of the glamour girls, Cobina Jr. is tallish and slim, with trimly formed features and a wealth of blond hair. Despite her seventeen years, she possesses the poise and mannerisms of a maturer woman, tinged occasionally by some girlish inflection or gesture. Product of her patrician mother's tutelage, she aspires to a continued career before the microphone and on the stage. Like Brenda Diana Duff Frazier, with whom she went to school, Cobina Wright Jr.'s name has today become nationally synonymous with the term "glamour girl."
One of the features of guest broadcasting which she finds particularly appealing is the colorful tempo of the studios. "Things are at such tension all the time," she exclaimed. "That's what I like best. You sit there, waiting for airtime, and the little second hand on the clock just creeps around and around until suddenly -- you're on the air. Also, you can never tell when somebody is going to tiptoe up behind you and cut out or change part of your script to make it longer or shorter -- right on the air, too!" Her eyes opened wide again at this almost unbelievable phenomenon.
Cobina Jr. recalls vividly the ordeal she once went through just before her guest appearance on Columbia's We, the People. There had been a mix-up over arrangements for her scheduled song, and the one she planned to use was somehow mislaid . Minutes were precious, so slim Cobina sang her way through "All Yours" minus orchestral accompaniment while Mark Warnow and his band listened with an attentive ear. Then, instrument by instrument, the orchestra picked up the tune to match Cobina's arrangement. That night no one beyond the shiny walls of the studio noticed the slightest imperfection in either music or Cobina's own flawless voice.
She thinks her love of radio dates back to her own impromptu air debut at the age of fourteen. (If anybody doesn't believe Cobina is only 17, challenges Cobina Wright Sr., they can look it up in the records of the New York Hospital.) This debut was at the Hotel Ambassador and -- oddly enough -- also with Mark Warnow. Mrs. Wright, once an opera singer of note, was a vocalist. and so introduced Cobina Jr. without fanfare. She merely marched up in front of the orchestra to that intriguing microphone and sang "Love on a Dime."
Everyone applauded enthusiastically. They didn't know, however, that it was the first time this young girl had ever sung with an orchestra or before so many people. Listeners heard her over the air, wrote glowing letters. Mrs.Wright, who has taught her daughter all that she knows about music, glimpsed the beginnings of a possible career for Cobina Jr. Engagements followed at Palm Beach, Boston and back again in New York. The young lady, however, will not sing in any nightclubs. That was settled long ago. Right now mother and daughter are working on a joint radio program which they hope to offer over a nationwide network next fall.
Eddie Cantor has done much for Cobina Jr., inviting her frequently to share his microphone. Only sometimes, in spontaneous Cantor style, he shifts lines on her so that the show doesn't exactly follow the rehearsed script. "It keeps me on my toes," she explained, "but I guess that's good for me if I'm ever going to make an attempt at a stage career."
Cobina Jr never tells her friends to listen when she's slated for a guest appearance. "1 don't know why that is," she confessed, "unless maybe I'm superstitious. I'm afraid that if everybody tunes in perhaps I'll make a mistake or something. Anyhow, I never lell them to listen. I just hope that they will."
Dick Dorrance in Radio Guide, August 1939
Ray Starita and His Ambassadors Band - Blue River (1938)
Ray Starita and His Ambassadors Band recorded the song "Blue River" with Eddie Collins on vocals in London on April 5, 1938, for the Columbia label. The performers were Starita, who played clarinet and tenor sax and directed the band, Andy Richardson and Sylvester Ahola on trumpet, Bill Hall on trombone, Chester Smith on alto sax, Reg Pursglove on violin, Donald Thorne on piano, Jack Hill on guitar, Arthur Calkin on brass bass and Rudy Starita on drums and vibes.
Ray Starita was a British dance band leader and reed player who was born in Sicily and grew up in the United States. He performed in London from 1925 to 1932, then returned to the United States and operated an amusement park.
"Blue River" is a song first recorded in July 1927 by either the Original Dixie Rag Pickers or The Harmonizers. The music was written by Joseph Meyer and lyrics by Al Bryan. Meyer also wrote the songs "California, Here I Come" and "If You Knew Susie."
What's in a Name? A Lot in Portland Hoffa's Family
When Fred Allen met Portland Hoffa on the vaudeville circuit in 1922, he was telling jokes and performing badly as a juggler. She was a dancer. The two future comedy stars hit it off because of a conversation about her name:
"I'm a doctor's daughter," Hoffa advised him. "My father named me after the city where I was born. Out in Oregon, you know."
