Algiers Was Hedy Lamarr's First Performance on Radio
Since Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer's picture Come Live With Me with Jimmy Stewart, little has been heard from Hedy Lamarr, one of Hollywood's most glamorous ladies who broke into screen fame with her rather unclad part in Ecstasy, a European picture. It was therefore with interest that the editors of Movie-Radio Guide observed that Hedy (she likes it pronounced Hay'-dee) was booked by the DeMille Radio Theater to co-star with Charles Boyer in a radio adaptation of their Algiers.
This was news from two points -- first, because it was the final performance of the season for the Radio Theater, and second, because it was Lamarr's very first radio broadcast.
A third point of interest was the rumor that the Viennese ex-stenographer had been feuding with her home studio and was on suspension. At radio rehearsal she was interviewed.
"Have you been off pay or on suspension?" she was asked. "I haven't missed a single week getting my paycheck," she replied. "Here, do you want to see it?" I did, naturally enough, but being a gentleman said no and let it pass. But I did observe in talking to her that she obviously was under a great tension just before the broadcast. Who wouldn't be -- breaking into radio in a program with 25 million listeners throughout the country waiting to say, "she's awful!"
It developed during our chat that Lamarr has been on a three-month vacation following Come Live With Me.
The glamorous brunette was clad in a black chiffon floor-length dress, and was wearing black wedgie sandals over bare feet, with her toenails enameled a cherry red. She was plenty nervous about that first broadcast, too, but was calmed considerably by Cecil B. DeMille, producer of the program, who succeeded in making her laugh just before the "on the air" sign flashed, and also the ever calm Charles Boyer.
We listened to her Algiers. She'd lost much of her accent, and her radio version was not quite as sure as her screen Algiers. We checked with our better half for her opinion. She said: "Hedy sounded just like Joan Bennett." That was a compliment, because La Bennett is an accomplished sure-fire radio performer.
Gene Markey would have agreed. He was married to both actresses in turn.
Evans Plummer in Movie-Radio Guide, August 9, 1941
Amanda Snow: From a Nightclub to Gospel Radio
Hymns have always been joyous and inspirational music to Amanda Snow, NBC's newest singing personality. Perhaps that is why she is now a radio star.
To begin with, Snow sang in the Rockford, Illinois, Mission Tabernacle and its Bethesda Church. She later sang in the First Swedish Baptist Church of Minneapolis before coming to New York. And when she finally came to the Big City, she didn't forget her hymns.
When Snow came to New York for an audition, she was reluctant to offer hymns as a sample of what she had to offer a large audience, After all, she concluded that perhaps hymns and homey patter were all right for listeners back in Minneapolis. But maybe this audience was different. What would their reaction be?
Accordingly Snow devoted the first part of her audition to semi-classical selections. But it was the second half in which she sang her beloved hymns and spoke in her cheery voice, that really impressed the auditioning executives. The result found her with a six-times weekly program over a large network of stations.
Strangely enough, though, the "voice in the old village choir" began her commercial singing career in, of all places -- a nightclub.
Snow was residing in Minneapolis at the time, and although she sang soprano for the church congregation, she had no idea of becoming a singer, Her sister, Miriam, was the "voice" of the family. Miriam was a professional singer in a Minneapolis nightclub, while Snow was the "home girl" of the family. One night Miriam could not fulfill her engagement and pleaded with Amanda to take her place,
Amanda Snow agreed only because a singer was absolutely necessary to satisfy the club's patrons. When the manager asked her what type of songs were her specialty, you can just picture the expression on his face when Snow told him in one word. Simply "hymns."
Under the doubtful eye of the manager, Snow came out on the night club floor, and instead of singing torchy numbers amazed the gathering with several beautiful hymns. To her surprise-and the manager's, she received encore after encore and as a result was offered a professional contract on the spot. She accepted on condition that she be allowed to choose the numbers she would sing. And while sister Miriam sang hot, torchy numbers, Amanda stuck to her hymns.
When she was offered a chance to sing on station WTCN in Minneapolis, she left the employ of the nightclub and remained with the station for some time. Here, she had an opportunity to sing all the hymns she pleased and had ample time to take vocal lessons and increase her repertoire. Then she came on to New York and auditioned successfully.
Snow weighs 287 pounds but she doesn't care who knows it. In fact, she tells people she weighs 300 pounds. "After all," she says, "I have a round figure so I might as well make it a round number."
She doesn't resent anyone kidding her about her weight but when it is carried too far she's ready with fitting reply. There was the time a particularly persistent heckler asked her where she came from and she good-naturedly replied "Minneapolis." The would-be smart guy smirkingly inquired if they had enough room for her there. "Don't forget," squelched the alertful Snow, "Minneapolis is called the Twin City."
Snow intends to adhere to the homey type of program featuring the old-fashioned favorites, hymns and her cheery patter. Religion she believes, should be given more emphasis through radio.
"Perhaps the public is realizing," says Snow, "that religion, of which trust and faith are the forerunners, does bring happiness. All music should be sung joyfully-and religious music most of all. People are undoubtedly also realizing that hymns can be gay and joyful too, In radio generally the mood is being felt in the increasing popularity of religious programs and singers. The Hymn Singer, Ed McHugh, the Gospel Singer, The Hymns of All Churches program and Smilin' Ed McConnell are all programs having a large audience.
