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WO l

MS I A FOOL TO FOLLOW HIM?

The confession of a co-ed in love
with a famous dance band leader

LAND OF THE

by Walter Wine

I0W TO CATCH A HUSBAND

by Beatrice Fairfa

MYALL-AMERICAN
RADIO TEAM

by Jimmie Fidle

DOROTHY LAMOUR

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Once the spell is broken
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No girl need risk losing romance — when MUM so surely guards charm!

HOW COULD IT HAPPEN? How could
he write those heart-breaking
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love her always— how could he hurt her
like this? There was no warning, except
the coolness she had barely noticed—
and too easily dismissed.

But how significant it should have
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man grows less attentive— distant— cool
...there is a reason. So often the girl
who loses out has grown careless— has
foolishly neglected to use Mum!

Even fastidious girls make this mis-
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when underarms always need Mum.
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That's why it's so important never to neg-
lect Mum! Mum keeps you fresh all day.
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Mum is soothing to your skin!

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MAY. 1939

VOL. 12 NO. 1

*»'

a«

i ■ ■

v<*»

ev '.ov^.;^

&oS**L«A«<*'

'*>>

ERNEST V. HEYN /??//? A! 0/2 FRED R. SAMMIS

Executive Editor Editor

BELLE LANDESMAN, ASSISTANT EDITOR

Land of the Free Walter Winchell 10

Read radio's most impassioned broadcasts

Foolish Fancy, Maybe 12

The confession of a co-ed in love with a danceband leader

How to Catch a Husband Beatrice Fairfax 15

Down-to-earth advice by a specialist in love

Jimmie Fidler's Afl-American Radio Team. .As Told to Walter Ramsey 16
Hollywood's dynamic reporter selects his own Hall of Fame

I Will Live Charles Gilchrest 19

How Barbara Luddy kept a frightening secret

Out of the Fog Norton Russell 20

A First Nighter drama in gay story form

This Happened to Me Artie Shaw 28

The almost incredible life story of swing's new idol

If Women Ruled Carole Lombard 3 1

Take a back seat, men — and like it!

Mysteries of the Mind 32

Can these true stories ever be explained?
The Case of the Hollywood Scandal Erie Stanley Gardner 34

Little Miss Bell follows the path of danger

This Is the Life! Howard Sharpe 38

Everything comes Tyrone Power's way
You Can't Take Life Away from Alec Templeton. . . Annemarie Ewing 58

Not even blindness can spoil his zest for living

What Do You Want to Say? 3

What's New from Coast to Coast 4

Hollywood Radio Whispers 6

Radio's Photo-Mirror

Bob Hope 23

Charlie McCarthy's Gay Naughties Party 24

Do Men Hate Women's Hats? 26

Don Ameche 37

Facing the Music 40

Inside Radio — The New Radio Mirror Almanac 43

Put the Bee on Your Spelling 55

What Do You Want to Know? 60

We Canadian Listeners 67

Give Your Face a Spring Cleaning 90

A Meal in One Dish 92

COVER— Dorothy Lamour by Robert Reid

(Courtesy of Paramount Pictures)

BADIO MIBBOR, published monthly by Macfadden Publications, Inc.. Washington and South Avenues,
Dunellen, New Jersey. General Offices: 205 East 42nd Street. New York, N. Y. Editorial and advertising
offices: Chanin Building. 122 East 42nd Street, New York. Bernarr Macfadden. President: Wesley F.
Pape, Secretary; Irene T. Kennedy, Treasurer; Walter Hanlon. Advertising Director. Chicago office: 333
North Michigan Avenue. C. H. Shattuck. Mgr. San Francisco office: 1658 Buss Building. Lee Andrews, Mgr.
Entered as second-class matter September 14, 1933. at the Post Office at Dunellen. New Jersey, under the Act
of March 3, 1879. Price in United States. Canada and Newfoundland $1.00 a year. 10c a copy. In TJ. S.
Territories, Possessions, Cuba. Mexico, Haiti, Dominican Bepublic, Spain and Possessions, and Central and
South American countries, excepting British Honduras. British, Dutch and French Guiana. $1.50 a year;
all other countries $2.50 a year. While Manuscripts. Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's
risk, every effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompanied by sufficient 1st class postage,
and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to be sure to retain copies of their contribu-
tions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters for the "What Do You Want to
Say?" department will not be returned, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter
contributed. All submissions become the property of the magazine. (Member of Macfadden Women's Group.)
Copyright, 1939, by the Macfadden Publications, Inc. The contents of this magazine may not be reprinted,
either wholly or in part, without permission.
Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Company. Dunellen, N. J.

XUkxxt do t|ott vrtmt ta scaj?

FIRST PRIZE

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE?

At long last, a "different airshow!"

At last a program of short, snappy
commercials.

At last a program that says "away
with noisy, blase studio audiences!"

At last a natural, well-balanced
show, yet not with a hodge-podge of
clashing entertainment: this quarter-
hour for comedy, this for drama, this
for pathos — the last five minutes were
as delightfully simple in nature and
style as the first.

At last a program of wit and humor
that uses gags as a sprinkling of spice,
and not as the whole sickening meal.

I mean The Circle, of course.

I still don't believe it. I'm going to
listen next Sunday night and make
sure.

Harry W. Jones,
Collingswood, N. J.

SECOND PRIZE

RADIO DOES ITS GOOD DEED
We are a nation of sometimes lax
extremes. For a long while the
gangster, racketeer and petty criminal
— without interference — swayed the
follow -the -leader emotions of our

THIS IS YOUR PAGE!

YOUR LETTERS OF OPINION WIN

PRIZES

First Prize $10.00

Second Prize $ 5.00

Five Prizes of $ 1.00

Address your letter to the Editor,
RADIO MIRROR, 122 East 42nd
Street, New York, N. Y., and mail it
not later than April 26, 1939. All
submissions become the property of
the magazine.

youngsters from movie screen, and
magazine page.

Then came the reckoning. Crime
gained an appalling headway. The
nicest boys in the neighborhood were
forming gangs; turning, despite their

parents' efforts, into swaggering little
hoodlums. Suddenly America took
stock of herself, and began tearing
down in a frenzy of self-reproach the
mockery of manhood she had allowed
thoughtless men erect.

The movies turned-about-face, but
though they have done a fine job in
rectifying a grave mistake, it is really
the radio we must thank for such
splendid character formers as —
Wanted by the Law, and Gang
Busters.

Taken from life these worth-while
programs give credit where credit is
due. To the man with the badge. The
protector of lives, homes and prop-
erty. More than all the preaching in
the world have these programs taught
eager little copy-cats that — Crime
Does Not Pay.

Mrs. E. F. Laurln,

Astoria, Oregon

THIRD PRIZE

THEY'RE TWO-TIMING US
Why must program directors cast
the same person in several leading
roles? I'm referring to the program
called, Road of Life, in which the
young man who plays Dr. Brent also
(Continued on page 71)

She was on the jury-

.... not to decide a man's inno-
cence or guilt, but to judge a new,
different kind of tooth paste — to de-
cide whether or not it was an im-
provement over older types, and if
it offered more for her money in
cleanliness, luster, freshness, and
mouth stimulation.

On the same jury sat other
women, hundreds of them — grand-
mothers, mothers, widows, single
women, young girls . . . rich, poor,
in between ... in tiny hamlets, grow-
ing villages, vast cities. A critical
jury, as all women are in judging
articles that affect their beauty and
their pocketbooks.

And what was their verdict on the
new Listerine Tooth Paste with its
amazing Luster-Foam detergent? See
how they voted:

Over a leading brand, the new
formula Listerine Tooth Paste
supercharged with Luster-Foam
was a two to one favorite. Against
the next two leading brands, it
was a decided favorite. And over
the fourth leading brand, it had
a slight but definite edge.

Their comments show why this

new dentifrice won such high favor:
"Like that dainty 'bubble bath' that
Luster-Foam gives," said many.
"Simply amazed, the way Luster-
Foam cleans and brings out luster,"
exclaimed others. "Delighted with
the wonderful feeling of freshness
and mouth invigoration that lasted
long after the tooth brushing was
over," still others added.

See for yourself how the new
formula Listerine Tooth Paste with
Luster-Foam detergent gets teeth
super-clean. Any drug counter has
it, in two economical sizes: Regular,
25ff; and big, double-size, contain-
ing more than Va, of a pound of den-
tifrice, 40^. Lambert Pharmacal
Co., St. Louts, Mo.

P. S. If you prefer powder,
Listerine Tooth Powder also con-
tains Luster-Foam.

MORE THAN

'/4 POUND OF TOOTHPASTE

IN THE DOUBLE SIZE TUBE ^Q«?

REGULAR SIZE TUBE

25'

AID YOUR GUMS

WHILE YOU CLEAN

YOUR TEETH

\M

DOUBLE-ACTION

TOOTHPASTE

AIDS GUMS AND

BRIGHTENS TEETH

TWTASSAGING your gums twice
A every day — when you brush
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kling smile.

Forhan's does both jobs. It cleans
your teeth safely and effectively —
and, in addition, Forhan's and
massage aid your gums.

Massaging gums with Forhan's
helps keep them firm and healthy —
and healthier gums mean bright-
er teeth!

Cooperate with Your Dentist

What your dentist can do for
soft, tender, bleeding gums is
worth many times his fee. But
even his expert care can fail — if you
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with Forhan's
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TRIAL OFFER — For

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rO«*

*■*>

^AiwifioHt

Above, Bing proudly pose;
with his dad, Harry L.
Crosby, Sr. Right, one
of Fred Waring's weekly
luncheons at the Automat,
with Ben Bernie as guest.

TYRONE POWER'S sudden depar-
ture from his Sunday-evening
dramatic program was the dyna-
mite cap that set off a whole flock of
rumors about movie stars going off
the air for good. Most of them were
just rumors. The Maxwell House-
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Good News of
1939 will depart on June 29, but it
would probably have done that for
the summer anyway. Ronald Colman,
after, being on every one of The Circle
programs, suddenly was missing, but
he left because he wasn't happy per-
sonally, not because of any pressure
from his movie bosses (he's a free-
lance player, and doesn't have any).
Darryl Zanuck, head of Twentieth
Century-Fox, which has Don Ameche
under contract (and Tyrone Power
too), hinted that he might try to get
Don to stop being master of cere-
monies en the Chase and Sanborn pro-
gram, but mature reflection will prob-
ably convince him that it would be
an unwise move. It ought to, anyway.
The Good News program probably
won't return to the air under its old
joint sponsorship with M-G-M, but
the Maxwell House people, if they
want to, can have practically the same
program without M-G-M's assistance.
Meredith Willson's orchestra is under
contract to them, so is Fannie Brice,
and they could probably have Frank
Morgan and a weekly guest star.
There was some talk of hiring Dick
Powell to be Good News' master of
ceremonies, but that's died down now
that he's busy on Al Jolson's former
show. The possibility of reviving the
old Show Boat also cropped up, but

I wouldn't pay too much attention to
it, if I were you.

* * *

Donald Dickson, the baritone on the
Chase and Sanborn program, recently
bought the first car he ever owned.
He drove it down Hollywood Boule-
vard and within the space of one
block went through a red traffic light,
parked in a no-parking space, and
drove over a pedestrian safety zone.
In the next block he was arrested —
for driving at the rate of twenty miles
an hour and obstructing traffic. Crime
Doesn't Pay!

* * *

Helen Menken, star of the CBS Sec-
ond Husband serial, was the guest of
honor at a banquet given by Phi Beta,
national musical and dramatic fra-
ternity. Other members of the fra-
ternity are Helen Hayes, Maude
Adams, Ethel Barrymore, Rosa Pon-
selle, Mary Pickford and Gertrude
Lawrence — to name a few of them.
Every six months or so the fraternity
gives a banquet in honor of one of its

members.

* * *

There is one question Jim Mc-
Williams, questioner of the Ask-It-
Basket Wednesday nights, can't an-
swer. On broadcast nights he refuses
to leave the theater during the in-
terval between the first program at
7:30 and the rebroadcast for the West
at 10:30. He's firmly convinced that
to do so would bring him bad luck.
Why does he think so? That's the one
question to which he doesn't know
the answer.

(%ij&zi>6(>zi& f

Bing Crosby added fire-fighting to
his other accomplishments one Thurs-
day afternoon when coals from his
pipe started a fire in the waste-basket
in his dressing room. The coals
smouldered for a while without any-
one noticing them, then flared up in
what was almost an explosion when
they hit some discarded movie film
Bing had tossed into the basket. Bing
and the two musicians who were in
the room were so scared they in-
stinctively ran out, but Bing recovered
himself, went back into the smoke-
filled room, grabbed a fire-extin-
guisher and made short work of the

flames.

» * *

That same Mr. Crosby was recently
named one of America's ten best-
hatted men. He's the only person on
his show who could possibly be given
such a distinction — Ken Carpenter,
John Scott Trotter, and Paul Taylor
never wear hats, and Bob Burns
doesn't even own one. Bing hardly
ever takes his off.

Lew Lehr, Ben Bernie's and Fox
Movietone's comedian, has said that
"Monkeys is de cwaziest pipple!" so
many times that zoo keepers all over

the country wire him whenever they
have taught their monkeys new tricks.
But Lew doesn't own a single monkey.

* * *

Cliff Carpenter, of the CBS County
Seat serial, says that there are five
things he's never had enough of: sym-
phonic music, prunes, tapioca, Myrna
Loy, and radio work.

* * *

DALLAS— Violette Slaton started
out to be a professional dietician, and
ended up playing the role of "Sun-
shine" in WFAA's Pepper Cadets pro-
gram. She's been Sunshine now for
more than a year and a half.

Violette was born in Jacksonville,
Texas, twenty years ago, in the midst
of a violent snow storm (it wasn't
snowing snow that day, it was snow-
ing Violettes). She was named Vio-
lette Catherine because her mother
wanted all members of the family to
have the same initials as their father
—V. C. S.

She has quite a collegiate back-
ground, having been a student at Lon
Morris Junior College, Jacksonville;
University of Texas, Austin; and
Texas State College for Women at
Denton. It was after her summer at
Denton that she gave up dietetics for

Violette Slaton, "Sunshine" of
the Pepper Cadets over WFAA.

dramatics and came to Dallas to en-
roll in the Little Theater dramatic
school. After six months at the dra-
matic school, she got a job in the
cast of the "Cavalcade of Texas," part
of the Texas Centennial Exposition
of 1936.

She had to give up the Cavalcade
role when she successfully auditioned
for the part of Sunshine, but she
didn't mind — she thought the radio
job was more permanent, and she was
right. Thousands of Southwestern
youngsters wouldn't give up their be-
loved Sunshine now.

(Continued on page 84)

6/ m&zc affieacwa than a fresh

and Lovely Skin!"

soys this lovely Philadelphia bride

1 can't say enough in praise of Camay. Its gentle
cleansing seems to freshen my complexion . . . and no charm-
is mare appealing than a fresh and lovely skin.
Philadelphia, Pa. (Signed) RUTH ANN WALLEN

January 10, 1939 (Mrs. Charles S. Wallen)

SUCH magic words— "You're
the only one I love!"
What makes a man say them?
Hundreds of lovely, happy
brides will tell you that a
fresh, smooth complexion is a
most important charm. And
brides should know!

So many beautiful brides
advise Camay! They tell you,
"No other soap seems to have
quite the same rich, fragrant
lather!" Camay cleanses thor-
oughly, yet its creamy lather
is wonderfully mild.

Today, thousands of girls
use Camay for complexions
and for a refreshing bath of
beauty. Camay's gentle cleans-
ing helps you to all-over love-
liness—to exquisite daintiness.
You'll like this inexpensive
care. Get three cakes today!

Q^.O

"<W

^y

... c

M

THE SOAP OF BEAUTIFUL WOMEN

Dick Powell romps with his son be-
fore starting on the Lifebuoy show.

HOLLYWOOD

RADIO WHISPERS

By GEORGE FISHER

EDGAR BERGEN, still a decided
bachelor, is getting a big chuckle
out of rumors that he will marry
Andrea Leeds within a year. The fact
is that the girl Bergen is currently
rushing is not Andrea Leeds, who
happens to be in New York, but Kay
St. Germain who happens to be on
the scene and is seeing a lot of Charlie
McCarthy's stooge.

Whether or not Gracie Allen and
George Burns, the radio comedians,
will continue their movie careers, is
being left squarely up to the movie-
goers. Grade's contract with Para-
mount expires when she finishes "The
Gracie Allen Murder Case." If the
public receives her picture with open
arms, then Paramount will make a
series of Burns and Allen films. If
not, then Grade's contract will be
terminated, for Burns has already
left the studio contract list!

Listen to Fisher's broadcasts
every Saturday night on Mutual.

Last Sunday I lunched with Doro-
thy Lamour at the Brown Derby.
Among other things, Dorothy told me
that she is almost tempted to sue
movie columnist Hedda Hopper . . .
and all because Dorothy claims Hedda
made some remark about her ... an
item which most people upon reading
would laugh off. JJut it hurt Dorothy
to think that anyone would print
something of this kind without first
calling her up and asking if the story
were true. I suggested that Dorothy
forget about suing the columnist, only
because it would turn other reporters
against her. There's a curious twist
to the situation in that Dorothy's
agent, Wyn Rocamora, is also Hedda
Hopper's agent!

