NBC Announcer Ben Grauer's Book Collection Goes Back to 1555
Reporting an eclipse of the sun from the jungles of Brazil, giving listeners a tense description of the state-by-state returns during a hotly contested presidential election, commentating with quiet dignity on the next selection of the NBC Symphony orchestra, bringing the theatre into your own living rooms each weekday morning on his WNBT Footlights and Klieglights program and covering the news wherever and whenever it happens is the day-by-day job of Ben Grauer, one of the most popular and busy personalities in radio and television.
People in the broadcasting business have stopped wondering "how he does it." They just expect Ben to have an inexhaustible supply of energy and he has never given them any reason to believe otherwise. But, like any other active person, Ben has his hobbies to provide him with badly needed relaxation. He is an ardent book collector and lists archeology as his number two hobby, placing special emphasis on the culture of the ancient Maya. One need only step across the threshold of Grauer's bachelor apartment in midtown Manhattan to see samples of his collections.
His walls are lined with well-filled bookcases and shadow boxes holding some pieces of Mayan handiwork. In fact, his library became so space consuming that he had to talk the management of his hotel into renting him an unused electric closet for additional storage.
Browsing through the Grauer library, you will see rare first editions, books on games of all descriptions and a goodly number of foreign language volumes. Since he makes his livelihood through the use of words, the study of word derivations is Grauer's pet hobby. His most prized edition is one of the 12 existing copies of the first dictionary printed in the Western Hemisphere, Molina's Diccionario, published in Mexico in 1555. He also has a first edition of Webster's Dictionary bearing the publication date of 1828.
In a slightly lighter vein, Grauer collects jokebooks and volumes on the origin of slang terms. His oldest book in this line is the first dictionary of slang ever printed in the English language titled New Dictionary of the Canting Crew, published in London in 1695. He proudly displays a third edition of Joe Miller's jokebook, which is considered a collector's item.
Although his interest in book collecting and word origins dates back as far as his school days, Grauer first discovered the fascination of archeology as a direct result of his NBC work. He was sent to Mexico on an assignment in 1940 and he has been south of the border six or eight times since then for both business and pleasure.
During these trips he developed a great curiosity about the culture of the Maya and Olmec tribes. He has participated in two exploratory expeditions to Mexico and Panama as guest of Mathew Stirling of the Smithsonian Institute. The Mexican expedition made an important contribution to archeology by finding the largest sculptured stone head as yet unearthed.
Grauer takes great pains to explain that he had nothing to do with this discovery: "It was wonderful of Dr. Stirling to allow me to come along."
When asked if book collecting had ever produced an unusual anecdote, Ben thought a bit and then smilingly came up with this one. In 1946 he was appearing as co-emcee on an NBC-BBC program titled Atlantic Spotlight, in which Leslie Mitchell interviewed personalities in London and then switched to Grauer conducting interviews in New York. While visiting London a few months after the series was concluded, Ben was hunting through the book shops at Charing Cross Road and his voice was recognized no less than three times in an hour by various shopkeepers as "that American chap who chats with Mitchell on the wireless each week."
In his 16 years in radio, Ben has never once been recognized by his public in America. Now what is that old story about a prophet being without honor in his own land?
From Radio Television Mirror, September 1951
Radio: The Cure for Juvenile Delinquency
Justice James Church Cropsey, one of the leading jurists of the state of New York, recently sentenced several young men, some of them scarcely more than boys, to long terms in Sing Sing Prison. Justice Cropsey, in making an address from the bench, offered the following to the boys:
We can lessen the crimes in our midst by giving our attention to the youths. They need a man's guiding hand and helpful personality. They need the example of a true man's life in the forming of their character. Brooklyn can be made better. Whether it will depends on us, its men. Shall we turn our backs and ignore existing conditions, or shall we accept the challenge and lend ourselves to the task?
It's a man's job and it needs red-blooded men who will put something of themselves in the undertaking.
Men, this is a call to us. Are we awake? Do we hear? Will our conscience let us ignore it? Shall we not help to make better the boys of today? Should we not begin at once?
Radio World now asks a few questions supplementing Justice Cropsey's queries from the bench:
Isn't keeping boys at home o'nights the best plan in the world for keeping them honest? Does every youth who owns a radio set stay at home and tune in? If you know a boy who is going wrong, wouldn't you endeavor to save him?
And wouldn't the saving process be started if you were to give him a radio set so he would have an added incentive for keeping off the streets and avoiding bad company?
Will you help?