"If your heart is happy and you are sincere, then you can sing hymns with meaning, Proof of this is found in the many letters I receive from persons who say the old songs about the simple virtues make them happy. That is exactly what real religion should do for everyone."
Elmore Peltonen in Rural Radio, November 1938
How Fred Allen and Portland Hoffa Fell in Love
The day of which I write was approximately five years ago. It was behind the scenes of The Passing Show, a fleshy, flashy piece of rhinestone entertainment on pre-Depression Broadway. It was one of those days on which stars have headaches, hoofers get runs in their stockings, and comedians look as full of joie de vivre as Egyptian mummies.
It was a day on which a tall young man called Fred Allen, despondently leaning against a backdrop, considered that life was pretty dull. Life -- what was it but a bunch of old gags to make over, let down the hems, and pin onto new political problems. And the dear public? What was the dear public but a bunch of people who sometimes laughed at gags but usually didn't. In short Allen was feeling what is colloquially known as "lousy." Very.
Now, in case you haven't recognized the principal of this merry piece, the Fred Allen already mentioned is the self same zany who cavorts Sunday-nightly in your loudspeakers for Linit and the Bath Club. And the hoofer who -- in my story -- is about to enter Monsieur Allen's life is none other than the dumb-cluckish young thing named Portland on the same program who claims residence in Schenectady and asks first primer questions with the guilelessness of Lorelei Lee.
This hoofer in The Passing Show had a run in her stocking, probably, but it didn't get her down. She had the sort of face, Allen noticed covertly, that never quite lost hope. Turned up nose, you know; amused blue eyes that held a quiet merriment. Though dressed like innumerable other hoofers, she shone as distinctively as the night's first star, as far as Allen was concerned.
Some newspaperman who knew her had written this line: "Portland Hoffa was a hoofer, and she held herself aloofer." That is to say, she didn't chew gum like cud-punishing bossy, say "gawd," or wear orchids every payday. To Allen, she was a miracle, for she yanked him straight out of his private chasm of despair and changed his opinion of the Younger Generation.
Twirling his false mustache, our boy friend decided to find out more about her. "Such a cute girl ought to get out before it gets her."
So what did Allen do about it? He married her and made her a stooge. His stooge. He made a hoofer into a stooge -- and what happened? But wait. Maybe you don't know what a hoofer is. Well, suh, the sons and daughters of vaudeville call all dancers "hoofers." And a stooge? That's the guy planted in the audience to heckle the comedian on stage. Sometimes he has a seat in the first row downstairs. Usually, he is in a box. Or he may be on the stage. No matter where he makes his headquarters, he "feeds" the dumb, oaf-like queries that give the comedian his chance to spring his laugh line. That's your stooge. Understand?
Hoffa became a stooge, but before she surrendered, believe you me, it took a deal of crafty Allen strategy.
That first day approximately five years ago when an uninvited impulse prodded Allen to learn more about the girl, he employed the method of his grease-painted profession. He wisecracked, he did. And lo! the first faint fires of romance were lighted.
"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."
So they fell to talking. He told her he'd like to be a novelist, but he kept catching himself laughing up his sleeve and that didn't incubate the heart throbs demanded in literature. Said he wrote and sold vaudeville skits because it was more profitable to sell them than to have them stolen. Said that he'd been born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and started through life as a children's librarian. With that background, he had dared hit the trail in vaudeville, first as a bum juggler, then cashing in on his dry humor in mill towns through New England. He told her he hated dryads, farthingales, wimples, whifflletrees, pogo sticks, arch supporters, duennas, and house deteckatifs.
You can see how well they were getting on. Clicked from the beginning. Before Hoffa could put on the brakes, she got a look behind the comedian's eyes and saw that he was lonely and disillusioned and weary of looking at life through rose-colored footlights. But whether he was trying to be funny with her, or something, she couldn't quite decide. She thought not.
He and Hoffa got to meeting each other. Apparently just coincidentally. And Hoffa found out that even funny guys that looked like judges, could be awfully romantic. And Allen found out that little hoofers, even in the midst of a harum-scarum existence, and without benefit of a throne room, could be as queenly as anything. So presently Allen married the girl, and that huge, ingratiating bunch of solemnity and wit became "my husband" to Hoffa.
Allen hadn't thought of getting himself encumbered. But with the destinies of two to consider, he thought it out pretty deliberately. There was nothing left to do but to break her in as a stooge. He broke her in. That was at Lake Nipmuc, Massachusetts. The first time, she was cold and clammy with fright. He had to hold her hand, pat her on the shoulder, and promise to buy her a soda afterwards if she was a good girl and went through with it without any more jitters. Just when it was time to go on, the manager came backstage and said that there wasn't enough of an audience to bother.
It was better after that. He had a way of welcoming her on the stage. He said, "Anybody who looks at me now is crazy." She liked that. And the first thing anybody knew, she was the stooge supreme, piping out the right silly questions as if absolutely devoid of any sense.
