Jean Hersholt and Don Ameche Star in Sins of Man
It draws a parallel between the patience of Job and the patience of a Tyrolean church sexton, but Sins of Man will be regarded by many not as cinema proof of the infinite wisdom of things, but only as a picture in which Jean Hersholt triumphs over a draggy, overly sentimental script. And the many would be right.
There is, of course, the qualifying thought that Hersholt's performance in Sins of Man makes the film real, believable and important. So important, in fact, that we can easily come to accept that infinite wisdom of things which the photoplay asks us to accept.
Sins of Man is on a par with those pathetic productions in which Emil Jannings used to suffer so nobly: those films in which our greatest character actresses take delight in appearing. The religious theme of the current picture is not stressed so heavily that it overshadows what is, after all, the stereotype tale of a simple soul who sinks exceedingly low, only to be uplifted by good fortune and good faith.
The Tyrolean bell-ringer is a familiar of ours. We recognize him in any guise, and under any adverse circumstance. This time, his eldest son is driven from home because he wants to be an aviator; his youngest son is born deaf. The flyer dies; the youth disappears during the war and the father winds up in a Bowery flophouse to be jeered by its occupants.
He hears, in time, the cheerful tolling of his own beloved church bells, incorporated in the composition of a young Italian musician. Seeking out the man, the bellringer turned sandwich man discovers his own long-lost son, whose deafness has been cured by the detonations of the war-time shells which had razed their home.
We might quibblingly ask just how this once-deafened youth could remember the sound of church bells he had never heard. But the innate beauty of the symphony in which those bells are heard, and the dramatic necessity for that symphony, make the question unimportant.
Sins of Man is not, as might be imagined, an overwhelming production. It has been stretched far beyond its deserved length, and its co-directors have striven too valiantly to evoke audience tears. On the other hand, they never once become maudlin.
Hersholt, in the major role, makes the film a beautiful, heart-warming affair. His every appearance is so perfectly right, it seems a pity that the script is not so strong as it should have been.
Don Ameche, a newcomer to the screen, is effective in a double role. He first appears as the flyer; later as the musician. In the latter portrait, he is superb. It is easy to predict a brilliant screen future for this gentlemen whose performance so impressed his company that he is re-introduced to us at the close of the film.
Allen Jenkins is refreshingly different in a minor role, and bits have been entrusted to J. Edward Bromberg, Ann Shoemaker, Fritz Lieber and others.
Seymour Roman in the Brooklyn Eagle, June 19, 1936
Related Stories:
- Don Ameche's Lucky Break in 1930
- The Marriage of Don Ameche and Honore Prendergast
- Four Radio Shows Hired Les Tremayne to Replace Don Ameche
Radio Announcer Reed Browning Makes a Spectacle of Himself
Folks visiting Hollywood -- or those who live there -- have three easy and pleasant ways to meet one of the friendliest and most cheerful emcees in show business, Reed Browning. Anyone appearing in the vicinity of Sunset and Vine any weekday morning or afternoon is quite apt to become an active part of Reed's two all-around-good-fun shows: Beat the Record, heard locally over station KABC, or the Reed Browning Show, heard over the ABC network.
Both programs offer a delightful fare of music, spontaneous fun and prize quizzes, and feature popular performers such as Rex Koury, Art and Dotty Todd and Ronnie Kemper. If, by chance, visiting firefighters miss either of these happy sessions, they can drop by the famous Cocoanut Grove and join Reed in his evening coast-to-coast Cocoanut Grove Party.
If Reed's face looks familiar and his voice sounds the same, it is undoubtedly because this busy emcee has appeared on a stream of radio and TV shows, from the Breakfast Club and Philco Hall of Fame to the Jack Owens Show and Crusade in Europe.
Originally, Reed had wanted to be a trumpet player, but while still a student in Decatur, Illinois, his football activities prevented him from playing in the band. Hence, his musical career ended. As an English major at the University of Illinois, Reed became interested in radio, so, after graduation, he sent records of his voice to a host of radio stations. One of these was station KGMB in Honolulu. On the strength of his long-distance audition, the station hired Reed as an announcer and emcee.
In short time, he became a tremendous favorite with the local populace and was affectionately known as "Unka Beel." He also made a hit with an attractive young actress named Laurel Ensminger who was appearing in a play in Honolulu and whom Reed soon took as his bride. After two years in the land of swaying palms, Reed and Laurel returned to the States where he got a job with station KYA in San Francisco.
A year later, NBC approached him. During an ensuing interview, Reed -- whose real name is Bill Livesay, was told by the big boss, "The name Livesay will have to go." Anxious to get the job, Reed got together with friends and came up with Reed Browning. Months later, the NBC boss met Reed at an office party and asked why he'd changed his name. "Because you told me to," Reed replied. "Oh," laughed the boss, "I was only kidding. We were going to hire you anyway."