And isn't the answer a quick and generous YES to all the questions?
From Radio World, March 22, 1924
The Great Radio Detectives of the 1950s
Richard Diamond, Private Detective is a tough private eye played to perfection by a former crooner Dick Powell. Before he started specializing in rugged roles such as the famous CBS sleuth, Dick had built up a world-wide reputation as a singer. Born in Mountain View, Arkansas, he was spotted in Hollywood in 1933 and spent the next 10 years starring in musicals. He wanted a change -- and got it in Murder, My Sweet, his first detective role. In 1945, Dick married June Allyson. He has two kids.
True Detective Mysteries, the popular Mutual series about a noted detective magazine, stars Richard Keith in the role of John Shuttleworth, the editor. Dick was born in New York City in 1908. His first job after graduation from the High School of Commerce was driving the ponies and carriages for children's rides in Central Park. A part in Diamond Lil' on Broadway was the beginning of a successful career behind footlights and microphones. Richard once played Santa Claus on radio.
Mickey Spillane mystery series stars Larry Haines, who hails from Mount Vernon, New York. Larry's flair for acting began to show even in grammar school, where he took the leads in class plays at the age of seven. After graduation from college, he joined the Westchester Players, a summer stock group, then turned to a small radio station on Long Island. Since that time, 36-year-old Larry has starred on every major radio and TV show in New York. His spare time is devoted to his hobby -- photography.
Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar on CBS stars that versatile gentleman John Lund. Besides being a talented actor, Lund has written many radio scripts, including Fashions in Rations and the Jack Pepper Show. For the stage, he wrote lyrics and sketches for Leonard Sillman's New Faces of 1942-43. In Hollywood he collaborated on the screenplay for Appointment with Danger. John hails from Rochester, New York. In 1942, he married actress Marie Charton, with whom he appeared in New Faces.
The Top Guy on ABC stars that well-known radio racket-buster Jay Jostyn of Mr. District Attorney fame. Jay is a student of crime in his spare time, too; in Manhasset, Long Island, where he lives, he is engaged in community activities aimed at decreasing juvenile delinquency. Born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Jay majored in dramatics at Marquette University, then moved to Hollywood, where he made good as a radio actor. A New Yorker since the middle 1930s, Jay has done as many as 48 roles in 36 shows a week.
Squad Room, on Mutual, features as its star six-footer Joe DeSantis. New York City born, Joe attended the College of the City of New York where he majored in languages and was active in school dramatics. He started his acting career with Walter Hampden's company in 1931 and has appeared in many Broadway plays. In Hollywood, he played the Heavy in Slattery's Hurricane. Joe and his wife, radio actress Margaret Draper, live in a Manhattan apartment. In his spare time he is a fine sculptor.
Barrie Craig, Confidential Investigator is another in William Gargan's long line of portrayals of the intrepid private eye. Brooklyn-born Gargan actually was a private flatfoot for a time but always longed to act. He got his chance in the stage production of Aloma of the South Seas, scored in his first film Rain, and has since made scads of movies. Bill has two sons. One boy, Leslie Howard Gardan, is named for the late British star, with whom Bill once made a movie.
Crime and Peter Chambers stars Dane Clark as the handsome crimebuster of NBC. At various times in real life, Dane's been a football player, boxer, soda jerk and radio scriptwriter. Born in New York City, he earned a law degree at St. John's but drifted into radio acting and made his movie bow in Action in the North Atlantic. His last Broadway play was The Number. Dane's married to the artist Margo and has a home in California and an apartment in New York.
FBI in Peace and War on CBS has George Petrie as head man. George, born in New Haven, has been busy in the theater, movies and radio since 1938, except for three-and-a-half wartime years in the Air Force. An old hand at stalking criminals, he's been on Gangbusters, Big Story and Counterspy. George played in Boomerang for the movies; and Cafe Crown, Winged Victory and Brighten the Corner on the stage. He's married to actress Patty Pope.
High Adventure, Mutual Mystery, stars movie villain and cynic George Sanders. George was born in St. Petersburg, Russia, of English parents who fled during the revolution. In England he took a stab at industry until the Depression inclined him to the stage and a singing role with Edna Best. His portrayal of a villain in Hollywood's Lloyds of London was the first of many hits. George once patented three inventions for industry. He's the ex-husband of luscious Zsa Zsa Gabor.