Three years at that. Stooging up and down the back roads of vaudeville circuits. Working their way to the front. And finally getting a job on Broadway. It was a show called Polly, and Hoffa was so weary of acting the goof that she stayed home and read books while actor Allen went out and sang for his supper. And how Allen missed her. He begged her to come back. So she bravely took up the yoke of her stoogedom in the memorable First Little Show and Thee's a Crowd.
In the Little Show, Hoffa wore a pair of shorts and a satin blouse. One night she heard gales of laughter. She got quite cocky over the way she was getting the laughs. In fact, she was planning to call Allen's attention to it later in the dressing room. As she was about to jump into her dance routine, husband Allen placed firm hands about her waist and walked her off. Not until then did she discover that her velvet tights had split, and a white silk inner lining that looked like something else had stimulated all the laughter.
Working night after night on Broadway soon exhausted both of them. They decided to Get Away From It All. They decided to go to Europe, to the gaiety of gay Paree. They went. Somehow, it wasn't what they expected. Within a fortnight, they were back in the U.S.A., basking on the sun-drenched sands of Atlantic City. Home-folks, those Aliens. From that day on, they bought American.
In 1932, Allen brought his dry conclusive voice to radio. Hoffa, too. And suddenly life became for her a matter of being quiet while her husband worked. The old bugaboo of New Material stared them in the face, and threatened to separate them. Resignedly, Allen retired to his office and began to dictate to Hoffa's younger sister. With him, gags are a science, and he revamps such wheezes as used to give Caesar hysterics, and applies them to modem conditions. While he writes programs and magazine stories, Hoffa keeps quiet and works jigsaw puzzles. Sunday nights, she speaks her pretty piece, mentions Schenectady again, and heckles ol' Mister Allen. Allen's used to it by this time. No matter how it sounds, it's all put on. It's all just a gag. A gag of five years' standing. Actually, they're closer than this, and the love that brought them together and helped to conquer Broadway is still the talk of the Big Town's radio row.
And that is my little tale's happy ending. It's the only kind of ending possible. when the girl is a goil like Portland and the guy is a feller like Fred.
Hilda Cole in Radio Stars, May 1933
Some of the Unsung Heroes of Radio
A salute to the unsung heroes of radio: the men and women whose voices were much more famous than their names. Those who specialized in dialects and impersonating children, ancients and even animals! Radio was a most magical medium -- one could never really be sure to whom any particular voice belonged. The crying baby was usually some shapely young actress, the little boy just might be some plump matron, and in real life the animals were always human, of course, and could be in either male or female form. Sometimes these funny female voices we heard really came from male bodies.
Let's begin with the baby voices. Pretty 20-year-old Shirley Bell Cox was one of the first actresses to specialize in child voices on the air. A native of West Virginia, she had once worked at an orphanage where she listened carefully to the wailing waifs and then duplicated the sounds. She supplied the crying baby voice on the early series Raising Junior.
Madeline Lee was born in Dallas, Texas, one October 28; the petite 5-foot-2 Lee began in radio playing a baby role. She did voices for both girls and boys. During 1930-32 her versatile voice was heard in various roles on The Cuckoo Hour with Raymond Knight. On the Henry Morgan Show she was heard in roles such as Mrs. Beethoven and Gerdrood. On November 23, 1937, she began a role for which she is best remembered: the sultry sounding Miss Genevieve Blue, secretary to Amos 'n Andy. Later she was heard as baby Wendy on The Second Mrs. Burton. In real life she is married to comedian Jack Gilford.
Madeleine Pierce was another radio crybaby who impersonated children of varying ages, such as the nine-month-old son of Front Page Farrell and the four-year-old granddaughter of Stella Dallas.
Dolores Gillen utilized her baby voice for both of the howling twins on Abbie's Irish Rose and Pepper Young's Family. She was also young Sammy Davis on When a Girl Marries.
Sara E. Fussell was yet another actress who made child's work out of children's roles. Her specialty was doing little boy voices. She played young Herbie Pettingill on the Snow Village Sketches. She was also featured on I Love a Mystery, The Right to Happiness and made appearances on The Goldbergs. She was heard as the voice of young Wiki on Just Plain Bill. She was also featured on such radio fare as The March of Time and Cavalcade of America. She retired in the late '50s and went to live at Friends Hall in West Chester, Pennsylvania, where she died at the age of 61 in April 1978.
The role of Baby Snooks' little brother, Robespierre, was assigned to Leone Ledoux. She was als heard as Baby Dumpling on the Blondie show. On One Man's Family, Ledoux was kept quite busy supplying the voices for all three of the triplets -- Abigail, Deborah and Constance -- as well as the Barbours' first great-grandchild, Paul John Farnsworth.
Other actresses who specialized in children's voices were Wilda Hinkle, Zel DeCyr and, of course, Ireene Wicker, radio's beloved singing lady who was equally adept at playing old men.
An actor known as Captain James Rosen was a 44-year-old little person weighing 63 pounds and standing 3-foot-8 who frequently played child roles on the air. He had a 15-week run on the Bobby Benson Show. Born in Siberia, he came to the U.S. at the age of six months. He was a graduate of the University of Minnesota. He represented many fellow small performers as an agent.