When NBC was split and the American Broadcasting Company was formed, Reed was sent to Hollywood as a member of the ABC staff. For the next few years, nothing spectacular happened to Reed's career. Then, recently, he bought himself a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. From the day he donned the specs, his career has skyrocketed.
Says Reed, "Until I bought a pair, I had only one radio show. Now ABC has suddenly discovered, after knowing me for a dozen years, that I am a composite of Robert Q. Lewis, Bill Cullen, Steve Allen and Dave Garroway. So they've given me the big build-up as California's answer to those four guys."
While success has become Reed's business byword, at home, in North Hollywood, he continues to pursue his quiet, easygoing way of life with Laurel and their youngsters: Wendy, 13; Billy, 11; Kenneth, 6; and Elizabeth Anne, who is one. The Browning backyard houses a much-used swimming pool, which Reed helped to build, and an outdoor barbecue, a family favorite. While others concentrate on semi-tropical vegetation, the Brownings make a hobby of keeping their place as "Eastern" as possible, to remind them of Illinois. Reed enjoys gardening and "fussin' and fixin'" around the house and is also a ham radio operator.
The Browning home is situated just 10 minutes from the ABC studios on Vine Street. This is a convenience Reed enjoys to the fullest, for he hates traffic. But what is more important, Reed loves people -- and there's no doubt of how much folks far and wide love Reed. He's a spectacular, spectacled favorite.
From TV Radio Mirror, November 1954
Obituary for Radio Drummer Roy C. Knapp
Roy C. Knapp, a network orchestra musician during radio's golden area in Chicago and a highly respected percussion teacher in the city for decades, died June 16, 1979, at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago. He was 87. The cause of death was not released.
Knapp was a longtime resident of Chicago's Near North Side. He was born on Oct. 26, 1891, in Waterloo, Iowa, where his father operated the town's first movie theater. Knapp could play several musical instruments and when the drummer for the theater's orchestra became ill, Knapp filled in for him. The experience inspired him to pursue music as a career.
The young stickman moved to Chicago in his twenties, becoming a sought-after studio musician skilled as a drummer, percussionist and xylophone soloist. He then extended his craft by becoming a teacher whose students included the jazz drummers Gene Krupa, Dave Tough, George Wettling and Louie Belson. He was a longtime orchestra member on shows broadcast on WLS.
In 1938, Knapp and his wife opened the Roy C. Knapp School of Percussion in Chicago at 509. S. Wabash Avenue. Ads proclaimed the Knapp school of music as "the cradle of celebrated drummers," offering students tutelage in the skills needed to join a "top flight" radio, television, theater or concert orchestra.
In addition to his performances for radio and movies, Knapp played the drums on the National Barn Dance from 1923 to 1960. He also played on Chicago's radio program The Breakfast Club. Though he was retired as a performer he still offered private lessons at the time of his death.
A Chicago Tribune obituary lists his survivors as a daughter, Dorothy Law; sons Donald Knapp and James Knapp; seven grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.
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The Mail Must Go Through: The Pony Express Rider
On April 3, 1860, at 5 p.m., a courier mounted a fast, spirited steed in St. Joseph, Missouri, and headed westward at breakneck speed. At about the same time in San Francisco, another rider began a dash toward the East. These were the first Pony Express riders.
During the eighteen months of the short history of the Pony Express, many miracles of endurance and bravery were performed before the famous relay system was replaced by the telegraph line. Racing from station to station, the average courier carried his precious cargo between 40 and 125 miles at a clip. Whether he rode over mountains or plains, or through dangerous Indian territories; whether his ride was at night or during the day, in stifling heat or cruel blizzards, the courageous riders of the Pony Express almost never failed to bring the mail to its destination. It is said that only one mail was lost in a total of 650,000 miles in the saddles.
Many of the express rides were products of the frontier, selected for their light weight and cool-headedness in times of danger. All were able to ride and shoot with amazing skill. Buffalo Bill Cody was, early in his career, a Pony Express rider.
From The Lone Ranger 96, June 1956
The Marriage of Don Ameche and Honore Prendergast
The debonair movie and radio star Don Ameche was only married once during his lifetime. He wed Honore Prendergast in 1932, they had six children and the union lasted until her death in 1986. That sounds like a storybook romance, but the following paragraph in her obituary from the Des Moines Register indicates it was a bit more complicated:
Don Ameche appeared in several radio productions, including a starring role in The First Nighter Program, in the 1930s. Among his most famous film roles was his portrayal of Alexander Graham Bell in The Story of Alexander Graham Bell. He recently won an Academy Award for best supporting actor for his role in Cocoon. His son, Don Jr., said his father is currently working on a film with Geraldine Page and Shelly Winters in New Jersey and will not be able to attend the funeral services.