Now it can be told! Visitors on the
Bob Hope program preview don't
know it, but they are watching a
radio show being written right before

their very eyes! Hope, a master of
the ad-lib, never reads directly from
the script ... he adds and cuts as the
wisecracks occur to him. Meanwhile,
the preview show is recorded and the
next day, it is played back to a steno
from whose notes the final NBC script
is drafted.

SHORT SHOTS FROM A LONG
SHOT TOWN!

Claudette Colbert and Jack Benny
chumming arm in arm in the secret
artists' corridor, but with Mary Liv-
ingstone on Jack's other arm.

Jack Smart, the 310 pound NBC
comedian, shaking down Vine Street
as he wins rhumba contest at the
LaConga.

For several months Robert Young,
(Continued on page 8)

Here's why the Listerine Treatment works: Dandruff is
a germ disease . . . Listerine Antiseptic kills the germ

Do conflicting claims of dandruff remedies
bewilder you? Then you will be glad to know
there is one logical, scientifically sound treat-
ment, proved again and again in laboratory
and clinic . . . Listen ne Antiseptic and massage.

Recently, in the most intensive research of
its kind ever undertaken, Scientists proved
that dandruff is a germ disease. And, in test
after test, Listerine Antiseptic, famous for
more than 25 years as a germicidal mouth
wash and gargle, mastered dandruff by kill-
ing the queer, bottle-shaped dandruff germ
— Pityrosporum ovale.

At one famous skin clinic patients were
instructed to use the Listerine Antiseptic
treatment once a day. Within two weeks, on
the average, a substantial number had ob-

tained marked relief! At another clinic, pa-
tients were told to use this same Listerine
Antiseptic tteatment twice a day. By the end
of a month 76% showed either complete
disappearance of, or marked improvement
in, the symptoms.

Try the delightful, stimulating Listerine
Antiseptic treatment today. See for yourself
how wonderfully soothing it is . . . how
quickly it rids hair and scalp of ugly scales
. . . how much cleaner and healthier both
scalp and hair appear.

And remember, even after you have rid
yourself of dandruff, it is wise to massage
your scalp occasionally with Listerine Anti-
septic to guard against reinfection. Lambert
Pharmacal Company, St. Louis, Missouri.

THE TREATMENT

MEN: Douse Listerine Antiseptic on the
scalp at least once a day. WOMEN: Part
the hair at various places, and apply Lister-
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medicine dropper, to avoid wetting the
hair excessively.

Always follow with vigorous and
persistent massage. But don't ex-
pect overnight results, because
germ conditions cannot be cleared
up that fast.

Genuine Listerine Antiseptic is
guaranteed not to bleach the hair
or affect texture.

LISTERINE

the PROVED treatment for dandruff

voc&*i^«

Hollywood Radio Whispers

(Continued from page 6)

<S?

NO BELTS
NO PINS
NO PADS
NO ODOR

J

A

— new outlook on
the whole hygienic problem of women is pro-
vided by the invention of Tampax, the patented
internal absorbent. This principle has long been
used by doctors, but the physician who per-
fected Tampax has ingeniously made it avail-
able for all classes of women.

Tampax is so comfortable you forget you
are wearing it. As it involves no belts, pins or
pads, there is of course no bulk to show, even
with sheer formal evening gown or modern
swim suit. Tampax is made of pure, genuine
surgical cotton; contains no paper. Tampax is
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Buy Tampax at drug stores and notion coun-
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Accepted for advertising by the
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8

the emcee of the Good News broad-
casts, did all his office work in con-
nection with the Bel-Air stable he
operates with Allan Jones in Allan's
trailer. Producers of the programs,
unable to reach Bob when they
wanted him in a hurry, begged,
cajoled and threatened Young to move
into an office with a foundation in-
stead of rubber tires. Finally Bob
gave in, and gave the producers a
telephone number for his office. The
next time they called him, the pleas-
ant voice of his secretary answered:
"This is Mr. Young's trailer!" Bob
had the telephone installed in the
trailer rather than give up his por-
table place of business.

The American Legion has honored
comedian Bob Hope by inviting him
to emcee its annual radio show, which
this year celebrates the twenty-first
anniversary of the founding of the
Legion. Jack Benny was honorary
emcee on last year's show!

Parkyakarkus has discovered that
there's truth in the old axiom about
every cloud having its silver lining.
Last week, when he gave his own
number out on the air as Hedy La-
marr's, he was forced to switch his
phone because of the number of calls
that came in. Compensation came to
him this week in the form of a note
and a little toy telephone from the
gorgeous Hedy.

Wanta' be a radio comedian, asks
Jack Haley? If you do, copy the
screwy dialect of Arty Auerbach,
heard on Jack's show, which means,
according to Haley, "Taking a course
in double-talk, filling your mouth
with marbles, and making believe
you're addressing a six-months-old
child!"

* * •

When proud papa Andy Devine
walked onto the set of "Spirit of Cul-
ver" the other day, he was not only
greeted with loud cheers . . . but
General Gignilliat, the headman at
the famous Military School, who is
acting as technical advisor on the
picture, immediately offered the
gravel-voiced comedian an enroll-
ment blank for the school, which
Andy signed then and there, thereby
agreeing to place young 24-hour-old
Denny Devine in the school when he
reaches the age of eleven.

That feud between W. C. Fields and
Charlie McCarthy is the real thing
... at least as far as Fields is con-
cerned. The red-nosed comedian ac-
tually carries a chip on his shoulder
for the block of wood!

Andrew Jergens, Walter Winchell's
hand-lotion boss, told me last No-
vember that next to Winchell, Tyrone
Power was collecting the largest
salary ever paid a performer by his
company. Tyrone was receiving $4,000
a week for his radio appearances, and
giving half of that to 20th Century-
Fox for permitting him to go on the
air. And here's the kick to this story.
20th Century-Fox was paying Tyrone

$2,000 a week on his film contract —
the exact amount Power paid Fox for
allowing him to broadcast. So, ever
since Tyrone has been on the air, he
has cost the Fox studio nothing! Now
that Ty's off the air, his boss will
have to dig into his studio's bank-roll
to pay Tyrone.

* * *

Orchestra-leader Herbie Kaye ded-
icates at least one song on every one
of his air programs to "Dolly-Face,"
which is Herbie's pet name for his
wife, Dorothy Lamour. As Herbie and
Dorothy have turned song-writers
lately, I would suggest that "Dolly
Face" wouldn't be a bad title for a

song!

* * *

The feature of a recent Hollywood
party was a magician named Fraxon.
The assembled guests laughed when
the trickster pulled lighted cigarettes
out of Edward Arnold's eyes and
Alice Faye's ears, but they ROARED
when he produced a whole carton of
cigarettes from . . . Martha Raye's

mouth!

* * ♦

At 16 Jackie Cooper has apparently
grown up. For the past year he's been
driving about in the most dolled up,
swankiest car in town, but his father
made him a Christmas present of a
very dignified plain stock model, and
Jackie has sold the highly decorated
sport job to the family butler!

* * *

I was fascinated the other night,
watching Charlie Chaplin dance a
tango. The screen's greatest comedian
takes his dancing very seriously, and
particularly his tangoes. Charlie and
lovely Paulette Goddard danced what
was practically an exhibition at one
of the night-spots, for everyone else
left the floor to watch the famous
pair execute the different steps with
the assurance of experts. It was really
SOMETHING to see!

Jeanette MacDonald is proudly ex-
hibiting the most utilitarian piece of
jewelry she has ever owned. It is a
necklace from which a brooch is sus-
pended. The brooch can be used
separately as a clip. The necklace,
un jointed, makes three pieces which
can be put together again as a three-
strand bracelet. Thus the versatile
necklace can be used on any occasion
from sports to evening wear.

* * *

While on his New York trip Dick
Powell was invited to the very swank
and very formal opening of Bee
Lillie's latest Broadway hit. Dick ac-
cepted, and on the night of the pre-
miere, dressed his snazziest for the
occasion. That is, he was completely
attired in full dress, until he came to
his shoes — and discovered that his
wife had forgotten to pack his black
pumps or any other black shoes, for
that matter. Exasperated and com-
pletely baffled, Dick decided to brazen
the matter out and wear his brown
shoes with his dress suit. To make
matters worse, believe it or not,
Powell had to wear a tan hat . . . the
only hat he had taken with him!

* * *

The younger set in the film capital

is all a-twitter over the news that
Artie Shaw's sensational swingsters
may soon sound off in Hollywood's
Palomar nitery.

Some time ago I said that Bette
Davis and Ham Nelson would bury
the hatchet and go back together
again. Bette and Ham, who were
really very much in love, are appar-
ently still stubborn, but their friends
are trying to bring them back to-
gether. I am told Ham has not had a
date since leaving Bette, and for this
reason she has turned down all dates
with Hollywood men.

One of the principal supporting
roles in Bing Crosby's new picture,
"East Side of Heaven", is being played
by ten-month-old Sandy Henville, in-
fant son of Bing's milkman. When
the baby was first brought on the set,
he started crying, and nothing his
parents or anyone else could do would
stop him. Finally Crosby, in despera-
tion, started singing, and immediately
the tot stopped crying, and started to
coo and gurgle, perfectly content. But
as soon as the singing stopped, the
tears started, so Bing had to sing all
the time the baby was on stage, be-
tween takes and all. Later, Bing
brought a portable phonograph on the
set with him, well supplied with the
latest Crosby recordings. So now the
records keep the baby quiet between
takes, while Bing's own voice soothes
him while he is before the camera.
But it's a lucky thing the baby liked
those records, for imagine the expense
if after the picture is finished, that
poor milkman had to hire Bing Crosby

Meet Eddie Anderson, who portrays
Jack Benny's good man, "Rochester."

every time his baby started to cry!

BULLETIN! Mickey Mouse has
finally gone high-hat, but definitely!
Producer Walt Disney has signed
Leopold Stokowski, the world-famous
symphony orchestra leader, to direct
and supervise recording of all the

music for Disney's next full-length
cartoon feature. Although the re-
cording will start in April, the feature
will probably take at least two years
to complete!

* * *

Truman Bradley, Chicago radio an-
nouncer who was brought to Holly-
wood personally by Louis B. Mayer,
has asked for a release from his con-
tract. Bradley, whose last picture
was "Ice Follies," with Joan Craw-
ford, feels that he has been getting
the run-around.

According to Walter Winchell, Lew
Ayres' marriage with Ginger Rogers
may go to the divorce courts as Lew
wishes to marry radio actress, Mar-
garet McKay. But, for your informa-
tion, the chances of this are so slim,
you can bet a hundred to one that it
won't happen. In fact, his most recent
companion has been Sari Maritza . . .
and NOT Margaret McKay!

George Murphy, who is playing the
part of a radio commentator in a pic-
ture called "Risky Business", told me
that he was working harder than ever
in his whole life. Says George, "Being
master of ceremonies on a radio show,
dancing and acting are just duck soup
to me. But being a radio commenta-
tor? You can have it! It's just a little
too tough!

* * *

Hollywood is whispering that Joan
Crawford may re-marry former hus-
band Douglas Fairbanks, Junior. In
baseball, they would call that a triple
play . . . Fairbanks to Tone to Fair-
banks!

r

AFTER HOURS OUT OF DOORS"

says c=%Z&d Stefo/i ^^ffZ^du^fHOH,

\

POND'S VANISHING

CREAM GETS RID OF

LITTLE ROUGHNESSES

AT ONCE.
I LIKE IT BETTER THAN

EVER NOW IT HAS
•SKIN-VITAMIN* IN IT

//

FAMOUS POWDER BASE

NOW BRINGS EXTRA "SKIN -VITAMIN
TO YOUR SK/N*

Members of British aristocracy, like women everywhere,
have long praised Pond's Vanishing Cream. Now it
contains the "skm-vitamin," they're even more enthu-
siastic about this grand powder base. Skin that lacks
Vitamin A becomes rough and dry. But when this "skin-
vitamin" is restored, it helps make skin soft again. Use
before powder and overnight. Same jars, labels, prices.

5|C Statements concerning the effects of the "skin- vitamin" applied to the
skin are based upon medical literature and tests on the skin of animals
following an accepted laboratory method.

Copyright, 19S9, Pond's Extract Company

I

*7/te £adtf. Pabdcia *he*tck

daughter of the Earl of Ypres, is keen about sports,
home is in Surrey, where she spends much time playing

Her
tennis.

By Walter Ulinchell

HERE is Americanism at its best! Some-
thing more inspiring and more important
than the latest news is in every one
of Walter Winchell's Sunday-night Jergens
Journal broadcasts on NBC — a brief "editorial"
reminding Mr. and Mrs. America how su-
premely lucky they are not to be Mr. and Mrs.
Anywhere-else.

Because these lessons in democracy are
among the most thrilling things radio has to
offer in these chaotic days, and because they
should be read and re-read by every American,
Radio Mirror is grateful to Walter Winchell
for his permission to bring them to you, on
the printed page for the first time.

No more impassioned words
for America's slumbering

ideals have been spoken
into any microphone. This

magazine is proud to rec-

PATRIOTISM has been described in many ways
— but it is better denned by defining what it
is not! It does not mean marching in a parade,
or setting off rockets on the Fourth of July. It
does not mean beating a bass drum — and then
beating up your neighbor because he doesn't want
to join your parade. Patriotism does not mean
enjoying your freedom to go as you please — to
batter down your neighbor's door.

It is a magic word. For patriotism — some men
die. And for patriotism — some men (no less noble)
live. Patriotism is more than protecting your, home
and country. It is helping to build — and better it!
And it is the theory of Democracy that to produce
a great National design, each man must be his own
architect. Fate and the future will define the
meaning of patriotism in America. If we are left

alone — the measure will be how much we develop
ourselves. If we are attacked, the final measure

will be the price we put on our liberty.

* * *

I am thankful to learn from one of my betters
that Americans would rather die on their feet —

than live on their knees!

* * *

Personal liberty means personal responsibility.
Under a Dictator, the right to think is suspended
in all individuals, except the ruling gang. In a
Democracy, the government depends on the indi-
vidual to think — for the individual is a part of the
Government. The Dictators have brazenly an-
nounced plans to turn Europe into an armed camp.
Since they must know that the Democratic na-
tions can outbuild their (Continued on page 56)

Illustration By
JOSEPH TESAR

II

By Walter Ulindiell

No more impassioned words
for America's slumbering
ideals have been spoken
into any microphone. This
magazine is proud to rec-
ord them for posterity

HERE is Americanism at its best! Some-
thing more inspiring and more important
than the latest news is in every one
of Walter Winchell's Sunday-night Jergens
Journal broadcasts on NBC— a brief "editorial"
reminding Mr. and Mrs. America how su-
premely lucky they are not to be Mr. and Mrs.
Anywhere-else.

Because these lessons in democracy are
among the most thrilling things radio has to
offer in these chaotic days, and because they
should be read and re-read by every American,
Radio Mirror is grateful to Walter Winchell
for his permission to bring them to you, on
the printed page for the first time.

PATRIOTISM has been described in many ways
— but it is better denned by denning what it
is not! It does not mean marching in a parade,
or setting off rockets on the Fourth of July. It
does not mean beating a bass drum — and then
beating up your neighbor because he doesn't want
to join your parade. Patriotism does not mean
enjoying your freedom to go as you please — to
batter down your neighbor's door.

It is a magic word. For patriotism — some men
die. And for patriotism — some men (no less noble)
live. Patriotism is more than protecting your home
and country. It is helping to build — and better it!
And it is the theory of Democracy that to produce
a great National design, each man must be his own
architect. Fate and the future will define the
meaning of patriotism in America. If we are left

alone — the measure will be how much we develop
ourselves. If we are attacked, the final measure
will be the price we put on our liberty.

I am thankful to learn from one of my betters
that Americans would rather die on their feet —
than live on their knees!

* » »

Personal liberty means personal responsibility.
Under a Dictator, the right to think is suspended
in all individuals, except the ruling gang. In a
Democracy, the government depends on the indi-
vidual to think — for the individual is a part of the
Government. The Dictators have brazenly an-
nounced plans to turn Europe into an armed camp.
Since they must know that the Democratic na-
tions can outbuild their (Continued on paye 56)

IMifstratlon By
JOSEPH TESAR

UNTIL the hot summer night
Randy Blake's orchestra open-
ed at the huge Shalimar Ball-
room, I was just like any other girl
you'd find in a big co-educational
university. I had my classes, my
dates with different boys of my own
age, my own private little worries
over clothes and fingernail polish

12

and hair-combs, my favorite movie
and radio stars.

But when I first saw Randy Blake
something happened to me. I didn't
know it then, but that night was a
turning-point in my life.

It was summer, as I said, and I was
spending my vacation working in a
music store in Chicago. Not because
I wanted to, but simply because my
father and mother couldn't afford to
bring me all the way home to Cali-
fornia, where we lived. It really

would have been better, I suppose,
if I'd gone to a college near my home,
but Northwestern was the only one
with all the courses I wanted.

I had a good time, though, that
summer. I enjoyed my work in the
music store, because I like music and
know a good deal about it, and in the
evenings there was always some-
thing to do. Several of the boys I had
met on the' campus lived in Chicago,
and one of them was often on hand to
take me to the movies or out dancing.