Tommy Riggs was a ventriloquist of sorts, although he never used a dummy as part of his act. On the air he supplied the voice for his imaginary impish seven-year-old niece Betty Lou. Born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on October 26, 1909, he entered radio in 1928. Riggs once had his dual voice examined at the Cornell Medical College in New York City, where doctors explained that his dual voices were due to the unusual size and strength of his throat muscles. In later years Riggs had his own television show in Alabama, and then returned to his native Pittsburgh, where he was a disc jockey on station WCAE. He died at the age of 57 on May 21, 1967.
Actress Cecil Roy was known as the "Gal with 1,000 Voices" and was also called the "Cradle-to-Grave Lady" as she could imitate anyone with vocal chords. On one daily broadcast, she played 17 different roles -- including that of a dog! On Amanda of Honeymoon Hill she was heard as an old corncob-pipe smoking philosopher of the hills, Aunt Mazie.
Back in 1936 Elsie Mae Gordon was being billed as the "Girl of 100 Voices;" she was an imitator of most any animal sound -- cricket or cat, dog or frog. In 1944 she portrayed many roles on the Deadline Dramas program.
Martha Wentworth was known as the "female Lon Chaney of the Air." A master of vocal disguises, she was heard in hundreds of roles -- one of which was the grizzly old panhandler who constantly mooched cigarettes from Red Skelton on his program. An expert at 37 dialects, Wentworth was heard as Joe Penner's mother on his comedy series, and for a time was Old Nancy on The Witch's Tale. On the highly popular 1937 syndicated series The Cinnamon Bear, she was heard as the Wintergreen Witch. She was also active in films.
Harriette Widmer was born in Mississippi in 1893; she entered radio in 1930 playing in a sketch she wrote herself. Very active in radio in the '30s and early '40s, she was heard frequently on Grand Hotel and The First Nighter programs. Specializing in southern dialects, she was heard on The Sinclair Minstrels Show in 1936, and in 1936 played Madame Queen for Amos 'n Andy. During 1937-38 she was heard as Aunt Jemima in The Cabin at the Crossroads program for Quaker Oats. Also, she was featured on The Carters of Elm Street. In 1942 she was heard as Peggy, the elevator operator, on Lonely Women.
Charles K. Stumpf in Nostalgia Radio News, December 1978
Betty Lou Gerson, Star of Arnold Grimm's Daughter
When a little six-year-old kid named Betty Lou Gerson stopped the show back in Birmingham eighteen years ago during an amateur performance, the home folks predicted that someday she'd blaze her name along the footlight trails. And they might have been right about this child of the southland -- except for the fact that radio snatched her up before she had her feet firmly planted on the theatrical stage.
For more than four years now, this attractive brunette starlet has been talking back to a microphone.
Born in Chattanooga, Tennessee, on April 20, 1914, Gerson moved with her parents to Birmingham, Alabama, when she was two. Her father was president of the Southern Steel and Rolling Mill there and Gerson learned her readin', 'ritin', and 'rithmetic at the Margaret Allen School. Later she studied at Loulie Compton Seminary, also in Birmingham, and then went down to Miami, Florida, to wrestle with a curriculum offered at Miss Harris' School for Girls.
Whenever there was a school play, the lead automatically fell to Gerson -- and that none of the other girls resented it is a tribute to the dramatic talent she showed at even an early age. Acting came as naturally to her as purring to a kitten.
As soon as her school days were over, Gerson made her first excursion into the northland, heading for Chicago and its renowned Goodman Theatre. It wasn't long before she had graduated from the role of student -- and was teaching dramatics herself.
Instructing other aspiring young actresses in the technique of the theater was fun for awhile, but Gerson soon discovered that it wasn't what she wanted for a steady diet. It was merely a sublimation of her own desire -- this teaching other aspirants the means of accomplishing what she herself was secretly hungering to do.
Just about that time, opportunity beat a tattoo on her door. A playwright friend of hers asked her to read a sketch over the air. The letter applause resulting from this single appearance was so encouraging that Gerson decided the time had come for a concentrated attack on the radio front.
She gained an audition at the NBC Central Division Studios in Chicago in 1934 -- and from then on, her story has been one of sensational success. Her versatility -- she is equally proficient in roles calling for French, English or southern dialects, as well as in straight ingenue parts -- was an important factor in her speedy rise to stardom. Most recent of her stellar successes is her role in Arnold Grimm's Daughter, a daytime dramatic program heard daily over the NBC Network, in which she plays the lead part of the daughter, Constance Grimm Tremaine.
In private life Gerson is Mrs. Joe Ainsley, wife of a Chicago advertising agency radio production man, whom she married in 19365, two years after she had entered radio. Five feet four and a half inches tall, Gerson tips the scales at 112 pounds. Her curly hair is dark brown -- as are her enormous eyes.
Boating and swimming are her favorite hobbies and a camping trip is her idea of the perfect vacation. She hopes some day to be able to live in the country, preferably near a lake, and with a stable full of horses and a kennel full of dogs.
Edythe Dixon in Rural Radio, October 1938
The Home Life of Jack Benny
Under one roof: a house for everybody, and for everybody a house of his own.
This is Mary Livingstone's recipe for a harmonious family life, and it works like a talisman -- even in Hollywood where (despite the well-paid efforts of half the psychiatric brains in the country) more marriages explode in the headlines than go on year in year out in a sort of a miraculous serenity.