"I know," said Allen. ''You ought to be glad you weren't born in Terre Haute or Gila Bend or Hastings-on-the- Hudson."
"One of my sisters was called Lebanon and another Last One," said Hoffa.
"Good gracious."
"Dad thought she'd be the last one," Hoffa continued serenely, "but she wasn't. So he changed her name to Next-to-Last."
This story is mostly true. Portland Hoffa was born in Portland, Maine, and had a sister named Lebanon (of Pennsylvania) and brother named Harlem (New York City). There also was a sister named Last One. She wasn't last after all and the next and final child was named Period, but went by the nickname Baby.
One Hoffa child eluded location-based naming and was called Fredericka after their father Frederick, a traveling optometrist.
In 1966, the actress Jessica Walter had to be rescued when a fire broke out in her 10th floor apartment in New York City. A firefighter checked on the occupant of the apartment one floor below, as the syndicated newspaper columnist Leonard Lyon wrote in the Oakland Tribune of October 10:
He asked her name. "Mrs. Hershkowitz," she said. "First name? "Last One." The fireman asked her to repeat it. "Last One," she said. Her parents had chosen odd names for all their children. Her sister, Portland, married Fred Allen. Another sister was named Lebanon, another one Period, a brother was named Harlem.
Mrs. Hershkowitz began to spell "Last One." The fireman said, "Never mind. What's your husband's first name?"
Book Covers the Years Ellery Queen Fought Crime on Radio
Martin Grams Jr. has gained the reputation of being somewhat of a research dynamo. Rarely will you speak to Grams when he's not engrossed in researching a particular show for an article, a book or simply for the sake of knowing more about it. He's gotten the reputation of being one of the most productive old time radio scholars today.
For his latest book, The Sounds of Detection: Ellery Queen's Adventures in Radio, Grams teamed up with Francis M. Nevins. Francis is an accomplished mystery writer himself and has also written non-fiction books on the subjects of Cornell Woolrich, Hopalong Cassidy and (ironically enough) Ellery Queen. Obviously, this multiple Edgar Award winner (Nevins) and this Ray Stanich Award winner (Grams) make for a fine teaming for the authorship of this book.
Nevins tackles what he knows best: the history of Queen in print, radio and film. He left the task of creating a thorough and comprehensive log of the show's nine-year-run to Grams, a task that he obviously tackled with great gusto. The long is one of the most comprehensive and informative logs that have been published yet, and the introduction to the show and its authors reads in a breezy, informal manner. It's a treat from start to finish, and this comes from a person who has never heard the Queen show or read one of the books.
To further flesh out the impact of the show we're treated to additional essays by Anthony Boucher and William Nadel. We get short biographies of each guest of the show, and as a special treat, a forward written by the late Larry Dobkin, who played Queen on radio for a short time (in addition to other roles on radio which must number over a thousand).
If you're a fan of the Queen novels or are interested in the radio program, The Sound of Detection is well worth having. The amount of research and knowledge on the part of the authors shines through on every page.
Rodney Bowcock Jr. in Old Time Radio Digest, Winter 2003
Maryland Dance Orchestra - How I Love That Girl (1924)
The Maryland Dance Orchestra recorded the song "How I Love That Girl" in New York in November 1924 for the Coliseum label. The performers were Ben Bernie and His Orchestra, featuring Donald Bryan and Harold Rehrig on trumpet; Frank Sarlo on trombone; Mickey McCullough, Len Kavash and Jack Pettis on reeds; Al Goering and J "Kenn" Sisson on piano; Paul Nito on banjo and violin; Al Armer on brass bass; Sam Fink on drums; and Irving Kaufman on vocals.
Ben Bernie, whose real name was Benjamin Anzelwitz, was a popular bandleader, jazz violinist and radio host. In the 1920s he formed a band, The Lads, that included Oscar Levant on piano. His orchestra performed in the first NBC radio broadcast on November 15, 1926, and he went on to success hosting musical variety shows such as Ben Bernie, The Old Maestro in the 1930s. The show's announcer was Jimmy Wallington.
"How I Love That Girl" is a 1924 foxtrot with lyrics by Gus Kahn and music by Ted Fiorito. Fiorito was a bandleader who also collaborated with Kahn on the songs "Eliza," "No No Nora," and "When Lights are Low." Kahn's classic songs include "It Had to Be You," "Yes, Sir, That's My Baby," and "Toot, Toot, Tootsie, Goodbye."
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