Then Randy Blake opened a
month's engagement at the Shalimar,
and Bill Dodd and I went there the

I.*-**0**

*oV

CO

.e« **

o ««mo»s

bo«°

le«*er

lH.rf<"",*°

St«dioS

first night. This was a special occa-
sion, and we were both breathless
with excitement when we entered
the vast hall and heard the first
strains of Randy's music. That was
all we had to hear, to know why
Randy was tops among swing band-
leaders. That music of his was so
gay, so full of life and youth, that
you felt like dancing until you
dropped. Only you wouldn't ever
drop — the music wouldn't let you.

AND Randy himself — well, I
*^ thought, looking at him for the
first time, he was just perfect. The
music seemed to be part of him — or
he was part of the music, I don't
know which. He was tall and broad-
shouldered, like an athlete, and he
wore his white tie and tails as if he'd
been born in them. But what I liked

best about him was the way his hand-
some face lit up when he looked out
over the floor and watched the danc-
ing couples. He just loved to make
music, that man, and you only had to
look at him to know it.

That night, after I got home and
went to bed, my dreams were full
of Randy Blake and the tantalizing
music he created. And the next morn-
ing as soon as I got a chance, I put
one of his records on a phonograph
in the store, and listened, seeing him
once more, standing in front of his
men, smiling out at the floor, or
picking up his trumpet and swinging
into one of those inspired impromptu
choruses of his.

That night I had a date with an-
other boy to go to the movies, but I
asked him to take me dancing in-
stead.

For a week or so, while I eagerly
snatched at every opportunity of go-
ing to the Shalimar, I refused to let
myself believe that there was any

other attraction than the music and
the dancing. But one night some-
thing happened that opened my eyes.

You go to the Shalimar, first of all,
to dance, but you also go to have a
good time. Everything is very infor-
mal there, and the bandleaders and
the management are always thinking
up a new stunt to entertain the
crowd. Randy's contribution to this
spirit of fun was to have a sort of
"Vox Pop" program every Tuesday
and Thursday night, while the band
was on the air over a coast-to-coast
network. He'd stop couples as they
danced past the bandstand, ask them
their names, and conduct a humorous
little interview with each one.

And one night he picked me to
talk to.

I was dancing with Bill Dodd,
when a uniformed page-boy tapped
Bill on the shoulder and motioned us
closer to the platform. I hardly real-
ized what was happening, when I
saw Randy smiling at me in the
friendliest possible way. He had a
microphone in his hand, and I heard
him speaking into it.

13

ftoo***01-

contes-

o 4ot«ott»

UNTIL the hot summer night
Randy Blake's orchestra open-
ed at the huge Shalimar Ball-
room, I was just like any other girl
you'd find in a big co-educational
university. I had my classes, my
dates with different boys of my own
age, my own private little worries
over clothes and fingernail polish
12

to\-

\eo*e'

and hair-combs, my favorite movie
and radio stars.

But when I first saw Randy Blake
something happened to me. I didn't
know it then, but that night was a
turning-point in my life.

It was summer, as I said, and I was
spending my vacation working in a
music store in Chicago. Not because
I wanted to, but simply because my
father and mother couldn't afford to
bring me all the way home to Cali-
fornia, where we lived. It really

would have been better, I suppose,
if I'd gone to a college near my home,
but Northwestern was the only one
with all the courses I wanted.

I had a good time, though, that
summer. I enjoyed my work in the
music store, because I like music and
know a good deal about it, and in the
evenings there was always some-
thing to do. Several of the boys I had
met on the campus lived in Chicago,
and one of them was often on hand to
take me to the movies or out dancing.

Then Randy Blake opened a
month's engagement at the Shalimar,
and Bill Dodd and I went there the

I

i

first night. This was a special occa-
sion, and we were both breathless
with excitement when we entered
the vast hall and heard the first
strains of Randy's music. That was
all we had to hear, to know why
Randy was tops among swing band-
leaders. That music of his was so
gay, so full of life and youth, that
you felt like dancing until you
dropped. Only you wouldn't ever
drop — the music wouldn't let you.

AND Randy himself — well, I
thought, looking at him for the
first time, he was just perfect. The
music seemed to be part of him — or
he was part of the music, I don't
know which. He was tall and broad-
shouldered, like an athlete, and he
wore his white tie and tails as if he'd
been born in them. But what I liked

best about him was the way his hand-
some face lit up when he looked out
over the floor and watched the danc-
ing couples. He just loved to make
music, that man, and you only had to
look at him to know it.

That night, after I got home and
went to bed, my dreams were full
of Randy Blake and the tantalizing
music he created. And the next morn-
ing as soon as I got a chance, I put
one of his records on a phonograph
in the store, and listened, seeing him
once more, standing in front of his
men, smiling out at the floor, or
picking up his trumpet and swinging
into one of those inspired impromptu
choruses of his.

That night I had a date with an-
other boy to go to the movies, but I
asked him to take me dancing in-
stead.

For a week or so, while I eagerly
snatched at every opportunity of go-
ing to the Shalimar, I refused to let
myself believe that there was any

M«fid'*

other attraction than the music and
the dancing. But one night some-
thing happened that opened my eyes.
You go to the Shalimar, first of all,
to dance, but you also go to have a
good time. Everything is very infor-
mal there, and the bandleaders and
the management are always thinking
up a new stunt to entertain the
crowd. Randy's contribution to this
spirit of fun was to have a sort of
"Vox Pop" program every Tuesday
and Thursday night, while the band
was on the air over a coast-to-coast
network. He'd stop couples as they
danced past the bandstand, ask them
their names, and conduct a humorous
little interview with each one.

And one night he picked me to
talk to.

I was dancing with Bill Dodd,
when a uniformed page-boy tapped
Bill on the shoulder and motioned us
closer to the platform. I hardly real-
ized what was happening, when I
saw Randy smiling at me in the
friendliest possible way. He had a
microphone in his hand, and I heard
him speaking into it.

"Here's a charming little lady with
big brown eyes, whose name is. . . ."
He paused inquiringly.

"Rita Sullivan," I managed to gasp.

"Rita — it goes with the eyes," he
commented approvingly. "Are you a
Chicago girl, Rita?"

He held the microphone closer to
me, and waited for my answer.

"No," I said, "I'm from California.
I'm going to school at Northwestern."

"Oh, a co-ed," he said. "No won-
der Northwestern is such a popular
place, if they have many like you
there. Now tell me, Rita, what's your
greatest ambition?"

I SIMPLY looked at him. At that
moment, I didn't even have an
ambition of any sort. I was too over-
whelmed at being there, talking to
him, knowing that my voice was go-
ing out into every corner of the
country. He saw my nervousness,
and smiled at me in an intimate,
friendly way, as if telling me not to
mind, nothing was going to happen
to me.

"I mean," he said, "what would
you like to do more than anything
else in the world?"

I had to say something. I looked
around me in a panic. My eyes
lighted on the men of the orchestra,
and I blurted out the first thing that
came into my mind.

"I'd like to be a singer with your
band," I said.

Randy led the laughter that sprang
up around me. He straightened up,
speaking into the microphone, "Well,
Rita, maybe some day you will be: —
who knows?" And my coast-to-coast
interview was over.

As we danced away, Bill said cu-
riously, "I didn't know you wanted
to be a danceband vocalist, Rita."

"I don't," I admitted. "At least — it
would be fun, of course, but I never
thought of it until that minute. I just
said the first thing that popped into
my head."

He laughed and said carelessly,
"Well, you probably could be, at that.
I'll never forget your scat-singing at
the Phi-Pi party last spring."

But I wasn't kidding myself about
my singing voice. I could carry a
tune, and I had a good sense of
rhythm so that at parties I could
"swing out", but I knew my voice
was husky and nothing to get excited
about. Anyway, I wasn't interested
in singing. Standing there, so close
to Randy, seeing him smile as he
looked into my eyes, listening to his
vibrant voice as he talked to me — I
had suddenly realized I was in love
with him.

I knew then why I came to the
dance hall every night I could; I
knew why I'd stopped thinking about
any of the boys who took me out, ex-

14

cept to wonder how I could get one
of them to take me to see Randy.

It was just that I loved Randy
Blake. And he didn't even' know I
existed. He'd forgotten about me,
surely, as soon as I danced out of
sight after the interview.

The all-too-brief month of Randy's
engagement drew to a close. Almost
before I realized it, he was in his last
week, then his last night. When I
entered the ballroom, that last night,
they'd already taken down the
framed posters at the entrance, and
the newspapers were announcing his
successor in big ads.

In another few hours he'd be gone.

■ "Tomorrow Randy
Blake would be gone
—and my life would
be empty and dull. A
fascinating yet ter-
rifying thought crept
into my mind. What
if I went with him?"

I already knew the band's plans — it
was traveling in a bus to Detroit for
a hotel engagement. And Chicago
would be empty and dead, for me, to-
morrow.

"What's the matter?" asked the
boy I was with. "You haven't said a
word for ages."

"Oh — just tired, I guess."

"Want to go home?"

"Oh, no!" I said with such vigor
that he stared at me. "I'm really
having a good time."

That wasn't strictly true. I wasn't.
I couldn't. I was too busy thinking
that this was the last time I'd ever
see Randy Blake — at least for an aw-
fully long time. Why hadn't I taken
advantage of the last month to get
to know him? There must have been
some way I could have met him . . .
But now it was too late.

It was two-thirty when I opened
the door of my little furnished room
and switched on the light. I dragged
the hat off my head and sat down on
the edge of the bed and looked
around me. If only, I thought, I

could be in the same city with him,
dance to his music, see him every
night. That was all I asked. Wasn't
it little enough?

I don't know how long I sat there,
thinking. Slowly an idea took form
in my mind — an idea that fascinated
me while it terrified me. I opened
my purse and counted the money in
it. It was Saturday and I'd just been
paid. I had a little over twenty dol-
lars— and about seventy-five in the
bank.

Suddenly I jumped to my feet,
dragged a bag from under the bed,
and packed it hurriedly. I couldn't
stop to think now — I mustn't con-
sider the consequences. I sat down
and wrote a note to the music store.
Then I hurried out of the house, lug-
ging the heavy bag the two blocks to
the elevated station.

The big bus depot was quiet under
its bright lights when I got there. A
few people sat drowsily on the hard
benches. I ran to the ticket window.

"When is the next bus to Detroit?"
I asked.

"None until five-thirty," the bored
clerk said.

I looked up at the big clock on the
wall. It was three-forty-five. I
bought a ticket, and then went to sit
on one of the benches. As the min-
utes ticked on, I tried to beat down
the mounting panic as I thought of
the foolhardiness of what I was do-
ing. Right then, I really wanted to
go home — but pride and intense
longing to see Randy again kept me
from it.

At last it was five-thirty, and I was
in the bus, peering out as it made its
way through the streets, dim and de-
serted in the early light. Then we
were in the open country, and finally
I slept.

The sleep was uneven and unre-
freshing, though, and when I ar-
rived in Detroit, the middle of that
afternoon, I was so tired I felt as if
I were walking in a dream. I applied
to the Travelers' Aid for help in find-
ing an inexpensive room, went there
extravagantly in a cab, and fell
straight into bed.

It was the next morning when I
woke up, and then the full realiza-
tion of what I had done burst upon
me. Lying in the hard single bed,
looking around at the strange furni-
ture, I told myself that I was crazy.
But, strangely, I wasn't downheart-
ed. Something nice would happen to
me. I could feel it.

I'm not going into detail about the
next few days. Randy Blake's or-
chestra was in Detroit, and had
started its engagement — but I might
as well have been in Chicago, for all
I saw of Randy. They were playing
in an expensive hotel dinner-and-
supper spot, (Continued on pagelS)

AS BROADCAST
ON

rN.c By BEATRICE FAIRFAX ""

an interview with Rudy Vallee
on the Royal Gelatin Hour)

^i^

HOW TO

CATCH A HUSBAND

Vallee: It takes all kinds of
people to make a country like this —
the well-known U. S. A. So now we
turn our attention to a thoroughly
American institution, the advice-to-
the-lovelorn column, as repre-
sented by the Dean of romantic ad-
visors, Miss Beatrice Fairfax. Until
just recently we shared a pretty
general notion that Beatrice Fairfax
was no more than a name, behind
which probably lurked a series of
cynical old ex-reporters with to-
bacco juice on their chins. Believe
me, ladies and gentlemen, this is a
mistake. Miss Fairfax is one of the
realest people I ever met — a gay,
hearty, charming person with a
background of wide experience in
newspaper work and a good-hu-
mored, fundamentally sensible ap-

proach to the problems she does her
honest best to solve for other people.
We think you'll share our liking
for Miss Beatrice Fairfax. . . . Miss
Fairfax, how long have you been
acting as a public consultant in
affairs of the heart?

Miss Fairfax: For thirty-eight
years, Mr. Vallee. And if you value
your attractive features, don't ask
me how old I was when I started.

Vallee: How did you happen to
start your column? Was it your
own idea?

Miss Fairfax: It certainly was.
I was working for the New York
Journal at the time. And it was
quite a time, let me tell you. Mr.
Hearst and Mr. Pulitzer were fight-
ing their historic circulation war.
The late Arthur Brisbane, my

editor, asked for circulation build-
ing features. My suggestion was the
advice column. It worked out
pretty well for the Journal — and for
me, too.

Vallee: I'm afraid curiosity is
getting the better of me, Miss Fair-
fax— but are you . . .?

Miss Fairfax: Married? Of
course I am. I've got two fine
grown-up sons in Washington — one
Republican, and one Democrat. I'm
the umpire.

Vallee: And a good one, I'm
sure.

Miss Fairfax: I think so. I'm
rather proud, Mr. Vallee, that over
a million people have sought my de-
cisions on problems that appear to
be vital to them. Not just romantic
young girls. (Continued on page 87)

15

y-

s

v

Editor's Note: When we heard Jimmie
pick his favorite pictures and top acting
performances over the air a few weeks ago,
we suddenly got an idea: why not have him
stick his neck out again — and give us his favor-
ite radio stars? Frankly, he surprised us by ac-
cepting the deal by return mail^-but then, after
all his scorching "Open Letters," we should have
known he was used to ducking by now. Anyway,
with a few straight-from-the-shoulder comments
on programs in general — here's the way Jimmie
picks his All-American Radio Team!

EVEN if the season for picking "All- Americans" did
go out with the football game in the Rose Bowl,
show me the man who can resist making up a list
of favorite players (whether movie, radio or gridiron)
and I'll show you a stronger man than I am.
I love to call them as I see them — or, in this case,
maybe I should say call them as I hear them when I'm
home listening to the radio just as you do. And I do
mean you! Because I listen to radio shows just as I
look at movies — as a fan. I don't care how many Big
Names are in the cast or how much money has been

■ Reading counter-clockwise, Frances Langford,
Fred Allen, Jeanette MacDonald, Walter Winchell,
H. V. Kaltenborn, Charlie McCarthy, Edgar Ber-
gen, Gracie Allen, Don Ameche ana Bing Crosby.

****/.

0

m By special request of the editors —
Hollywood's dynamic reporter sticks
his neck out and names his own se-

lections

radio1

%

spent on a lavish production. If the net
result doesn't entertain me as Joe E. Public
I feel cheated. So let's remember that this
is no so-called "expert's" list — just a few
out-spoken opinions from a guy who listens.

First, however, I want to get a few things-in-
general off my chest. Looking back over 1938,
I find I have but few peeves to register — and a
flock of bouquets to throw. But my chief objection
as a listener is that too many of the Big Shows,
are too much like some other Big Show. If I were
writing an "Open Letter" to radio producers spend-
ing gobs of money for sponsors, I'd be brief and to
the point: "Try to find a new pattern — something
different from the justly-famous Chase-and-Sanborn
Hour arrangement with its band, comedians, singer
and guest star!"

Also, I'm getting awfully weary of Guest Movie
Stars on the air. (I'm not talking about legitimate
radio stars who are also in the movies.) But it seems
to me that every time I turn the dial lately, Madeleine
Carroll is just bowing off some program — or being
announced as a guest star for a coming show.

But there are plenty of things I like about

■ The radio stars pictured on these pages are just
part of Jimmie's team. To learn why he selected
these and many others, and second choices and
substitutes, read this provocative article.

the radio — and the following, are
the people and things I like best
and why. Taking them by classifi-
cations, the first-mentioned shall be
considered as making my "First
Team" — with second choice follow-
ing. And because I like to laugh
with my radio entertainments, we'll
start with:

Comedians: Fred Allen and Jack
Benny rate one-two with me.
For my money, Fred Allen has the
freshest, most spontaneous fun on
the air. His "ad lib" humor is ter-
rific. He gets first-call in my start-
ing line-up because he's always
tops. Jack Benny, my second choice,
has great "timing" and is a past
master at writing "mistakes" into a
show. Maybe the main reason I'm
not putting him at the head of the
list is that he gives the other mem-
bers of the cast — Andy Devine,
Mary Livingstone, Rochester, Don
Wilson and Kenny Baker — a chance
to get laughs, too.

Comediennes: Gracie Allen and
Fanny Brice in the order named. I
start laughing even before Gracie
pulls her joke — because, to me, her
voice is almost as funny as any-
thing she could say. I've always
been sort of partial to nit-wits, any-
way. Fanny Brice is original. Her
"Baby Snooks" is a brand-new type
of humor brought to radio.