Of course, if you're living in Quonset hut with your bride and her mother and planning to put Junior in the dresser drawer, a description of the Bennys' serene and well-roofed existence will only hasten your trip to the divorce court, or to Washington to have the heads of the housing expediters.
But even in such dire straits as that you will be thinking and planning for your dream home of the not too distant future and a look-in at a housing system which is different -- and which works -- may come in handy.
As any good architect or builder will tell you, you must start planning your house by thinking hard about the way you live, about what sort of people your house must provide for, and what sort of work and play and rest and hobbies make up their lives.
For work is not just work -- nor rest just rest, etc., etc. And people -- and if you're living in a Quonset hut you have found this out -- are not just people. Every individual has a way of living all his own, and if it is blocked and thwarted too long by the external conditions of his life, he will explode with as much noise and almost as much release of radioactive poison matter as did the atom bomb over Bikini.
Mary Benny knew this when she planned her house, and she planned carefully for lebensraum for three as disparate human beings as ever found shelter under a single rooftop.
First of all, of course, the house had to work for Jack Benny. More of the sweat and toil which produces the Benny radio show every week goes on at the Benny home than in Jack's office or at NBC studios -- so Jack's lebensraum had to provide for working space, shut off from the noise and confusions of the rest of the household. As for Jack's recreation -- if there is work to be done, he doesn't get any. His rest, ditto -- if the script is in trouble Jack Benny can get along with catnaps, spending more of the small hours awake and at work than pounding the pillow. His hobbies -- well, unless you count golf and gin rummy and seeing his friends (which he gets around to during the radio season only when Mary insists that he leave the woe to the writers for a spell) , his hobbies are more work. Jack's housing needs, then, are simple: quiet, privacy, the right to turn on the lights in the middle of the night -- a room of his own.
Then there is Joan, the Bennys' daughter -- 12 years old, healthy, active and gregarious. Her work -- the teachers at El Rodeo School pile on the home work, to hear Joannie tell it -- so there must be a place to study. Her hobbies are horseback riding, swimming, playing the phonograph and the piano with the more friends around the merrier. Her rest -- black out! The sort of exhaustion Joan's life promotes is not like her father's; it makes for good, sound sleep, nine until seven, with no interruptions. Her needs; a place for hollering -- alternating with sleep -- preferably far away from her father's retreat and suitably soundproofed, i.e., a room of her own.
Mary's own habit patterns seem distinctly normal -- humdrum, even -- after a glance at the rest of the family, but on closer inspection they, too, make for a bit of planning. From long years in the theater, Mary has appropriated the custom of going to bed very late. This does not mean that she must be up and doing until dawn. The up-staying is just as pleasant if you're propped up in bed with plenty of pillows and a cigarette and some new books. But it means compromising on the other end of the night. Mary's maid knows that Mrs. Benny will want her breakfast tray before noon only if she has a vital business appointment. So Mary, too, needs a room of her own.
As a result the second floor of the Bennys' spacious Georgian home at 1002 N. Roxbury Drive in Beverly Hills is laid out in three suites -- so different in character and equipment that they could be three separate apartments, in three never conflicting worlds.
"Never?" As Gilbert and Sullivan put it, "Well, hardly ever."
Even with Mary's meticulous planning, Hard Working Jack and Hard Playing Joan sometimes manage a head-on collision.
At these moments, Rule No. One of family policy is invoked: "Daddy, if he is working, is always right."
Recently, Jack's producers and writing staff were working at the house with the boss. They were up against a knotty script-cutting problem. Down the hall with her door ajar, Joannie was practicing her piano lesson. She plays very well, but anyone's practicing has a tendency to become monotonous. And besides, the counting -- one-two-three-four -- was distinctly audible, and distracting, in the script session.
Jack sent Producer Bob Allen [Ballin] to Joannie's suite with a message.
"Your daddy," he said, "wants you to practice downstairs."
Joannie sighed, Junior Miss Aggrieved.
"I thought he would," she said. Unsaid was Career Woman's age-old complaint. "And my work, I suppose, has no importance around here."
But she went.
Mary Benny often sits in with the writers and Jack on the radio conferences.
So, as a matter of fact, does Joan.
What's more, Joan isn't afraid to criticize her Daddy's jokes -- and her Daddy isn't too proud, sometimes, to accept her criticism. Once recently, however, when Joan objected to a particular boffola on the grounds that it was "corny" her father overruled her. "Keep it in," he ordered. "It may be corny but it's funny."
"That's what you think," Joan -- not easily abashed -- argued. "But you should be in my shoes. On Mondays, I have to face my friends!"
The joke was blue-penciled.
Jack's big room is a sort of bed-sitting room with a desk almost as big as the bed, with shelves for scripts and reference books, and big, bright working lights, comfortable chairs, man-sized tables at the bedside with sharpened pencils and paper, books and the inevitable box of sleep-promoters. The colors are masculine and unbedroomy -- brown and beige. The suite includes a dressing room, done in brown leather, a porch overlooking the garden, and Jack's bath -- where he may leave the top off the toothpaste tube if he feels like it.