Honore Prendergast Ameche died in 1986 at age 78 of a heart ailment in her hometown of Dubuque, Iowa. The Ameches had six children, 13 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren at the time of her death. During the height of Don's fame the Hollywood press listed their children as Donnie, Ronnie, Tommie, Lonnie, Bonnie and Connie. Her obituary lists her surviving children as Don Ameche Jr., Ron Ameche, Tom Ameche, Bonnie Steltenkamp and Connie Bringanti.
The Ameches both had ties to Dubuque, since she was born there and he had attended Columbia College, which is known today as Loras College. He was acting on the old-time radio show First Nighter in Chicago and she was residing in Dubuque the year they married. Modern Screen magazine asked Don how their romance began:
We went out together that night and ever night after that while she was in Chicago. Then she had to get back to her work. She was a dietitian in Dubuque. That was the first part of September. After that, every weekend, I covered the 170 miles to Dubuque to see her. In the last part of November, we were married. Father Sheehy came back from Washington to marry us.
The Ameches delayed their honeymoon for a year because he was so busy with his radio work, finally celebrating their union with a trip to Bermuda. Honore Prendergast was called the nickname Honey. She was separated from Don Ameche for the last 20 years of her life, according to Parade columnist Walter Scott.
Don Ameche died in 1993 at the Scottsdale, Arizona, home of his son. The cause of death was prostate cancer.
In 1979, entertainment writer Bob Herguth noted the length of the Ameches' marriage and asked Don for his secret of showbiz marital happiness. Ameche replied, "I wouldn't know."
Related Stories:
- Don Ameche's Lucky Break in 1930
- Four Radio Shows Hired Les Tremayne to Replace Don Ameche
- Jean Hersholt and Don Ameche Star in Sins of Man
The Big Story: An Interview with Bill Gagnon
Some of the old radio shows were great, and some were only fair. Time plays funny tricks on our minds, however, and any show I actually recall listening to seems to come out in my mind as having been great. One such show was The Big Story.
The Big Story was likely one of those "fair" shows, and its Pall Mall cigarette commercials were probably more memorable than the show, but it is one of the shows that I remember and it is one of my favorites.
A popular radio personality, Ray Durkee of KHOW radio in Denver, currently has a show on Sunday from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. called Sunday at the Memories. In his shows, Ray covers everything nostalgic, including records of the '40s and '50s, various old TV excerpts, bits from old movies and also sports-related items. Ray also includes a 30-minute old radio program, usually.
On Feb. 23, 1975, Ray ran "The Bill Gagnon Story," which was featured on The Big Story. At that time, he did a short telephone interview with Gardon. That interview follows verbatim:
Ray Durkee: During the golden days, the early days of radio when dramatizations in comedy and variety and that kind of thing were what we grew up with, there was a series called The Big Story. In The Big Story the whole idea of the show was to take various newspaper stories from people involved in the newspaper business around this country -- some of their stories -- and then dramatize them on radio. The fellow I'm going to talk with on the telephone, his name is Bill Gagnon, and Bill Gagnon has been involved in newspaper work I guess most of your life, haven't you, Bill?
Bill Gagnon: A good part of my adult life, Ray. I started back in about 1949 in Wichita, Kansas.
Durkee: And you've been a part of the Denver newspaper scene, working in the local newspapers. Right now Bill is associated with newspapers out of Pueblo, and in charge of the Denver office, right?
Gagnon: That's right. I work out of the State House, Ray, covering state government and federal government, and so forth. Matters of interest in Colorado.
Durkee: So when we talk about The Big Story, or your big story that was dramatized on radio, when did it happen?
Gagnon: Well, as best I can recall, it was about 1952, I believe, '51 or '52, somewhere in there.
Durkee: In Wichita?
Gagnon: Right.
Durkee: Okay, so that was really your first job as a newspaperman, wasn't it?
Gagnon: That's right. I was working for the old Wichita Beachon, which has since gone defunct and merged with the Wichita Eagle.
Durkee: That's pretty exciting considering it's your first job in the profession and you end up with a big story. Now briefly, can you tell us how the story went?
Gagnon: Well, it concerned a case in which a young woman's body was found in a duffel bag under the porch of her home, in East Wichita. What role I did have, I was quite disappointed in the way it did come out on The Big Story. In fact, in those days they would take the outline of a story and from what I could determine, apparently they threw it in the wastepaper basket and would write their own story.
Durkee: To make it palatable on the radio according to them.
Gagnon: Right. I was quite hot after I did hear it on the air and I wrote to them about it. Not to the advertisers themselves, but to an advertising agency that handled the account. And of course, they responded, and said that their job and the purpose of it was to glorify the reporter, so they took a little literary license there -- beefed it up the way they wanted it to sound.
Durkee: How did they change it?