Mickey Spillane Mystery stars Ted de Corsia as Mutual's Mike Hammer. It was back in 1922 that Ted got his start in radio as one of the Monticello players on WOR New York in his home town. Other parts helped Ted complete his schooling in the next five years. He went to Hollywood as a member of Orson Welles' Mercury Theatre. His films include Naked City, Enforcer and A Place in the Sun. He is married with two daughters and lives quietly in the San Fernando Valley.
Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, the gentle but relentlessly thorough investigator, is played at CBS by Philip Clarke, who made his stage bow as a toddler in his home town of London. In the late 1920s he served as a British army officer in India. His American debut was in Joseph and His Brethren, an elaborate stage spectacle. He has since played in both New York and London, solving his cases with military thoroughness, acting with a quiet, gentle dignity.
Mystery Theatre stars Inspector Mark Saber -- otherwise known to one and all at ABC as that dashing, debonair gent, Les Damon. Les began acting in high school in his home town of Providence, Rhode Island. In 1934-35 he went to England to act with the Old Vic. Back in the U.S. he played in the original production of Dead End. Less is currently heard on three daytime radio serials. He's married, lives in Califon, New Jersey, and his hobbies include raising Boxers and making furniture.
Nick Carter, Master Detective is the impressive role created by Lon Clark over Mutual. A triple-threater, Lon is a musician and singer too. He blew his way through college on a sax, later played the piano and sang on radio in Chicago. While performing for WLW he sang with the Cincinnati Summer Opera. Born in Frost, Minnesota, he's lived in New York since 1941 with his wife and two sons. His New York apartment is packed with antiques and American history books.
Nightmare on Mutual has as its chief spine-tingler that master villain of Hollywood, Peter Lorre. Before he began scaring babies and adults, Peter left his hometown of Rosenberg, Hungary, to make his way in the theater. Minor roles led to a lead in a Berlin production, after which he scored in the German film M. Appearances in Hitchcock thrillers paved the way to Hollywood in 1935. Peter once worked as a bank clerk and he has designed stage sets and written.
Official Detective is portrayed over Mutual by Craig McDonnell, who's now in his 28th year as one of radio's top character voices. He's been heard in some of radio's best-known roles, such as David Harum and as Peter in The Greatest Story Ever Told. Born and raised in Buffalo, New York, Craig had early ambitions of becoming a singer, but soon switched to acting. Married, he has two kids. The McDonnell family goes heavily for gardening in Westchester County.
The Shadow on Mutual gets his eerie laugh from Bret Morrison, who began specializing in flesh-creepers back in 1930 with the Dracula series. Although radio mysteries are his meat, Bret is a quiet fellow out of Evanston, Illinois, who sang in the church choir, went to Northwestern University, then acted and sang on radio, including Chicago's Theatre of the Air. Bret's made four movies and he once specialized as a dialectician. He aims to fill a Broadway singing-acting role.
Twenty-First Precinct is captained by Everett Sloane on CBS. Everett's been in constant demand as an actor since he left the University of Pennsylvania to study with the Hedgerow Reparatory Theater. He's appeared in The Desert Fox Way of a Gaucho and such plays as Room Service and A Bell for Adano, meanwhile making radio his second home. He is married. He was the first director hired by George Abbott and hopes to do more directing.
From a reprint in Memories, Fall 1982
Last Call for Radio's Grand Central Station on CBS
After more than 16 years of good entertainment, the voice of Grand Central Station on CBS is no longer heard in the land. What stilled it was not any sudden drying up of human interest drama in Manhattan's great railroad terminal, but rather the fact that Grand Central on the radio just couldn't compete any longer with the overwhelming force of TV playhouses.
No doubt about it, the radio theaters are dwindling. Which is too bad because many of them deserved longer life, and because the very fact that they were heard and not seen enabled them to appeal to the listener's imagination in ways that TV cannot, and to achieve dramatic effects that TV rarely can match.
The oldest radio playhouse of all, 20-year-old Lux Radio Theatre, is still going strong, however, and the big news this year is its switch from CBS to NBC, where it continues to present Hollywood's big names and big stories.
NBC also continues with the year-old Royal Theatre, which Sir Laurence Olivier got off to a good start last October by presenting adaptations of the work of such eminent writers as Alexander Pushkin, William Somerset Maugham and Graham Greene.
CBS, even after relinquishing the Lux series, still has the greatest variety of shows in the field, headed by Stars Over Hollywood, which is going strong after 13 years in which dozens of others have come and gone.
Columbia's offerings range from the whodunit field (Crime Classics) and adventure (Escape and Suspense) to the Hallmark Hall of Fame which honors heroes of U.S. history, and Cathy and Elliot Lewis On Stage, starring the husband and wife team in high-quality originals and classics.