Joan, who is the smallest member of the family, rates the biggest suite -- because her activities are so varied she needs plenty of room to blow off steam.
Her "apartment" has a big bedroom -- with two beds, one for her frequent overnight guests -- a dressing room with one whole wall of perfume bottles, a private bath, and a huge playroom, this room farthest away from the family. The playroom is the heart of the place. It has the phonograph and record collection, the spinet piano, Joan's collection of dolls and toy horses, her books, the photographs of her friends, the clutter which goes with being young and alert and busy. Joan's governess, Julia Vallance, who has shared her life for five years, is the sort of calm, imperturbable woman who likes children and doesn't mind messes and who can provide efficiently for a little girl's health and safety without imposing too rigid a set of rules. As Joan would put it, "She doesn't go around saying no and shushing you all the time."
Joan prefers to think of Miss Vallance as her "secretary." Not many of her schoolmates at public school can afford the luxury of a "governess" and Joan thinks the whole custom a little snobbish.
Mary Benny's personal rooms, in noticeable contradiction, are never cluttered, and they certainly are the prettiest rooms of all. The bedroom, in soft blue, rose and white is Victorian in feeling -- without being stiff. The fireplace of black marble is for real fires -- friendly and inviting. The chintz draperies and upholstery are in a cheerful floral pattern, which is repeated in the wall paper on two ends of the room. The blue-tufted oversized bed is pure feminine heaven, where a substitution of fat pillows for flat ones makes it easily as inviting for staying awake as for dropping off to sleep. Mary has, in addition, her private mirrored dressing room where vast cedarlined closets house what Howard Greer has called the smartest wardrobe in favorite bath oils and perfumes.
With such a plan, it is plain to see, there need never be any conflict of personalities -- any reason for any of the members of the household to be uncomfortable for the sake of any of the others. A reconnaissance flight over the Benny home at any eleven A.M. -- which caught Jack hard at work on a script, Joan practicing for her piano lesson, and Mary blissfully asleep -- would prove incontrovertibly that planning makes perfect. Planning makes freedom, too, complete freedom for every member of the family to do what he likes, when he likes -- to be himself. And that makes for an adjusted, happy family.
The rest of the house is planned just as systematically for living happily together -- and don't think for a moment just because the upstairs levels are designed as they are that the Bennys live in complete isolation with no traffic from one "apartment" to another. It is here that Mary's impeccable butler, Oscar, has his innings. Oscar is the perfect butler, English, proper, and -- and this is unusual -- always affable. Oscar is always smiling. (He doesn't know, fortunately, that Jack's writers with typical lack of reverence for the Way Things Are Done refer to him always as "Smiley.") And here, too, the rooms have as many moods as there are occasions which the Bennys enjoy as a family.
The drawing room is quite formal, its furnishings handsome, some of them rare and priceless since the Bennys have not had to consider a strict budget in planning their home. Mary Benny would be the first, however, to concede that a formal living room can be just as lovely without real antiques, without Chinese jade lamp bases, and real collectors' items among the objets d'art. She has gone to a great deal of trouble, as a matter of fact, to detract from the museum aura of such fabulous pieces by doing her upholstered pieces with her first thought for comfort, and by a subtle use of color -- pale green, rose, and ivory, and a real fire's happiest companion, brass.
It is in this room that the Bennys welcome guests at their more elaborate parties. The drawing room's complement in character and style is the formal dining room, a beautiful room done in grey and gold, with a long table which comfortably will seat twenty, with massive silver pieces from old England and a crystal chandelier. These two rooms, along with a panelled library with dark blue oriental rugs and a Dutch tile fireplace are among the show spots of Hollywood.
A pair of rooms all three Bennys like much better, and live in much more, are the big, rambling playroom which faces on the garden and a sunny yellow and pale grey breakfast room in which green vines in silver urns bring the garden indoors.
The playroom is the keynote room -- if there is such a thing in a house. It expresses life as the Bennys like it -- when convivial friends are about, and the pressure of work is off, and one can relax and play games, sit by the fire in winter or wander in and out of doors on a warm summer night. It is the gayest room in the house, with a huge brick fireplace taking up half of the wall, the walls paneled with mellow walnut and the sofa and big chairs upholstered in a splashy red and white apple print. In front of the fire are two deep chairs, also one in the apple print, and a massive red ottoman on which people can sit without crowding. The big rag hand-braided rug also is predominantly red. There are the inevitable card table and chairs and some early American Windsor pieces. As in all California homes the outdoors is part of the living space -- background for many of the family's happiest hours. The house is set well forward on a commercial acre so there is room at the back of the house for a gently sloping lawn, swimming pool, cabana and terrace and a barbecue and complete outdoor kitchen and bar.
The drawing room and the big dining room get very lonely during the good weather, which in California is a good part of the year -- for all of the Bennys enjoy having their friends for al fresco suppers which they help to cook themselves. If the fog comes in -- as it will, despite all the pull of the All Year Club -- it is but a step to the playroom and a warm fire. And any movie fan who could find his way into that room would reap a harvest of autographs -- Barbara Stanwyck and Bob Taylor would probably be there, and the Tyrone Powers, Annie Sothern, the Bill Goetzes, George Burns and Gracie Allen, plus a noisy crowd of Joannie's school friends.