Stooges: George Burns and Han-
ley Stafford. My favorites, you see,
are the stooges who work with my
top-choice comediennes — and I've
often thought the reason I like
Gracie and Fanny so much is be-
cause of George and Hanley (who
plays the "father" to Snooks). Most
of us, I think, are apt to forget, in
laughing at Gracie and Fanny, that
without these two gentlemen who
build up and plant their gags so ex-
pertly— the girls might not be near-
ly so funny.

Dramatic Actor: Head-and-
shoulders above all the rest is Don
Ameche! Don can play every type
of dramatic role with equal ease
and equal brilliance. For an alter-
nate, I'll take Edward G. Robin-
son. He's one of the few real movie
stars with a radio "presence". His
voice is distinctive — and he was
smart enough to create a construc-
tive character for the air, instead of
taking the easy road and doing an
air-gangster.

Dramatic Actress: Claire
Trevor, to me, is top-call — for her
work in the "Big Town" playlets.
Like Eddie Robinson, Claire's voice
is distinctive and recognizable
whether she appears on stage,
screen or radio. Kathleen Wilson of
"One Man's Family" rates second
honors because she gets so much

18

romance into her voice.

Male Singer (Classical): John
Charles Thomas and Nelson Eddy.
Thomas first, because of the great
vocal warmth he manages to get in-
to his songs. Nelson Eddy has a
fine voice, technically — and I like to
listen to him second-best despite the
fact that he makes few concessions
to please. I always feel that I'm
getting Nelson's magnificent voice —
but that he's withholding his heart.

Male Singer (Popular) : Bing
Crosby! Is there anyone in the world
who can disagree? Well, I could
listen to Bing all night. He has a
unique way of putting a song over
that never fails to make any tune
sound better. Kenny Baker gives
Bing the closest run for honors,
though I think Kenny sometimes
confuses the listeners by switching
too quickly from insane comedy to
lilting love songs.

Female Singer: (Classical):
Jeanette MacDonald first — because
she is never ritzie or condescending
about her voice. By trying to please
all types of music lovers — singing
everything from opera to light mu-
sical comedy numbers — she ranks
tops as a singing entertainer. For
almost identical reasons, I must
place Gladys Swarthout second.
Never does she seem to be "singing
down" to the audience.

Female Singer (Popular) : Fran-
ces Langford, who has more sex ap-
peal in her voice than any other gal
on the air. But she isn't just another
gal-crooner — she really has a voice.

Dance Band Leader: Hold on to
your hats, fellas — here I go again!
Knowing that the country is "swing"
daffy, I still put John Scott Trotter
on top. Trotter, as you know, plays
the accompaniment for Crosby. Of
course, Benny Goodman is the
greatest master of swing in the
world — but unfortunately, I'm one
of those unenlightened few who are
waiting for things to slow down.

Master of Ceremonies: Bing
Crosby again! Try as I will to keep
from having one contestant playing
two "positions" — I can't find a more
ingratiating M. C. than Bing. In-
formality, something I like, is. the
keynote to his microphone person-
ality. Second, give me John Barry-
more! There is a man who seems
equally at home in every medium
— and of them all, I think he does
just about his best job on radio.

News Broadcaster: Right on top
is Walter Winchell. Lowell Thomas
for the second squad. Winchell has
fire, personality and an electric de-
livery that makes everything he
says important. Too, he has opinions
— and he doesn't hesitate to mention
them. Lowell Thomas is outstanding

for his analytical comments" on
world-wide affairs in the news.

Male Commentator: The great
Kaltenborn! There's the only radio
star who ever kept me up all hours
of the night — for fear I'd miss a
single word of his comment on the
threat of war in Europe recently. In
my opinion, Kaltenborn did more
than anyone ever did to make this
country radio-conscious. Boake
Carter is another firebrand — and he
gets second place.

Female Commentator: Dorothy
Thompson has the field to herself as
far as I'm concerned. She has one of
the few feminine talking voices that
I can really enjoy for fifteen, un-
interrupted minutes. She has a way
of making everything, from world
affairs to the trend of women's hats
as interesting to men as to women.

Sports Reporter: Ted Husing
still gets the five-bell call — when
he's calling my football games and
such. Second palm goes to Bill
Stern. Alert, careful and always in-
teresting— Bill- can make a game of
football a real, bang-up afternoon.

Announcer: Good old Bill Hay!
That guy can make soup and beans
sound so good that I'm tempted even
though I've just finished a chicken
dinner. Second, and it was close
to a toss-up, believe me, comes Don
Wilson. He's got a smile in his
voice that makes the "six-delicious
flavors" a thing of beauty.

Novelty Acts: Do I have to go
any further than Edgar Bergen and
his not-so-dumb-dummy, Charlie
McCarthy? A whole nation can't be
wrong. Second, give me Judy Can-
ova and her gang.

Male Movie Guest Star: All my
blue chips go to Herbert Mar-
shall for the sincerity and modula-
tion of his magnificent voice.

Female Movie Guest Star: Bette
Davis, unquestionably. Her great per-
formance on the Texaco hour — the
first dual role I'd ever heard on radio
— was the finest I've ever listened
to. What a marvelous team Bette
and Herb Marshall would make!

There you have it — the outstand-
ing radio team of 1938 as I tuned in
on them. If I've stepped on any-
one's toes — or left off any of your
favorites — I'm sorry. But I haven't
heard them all. Sometimes it's be-
cause of a golf date. Generally
though, it's because your favorite is
coming on the air just about the
time I'm sweating and fuming in the
last-minute rush of rehearsals be-
fore my own show. Just before I
tune up to say: "This is Jimmie
Fidler in Hollywood, California —
where people who dare to make
Lists may not get any Christmas
presents next year!"

THIS is a story about courage.
Not the kind that sends people
into Africa to shoot lions; not
even the kind that sends a soldier
over the top. No, this is a different
brand of bravery altogether, pos-
sessed by all too few people. For
Barbara Luddy's courage is the
sort that gave her the power to defy
an invisible but ever-present doom,
to face the world smiling and un-
troubled, against tremendous odds,
while in every waking moment she
was wondering when tragedy would
strike.

It was even part of that courage
to keep this story a secret until now.
Only one person, besides Barbara
herself, has known it until recently.
It had to be a secret. Telling it
would have meant surrender.

Watch Barbara Luddy as she
stands at the microphone, any Fri-
day evening, broadcasting the lead-
ing lady's role in the First Nighter
series. She will seem to you a su-
premely happy person. She has
youth, a warm kind of beauty, suc-
cess and fame in her exciting and
glamorous profession. She is sup-
ple and erect, her skin blooms with
health, her laughter is vibrant and
strong. Surely, a person that any-
one might envy.

But on March 1, 1932 — a date that
she will never forget — a specialist
told her that she would be a hope-
less cripple in seven years.

Today, on warm spring mornings,
you'll see her riding horse-back in
the Park; earlier in the winter,
while it was still cold, she was
learning ice-skating.

In a wheel-chair indeed! The
(Continued on page 76)

■ Barbara Luddy, as she is toddy —
the star of Campana's First Nighter
series, heard on CBS every Friday
evening; and, in the inset, at the
age of four, soon before she had to
become the sole support of her family.

A Radio Mirror double feature! See next
page for one of Barbara Luddy's First
Nighter broadcasts in gay fiction form.

■ A secret that had to

be kept, a danger that
was ever-present — not

even these challenges

to her indomitable cour-

age could keep Barbara
Luddy from happiness!

jJEm
■ 1

■ "Steve — don't, please!" cried Jane,
clutching desperately at his arm.

t ■•

#:

fekJ

4ky

Cupid is often down but never out, though he had to
use a battered old tug boat to win his battle with
Jane and Steve — they were that stubborn about love!

Illustration by C. C. Beall

a NY girl would have hated it. It's
/\ bad enough to find yourself
/ \ co-owner of a tug boat with
a man you hardly know, but to be
forced to share its cramped quarters
with him, when you hate and de-
spise him into the bargain — that is
an unbearable situation, and some-
thing is bound to explode.

The episode of the elevator got
things off to a bad start. Jane felt
it was not her fault, since the car
was so crowded, that she was stand-
ing on a strange man's toes. He cer-
tainly wasn't justified in using the
incident to strike up an acquain-
tance.

She snubbed him roundly, and got
off at the eighth floor. So did he,
remarking happily, "Fancy both of
us getting off here. There's fate for
you!" •

Jane's voice was an icicle.
"Haven't you mistaken me for some-
one you know? I've never seen you
before in my life!"

"No," he agreed, "I haven't lived
until now either."

Jane wheeled and started off
down the corridor, with him at her
heels like an amiable and idiotic

puppy. And when she paused at
the door to James Curtis' office, he
jumped to open it for her, and fol-
lowed her in.

"I tell you," Jane fumed, "if you
don't stop following me I'll call the
police!"

The door to the inner office
opened, and a white-haired gentle-
man smiled at them benevolently.
"Ah," he said, "I'm glad you've both
arrived on time. Come in."

Inside, he said, "Miss Masters,
this is Steve Colman. Steve, Jane
Masters."

Jane acknowledged the introduc-
tion with no lessening of animosity.
It took her no time at all, aided by
his behavior in the elevator, to de-
cide what sort of a man this Steve
Colman was. Handsome, and so
well aware of it that he expected
girls to come running when he
whistled. Well, here was one that
wouldn't. Probably hadn't done a
stroke of work in his life — not hon-
est work, anyhow. Certainly not a
man to be trusted. And she didn't
like red hair.

With insufferable nonchalance,
the Colman person said, "I think

you'd better explain to Miss Mas-
ters who I am. She seems to be
afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of anyone!" Jane
snapped.

"I've a bit of explaining to do to
both of you," the lawyer said, set-
tling himself behind his big desk.
"You, Miss Masters, are the late
Peter Masters' great-niece. And
Steve—"

"He was my step-grandfather,
wasn't he? Dad married old Peter's
daughter after my own mother
died."

"That's right. Now, as you know,
at one time Peter Masters practi-
cally controlled the shipping here on
San Francisco Bay. He had a fleet
of sixty tug boats, and he got all
the business. But times change —
Peter got old, his business slipped
away, and when he died last fall he
was almost broke. Not quite, but
almost. There's still a — some prop-
erty to be distributed between his
only heirs — you, Jane, and Steve."

"Why — I hardly knew him," Jane
said.

"Nevertheless, he named you in
his will. The property left jointly to

Fictionized by Norton Russell from the First Nighter script, starring
Barbara Luddy and Les Tremayne, and sponsored by Campana's Italian Balm

21

_ "Steve— don't, please!" cried Jane,
clutching desperately at his arm,

Cupid is often down but never out, though he had to
use a battered old tug boat to win his battle with
Jane and Steve — they were that stubborn about love!

Illustration by C. C. B«jll

a NY girl would have hated it. It's
J\ bad enough to find yourself
I \ co-owner of a tug boat with
a man you hardly know, but to be
forced to share its cramped quarters
with him, when you hate and de-
spise him into the bargain — that is
an unbearable situation, and some-
thing is bound to explode.

The episode of the elevator got
things off to a bad start. Jane felt
it was not her fault, since the car
was so crowded, that she was stand-
ing on a strange man's toes. He cer-
tainly wasn't justified in using the
incident to strike up an acquain-
tance.

She snubbed him roundly, and got
off at the eighth floor. So did he,
remarking happily, "Fancy both of
us getting off here. There's fate for
you!"

Jane's voice was an icicle.
"Haven't you mistaken me for some-
one you know? I've never seen you
before in my life!"

"No," he agreed, "I haven't lived
until now either."

Jane wheeled and started off
down the corridor, with him at her
heels like an amiable and idiotic

puppy. And when she paused at
the door to James Curtis' office, he
jumped to open it for her, and fol-
lowed her in.

"I tell you," Jane fumed, "if you
don't stop following me I'll call the
police!"

The door to the inner office
opened, and a white-haired gentle-
man smiled at them benevolently.
"Ah," he said, "I'm glad you've both
arrived on time. Come in."

Inside, he said, "Miss Masters,
this is Steve Colman. Steve, Jane
Masters."

Jane acknowledged the introduc-
tion with no lessening of animosity.
It took her no time at all, aided by
his behavior in the elevator, to de-
cide what sort of a man this Steve
Colman was. Handsome, and so
well aware of it that he expected
girls to come running when he
whistled. Well, here was one that
wouldn't. Probably hadn't done a
stroke of work in his life — not hon-
est work, anyhow. Certainly not a
man to be trusted. And she didn't
like red hair.

With insufferable nonchalance,
the Colman person said, "I think

you'd better explain to Miss Mas-
ters who I am. She seems to be
afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of anyone!" Jane
snapped.

"I've a bit of explaining to do to
both of you," the lawyer said, set-
tling himself behind his big desk
"You, Miss Masters, are the late
Peter Masters' great-niece. And
Steve—"

"He was my step-grandfather,
wasn't he? Dad married old Peter's
daughter after my own mother
died."

"That's right. Now, as you know,
at one time Peter Masters practi-
cally controlled the shipping here on
San Francisco Bay. He had a fleet
of sixty tug boats, and he got all
the business. But times change-
Peter got old, his business slipped
away, and when he died last fall he
was almost broke. Not quite, but
almost. There's still a — some prop-
erty to be distributed between his
only heirs — you, Jane, and Steve."

"Why — I hardly knew him," Jane
said.

"Nevertheless, he named you in
his will. The property left jointly to

Fictionized by Norton Russell from the First Nighter script, starring
Barbara Luddy and Les Tremayne, and sponsored by Campana's Italian Balm

I

you and Steve is the old tug boat,
Rascal."

Jane took one look at Steve.
"We'll have to sell it, of course," she
said.

"I'm afraid not," Curtis said. "One
of the provisions of the will is that_
you keep it in your possession for
five years. And you're to retain
Mac, the engineer, and Wee Sing,
the cook."

"That's impossible!" Jane argued.
"I have a job, but it barely keeps
me alive. I can't take on two more
people and a tug boat."

"Nobody's asking you to," Steve
Colman said gently. "I'll take the
tug out and make it earn its keep."

She swept him with a look of un-
disguised scorn.

I HAVE a Master's license," he

said. "Running a tug is man's
work. You keep your position and
I'll—"

"I wouldn't trust you in a mill-
pond with that boat."

"Now, Jane — be sensible — "

"And don't call me Jane. I'm quit-
ting my job and moving onto my
half of the boat tonight! Goodbye,
Mr. Curtis, and thank you."

"You'll find the Rascal tied up at
the foot of Capistrano Street!" Mr.
Curtis called after her.

Jane had seldom worked as fast
as she did in the next hour, with
the result that she accomplished her
purpose of getting to the Rascal
ahead of Steve Colman. When she
heard him- coming up the narrow
gangplank she had already intro-
duced herself to Mac and Wee Sing
and taken possession of the captain's
cabin.

She looked up defiantly as Steve
opened the door of the cabin. "I
understood it was customary to
knock before you entered a wo-
man's room, Mr. Colman."

"What are you doing in here?" he
snapped.

"I'm living here."

"Now listen, Jane," he burst out,
"you've no right to this cabin. I need
it. I'll be up and down all night,
running the tug, and — "

"Oh! You're going to run the
tug?"

Over his shoulder she saw Mac's
wrinkled face with its grizzled wal-
rus mustache. " 'Nother little cabin
just abaft this, Mr. Colman," he put
in.

"Oh, all right!" Sullenly, Steve
gave her the first round on points.
"See here, Mac, how do we make
this tug pay?"

"Yes, Mac," Jane added. "How
do we start? We've got to hurry —
that is, unless Mr. Colman has a
large bank account?"

"I'm broke," Steve said curtly.

22

"Well—" Mac began, "there's two
things you can do. The big ships is
all tied up by the big tug companies.
You can either go lie outside the
Golden Gate and fight for lumber
schooners and little fruit boats, or
you can go up the Sacramento River
and haul grain barges."

"Fine. We'll go up the Sacra-
mento," Jane said promptly.

"Nonsense!" Steve barked. "We'll
go outside the Gate."

"Up the Sacramento!"

"Out to sea!"

"Unless you two captains got the
price of fuel oil," Mac said dryly,
"we ain't goin' no place. Me'n the
cook been livin' on rice for ten days
and the bunker tanks is plum dry!"

Two days later the Rascal was
still tied up at the foot of Capis-
trano, and one of the more efficient
kinds of San Francisco fogs had
blown in from the Golden Gate.
Coming out of her cabin in the
morning Jane had to admit that per-
haps it was just as well the fuel
tanks were dry. It would have been
terrible to be out in that fog.

Mac, a glum figure in shiny oil-
skins, loomed up through the fog.

"What time did Mr. Colman go
out this morning?" she asked.

" 'Bout five o'clock."

"So early? Why?"

"Rice's gettin' low," Mac said
simply.

Somewhere, close by, a fog horn
mooed loudly, and Jane jumped as
a black mass appeared out of noth-
ingness.

A voice shouted, "Stand by to
take a line!"

"Why, it's the skipper!" Mac ex-
claimed. "That's a fuel barge he's
on — that means he's got us a job."
At once the old man was all action,
neatly catching the line thrown from
the fuel barge, tying it, putting the
fuel hoses into the tanks.

Jane was almost ready to like
Steve, but at that moment he
jumped from the barge to the tug
boat's deck, and she noticed that
once more he had become disgust-
ingly sure of himself.

"So you've got a job?" she said.
"Doing what?"

"What difference does it make?"
he said airily. "It's good pay — fuel
for the engine and food for us."