Finally, Mutual concentrates on Family Theatre, now age 7, offering a big array of Hollywood talent in stories by top radio and movie writers.
It'll be interesting to see how many of these hardy perennials can weather the fierce competition of TV for national audiences and will still be with us a year from now.
From Who's Who in TV and Radio, 1954
How Jeff Chandler Was Discovered in Hollywood
I first saw Jeff Chandler 12 years ago when he was Ira Grossel from Brooklyn. He was enrolled in the Feagin School of Dramatic Arts in New York. At the time I was a talent scout for 20th Century-Fox. It was part of my job to make the rounds of dramatic schools, searching for new talent.
To me Jeff was a big, gawky kid. He didn't seem to coordinate too well, a common failing of tall guys. But there was an arresting quality about the boy, a kind of deep sincerity. I watched him for a few minutes, then walked out.
Later I was at the Mill Pond Playhouse on Long Island when who should turn up again? Right. Only this time he was a spear-carrier or something in a costume drama entitled The Trojan Horse. His face had more character and his acting showed indications of great potential, but I still didn't think enough of the boy to recommend a screen test. I felt he was at least two or three years away. Then the war broke out and I lost track of Jeff.
When I next ran into him we were both in Hollywood, he as a radio actor on Our Miss Brooks and I as the general manager of Huntington Hartford's talent agency. We met at a Lux Radio Theatre broadcast, and when the show was over I knew at once that Ira Grossel had arrived. He had not only developed his acting, but his sex appeal, his personal magnetism, that strong-but-silent he-man attitude, seemed to overwhelm the audience. I was surprised after the broadcast to observe that more fans asked for his autograph than for the signatures of the established movie stars who headed the cast.
Although I'd seen him, Jeff and I had never met. A mutual friend introduced us. The first thing I said, looking up at the Man Mountain, was, "I saw you in stock under a different name." He furrowed his brow. "Yep," I continued, "It was at the Mill Pond Playhouse in Long Island. You were in a play called The Trojan Horse."
Jeff couldn't believe it. "But that's impossible," he said. "That was more than eight years ago."
We set up a date for the next day and Jeff came into the office to discuss representation. "Suppose I sign with you, what sort of parts do you think I'm suited for?"
"Maybe I'm crazy," I said, "but I see you as a leading man."
Jeff grinned. "Thanks," he said. "Everybody else sees me as a character."
Meyer Mishkin in Modern Screen, November 1952
How Nelson Eddy Got in Hot Water with Two Coffee Companies
They were all in a dither and it was Nelson Eddy's fault.
By "they" I mean Chase and Sanborn and Maxwell House (they make coffee, or haven't you heard), Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, the National Broadcasting Company, a couple of advertising firms and a round dozen lawyers. It was Nelson's fault because he really should have arranged to be two young men, each with a Voice. Then he could have sung on two rival radio programs with everything lovely. As it was, conferences raged furiously on the West Coast, the East Coast, in Chicago and elsewhere, and long-distance phone calls, telegrams and what-have-you burned up the wires.
You see, Nelson was one of the bright lights on the Chase and Sanborn coffee (it's dated) hour every Sunday evening and is also under contract to make pictures for MGM, whose weekly hour is sponsored by Maxwell House (good to the last drop). You probably can imagine, therefore, into what cement-like solidity the plot thickened when MGM, having made a picture called Rosalie starring Nelson and Eleanor Powell, proposed to present Nelson in scenes from Rosalie on the Maxwell House radio hour. Chase and Sanborn, torn by the thought of his beguiling voice Pied-Pipering coffee drinkers away from their Chase and Sanborn habits and into the waiting arms of Maxwell House, promptly had a fit.
Of course, it was finally straightened out as things usually are. Nelson ultimately and legally was scheduled to endorse the merits of Maxwell House coffee by participating in the Rosalie broadcast. But, withal, everybody wasn't happy. As the morning for the first Rosalie rehearsal rolled around, tension still prevailed. Victorious though they were, the Maxwell House producers found their nerves pretty well shot and their tempers short. All the legal parleying had been too much of an ordeal and had taken up too much time. They were upset.
And then, into that jaundiced situation, bright and smiling and rarin' to go, walked Nelson wearing an immaculate gray suit, blue accessories, shoes shined to dazzling brilliance -- and a sandwich board which read:
I DRINK SANKA!