And if the unexpected callers were invited to stay they'd have a wonderful time and go home raving as Hollywoodians do about the Bennys' wonderful, cheerful house and Mary Benny's subtle understanding of what it means to be a good hostess. Mary understands the role very much as she interprets her job as the woman in the house -- it is to let everyone do what he wants when he wants to, to be himself.
The system needn't be restricted to the Bennys -- or to the sort of people anywhere who have money and leisure space. For the system is a product of good thinking, and good thinking can be done in Hollywood, or North Platte, or Wichita Falls.
Polly Townsend in Radio Mirror, November 1947
What Happened on Radio Soaps in March 1953
Aunt Jenny: All kinds of people pass before Aunt Jenny's experienced, understanding eyes as she surveys the lives of her neighbors in the small town of Littleton. But seldom has she known a personality like Sam Cutler, who deliberately set out to ruin his sister-in-law because she had defied him. What happened to Sam made the unexpected climax of this story one of those recently told by Aunt Jenny. 12:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, CBS
Backstage Wife: As the wife of famous Broadway star Larry Noble, Mary Noble has often had to cope with the artistic temperament of Larry's fellow actors -- and actresses. And she is well aware that Larry's charm collects as many admirers on the working side of the footlights as it does among matinee audiences. But even Mary is frightened at the passionate determination of a new attempt to take Larry away from her. 4 p.m., NBC
The Brighter Day: Althea's return from Wyoming stirs up the Dennis household as only the beautiful, restless Althea can do, and this time her young daughter Spring is with her to complicate matters even further. Rev. Richard Dennis is certain that some startling crisis brought her back home. Will he learn what shadow looms over Althea's future in time to do something to help? 2:45 p.m., CBS
Front Page Farrell: Covering another sensational murder case for his newspaper, The Daily Eagle, David Farrell and his wife Sally become involved in a series of situations so strange that the key to the crime almost escapes them. An almost unbelievable motive helps the killer to conceal the truth, and finally only David's quick-wittedness leads him to it in time to avoid becoming the murderer's second victim. 5:15 p.m., NBC
The Guiding Light: Resigned and almost hopeless, Kathy Grant knows that her own dishonesty has driven her husband into the willing arms of another woman. Dick, hesitating on the brink of divorce, is himself uncertain of his desires, but in the meantime, the meeting between Kathy and Dick's colleague, Dr. Kelly, has an unexpected result. What strange effect will the man called Dan Peters have on the lives of people he scarcely knows? 1:45 p.m., CBS
Hilltop House: Julie Nixon's long experience in handling a houseful of orphans as matron of Hilltop House makes her certain that young Len Klabber is not entirely the bright, friendly boy he tries to seem. Trying tactfully to discourage Babs' friendship with Len, Julie herself does not realize how true her instinct is, and how much she and the town are soon to learn about the problem of juvenile delinquency. 3 p.m., CBS
Just Plain Bill: A widower for many years, happy in the affection of his daughter Nancy, Bill Davidson rarely remembers the long-ago struggle of his dead wife's aristocratic family to keep Nancy away from him. But Nellie Davidson's family has never forgotten that she married a small-town barber, and Thelma Nelson makes strange capital of that story when she comes to Hartville. What threat does she hold over Bill? 5 p.m., NBC
Life Can Be Beautiful: The marriage of Chichi and Mac is very young, but already Chichi has had cause to wonder how much misunderstanding a marriage can survive. There is another question coming up for her -- the question of how much misunderstanding it should survive. For, if each week brings new doubts, new hurts and troubles, how can the future look anything but threatening? Can Papa David throw a different like on that picture? 3 p.m., NBC
Lorenzo Jones: To Lorenzo, the lovely actress Belle Jones is a charming woman to whom he is strangely drawn. The amnesia which months ago separated him from Belle prevents him from recognizing her as his wife. But Gail Maddox, fearful that Lorenzo's memory may return, allies herself with actor Wade Emery's spiteful plans to create havoc for Belle. Can Belle win Lorenzo's love all over again? 5:30 p.m., NBC
Ma Perkins: Anyone in Rushville Center would be quick to say that, for understanding, tolerance and an honest look at facts, Ma Perkins is the person to talk things over with. But money -- the possession of it or the lack of it -- has a strong way of confusing issues. Even the strong, simple values by which Ma has taught her family to abide come in for a searching test when such confusion enters the picture. 1:15 p.m., CBS
Our Gal Sunday: Though she has had many years of secure happiness as Lord Henry Brinthorpe's wife, Sunday has never forgotten his family's disapproval of his marriage to a simple mountain girl. When his impoverished but aristocratic aunt, Lavinia Thornton, comes to Black Swan Hall, Sunday is gripped by a fear she has never know before. Can her position as Lord Henry's wife really be attacked? 12:45 p.m., CBS
Pepper Young's Family: Pepper and Linda cannot really blame Pepper's father for going ahead with the plans for extracting oil from the property around their farm, which is supposed to have such a rich potential. The prospect of so much wealth would dazzle almost anyone. But Pepper and Linda are unhappy over the project, and not only because it mars their beloved view. Is their suspicion justified? 3:30 p.m., NBC