"We'll take it, of course," she
conceded, "but after this I wish
you'd talk things over with me be-
fore you accept jobs. I'm . . ."

"I know. You're half owner. If
there was anything else in the world
for me to do you'd be whole owner,
but right now I'm stuck here."

"You feel that way, do you?" she
asked dangerously.

He flung out his hands. "Jane,
let's have this out. What in blazes

is wrong with me?"

"Frankly I don't trust you. Any-
one who will act the way you did
the first time we met deserves to
be carefully watched."

"Ye gods," he groaned, "haven't
you any sense of humor?"

"I don't think your attitude that
day was very funny. I was a total
stranger to you, you know."

"All right. All right. It's only
natural that a man with a good eye
for beauty would speak out of turn
to a girl as pretty as you are. But
if that's the way you feel — "

He turned away. "As soon as the
tanks are full, we'll pick up our tow
and get going," he flung out.

"Where are we going?"

"Well — he hesitated in embarrass-
ment. "About half way up the Sac-
ramento River."

Jane flung back her head and
laughed out loud. "So we are going
up the river?"

"Just this once," he said stub-
bornly. "Just to get some money.
After that we'll go out to sea."

"Maybe. How much are we get-
ting for this job?"

"Six hundred."

"Six hundred dollars! Isn't that
an awful lot of money?"

"It is."

"But why?"

"Listen," he said. "Do you want
this job or not?"

"Of course — but — "

"Then get into your old clothes,"
he broke in quickly. "You may have
the captain's cabin on this tug, but
that doesn't mean you aren't going
to do your share of work."

T HE fog didn't lift. If anything, it

was worse by the time they'd
picked up their tow and nosed out
into the bay. It also developed that
Steve had strong suspicions about
the accuracy of the compass. "Should
have had it fixed," he muttered.

Jane, standing beside him in the
pilot house, said, "Maybe it's right,
though."

"Don't be silly. If that compass
was right, we'd be headed for the
Golden Gate — and I know we aren't.
Listen!"

In the intervals between the
blasts of their fog horn she heard,
far overhead, the rush of speeding
motor cars.

"Maybe we're going up Market
Street," she suggested.

"Don't try to be funny. Those cars
are on Carquinez Bridge."

"Did it ever occur to you," Jane
suggested, "that the compass might
be right and the cars are on the new
Golden Gate Bridge?"

But he only laughed. "Say, I've
sailed this Bay ever since I was
a kid. (Continued on page 93)

PHCffCM

HBots Ho Pi

■ Just a friendly grin from that droll comedian of Tuesday night's Pepsodent program.
Bob s back with his old screen partner, Martha Roye, in Paramount's "Never Say Die."

,*»**';«»♦*»****•

l&£2

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■ The gaslight era bloomed again when Edgar Bergen and
Charlie McCarthy, celebrating the completion of their
new Universal picture, "You Can't Cheat an Honest Man,"
threw a "Gay Nineties" party. Left, Edgar and Charlie
as a minstrel team; above — yes, it is. — Tyrone Power.

Photos by Fink

RADIUS
PHOTO-
MIRROR

BH

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mance

Above, Edgar with Kay St. Germaine (there's a new ro-
here) ; right, with Betty Grable. Across the
bottom of these pages are Betty, Princess Baba, Martha
Raye, Dorothy Lamour, Shirley Ross, in the "back-
dress — then Betty, Baba, Martha and Dotty again.

less

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DO MEN

W!

rHEN you proudly go home, after frantic shop-
ping, with your new Easter bonnet, and Hubby
takes one look and yells, "Wasn't there any
mirror in that store?" is he serious or is he just joking?

In an effort to solve this hat question, once and for
all, we asked several of radio's loveliest and most style-
conscious girls to pose in the latest models, and showed
the results to Morton Downey, Phil Baker, Lanny Ross
and Robert Benchley — all gentlemen of impeccable
taste, rare judgment and real bravery.

Said Morton Downey: "They're kind of silly, but on
the whole I think the hats this year are a lot prettier
than they've been for a long time. There's more to
them. Now they sit on half the head, instead of just
covering the right eyebrow!"

■ Reading down — Nan Wynn, in a pink cellophane sailor;
Martha Stephenson, Hal Kemp's bride, in a wine-colored
milan with pink taffeta; Joan Edwards' "Arabian Nights"
hat features a cellophane ruching; Nan's wearing the
new baby bumper with black taffeta bow; Joan's perky
sailor is a quilted cobalt-blue cellophane with a big bow.

PHIL BAKER took one look at that straw sailor on the
opposite page and announced that he'd discovered a
new use for pineapple tops. Lanny Ross was
cautious: "The only things I dislike are the enormous
brims, and hanging yards of silk from the back. But
the flowers and veils make women look romantic."
Robert Benchley came out flatly: "I always say a
hat is a hat. But why can't they just call it that in-
stead of some food or a bird. And imagine calling a
hat a pillbox! The other day I heard a woman talking
like this: '. . . so Mary asked for a wimple, but the
wimple didn't look good, so she put on a rough-rider.
After an hour she finally walked out with a Mother
Goose.' " So now you know what men think of
women's hats. Or do you?

■ Reading below, and up — Mrs. Hal Kemp's black felt
is faced with white eyelet embroidery; a muffin hat
for Nan, with pink and blue birds and dotted veil. Mrs.
Kemp wears another off-the-face hat with peaked crown,
sombre o effect; and Nan in a 1939 version of the new
fedora. It's red and the huge veil ties under the chin.

CBS stars Joan Edwards
and Nan IVynn in hats by
Emilie Dalheim, New York
— photos by Walter Seigal.

s* ' .

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I *■

f

'4f RASP'S

p h &m-

//us Happened fa /fie

Once he washed dishes; and
even slept on a park bench.

■ The almost incredible life story of swing's
newest idol — Artie Shaw, who got to the top by

walking with trouble every step of the way

BY ARTIE SHAW

As told to Jerry Mason

E

'VER since I was a kid down on
New York's lower East Side
I've heard about luck. "All you
need is one lucky break and nothing
can stop you." That line of talk is
almost proverbial. It's also a lot
of bunk. As far as I've been able
to discover, luck and the right
breaks don't mean much.

I was lucky to be born with the
ability to carry a tune. I was lucky
to be born with a healthy body. I'm
lucky to be where I am today —
but I'm not there because some mys-
terious Fate decided to smile sweet-
ly on me. Everything I've gotten —
I've gotten the hard way.

For twenty odd years it's been
work and sweat and heart-break.
Every inch of the way has been
tough. Some of it has been a lot
of fun. If I had it to do all over
again, I'd repeat most of it. A lot,
though, I'd pray to skip.

Much, too, has been said and writ-
ten about love and marriage as one
of the world's greatest assets on the

way up. That I can neither prove
nor disprove. I've been in love. I
married twice — two of the finest
women I have ever known. But
marriage was not for me. I don't
know whether it helped or hindered.
I know it can provide great happi-
ness and great unhappiness. For
me, it did both.

Right now, I am pretty well
satisfied. Show-business is a fairly
familiar subject to me. No matter
how familiar it is, I get a kick out
of seeing "Artie Shaw and his Or-
chestra" spelled out on a theater
marquee. There's also a great deal
of pride in knowing that you and
your organization are able to earn
more than a quarter of a million
dollars within a year. That's a lot
of money. But it's important to me
not for what it can buy — but for
what it stands. It means I have ar-
rived. I and my ideas about music
have been accepted. That's impor-
tant. And I am perfectly honest
when I say it's not the money that

Illustrations by
Robert Reiger

Listen to Artie Shaw
and his band on the
Old Gold program,
Sunday nights over
Columbia's Network.

n

N

m

mouiHfiita

I

Artie, aged six months — just one
of New York's million or so kids.

In Buster Brown suit and hair-
cut— a true American at three.

People in the danceband business
learn to nap whenever they can.

counts. It doesn't take much ex-
perience to learn that you can wear
only one suit at a time, eat only
one meal when you're hungry, drive
only one car. The years behind
taught me that. This May those
years will number 29.

THEY began on Manhattan's 7th
Street between Avenue C and the
East River. That's the section which
belongs to the Dead End Kids. I
suppose I was one of them. If
you've ever seen a movie of a New
York tenement house, you've seen
the kind of place I lived in. Two
or two and a half rooms in a wooden
firetrap. Dirt and discomfort on
all sides. Unhappiness the dictator
whom only the children could
escape. In the summer, we'd go
down to the oily, ship-soiled East
River to cool off. That was the Ri-
viera of the tenements.

My earliest recollection of my
father was of an unnourishing
photographer. He never settled
down very much. After a while he
gave up pictures to work with my
mother, a good dress designer. They
opened a shop together which made
a little money. First result, of
course, was to move up to a better
neighborhood. They picked out St.
Mark's Place — the same block, in-
cidentally, from which Al Smith
came — and I began to go to gram-
mar school.

I was seven and a half when they
decided to move to New Haven,
Connecticut. I'll never forget the
night we arrived there. It was late
when we got off the train and the
three of us checked in to the Royal
Hotel. I couldn't wait until morn-
ing. Ignorant little New Yorker
that I was, I thought sure I'd wake
up to look out on farm lands and
cows and chickens. I rushed to the
window at 6:30 — and saw a scene
that wasn't much different from
what I'd been looking at all my
life.

But I was grateful for that change
of location. For years I had been
cursed with a Buster Brown hair-
cut. One of those straight bobs
that come down just below the ear-
lobes. I'd been afraid to beg my
mother to cut it off while we were
still in New York. I knew the kid-
ding afterward would be worse than
it had been before. That New
Haven barber shop was a wonderful
place.

My mother and dad opened up
another clothing place. For a time
they did very well. Then we began
to have less and less money. We
moved to worse and worse places.
Finally — I was already in high
school — I realized that I came from
a very poor family. But to a boy

of 13, finances weren't as important
as playing hookey.

Boards of education can lecture
all they like about the evils of play-
ing hookey. But one such expedi-
tion was probably the most earth-
shaking event that ever happened
to me. I used to spend those free
mornings and afternoons at the
Palace Theater, the domicile of
vaudeville in New Haven. One
week a band came through and I
watched them work. During an un-
important spot, a saxophonist stood
up and played a short solo. For the
first time, I became aware of the
saxophone as a music-making in-
strument.

I rushed home — completely for-
getting the consequences of playing
hookey — and asked my father to
buy me a saxophone. He laughed
at me. I can't blame him when I
think back on it now. Then, though,
it was the most important thing in
my life. I began to think of ways
to make money. The first thing I
tried was selling newspapers. After
a couple of weeks of that, I calcu-
lated I was making only one-third
of a cent for each paper sold. That
was the hard way. I had to find
a system for making money quicker.
Summer vacation started and I
managed to land a job in a grocery
store at $5 a week. At the end of
eight weeks I had $40 — enough to
buy a cheap horn.

I was supposed to get five free
lessons for the purchase price. I
took two of them — and quit. The
teacher didn't know much more
about the instrument than I did. He
started me off all wrong. For ex-
ample, he taught me the G scale in-
stead of the C as the basic scale.
Right up to the present, I have to
transpose mentally whenever I play.
It's like thinking in French and
talking in English.

I really learned by practise. - The
whole idea fascinated me — I had
heard the musician in the theater
play the sax so beautifully and
when I tried to do the same thing
all I got was a lot of squealing
noises. It was a problem that had
to be licked. I did it by practising
eight hours every day. Eight hours
of it, broken only by a quickly
gulped meal — and back at it. The
noise drove my father crazy but the
idea of learning how to play had a
terrific pull on me. He would ask
me to stop and I'd refuse — the only
defiance I ever showed him.

My work reached a climax when
I entered a local amateur contest. I
remember that night, too. I played
a tune called "Charlie My Boy." I
can't even hum it now — but it won
me $5. That prize shocked me — up
(Continued on page 68)

oMty

AT

Step aside, men — let
Carole Lombard tell
you how much better a
job they'd make of it!

WHAT would happen if wom-
en ran the world? I'll tell
you what would happen. If
women ran this world it would be
a better world, if you really want
to know. It wouldn't be such a sorry
mess of a world. It wouldn't be the
kind of world that bombs kids in
the streets and taxes their parents
to pay for the bombs. It wouldn't
be a world where people starve with
a surplus of stuff to eat all around
'em. It'd be a cleaner place, a saner
place, and a finer place.

Because why? Because women
are realists. They wouldn't permit
slums and filth and disease and pov-
erty, because those things cost
everybody money. Do you know
what causes war and poverty? All
right, all right, I'll tell you. Male
stupidity, Male sentiment and Male
greed.

Women are greedy too, but they
know how to get what they want.
They don't let stupid sentimental
considerations get in their way.
They wouldn't start a war to get
new trade, or raw materials, or a
swelled head, when they know darn
well they'll wind up headless and
bankrupt.

It all comes down to this. Men
are children, women are realists.
Take it or leave it, gents, take it
or leave it.

us speech was. ti
broadcast, on Carole s
Sunday nighf program,
sponsored by Kellogg.

Radio takes another step for-
ward in seeking to unravel the
secrets of such psychic phe-
nomena as ghosts, premoni-
tions, mental telepathy and
dreams — all of them "Mysteries
of the mind" and broadcast
weekly over WOR of the Mu-
tual Broadcasting System. Ac-
tual case histories are first
dramatized and then discussed
by psychic investigator Hugh
Lynn Cayce, and two repre-
sentatives from the field of
medicine and psychology, Dr.
Henry S. W. Hardwicke and
Dr. Lucien Warner. The cases
have been gathered and verified
by Mr. Cayce, who has been
studying phenomena for the
past seven years. Dr. Hardwicke
is conductor of the Psychic
Forum and a research officer of

32

the Society of Psychic Research.
Dr. Warner has carried on spe-
cial research at Duke Univer-
sity and is the author of "Applied
Psychology." The following
article has been prepared, by
special permission of WOR,
from outstanding case histories
already broadcast.

SINCE the beginning of time man
has sought to gain more and
more knowledge about this
world into which he has been born
. . . and more and more knowledge
concerning the mystery of his own
self; his mind or soul. Today, men
of science are delving into the mys-
teries of the mind, trying to reveal
its hidden powers — to explain their
meaning.

Into the lives of almost everyone
have come experiences of the mind

— strange and unexplainable in
terms of our every-day life — a vivid
dream that came true, a hunch that
something was about to happen, an
impression that a friend or loved
one miles away was in trouble.

On November 11, 1938, there ap-
peared in newspapers from coast to
coast the remarkable story of six-
year-old, golden-haired Helen Lane
of Miami, Florida. This amazing
story has been verified and authen-
ticated.

The quiet of the Lane living room
was suddenly disrupted on Novem-
ber 10 by the frightened cries of
little Helen — cries of "Mother;
Mother!" which became more ter-
rifying as they increased in volume.

The parents rushed to the child's
bedroom on the second floor.

"Yes, Helen dear," comforted her
mother, as she saw that her little

■ Into the life of everyone has come some strange, inexplicable event—
a dream that came true, a premonition, a voice from nowhere. Here
are more of these weird happenings, with A . perhaps ... an explanation

i

Illustration by Chase Cassidy

girl was still alive and untouched.
"What is it?"

"Oh, Mother, I've just been run
over by a truck," the little girl
sobbed pitifully. "I'm dying!"

Mrs. Lane crushed the child to
her breast and whispered reassur-
ingly:

"Why, Helen, you're all right.
You've been dreaming."

The child shook her head. "No,
Mother, I tried to get out of the way
but I couldn't. That colored man
who was driving — he picked me
up." The child gasped, then cried
again, "Oh, I'm dying, I know I
am!"

Mrs. Lane turned helplessly to-
ward her husband. His face was
ashen white.

"Helen," she tried to comfort her
daughter. "You're still not awake.
There's no truck and there's no

colored man. You're right here at
home, safe in bed."

The child cried softly, pulled the
blankets closer to her chilled skin,
and spoke softly: "But Mother, it
was so real. I'm so frightened. It
might be going to happen. It didn't
seem like a dream at all. That truck
was killing me!"

The parents turned out the light
and stayed with their child until
the dawn broke. Neither said a
word.

At breakfast Helen spoke of her
horrible "dream" again. The crisp
morning air had freshened the
mother. She regained her confi-
dence, and buoyed up the child's
spirits.

But less than an hour later, Mrs.
Lane's household duties were sud-
denly interrupted by the screech of
brakes, followed instantly by a

■ Dayton jerked open the
window. "There's a fire
below us!" he shouted.

scream. A child's scream. Through
the open kitchen window came the
sound of voices.

"Get the license number!" some-
one yelled excitedly. "Hold the
driver!"

Mrs. Lane rushed into the street.
At the sidewalk she met a neighbor.
The woman was hysterical.

"Oh, Mrs. Lane," she cried, "it's
your daughter Helen. I'm afraid
she's—"

Her words were cut off by the
other woman. "Yes, I know. I
know." Mrs. Lane said calmly. "You
don't have to tell me. My baby has
been killed."

Two days later a grief- stricken
mother and father appeared before
the coroner's jury. They had a
strange request to make. Mr. Lane
spoke slowly, sorrowfully:

"Your Honor, my wife and I have
come here to ask mercy for that
negro driver who ran over our little
girl. He must not be blamed for
what has happened. You see — we
don't understand ourselves, but
Helen had a dream the night before
the accident that she was run over
by a truck and killed. A truck
driven by a colored man!"