Whereupon everybody laughed, the jaundiced gloom of the occasion was routed and the rehearsal was a great success.
"That guy'll be the death of me," a friend of mine at NBC told me, reminiscing about this and other gags staged by the reputedly staid and proper Mr. Eddy.
Marian Rhea in Radio Mirror, April 1938
The Tragic Death of Russ Columbo at Age 26
Russ Columbo laughed as he watched the satisfied hundreds at the preview of the movie Wake Up and Dream, in which his caressing voice had won their instant approval.
Life really began today. Just write 'Friday the 31st' in red because it starts Chapter 3 in the story of Columbo. And put it down that today Old Man Hard Luck lost my address. Everything good happened today. I made the first of my new broadcasts, I saw my first starring picture and I made four recordings on my new phonograph contract. What a lucky day this was!
And that isn't all. I found the piece of property where I'm going to build the new home for my folks. I'm going to design the house myself -- and put in all the little nooks and gadgets my mother wants.
So, I'm forgetting the bumps and disappointments in Chapters 1 and 2 and starting Chapter 3 today. And don't think I don't know I'm the lucky guy.
Less than 48 hours later, Grim Tragedy snapped that string -- and wrote "Cut!" across the picture of Columbo's success. For a tragic misadventure and an old dueling pistol had put an end to what promised to be one of the most successful careers in pictures, and left a dying mother listening for a voice she would never hear again.
So sudden and unexpected were the blazing headlines, "Columbo is dead!" that even blasé Hollywood was shocked -- and a trifle frightened. The boulevard punsters and gagmen were silent, and the wise ones offered no inside facts, but merely shook their heads in numb confusion.
Russ Columbo was so young, so handsome, so friendly, and so unselfishly devoted to his family. It just didn't seem possible that he could be lying cold and still. He had had, too, a rather unhappy life up until the day he called the beginning of Chapter 3. His first love affair went smash. His first promising success in radio petered out after a brilliant start. A cherished brother had been killed in an automobile accident. And then, when everything seemed bright and happy once more, his young life was cut short.
A wonder and fear reached every studio and was evident in the attitude of the great mass of men, women and children who stood so silently and so orderly outside the Blessed Sacrament Church where, five days before his crowning triumph, Russ Columbo's soul was considered to his Maker.
No movie cameras or autograph hunters blasphemed the simple solemnity of the occasion, and as the pallbearers, headed by Bing Crosby, carried the casket, covered with a blanket of gardenias from Carole Lombard, only the sobs of hundreds of friends broke the stillness. Carole, supported by Russ' brother John and Dr. Harry Martin, was spared the stares and crowding of the curious.
In some manner, this death hit home in Hollywood and caused the village of make-believe to cast an apprehensive glance over its shoulder. If so happy and clean a life, and so promising a career, could be struck cold without a whisper of warning, just who can tell what will happen tomorrow. Or even today, so unexpected was this blow.
And yet, in one sense, not altogether unexpected.
Two days before Russ started making Wake Up and Dream, he and this writer were driving through the hills of Hollywood, looking for a home for his family.
"I'm not satisfied with the place we just left," referring to the house he was leasing in Beverly Hills, "because I know mother would be happier where it is quieter, and a little more off the main road. So let's take a look up in Outpost."
"Aren't you planning to build for the family?" I asked. "Why not stay where you are 'til then -- especially when you have the worry and work of just starting a picture?"
"Maybe I'm funny about it," he replied, "but I want to grab some of the nicest things for mother right now. You know how it is. The old fellow with the scythe is always just around the corner.
"I am planning to build -- but I don't want to wait -- because you never know what might happen.
"For example," as he swung his car about an exceptionally sharp and steep turn, "suppose one of Hollywood's famous damn fool drivers happened to be coming down here just now, wide open. I'd have a great chance to build a house after that, wouldn't I? No, I have a hunch it's a good idea to get your living in today. Tomorrow is so absolutely uncertain."
Russ was the last person in the world to borrow trouble or to fear tomorrow -- and on the day of his death he had talked excitedly of his new plans -- but he did have this feeling, where his beloved family was concerned, against putting things off.
Not that trouble had overlooked him -- for he had been caused considerable loss of time and money through lawsuits and misplaced confidence. So much so, that in business he was becoming extremely cautious, and skeptical of the promises of others.
Having heard startling rumors of what Hollywood usually does to radio stars who storm its citadel, he came to the screen not grandly confident as came Rudy Vallee, nor yet boyishly eager as came Lanny Ross, but wary, alert for Hollywood's vicious left to the jaw that has sent so many of his contemporaries wobbling to the ropes.