Perry Mason: If pretty Kate Beckman had not hitched her wagon to a star, she might have avoided a lot of trouble. Determined to succeed as a dancer, Kate turned down a safe job in lawyer Perry Mason's office to accept a glamourous offer from nightclub owner Gordy Webber, ignorant of Webber's plans to ruin her father, Ed Beekman. Can Perry save the misguided girl before her stubborn self assurance plays into Webber's hands? 12:15 p.m., CBS
The Right to Happiness: Annette Thorpe has always been a successful woman, with money, position and a sharp set of wits to work with. She cannot quite understand why her careful plan to break up Governor Miles Nelson's marriage has so far failed. If she knew Carolyn Nelson better, would she understand that she has perhaps met her match? Will Carolyn be able to bridge the chasm Annette has dug between her and Miles? 3:45 p.m., NBC
Road of Life: Sybil Overton Fuller's ruthless selfishness leads her to set a trap in which she herself appears to be caught. Sybil now knows that her only hope of inheriting from her dead husband's family lies in the child she went to great lengths to conceal and give up. In her dangerously tense emotional state, her hatred of Jim and Jocelyn increases. How will Armand Monet's interest in Jocelyn fit into Sybil's schemes? 1 p.m., CBS; 3:15 p.m., NBC
The Romance of Helen Trent: Designer Helen Trent finds new stimulation in her increasingly important job with the Jeff Brady studios. She now has as assistant Loretta Cole, a girl who begged to be allowed to work with her. In Helen's private life, too, new interests have entered with Brett Chapman and his young son Richard. Helen's friends hope for happy developments in this relationship. Will the future prove them right? 12:30 p.m., CBS
Rosemary: Trouble and pain are no strangers to the Roberts household, but as Rosemary prepared for the birth of her long-awaited baby she felt that at last she and Bill stood on the brink of a future so bright that nothing could seriously mar it. She never dreamed of the direction from which tragedy would strike -- or of the way her efforts to help others through the Boys' Club would in the end help her. 11:45 a.m., CBS
The Second Mrs. Burton: For the first time in her life, Stan's sister Marcia seems headed for a bright future as she and Lew Archer, in spite of their different backgrounds, manage to iron out most of the problems that might disturb their marriage. But is there one big problem both Marcia and Lew have underrated? What will happen to Stan's emotional sister if this last chance for happiness slips through her fingers? 2 p.m., CBS
Stella Dallas: Stella has always anticipated trouble from her daughter's aristocratic mother-in-law, Mrs. Grosvenor, and it materialized when the charming Englishman, Stanley Warrick, innocently gave Mrs. Grosvenor a chance to accuse Laurel of indulging in a cheap flirtation. With Laurel's disappearance, which follows on the slanderous attack, Stella comes close to despair. Will her daughter's marriage survive this new trial? 4:15 p.m., NBC
This is Nora Drake: Before nurse Nora Drake's horrified eyes has unfolded the full story of a teenager's degeneration. But Nora is too much involved personally with young Grace Sargent to see in this desperate daughter of Dr. Robert Sargent anything but a girl who must somehow be saved from the worst consequences of her instability and ignorance. Can Nora do anything, or is there no future for Grace at all? 2:30 p.m., CBS
Wendy Warren: Even since the failure of Mark's last play, Wendy has known that her brilliant, unstable husband was headed for another psychological crisis. But even though she herself cannot help, she feels that Mark's willingness to confide in Dr. Weber is an important step. Meanwhile, the strange personality of Mr. Magnus casts its shadow over several lives. How will he affect Wendy's? 12 p.m., CBS
When a Girl Marries: Ever since Clair O'Brien came into her life, Joan Davis has discovered that she herself is capable of stern, almost ruthless actions which she would never have dreamed of if she had not been forced to defend herself against Clair's wickedness. Even if Joan's sister Sylvia escapes the net cast by Clair's lies, can Joan's life ever be the same as it would have been if Clair had never touched it? 10:45 a.m., ABC
The Woman In My House: The more the Carter family changes, the more it remains the same. As the children have grown up and widened their interests, somehow the family's interests have widened along with them. Instead of going outside the family as they make new friends, or as they marry, the Carters have brought their friends and spouses into the group. But is it an unmixed blessing for family feeling to be so strong? 4:45 p.m., NBC
Young Dr. Malone: Ever since Tracy Adams first appeared in Three Oaks, Dr. Paul Browne has felt that she would have an important impact on the life of his friend, Dr. Jerry Malone. Paul doesn't know if good or bad will eventually come of it, but Jerry's confusion troubles him greatly. Meanwhile, Sam Williams and his daughter-in-law Crystal face a curious, and dangerous, situation. 1:30 p.m., CBS
Young Widder Brown: Though she concentrates desperately on her tea-room and her children, Ellen Brown cannot forget the heartbreak of losing the man she love, Dr. Anthony Loring, to another woman. Memories of Anthony prevent her from turning to Michael Forstyle, an eligible bachelor who admires her. Ellen struggles hard for her outward composure. What will happen to it when she must meet Anthony and Millicent as man and wife? 4:30 p.m., NBC
From Radio-TV Mirror, March 1953
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