Gagnon: Well, actually Ray, it's almost not recognizable -- the facts and the story. It's hard to separate fact from fiction there. It's mainly fiction. Later on, this radio series was bought by a television production company, and they put a series on the air in the early 1960s. Much to my amazement, I found out that I had a private secretary, a new car and the whole bit. This was back in the days when we made $50 a week.
Durkee: And you did a lot of hoofing, and you were lucky probably to even have a car.
Gagnon: Yes, as I recall I had an old Ford convertible with wooden doors, and the termites got to it. One door was half eaten away.
Durkee: Now in regard to the story as you covered it, how did they change it? The way the story comes out on the show is that it leaves the impression that he was a youngster who was involved in this, who kept bugging you and wanted to really find out what was going on, as far as the case. Is that what really happened?
Gagnon: No, that's not what happened.
Durkee: All right, what happened?
Gagnon: At the drugstore nearby the paper where we drank coffee frequently, I got some information from the girls working there who were related to the woman who was murdered. I did relay this information to the police. But actually as it came out on the air, gave very little credit to the police, and that was unfortunate because they did a tremendous job on this case. There was a detective by the name of Joe Kleppeth who broke the case, and I gave them this information. At the time Joe didn't think much of it, but the whole thing did gel together later on and did result in this young man being arrested. He was charged and later convicted, went to the penitentiary, and I understand he is a free man today.
Durkee: How long did he spend in the penitentiary? Do you know?
Gagnon: Something under, maybe about 10 years I would imagine.
Durkee: All right, did you have any contact at all with this fellow in question?
Gagnon: No.
Durkee: You never did?
Gagnon: I had no personal contact whatsoever, other than report and cover the story.
Durkee: That's amazing because the show makes it sound like he was bugging you. Well, I'm going to play the show, because that's amazing. In the show they leave the impression that here was a youngster that was really interested in newspaper work, and wanted to find out what was going on with this story, and he was constantly bugging you. But yet, you had no contact whatsoever with this fellow at all.
Gagnon: That's right.
Durkee: That's amazing. OK, I'm now going to play the show. Now people have heard from you how it really went, and your own true life, and we're going to see what radio did to it when they dramatized it, OK?
Gagnon: I'm sure they won't recognize a thing.
Ray Windix in Collector's Corner, October 1978
Charlie McCarthy and Mortimer Snerd Meet a New Generation
This past semester I've been teaching American humor to a group of 11th and 12th graders who have been brought up on Steve Martin, Bill Cosby, George Carlin and Richard Pryor. Sure, they've seen Bob Hope and Edgar Bergen and they remember Jack Benny and Groucho Marx. But Jack Carson? Judy Canova? Joe Penner? Fred Allen? Wasn't he the coach of the Red Sox?
Well, being a OTR freak,I had to set these kids straight on just who the best comedians of the 20th century were!
I played a Jack Benny show, a Jack Carson show, a Judy Canova show, a Fibber McGee and Molly and an Edgar Bergen-Charlie McCarthy show.
Here's what they had to say about these folks:
Cindy Brown, senior: "I really liked Edgar Bergen's Mortimer Snerd. I liked the line when he was at the carnival and he looked in a mirror in the funhouse and he thought he looked better than in real life."
Botsy Ross (no kiddin'), junior: I think Edgar Bergen was so successful because he gave the dummies personalities of their own. And it really sounded like there were two people talking instead of one. Charlie, Mortimer and Effie are real people. Effie was vivacious in that she loved men and everything to do with them."
Joyce Nutt, junior: Charlie gets hurt easily; he acts like a child, but he is lovable. He has a personality that makes you feel for him. I guess you could call Effie a 'dirty old lady.' She believes every man should be married whether he likes it or not."
Jim Nichols, senior: "Mortimer is not playing with a full deck! And Charlie -- people try to be nice to him, but he'd turn around and tell them to get lost. And for how old Effie is, she has a lot of spunk. I I also liked Fibber McGee and Molly because of the way they worked together as a team; they would crack each other up all the time."
Ted Williams (another no kiddin'), junior: Mortimer is a dumb dummy, but he's so dumb you have to laugh at him."
Dannette Hyer, junior: "Charlie is funny, but also brash. He says things that most people wouldn't say to others, but he thinks nothing of it."
You might have noted something among these comments -- most of them had to do with Edgar Bergen and his characters. Most of the class felt, of all the comedy shows I played for them, Charlie, Mortimer, and Effie were the best.
Probably Bergen's comedy did appeal to the teenagers of the '30s, '40s,and the '50s more than the others used in my classes. Maybe someone reading this may have access to a poll taken during the Golden Age that would either refute or agree with this assumption.
Anyway, Charlie, Mortimer and Effie will live forever as long as those of us in OTR can let others hear them once again.
From Illustrated Press, April 1980
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