"But that's incredible," said the
foreman of (Continued on page 64)

33

CASE OF

Author of

"The Case of the Velvet Claws"

"The Case of the Howling Dog," etc.

The Story Thus Far:

IWAS plunged into mystery on the
very first day of my new job as
secretary to William C. Foley, the
well-known Hollywood lawyer. I'd
received the job when Mildred Par-
ker, Mr. Foley's former secretary,
was injured by a hit-and-run driver.
Mr. Foley, who always judged
people by their voices, hired me be-
cause he liked mine.

Early in the afternoon of my first
day, a man who said he was a private
detective investigating Miss Parker's
accident, forced his way into Mr.
Foley's office. After Mr. Foley had
gotten rid of him, his next visitor
was a Frank C. Padgham, and I was
called in while Mr. Foley dictated a
long and involved agreement be-
tween Padgham, who seemed to be a
talent agent, and two men named
Carter Wright and Woodley Page.
Mr. Foley instructed me to type the
agreement and deliver it to a certain
address that night — and under no
circumstances to let anyone else
see it.

On my way to the address that
night I was almost run down by a
speeding car — and it didn't look like
an accident either. In a panic, I ar-
rived at the house, which seemed to
be completely deserted. No one an-
swered my ring, so I walked in.

34

■ I'll never forget the way
he jumped back. The man was
absolutely terror-stricken.

Then, coming from upstairs, I
heard a thumping noise. I in-
vestigated, and found Bruce
Eaton, my favorite movie and
radio star, bound and gagged in
a closet. I set him free, and he went
downstairs to get a drink for both
of us. Too late, I realized he had
run away, not knowing I had recog-
nized him. I started down the hall
after him, picking up a safety-
deposit key he had dropped. Then,
through an open door I saw a man
slumped over a desk in such a
strange attitude that I knew he was

^

dead. And at that moment every
light in the house went out!

PART II

I HAD no idea that any place could
be so utterly and completely
dark. It seemed as though some-
one had pushed a thick strip of
black blotting paper into the cor-

A key, a corpse, and a rudely disap-

■

pearing star are the baffling clues
to the mystery of that dark house of

'J4

X

i\

i^.'r-

murder! Follow impulsive Miss Bell
and her boss, the man with the micro-
phone mind, into new paths of danger

3K£

ridor, and the paper had just sucked
up every bit of light in the place.

And within fifty feet of me was
the body of a dead man.

Not the faintest ray of light
seeped in from the street. The rich
heavy hangings were as efficient in
preventing light from getting in as
they had been in preventing any
from showing on the outside.

Illustrations by
Mario Cooper

I'd been frightened enough when
I first came running up to the house,
seeking refuge from the dangers of
the outer night. Now I realized all
too keenly the proverb about "Out
of the frying pan into the fire." I'd
been anxious enough to get into the
house, but now I was twice as anx-
ious to get out. Whatever dangers
the street held would at least be met
in the open air, not in this place
with its dank aura of death clinging
to it.

I groped for the stairs, and then,
afraid that I'd miss them, dropped

on my hands and knees, swinging
my left hand out in long, explor-
ing circles as I crawled in the gen-
eral direction of the stairs, my right
hand dragging the brief case along
the carpet behind me. I found the
staircase and started down, walking
on tip toe, trying to avoid creaking
boards.

I was halfway down the stairs
when a bell shattered the silence.

I stopped, motionless, listening.
Was it a telephone, or ... It rang
again, and this time I knew it for
what it was, the doorbell. Someone
was at the front door.

I suppose, logically, at that mo-
ment I should have become com-
pletely panic stricken. As a matter
of fact, the ringing of the doorbell
had exactly the opposite effect. I
steadied down to fast, cool thinking.
It was, I realized, quite possible that
Bruce Eaton had decided to return.
It was also possible he had notified
others of what they would find in
the house, bringing assistance to me
in that way, yet keeping out of it
himself.

Or . . . Suddenly I laughed. A
feeling of vast relief surged through
me. Of course! It was Mr. Foley
and Frank Padgham coming to keep
their appointment.

I put my hand on the bannister
and ran down the stairs as rapidly
as I could. The doorbell rang once
more while I was still fumbling
around in the corridor. I propped
my brief case against the wall near
the door, so I'd have both hands free
for groping. Then I found the door-
knob, and flung open the door.

It was as dark as a pocket inside
the house, and in contrast to that
darkness the street seemed well
lighted. I could see the flashy form
of Frank Padgham silhouetted in

35

the doorway. Apparently, he
couldn't see enough of me to recog-
nize me. All that he could see was
an oblong of blackness, with the
vague, indistinct lines of a figure
standing within reaching distance of
him.

I'll never forget the way he
jumped back. There was far more
than the startled reaction which
takes place when one encounters the
unexpected. The man was obso-
lutely terror-stricken.

"Where's Mr. Foley, Mr. Padg-
ham?" I asked.

HE took two deep breaths before
he was able to answer me. Then
he said, "Oh, it's you, Miss . . .
Miss . . ."

"Miss Bell," I supplemented.

"Oh yes, Miss Bell," he said. ". . .
You . . . ah . . . startled me. How
did it . . . ah . . . happen that you
answered the doorbell?"

For a moment I was irritated at
him. There was something ponder-
ous and patronizing in his manner,
now that he had recovered from his
fright. So I said, "Suppose you an-
swer my question, and then I'll an-
swer yours."

"Oh yes, Mr. Foley . . . why, yes.
Mr. Foley was ... or ... ah .. .
detained. A matter of the greatest
importance. That's why we were
a little late keeping the appoint-
ment."

"These lights won't go on," I told

him. "There's a switch out, or a
fuse blown, or something."

"Indeed," he said solicitously, and
moved forward. "I'll have to in-
vestigate. You'd better stay close,
Miss Bell. I wouldn't want to lose
you in the . . . er . . . ah . . . dark-
ness."

I could hear one of his hands
scraping along the wall as he
searched for the light switch, but
the other hand rested on my shoul-
der, then dropped down so that his
arm was around my waist. I twisted
out from what was about to develop
into an embrace and said "Hadn't
you better take both hands, Mr.
Padgham? I'll stay right behind
you."

He found the light switch, then,
and clicked it fruitlessly,

"I'm afraid," I told him, "there's
something radically wrong here."

"You mean about the lights?"

"I mean something in the house,"
I said. "There's a dead man up-
stairs."

For what might have been four
or five seconds, there was complete
silence. He didn't move. I doubt
if he even breathed. I was sorry
that I couldn't see the expression of
his face. Was he surprised? Or
was he perhaps acting a part?
Somehow I had the idea that the
man was playing me as a cat plays
a mouse.

"Oh Good Lord!" he exclaimed,
and then after a moment added,

■ I crawled on my hands and knees in the direction of
the stairs, dragging the brief-case along the carpet.

"Where is this ... er ... ah,
corpse?"

"Upstairs," I said, "in a room
which opens off behind the stair-
case."

"And what were you doing up
there?" he asked, sharply.

"I heard something," I said, "a
funny sound, and I climbed the
stairs to see what it was and
found . . ."

I stopped abruptly. Should I tell
him what I'd found, or should I tell
that only to Mr. Foley — or, on the
other hand, should I ever tell any-
one? Bruce Eaton certainly didn't
want anyone to know he'd been in
the house, and it didn't take a great
deal of imagination for me to un-
derstand why. Bruce Eaton was
box office in a big way. Not only
was he my particular heart throb,
but I had some forty million femi-
nine rivals.

"Go ahead," he said, interrupting
my thoughts. "You found what?"

"Found this dead man," I finished
inanely.

"How did you know that he is
dead?"

"By looking at him."

"Did you go into the room to
see?"

"No."

"You didn't touch him?"

"No."

"You didn't . . . er . . . ah . . .
pick up anything?"

"Pick up anything?" I said, for-
getting for the moment about that
peculiar key. "Why, why should I
pick up anything? What are you
talking about, Mr. Padgham?"

"Just a matter of precaution," he
said quickly. "You understand the
police are very strict about anyone
touching things in a room where a
man's been murdered."

"Murdered!" I exclaimed.

"Why yes," he said. "Didn't you
say he was murdered?"

And I think that was the first
time I realized the man actually had
been murdered.

"No," I told him, "I thought he'd
had a stroke or something while he
was sitting there. . . . Great heavens,
you don't suppose . . ."

"Suppose what?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"Look here, Miss Bell," he told
me, dropping his friendly manner
for the moment and with his voice
holding an ominous note, "If you're
holding anything back, it's going to
be . . . well, serious."

"I'm not holding anything back,"
I told him — "that is, anything that
I feel I should tell you."

This time there was no mistaking
his tone. He'd lost all of that pon-
derous, synthetic dignity, and his
(Continued on page 72)

36

~C>ON -AMiQHt

■ Comin' a+cha js that delightful master of ceremonies' of the Chase and Sanborn Hour.
Don's next screen appearance is with Claudette Colbert in Paramount's "Midnight."

PHOW*

Three short years, and in them everything has
come his way — heights of fame few have ever ex-
plored, the adulation of millions, and a love
of the sort won only by the romantic in heart

■ Ty's romance with Sonja Henie held no danger of a really
serious love affair. It was just a friendship— and both knew it.

By
HOWARD SH ARPE

CHICAGO was hot, and in-
expressibly full of people.
It was August of 1934, Cen-
tury of Progress year, and Tyrone
Power stopped there on his way
to New York; he felt he might
as well see the Fair.

He stayed until January. Friends
from the earlier days were at the
train when he came in and greeted
him with gladsome cries, so that
the weary trek from hotel to hotel
(all filled to capacity) was not
necessary for him.

It was the Power luck. They
had an apartment which they
shared, these friends, and since
it was already uncomfortably
crowded another occupant could
hardly add inconvenience. Par-
ticularly if he were Tyrone
Power, congenial, young, given to
laughter.

The Chicago period was a trans-
ition, a time-out for adjustment.
Behind the boy lay his absolute
youth, a head-long collection of
years in which his ambition and
his self-assurance had, hand in
hand, brought him anti-climax.

He'd set off bravely enough,
when he was seventeen, to be an
actor. Perhaps, if Tyrone Power
II, his father, had lived, he would
have had better luck. He didn't
know. All he knew was that Hol-
lywood hadn't wanted him. A
year — almost — in the Santa Bar-
bara Little Theater had been good:
it had given him security, for a
-time, and much-needed experience.

- 20th Century-Fox

■ His romance with Janet Gaynor, right, was a realization of a
dream. And then along came Annabella who won his heart with-
out trying. Above, Annabella and Ty basking in the golden sun.

It had given him something else,
too. Somewhere, behind him, was
first love — Nicky, the girl at the
Santa Barbara theater. But ithat
was all over now. He mustn't look
back. The future would need all
his attention — if indeed there was
any left over from the present.

Professionally he was given re-
assurance when one of the friends
got him a job with the fair, an-
nouncing him to concession man-
agers as an experienced actor from
the Coast. For a month or two
he pantomimed before unloaded
cameras while patrons, having paid
their good money to see a "Glimpse
of Hollywood," watched with un-
blinking eyes his every movement.

When this occupation had palled,
both on the visitors and on Tyrone,
he auditioned at a radio station and
got a job reading the funny papers
to Chicago's listening young each
Sunday afternoon. There were oc-
casional bit parts to do on network
shows. One of them was in Don

Ameche's First Nighter program.

During the summer, then, and
through the long autumn, young
Mr. Power worked hard, amused
himself grimly during the evenings
in company with his cheerful room-
mates, and tried to put the memory
of unprofitable years out of his
mind.

When he had done that, finally,
he could go to the radio people,
resign, and catch the first train for
New York.

"But of course you will stay with
us!" Michael Strange, a family
friend of long standing said to him
at dinner his first night in Man-
hattan; and Harrison Tweed, her
husband, nodded assent. So that
was settled.

Tyrone had very little money, just
enough to keep him for a time.
Amazingly, he was not worried.
People whose luck is attuned to
their eventual success know when a
change for the better is imminent.
They (Continued on page 61)

Above, Bob Crosby, leader of Dixieland 's Bob-
cats— the band that made good because they
stuck to an ideal. Left, attractive Edythe
Wright discovered that the coveted solo-
spot in Tommy Dorsey's band was hers alone.

ONE of the most popular or-
chestra leaders of the boom
days, Bert Lown, is back
again with a brand new orchestra.
Remember his old haunting theme,
"Bye-Bye Blues?" Bert is using it
again. When Bert was the toast of
the town ten years ago some of his
musicians were Tommy Dorsey,
Jimmy Dorsey, Red Nichols, Adrian
Rollini, Mike Riley and Ed Farley. . .

Larry Clinton is off the Tommy
Riggs show . . . Percy Faith, the
Canadian conductor, still refuses
those tempting offers from American
broadcasters . . . Jan Garber moves
into the Hotel New Yorker for his
first Manhattan engagement in May,
just in time to see Guy Lombardo
leave the Roosevelt. Bookers
wouldn't dare have both bands in
one town at the same time.

Benny Goodman clicked at the

40

Waldorf-Astoria so heavily that he
returns to the swank Manhattan
hostelry in October . . . Benny de-
cided that his brother Irving was
the best man to fill Harry James'
shoes in the band . . . Edythe Wright
has returned to the Tommy Dorsey
fold. Tommy couldn't find a logical
successor . . . Benny Berigan is not
disbanding his organization to join
Benny Goodman. The trumpeter
still wants to lead his own band . . .
A de-lovely sits near the Sammy
Kaye bandstand in New York's
Hotel Commodore almost nightly.
Some say it's Mrs. Kaye -, . . Band-
leader Kaye is one of radio's most
eligible bachelors if he hasn't al-
ready taken the important plunge
... Is there a blessed event due at
the Bob Crosbys? . . . Buddy Rogers
replaces Freddy Martin at the Los
Angeles Cocoanut Grove in April.

THE FREE SOULS OF SWING

IF you have never pinned your
hopes on an ideal, don't read this
story.

Because the meteoric rise of the
country's newest dance band sensa-
tion was built on a grim determina-
tion to foster a new swing trend.

Today the whole country is swing-
ing to Bob Crosby and his dynamic
orchestra. These men had an ideal
and stuck to it, despite discouraging
setbacks. Unlike any other band
you have ever heard, they are now
safely ensconced in Chicago's re-
nowned Blackhawk Cafe. They are
on the air several times weekly over
Mutual. Rumor-laden radio row
has heard more news, via the mys-
terious grapevine route, that the
band is being groomed for its first
(Continued on page 88)

//

LET UP LIGHT UP A CAMEL

...a grand way to rest the nerves
says famous American designer

I find Camels are So Soothing

"■ Elizabeth Hawes— tiny, young, energetic
•"■ — heads her own couturier salon in the
social East Sixties of New York. An intense
worker, she designs, sketches; confers with
drapers, fitters, models .. . plans the Openings
at which her new gowns and wraps are
shown for the first time. Above, she selects
fabrics— her first step in a new design.

€% She cuts into muslin. A few snips
~ with the shears, and another Ail-
American design is on its way. "Designing
new styles is fun," she says, "but hard
on the nerves sometimes. So when I feel
myself getting tense or irritable, that's
the moment I say to myself: 'Elizabeth
Hawes, have a Camel!'"

•3 Sketching the design. "A de-
" signing job is hard work,"
she says. "I'd feel like a wreck at
the end of the day — and probably
look like one! — if I didn't ease
up now and then and enjoy a
Camel. It's a grand way to rest
the nerves!"

Copyright, 1939, R. J. Reynolds
Tobacco Co.. Winston-Salem, N. C.

/M "CYPRESS"— the finished design. Cypress-greeu faille,
superbly cut, with gleaming coq feathers falling out
of a show -your -shoulders neckline. Miss Hawes' clothes
are internationally known — styled to be wearable for years.
Miss Hawes, wearing her workmanlike blouse of blue silk,
looks pleased and at ease as she smokes another Camel.
"'Let up— light up a Camel' makes sense to me," she says.
"Camels are positively soothing to the nerves."

Smoke 6 packs
of Camels and
find out why
they are the
LARGEST-
SELLING
CIGARETTE
IN AMERICA

Camels are a matchless blend of finer,
MORE EXPENSIVE TOBACCOS
— Turkish and Domestic

RELAXED. The wire fox terrier is noted for its brisk, playful spirit. Apparently,
always on the go... actually, frequently at ease. When he tires, he instinctively
rests. His nervous system is so highly strung! Ours is too. Our instincts like-
wise warn us: Nerves need rest. But will-power and determination may prod
you to struggle on... till you become tense and irritable. You want to
be pleasant... you want to enjoy smooth nerves. Why not pause frequently?
Ease the strain. Let up and light up a Camel. Camels are mild, rich -tasting.
And smokers find that Camel's costlier tobaccos are soothing to the nerves.

P S T I C K

The New Radio Mirror Almanac

BY THE STUDIO SNOOPER

■ A handy guide to listening that you'll

» •> - . — .

want to keep right beside your loudspeaker
— complete network program directory,
day-by-day reminders of listening high-
lights, plus the fascinating behind-the-scenes
stories of seven big network broadcasts!