It was an over-developed eagerness to share everything he owned that caused Russ so much trouble during his first broadcasting days, and that resulted in his paying off several thousands of dollars in debts his friends and business associates had contracted.
The first time I called on Russ, he was laid up at home with an arm crippled from too much tennis, and was eager to talk about his first picture.
He was enthused, and anxious to start it, as he felt that the grim misfortune that had dogged him and his family for years (and that had recently taken his brother Fiore in an automobile accident) had finally released its crushing grip.
I'm mighty anxious to make good here, because this town is my alma mater, so to speak. I came here from San Francisco when I was nine, and stayed until we stormed New York and radioland. I was the twelfth son of a family that was not too well off, and that gave me the feeling that it was up to me to look out for myself.
Between playing concerts, studying voice, doing bits in the movies and doubling voice for some of the best known stars in the early days of the talkies, I managed to keep busy.
Then I joined up with Gus Arnheim, and along with Bing Crosby, sang at the Cocoanut Grove -- which brings us to about four years ago, when one of my brothers got the idea of turning an automobile salon into a club where I could fill in my spare time as an entertainer.
It is at this point that Russ Columbo's life story was picked up and made into the motion picture Twenty Million Sweethearts. Jerry Wald learned Russ's story, wrote it for a magazine and then, at Dick Powell's suggestion, rewrote it into a motion picture for Warner Brothers.
It was Con Conrad, the famous composer, who discovered Russ singing at the Columbo Brothers' Pyramid Club on Hollywood Boulevard, and talked him into making a flying trip to New York to storm radio -- and then helped him skyrocket to fame.
"I'll never forget that Saturday we struck New York," smiled Russ, shifting his arm to a more comfortable position. "Once we were there Con didn't let any grass grow under his feet. I had a lot of confidence in him, but being a big kid who had been taken in before, I was a little skeptical when he announced, casually, that inasmuch as he had to make some money for us to eat on, he would give Flo Ziegfeld a buzz and have him come over and hear some of his new songs.
"But when Ziegfeld received Con's phone call, he came over, bringing Harry Richman, Jack Pearl and Mark Hellinger with him."
How Con Conrad next took him to see Earl Carroll (who instantly wanted to put him in his show and write a special part for him) and then on to the midnight audition at the National Broadcasting Company is well-known now, as is also the story of his rapid climb to fame, and the popularity of his "caressing" voice.
He started singing for the broadcasting company at no salary at all, but within two weeks' time his fan mail had grown to such volume that he was signed on a "commercial."
Russ's fan following soon became so enormous and so partial to his voice that a national tour of personal appearances was decided upon -- and after breaking box office records in theatres all over the country, he was sent on a second tour, this time appearing in the largest dance halls and other public buildings available.
About this time the famous Columbo-Crosby feud was being exploited by the different radio broadcasting chains. Bing and Russ had worked together in the same orchestra and, because of the similarity of their voices, a good hot feud looked like excellent publicity copy.
Whenever he was asked about this feud, Russ used to merely grin and wink. He knew it was nonsense and Bing Crosby knew it was nonsense. But it so happened that, just a day before Russ Columbo's death , a newspaper ran a synthetic photograph showing Bing Crosby shooting Columbo -- to illustrate the bitter feud that existed between them. One of those silly, but nevertheless harmful, things that misguided publicity does.
I hope no one took that seriously. "I tell you it gave me an awful shock. A creepy feeling. Everybody who knew either of us intimately knew there was nothing to that feud idea at all. It was started back east, by the radio people.
After both of us settled in California we were together many times at my house and at Carole's. Russ and I were always chummy. Way back when he played a violin in Gus Arnheim's orchestra at the Cocoanut Grove and sang in one trio, while I sang in another, Russ and I used to go around together, sometimes alone and sometimes with Dixie, my wife, and Sally Blane.
We often laughed over this so-called feud of late years -- and figured it would die out when we appeared in pictures, and proved to be such entirely different types.
Russ sent a christening present to my first baby, and flowers for my twins. During Dixie's long confinement, he sent flowers often.
Few people felt Russ's loss more than I did -- because, somehow, it seemed we should be sailing along together, as we had been the last three months of his life. I was proud when asked to officiate at his funeral as a pallbearer, and to play some small part in his last rites.
Thank you, Bing Crosby, for this friendly and fitting tribute.
William French in Modern Screen, December 1934
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