PROGRAMS FROM MARCH 24 TO APRIL 25

43

a

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12:00 1:00
12:00 1:00
12:001 1:00

Eastern Standard Time

NBC-Blue: Peerless Trio
NBC-Red: Organ Recital

8:30
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NBC-Blue: Tone Pictures
NBC-Red: Four Showmen

NBC-Red: Animal News

CBS: From the Organ Loft
NBC-Blue: White Rabbit Line
NBC-Red: Turn Back the Clock

NBC-Red: Tom Terriss

CBS: Wings Over Jordan
NBC-Red: Melody Moments

CBS: Church of the Air
NBC-Blue: Russian Melodies
NBC-Red: Radio Pulpit

NBC-Red: Music and Youth

NBC: News

NBC- Blue: Alice Reinsert, contralto

NBC-Blue Neighbor Nell
NBC-Red: Chimney House

CBS: MAJOR BOWES FAMILY
NBC-Blue: Southernaires

NBC-Blue RADIO CITY MUSIC

HALL
NBC-Red: Music for Moderns

CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle
NBC-Red: University of Chicago
Round Table

CBS: Church of the Air
NBC-Blue: GREAT PLAYS
NBC-Red: Ireene Wicker

CBS. MBS, NBC: Salute to Nations

CBS: Americans All

NBC-Blue: THE MAGIC KEY OF

RCA
NBC-Red: Sunday Dinner at Aunt

Fanny's

CBS: Words Without Music
NBC-Red: Fables in Verse

CBS: N. Y. PHILHARMONIC
NBC-Blue: Armco Band
NBC-Red: Sunday Drivers

NBC-Blue: Festival of Music

NBC-Red: Bob Becker

NBC-Blue: National Vespers

NBC-Red: Hendrick W. Van Loon

NBC-Red: The World is Yours

CBS: St. Louis Blues
NBC-Blue: Met. Opera Auditions
NBC-Red: Uncle Ezra

MBS: The Shadow
CBS: BEN BERNIE
NBC-Red: The Spelling Bee

NBC-Blue: Dog Heroes

CBS: SILVER THEATER

NBC-Blue: New Friends of Music
NBC-Red: Catholic Hour

CBS: Gateway to Hollywood
MBS: Show of The Week
NBC-Red: A Tale of Today

CBS: People's Platform
NBC-Blue: World's Fair Program
NBC-Red: JACK BENNY

CBS: Screen Guild
NBC-Blue: Seth Parker
NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon

CBS: THIS IS NEW YORK
NBC-Blue: Out of the West
NBC-Red: DON AMECHE EDGAR
BERGEN

CBS: FORD SYMPHONY
NBC-Blue: HOLLYWOOD PLAY-
HOUSE
NBC-Red: Manhattan Merry-Go-
Round

NBC-Blue: WALTER WINCHELL
NBC-Red: American Album of Fa-
miliar Music

NBC-Blue: Irene Rich

CBS: Robert Benchley
NBC-Red: The Circle
MBS: Good Will Hour

CBS: H. V. Kaltenborn
NBC-Blue: Cheerio

8:00 10:00 11:00 CBS: Dance orchestra
8:00 10:00 11:00 NBC: Dance orchestra

44

SUNDAYS HIGHLIGHTS

Tune-In Bulletin for March

MARCH 26: Twelve noon, Dr. Courboin
in an all-Bach program, MBS. . . .
Three p.m., Albert Spalding and Gaspar
Cassado, violinist and cellist, guests on
the CBS Philharmonic. . . . Nine tonight,
Bidu Sayao, guest on the Ford Symphony
Hour, CBS.

April 2: Two p.m., a special Magic
Key program in honor of Army Day, NBC-
Blue. . . . Three o'clock, Jose Iturbi plays
Beethoven's Third Piano Concerto on the
CBS-New York Philharmonic program. . . .
Nine tonight, Lawrence Tibbett is the Ford
Hour's guest star.

April 9: Easter Sunday. . . . Special
services and programs from all networks.
. . . Sunrise service on CBS at 7:00 a.m. . . .
The Rossini Mass on the Philharmonic con-
cert, CBS at 3:00. . . . Nine tonight,
Gladys Swarthout is the Ford Hour's guest.

April 16: Three p.m., Kirsten Flagstad
sings on the CBS Philharmonic concert. . . .
Nine tonight, Jose Iturbi is guest star on
the Ford Hour.

April 23: Three p.m., Adolph Busch,
violinist, plays a Beethoven Concerto with
the Philharmonic, CBS. . . . Nine tonight,
Ford Hour's guest is Ezio Pima.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Melody and
Madness, on CBS at 10:00, E.S.T. The
Melody is Artie Shaw's swing band and
his clarinet, singers Dick Todd and Helen
Forrest. The Madness is Robert Benchley,
alone and unaided.

You're listening to Melody and Madness
as it comes from CBS' Radio Theater No. I,
located in the midst of Broadway's con-
gested theater district. Here is probably
a good place to explain that CBS has four
of these theaters, once devoted to stage
drama, now leased by CBS and converted
with control booths and sounding boards
into radio studios. Nos. I and 2 are fairly

26, April 2, 9, 16 and 23:

small and intimate; No. 4 is large, and
No. 3 is huge. The network had to rent
these outside playhouses because the
studios in its own building — which was
never built for radio in the first place —
long ago proved to be too small.

Although he is a leading American
humorist, Benchley doesn't write his
own radio material. The whole show is
written by professional scripters Al Lewis
and Hank Garson, and partly rewritten on
the last day of rehearsal by Bob and Mar-
tin Gosch, producer of Melody and Mad-
ness (in radio, a "producer" is about the
same as a director in the movies.) Bob
doesn't even rehearse much — comes in
Sunday morning to go over his script, goes
out to lunch, drops back around four-thirty
and stays until six, then goes on about his
own affairs until broadcast time. He says
too many rehearsals make him go stale.

The script writers try to model their
gags after the Benchley manner, without
using anything he ever wrote. This makes
things tough sometimes. Bob went over a
skit they'd written called "How to Hire a
Maid," shook his head, and said it sounded
familiar but he didn't know why. Just be-
fore the broadcast he remembered — its
ending was the same one he'd used in a
skit called "How to Fire a Maid."

Bandleader Artie Shaw deserves only a
little space here because there's a long
story about him on page 28. His band has
reached such sudden success in the East
it just possibly may not accompany the
show to Hollywood in April.

Producer Martin Gosch is a tiny, dark
man with a toothbrush mustache who
stands in the middle of the stage during
broadcasts, with a pair of earphones
clamped to his head. No matter how
often he's heard them in rehearsals, a few
of Benchley's lines always panic him.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

DONALD DICKSON — featured baritone on tonight's
Chase and Sanborn Hour, NBC-Red at 8:00 — born in
Clairton, Pa. — knew he wanted to be a singer when he
was five — family was poor and they traveled all over
the country — when Don was twenty he was working in
a steel mill in Cleveland eleven hours a day, sleeping
three, studying singing the rest of the time — Artur Rod-
zinski helped him get a Juilliard School scholarship — he
sang on the Sealtest Saturday Night Party and through
it got a contract with the Metropolitan — he's married,
with a six-year-old son.

Eastern Standard Time

1:15
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"as
WS

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NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

NBC-Blue: Norsemen Quartet
NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade
NBC-Red: Radio Rubes

CBS: Richard Maxwell
NBC: News

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB
NBC-Red: Happy Jack

CBS: Manhattan Mother
NBC-Rea The Family Man

MONDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

CBS: Girl Interne

CBS: Bachelor's Children
NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
MBS: School of the Air
NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
NBC-Red: Central City

CBS: Myrt and Marge
NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

CBS: Hilltop House
NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
NBC-Red: David Harum

CBS: Scattergood Baines

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

CBS. Aunt Jenny's Stories
NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out ot

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life

CBS: Mary Margaret McBride
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy jame.
NBC-Red: The O'Neills

CBS Romance cf Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

CBS: The Goldbergs

CBS: Life Can be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over

CBS; Road of Life
NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
NBC-Red: Words and Music
CBS: This Day is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gilmans

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBU-Keti. Arnold Grimm's Daughter

CBS: School of the Air
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

MBS: Ed Fitzgerald

NBC-Red: Hymns of all Churches

CBS: Curtis Institute of Music
NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

CBS: Let's Pretend

NBC-Red: Your Family and Mine

NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong

CBS: The Mighty Show
NBC-Bed: Little Orphan Annie

CBS: News

CBS: Howie Wing

CBS: Bob Trout

CBS: Sophie Tucker
NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

CBS: County S at

NBC-Blue: Orphans of Divorce
NBC-Red: Amos 'n' Andy

CBS: Lum and Abner

CBS: EDDIE CANTOR
MBS: The Lone Ranger

CBS: Cavalcade of America
NBC-Blue: Carson Robison
NBC-Red: AL PEARCE

CBS: Howard and Shelton
NBC-Blue: Those We Love
NBC-Red: Voice of Firestone

CBS: LUX THEATER
NBC-Red: Hour of Charm

NBC-Red: Eddy Duchin

00 CBS: Guy Lombardo

00 NBr.Bl.ie: True or False

00 NBC-Red: The Contented Hour

301 CBS: Columbia Workshop

Al Pearce: a "low-pressure guy" — Arline Harris: 240 words a minute.

Tune-In Bulletin for March

ARCH 27: Ten p.m., Eastern time, a
dramatized story of baseball, NBC-

M

Blue

April 3: Seven p.m., start listening to
Orphans of Divorce, starring Margaret
Anglin, NBC-Blue, every Monday.

April 10: Eight-thirty p.m. — for comedy,
tune in Tom Howard and George Shelton,
CBS.

April 17: NBC has a baseball roundup —
listen to it and be posted on all the teams.

April 24: Ten a.m., The Nation's School
of the Air, on WLW and Mutual, has its
final broadcast of the season.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Al Pearce and
His Gang, on NBC's Red network from
8:00 to 8:30, E.S.T., with a rebroadcast
reaching the West at 7:30, P.S.T.

This Grape-Nuts sponsored show is prob-
ably the closest thing to an old-time
vaudeville bill you'll find on the air —
minus the acrobats and trained seals.
Everything about it is informal and easy-
going, both on the air and off. Al Pearce
just won't tolerate high-pressure, refers to
himself as a "low-pressure guy".

Some time in the week before the broad-
cast, he calls the cast together and they
calmly map out the coming program and
look over the script prepared by writer
Monroe Upton (Monroe used to be "Lord
Bilgewater" on the show, but nowadays
stays mostly behind the scenes). He does
all the writing except Arlene Harris'
monologue, which she frequently improvises
from her own notes as she goes along, and
the Eb and Zeb sketches, written by Jack
Hasty.

On broadcast day they all meet again
and run through the script once. If there
are changes to be made, Al doesn't bother
having the whole thing rehearsed again,
but just tells the individual performers

27, April 3. 10. 17 and 24:

where they can improve and leaves the
rest to their good judgment, which seldom
fails him.

The Grape Nuts program, while it's in
New York, is broadcast from the roof of
the New Amsterdam Theater on 42nd
Street, long a haven of musical comedies,
revues and other spectacular stage pro-
ductions. Before the doors of this vener-
able old Manhattan landmark horses and
carriages have stopped to emit passen-
gers bent on seeing the glamorous Anna
Held. W. C. Fields and Eddie Cantor
have starred on its stage. Now it's a
combination movie house and radio the-
ater, the latter being on the top floor.

A newcomer to the Pearce show is Vince
Barnett, known as Hollywood's champion
"ribber", or practical jokester. You've
seen him in innumerable pictures — you'll
remember him because he practically al-
ways steals the show out from under the
star's nose.

Once somebody timed Arlene Harris'
rapid-fire word delivery, and discovered
that she talks 240 words a minute. Per-
sonally, she hates people who talk a lot
and say nothing — but her ability to do
that very thing has made her the hit of
the show. Although it's no secret, some
people in the studio audiences are always
surprised to find out that Tizzy Lish, who
gives those insane cooking lessons, is really
a man. "She" is, though — Bill Comstock,
just past forty, blue eyed, gray haired.

One reason everybody in the Pearce
Gang likes his work is that the show gives
him plenty of free travel, and a chance to
live on both edges of the continent. The
Gang leaves for Hollywood early in April.
Al's contract gives him permission to
broadcast either from New York or Holly-
wood, and he avails himself of the option
freely.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

CLAIRE NIESEN — no relation to the exotic Gertrude —
plays Laura in Her Honor, Nancy James, which you hear
on CBS today and every day except Saturday and
Sunday at 12:15, E.S.T. — did such a good job acting a
"bit" in this serial program that the authors decided to
write in a special part for her — something that almost
never happens in radio, so don't get your hopes up —
Claire was born in Phoenix, Ariz., but came to New
York when she was a small child — has studied at the
Feagin School of Dramatics and has appeared on several
other CBS programs — is only eighteen years old.

45

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Eastern Standard Time

NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

NBC-Red: Radio Rubes

NBC: News

NBC-Blue: Breakfast Club

CBS: Manhattan Mother

CBS: Girl Interne
NBC-Red: Happy Jack

CBS: Bachelor's Children
NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
MBS: School of the Air
NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
NBC-Red: Central City

CBS: Myrt and Marge
NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Blue: Smilin' Ed McConnell

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

CBS: Mary Lee Taylor
NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
NBC-Red: David Harum

CBS: Scattergood Baines
NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life

CBS: Kate Smith Speaks
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

CBS: The Goldbergs

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

CBS: This Day Is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gilmans

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

CBS: School of the Air
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

NBC-Red: Hymns of all Churches

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

CBS: Story of the Song
NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

CBS: Highways to Health
NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

CBS: Highways to Health
NBC -Red: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

CBS: Music for Fun

NBC-Red: Your Family anil Mine

NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong

CBS: The Mighty Show
NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

CBS: News

CBS: Howie Wing

CBS: Foundations of Democracy
NBC-Red: Angler and Hume.

NBC-Blue: Lowell 1 homas

CBS: County Seat
NBC-Blue: Easy Aces

NBC-Red: Amos 'n' Andy

CBS: Jimmie Fidler
NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen
NBC-Red: Vocal Varieties

CBS: HELEN MENKEN

NBC-Red: Emily Pos:

CBS: EDWARD G. ROBINSON
NBC-Blue: The Inside Story
NBC-Red: Johnny Presents

CBS: Dick Powell

NBC-Blue: INFORMATION PLEASE

NBC-Red: For Men Only

CBS: We, The People
NBC-Blue: Mary and Bob
NBC-Red: Battle of the Sexes

CBS: Benny Goodman

NBC-Blue: Doc Rockwell'sBrainTrust

NBC-Red: FIBBER McGEt

CBS: Dr. Christian
NBC-Blue: Cal Tinney
NBC-Red: BOB HOPE
NBC-Red: Uncle Ezra

TUESDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

■ Clifton Fadiman gives his "experts" last-minute instructions.
Tune-In Bulletin for March 28. April 4, 11. 18 and 25:

MARCH 28: Eight-thirty p.m., Dick Pow-
ell is star singer and master of cere-
monies on his second program — he took it
over from Al Jolson last week. CBS.

April 4: Last night to hear Gray Gor-
don's Orchestra from the Edison Green
Room, NBC.

April II: Nine-thirty p.m. — for a satire
on radio's forum and discussion programs,
tune in Doc Rockwell's Brain Trust, NBC-
Blue.

April 18: Two p.m. — the opening game
of the 1939 baseball season, between the
New York Yankees and the Boston Red
Sox, CBS — weather permitting.

April 25: First preview broadcast from
the New York World's Fair, on Mutual.
. . . Jan Garber opens tonight at the
Hotel New Yorker — listen on CBS and
MBS.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Information
Please, on NBC's Blue network at 8:30,
was born in the brain of one Dan Golen-
paul, a professional idea man who never
had a better one. He was listening one
night to a quiz program, and got so bored
at hearing smug questioners make mon-
keys out of ordinary folks that he thought
up a program on which ordinary folks
would quiz the experts. It was as simple
as that, and Information Please, with
Clifton Fadiman, literary critic of the New
Yorker magazine, asking the questions, and
sponsored now bv Canada Dry, was the
result.

The experts are Franklin P. Adams, John
Kieran, Oscar Levant as regulars, plus a
glamorous guest star each week. Adams,
columnist of the New York Post, is the
Shakespearean authority; he seldom misses
on anything connected with the Bard.
John Kieran, sports editor of the New York
Times, is the all-around authority, and

generally raises his hand, which indicates
that he knows the answer, more than any-
one else. Levant, a well-known concert
pianist, is the clown of the gang. He lolls
all over the long table opposite Fadiman,
and sometimes doesn't seem at all inter-
ested in what's going on. When he raises
his hand, it's wearily.

Information Please is always broadcast
from one of NBC's smallest and most inti-
mate studios. A tiny part of the huge
RCA Building, it holds only two hundred
people, and getting a pair of tickets to
the show is about as easy as crashing a
White House dinner. Ten minutes be-
fore the program goes on the air, the
experts are "warmed up" by Fadiman,
who shoots a flock of terrible questions at
them. The answers are invariably funnier
than the ones you hear on the air, but not
so censor-proof.

Fadiman, a small be-spectacled man,
with a pixie face and a tongue as sharp
as Lucifer's sword, is an authority on many
subjects himself, and often knows the
answers without looking at the card in
his hand. The experts think his is a soft
job, just asking questions, but in order to
seem as bright as the other boys he has
to be on his toes and try to top their gags.

The query most often submitted by lis-
teners is "What are the seven wonders of
the world?" It's never been used — too
easy. Many self-styled humorists send in
questions like "What is the best state for
fresh pork? — New Ham Sure." Such ques-
tions go into the nearest waste-basket.

The experts like being on the show, but
are annoyed by the fact that they've sud-
denly become celebrities. Kieran has
hired two bodyguards to stave off people
who phone in to his office or come in
personally to ask him for answers to ques-
tions they've been arguing about.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

ELEANOR PHELPS — who plays the crusading Dr. Susan
Chandler in the CBS serial, Life and Love of Or. Susan,
on the air at 2:15 today in the East, 1:15 in the Midwest,
3:15 in the Rockies, and 2:15 on the coast — Eleanor's
father was the French consul in Baltimore, where she
was born — she went to Vassar, and when George Arliss
played a theatrical engagement in Poughkeepsie, asked
him how she'd go about being an actress — he discouraged
her, but a few years later she was playing Jessica in
his production of "The Merchant of Venice" — this is her
first big radio role, but she's been in Broadway plays.

(For Wednesday's Highlights, please turn page)

RADIO MIRROR

Turn Ifour BEST Face Toward

^£2?

—THE WAY SOCIETY FAVORITES DO!

April in PariS— An American countess stops to
buy a fragrant bouquet. Thinking of sparkling
complexions, the Countess de la Falaise
says: "Pond's is my choice. I use it to help
keep my skin soft and smooth — glowing!"

Spring in the Garden is fun for

Miss Sally Anne Chapman,
Philadelphia deb. Skin care is no
problem to her. "It's so simple
to cleanse and freshen my skin
— with Pond's."

Bevy Of Bridesmaids— Marjorie Fairchild's
attendants are carefree! Jean Stark (ex-
treme left) is quick to grasp the new smart
skin care. "The 'skin-vitamin' is necessary
to skin health. It's thrilling to have it in
Pond's."

Spring HOUSe Party at the University of Virginia. Miss Lucy Armistead Flippin, charm-
ing southern belle, takes "time out" between dances to capture the magic of the night!
"Pond's is traditionally famous. It was a natural choice for me. I use it to soften my
skin so make-up looks glamorous!"

DogWOOd Means Spring— "It's loveliest in Philadelphia," says Mrs. A. J.
Drexel, III. And when skin is lacking in Vitamin A, the "skin-vitamin,"
it gets rough and dry. "That's why this vitamin in Pond's Cold Cream
is such good news to me," she says.

H)sj?S

Vitamin A, the "skin-vitamin," is
necessary to skin health. Skin that
lacks this vitamin becomes rough
and dry. But when "skin-vitamin"
is restored, it helps make skin soft
again. Scientists found that this
vitamin, applied to the skin, healed
wounds and burns quicker. Now this
"skin-vitamin" is in every jar of
Pond's Cold Cream! Use Pond's
night and morning and before make-
up. Same jars, labels, prices.

-$f Statements concerning the effects of the "skin-vitamin" applied to the skin are based upon medical literature and tests
on the skin of animals following an accepted laboratory method.

Copyright, 1939, Pond's Extract Company

47

Eastern Standard Time

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NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio
NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn
NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade
NBC-Red: Radio Rubes

CBS: Richard Maxwell

NBC: Press Radio News

M'.i '.m,„. Breakfast Club
NBC-Red: Happy Jack

CBS: Manhattan Mother

NBC-Red. ine Family Man

CBS: Girl Interne

CBS: Bachelor's Children
NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
MBS: School of the Air
NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
NBC-Red: Central City

CBS: Myrt and Marge
NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

CBS: Hilltop House
NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
NBC-Red: David Harum

CBS: Scattergood Baines
NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown
CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life

CBS: Mary Margaret McBride
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

CBS: The Goldbergs

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
NBC-Red: Let's Talk It Over

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

NBC-Red: Words and Music

CBS: This Day Is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gi„lmans

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Blue: Your Health
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

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1:15
1:15

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2:30 CBS: School of the Air
2:30 NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

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r.00

48

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MBS: Ed Fitzgerald
NBC- Red: Betty Crocker
CBS: Indianapolis Symphony
NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
NBC-Blue:Ted Malone
NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

CBS: Of Men and Books
NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
MBS: Time Out for Dancing
NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade
NBC-Red: Girl Alone
NBC-Red Dick Tracy

CBS: So You Want to Be _j

NBC-Red. Your Family and Mine
NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong
The Mighty Show

WEDNESDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

5:45 CBS. -

5:45 NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00 NBC-Red: Our American Schools

6:15 CBS: Howie Wing

6:30 CBS. Bob Trout

6:30 NBC-Blue: Gulden Serenaders

6:30 NBC-Red: Rose Marie

6:45 CBS: Sophie Tucker

6:45 NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00 CBS: County Seat
7:00 NBC-Blue: Easy Aces
7:00 NBC-Red: Amos 'n' Andy

7:15 CBS: Lum and Abner
7:15 NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen
7:30 CBS Ask-it-Basket
7:30 MBS: The Lone Ranger

8:00 CBS: GANG BUSTERS

8:00 NBC-Red ONE MAN'S FAMILY

8:30 CBS: CHESTERFIELD PROGRAM
8:30 NBC-Blue: Hobby Lobby
8:30 NBC-Red: Tommy Dorsey
9:00 CBS: TEXACO STAR THEATER
9:00 NBC-Red: TOWN HALL TONIGHT
NBC-Blue Wings for the Martins

10:00 CBS: 99 Men and a Girl

10:00 NBC-Red. KAY KYSER'S COLLEGE

10:30 CBS: Edgar A. Guest

Gang Busters' sound-effects: this is a convict on a rock-pile.

Tune-In Bulletin for March

MARCH 29: Hal Kemp's band opens at
the Empire Room of the Waldorf
Hotel — you'll, hear him on CBS and MBS.

April 5: Blue Barron's orchestra opens
at the Green Room of the Edison Hotel —
late at night broadcasts on NBC.

April 12: The feud between Ned Sparks
and Horatio the parrot continues — the
Texaco Star Theater at 9:00, CBS.

April 19: For track fans: the Boston
Marathon race, on NBC.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Gang Busters,
on CBS at 8:00, E.S.T., with a rebroadcast
that reaches the West at 9:00, P.S.T.—
the program that's supposed to strike
terror into the hearts of criminals every-
where. Whether it does or not, it ought
to — the famous Gang Buster clues, broad-
cast near the end of each program, have
so far led to the apprehension of 110
criminals since the show has been on the
air.

Gang Busters originated in the fertile
brain of Phillips H. Lord, who used to
have a lot of fun running the program,
but who now spends more time on an-
other brain child, We, the People. He
still owns Gang Busters, but hires Harry
Frazee, once of Broadway, to direct it.

Most of CBS Studio 3, in the CBS
building at 485 Madison Avenue, where
the broadcast originates, is cluttered and
crowded with sound-effects devices — crazy
looking gadgets, too complicated to de-
scribe, but able to create the illusion of
snow being shoveled, rain pouring down,
bodies being dragged over the ground,
and so on. Shots fired on the program
are actually fired, with blank cartridges.
Ray Kramer is the sound-effects man in
charge.

Gang Busters has no audience. On the
air, the illusion is created that it origi-

29. April 5, 12 and 19:

nates in a police office. It doesn't, but
it could — New York Police Commissioner
Valentine has given Lord permission to
broadcast from his private office any
time Lord likes.

The program has a list of actors that
includes New York's best "accent" men —
actors who can assume a variety of dif-
ferent accents. One week Ed McDonald
played the part of a killer, the police
officer tracking down the killer, and at
last the judge sentencing the criminal.
Any one listening in would have sworn
the three parts were taken by three
different actors. Women are a rare sight
in Gang Busters casts, and when a fem-
inine character appears the other actors
always assume a superior air, because the
poor girl shudders at the gun fire and
finally resorts to cotton wool in her ears
except when she's at the mike.

Colonel Norman Schwartzkopf, former
head of the New Jersey State Police, in-
troduces the program every week and
presents, in dramatic form, the true story
of some crime. He's a gray-haired, ath-
letic-looking chap, who looks very much
the criminal tracker-downer, and gets a
huge kick out of the program. Frazee has
taught him to read lines effectively since
his debut a couple of years ago.

In many cities police chiefs insist that
ail members of the force listen to Gang
Busters every week. But it's the average
citizen who usually picks up a Gang Bust-
ers clue and sends police on a trail that
leads to eventual capture of the criminal.
In cases like this, Gang Busters always
gives credit to the police and stays in the
background, for the reason that the law
is so helpful in digging up cases for Gang
Busters to do on the air, and the program
wants to stay friends and not hog all the
credit.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

JEANNETTE CHINLEY— the luckiest actress in the world,
according to Jeannette herself — plays Libby, the mysteri-
ous impostor, in The Goldbergs, CBS at 1:00 this after-
noon, E.S.T., and got the job in competition with fifty
other actresses — won her first radio job because she
could out-scream other aspirants — acquired her first
Broadway stage part by a chance meeting in an elevator
with producer Max Gordon — but the best luck of all, she
says, was her decision to desert the career of a concert
pianist for the drama — she's titian haired and in her
early twenties.

(For Thursday's Highlights, please turn page)

RADIO MIRROR

"You can't go out like that!" she gasped

I'll never forget Jean's face when she saw that old leather
pocketbook! She couldn't have looked more startled if I'd
appeared in hip boots. "Sally!" — she gasped — "You can't
go out like that ! That valise looks dreadful with your new
silver dress! Where's your brocade evening bag?"

"Listen," I snapped: "I know this looks
awful. But I don't happen to be a magi-
cian! I can't cram powder, lipstick, keys
— and a sanitary napkin — into that little
brocade bag. It just wasn't made for a
crisis like this!"

Jean just laughed. "But you're not going
for the week-end, dopey! I'll give you a
Modess pad — and you'll feel safe enough
without an extra one. Wait — let me
show you something that should calm
your fear of embarrassing accidents . . ."

And she certainly did! She took the "Better yet," she added,"you'll have about

moisture-resistant backing out of a
Modess pad . . . and poured water on
it! Not a drop went through! I saw
that I could rely on Modess for greater
safety.

the most comfortable evening you've
ever known! Look at this soft, fluffy
Modess filler ! See the difference between
'fluff-type' Modess, and those 'layer-
type' pads you've been buying!"

So— I Carried my swank little brocade bag, completely reas-
sured . . . Jean was awake when I got back and she declares
I raved more about Modess than I did about the party!
And why not! It's a great day in a woman's life when she
discovers a sanitary napkin that's both softer and safer , , ,
yet costs as little as Modess does!

Get in the habit of saying"Modess"!

(IF YOU PREFER A NARROWER, SLIGHTLY SMALLER PAD ASK FOR JUNIOR MODESS)

49

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00

NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

Blue: Radio City Four
Glenn

NBC

NBC-Red: Gene and

NBC-Red: Radio Rubes
NBC: Press Radio News

THURSDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

NBC
NBC-

CBS:
NBC-

Blue: Breakfast Club
Red: Happy Jack

Manhattan Mother
Red:The Family Man

CBS: Girl Interne

CBS:
NBC

Bachelor's Children
Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00
10:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
MBS: School of the Air
NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
NBC-Red: Central City

CBS: Myrt and Marge
NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Blue: Smilin' Ed McConnell

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

CBS: Mary Lee Taylor
NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
NBC-Red: David Harum

CBS: Scattergood Baines
NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life

CBS: Kate Smith Soeaks
NBC-Blue- Southerhaires
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

S: The Goldbergs

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

NBC-Red: Words and Music

CBS: This Day Is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gilmans

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
Nb^-Blue: bociai Science
Red Betty and Bob

Dr. Susan
N BC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

CBS: SCHOOL OF THE AIR
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

CBS: Sonata Recital

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

NBC-Blue: Sunbrite Smile Parade
NBC-Red Backstage Wife

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

CBS: Let's Pretend
NBC-Blue: Fairy Stories
NBC-Red: Your Family and Mine

NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong

CBS: The Mighty Show
NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

CBS: News

CBS: Howie Wing

CBS: Bob Trout

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

CBS: County Seat
NBC-Blue: Easy Aces
NBC-Red: Amos n' Andy

NBC- Blue: Mr. Keen
NBC-Red: Vocal Varieties

CBS: Joe Penner

CBS: KATE SMITH HOUR
NBC-Blue: Parade of Progress
NBC-Red: RUDY VALLEE

CBS: MAJOR BOWES
NBC-Red: GOOD NEWS OF 1939

-Blue: AMERICA'S TOWN
MEETING

CBS: Walter O'Keefe

NBC-Red: KRAFT MUSIC HALL

NBC-Blue: NBC Minstrel Show

Ted Collins and Kate Smith relax at rehearsal with some coffee.

Tune-In Bulletin for March

AA ARCH 30: Skinnay Ennis1 Orchestra
•VI opens for another season at the Vic-
tor Hugo Cafe in Beverly Hills, Calif., MBS.

April 6: Army Day . . . the networks
have special shows scheduled. . . . Kay
Kyser and his band open the Pennsylvania
Hotel Roof, NBC. . . . Eddy Duchin's
orchestra starts an engagement at the
Palmer House, Chicago, CBS and MBS.

April 13: Ten-thirty to-night — a Na-
tional Safety Program, with Eddie Cantor,
CBS.

April 20: Another baseball game —
Yankees vs. Red Sox — CBS, weather per-
mitting.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Kate Smith
Hour, on CBS at 8:00, E.S.T., with a re-
broadcast reaching the West at 8:30,
P.S.T. — the climax of the longest day any
radio star puts in.

It's eight-thirty any Thursday morning,
and already things are starting in CBS
Radio Theater No. 2, smack in the middle
of Broadway's theater section. Kate Smith
herself is still absent, but the orchestra is
beginning a solid three hours of rehear-
sal. Jack Miller, Kate's band-leader, has
been busy all week, arranging music and
writing original scores when needed, and
now the men of the orchestra are getting
their first look at his work. A few hours
of rehearsal is all they need for a perfect
performance, for some of radio's top-
notchers are in this band — Charlie Mar-
golis, trumpet; Jack Jenney, trombone;
Johnny Williams, drums; Jack Zayde, vio-
lin, to mention just a few.

It's ten, and Kate arrives from her Park
Avenue apartment, going straight to her
private dressing room. Ted Collins is
here now too, and he and Kate go over
Kate's script for her noonday commen-
tating show for Diamond Salt. By noon

30, April 6, 13 and 20:

the orchestra has finished rehearsal and
left, and Kate steps out on the stage,
wearing a white bungalow apron over her
dress. With her are Ted Collins and her
guest, the stage or screen star who is
also to be on the program tonight. Kate
gives her fifteen-minute talk — then hustles
back to the dressing room for more con-
ferences, and for lunch, which she always
brings with her in a basket.

At one-thirty the orchestra drifts back,
Ted Straeter's choir arrives, and the af-
ternoon rehearsal goes on until after five.
Kate has already rehearsed her songs, on
Tuesday and on Saturday; now she fits
them to the orchestral accompaniment.
The Aldrich Family sketch, Abbott and
Costello's comedy skit, and the guest
star's dramatic spot are fitted into the
whole show, which is then timed.

Back in her dressing room, Kate takes a
shower, changes into an evening dress,
drinks a cup of tea or coffee. Ted Collins
goes to his dressing room, calls in a
barber for a shave and haircut, changes
from the gray slacks and blue polo-shirt
which are his invariable rehearsal costume
into white tie and tails.

After the first broadcast, from eight
1c nine, Kate and Ted and sometimes the
guest star have dinner sent in from a
nearby restaurant and sit around talking
or listening to other programs on Kate's
radio until eleven-thirty, time for the
West Coast show. It's usually one-thirty
or two before Kate leaves the theater.

Seventy-two people, counting the or-
chestra and the vocal chair, are needed to
get the Kate Smith Hour on the air every
Thursday for the sponsors, Calumet Baking
Powder and Swansdown Flour. Collins is
the only man in radio who's producer,
manager and announcer, all three, of a
program.

(For

SAY HELLO TO . . .

VIRGINIA JONES— called "Ginger" by her friends— who
plays Mildred in The Carters of Elm Street on NBC-Red
at noon, E.S.T. — two years ago was working as a ballet
dancer and dreaming of the time she'd be a dramatic
star — now achieves her ambition via radio — she's a blue-
eyed blonde — gets mike fright something fierce every
time she begins a broadcast — but says she can ride in
the back seat of an automobile going eighty miles an
hour without turning a hair — doesn't seem to make sense,
somehow, but there it is — was born twenty-three years
ago in Kinderhook, Illinois — and weighs 118 pounds.

Friday's Highlights, please turn page)

RADIO MIRROR

Beige suit over net
blouse — softly tailored
by Alix. With it, she
suggests nails in femi-
nine Cutex CAMEO.

Nails in The New Cutex CAMEO

^

f0t

1)/0MtHafatoi

SPONSOR THE

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CAMEO AND CEDARWOOD

PARIS says you're going to look
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parelli, Lelong and Alix agree that
the newest Cutex nail shades —
cameo and cedarwood — are
perfect partners for all this new
femininity!

The new Cutex CAMEO is a frag-
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every shade of blue.

The new Cutex CEDARWOOD is
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Hail the summer with a delicate
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Shirtmaker glorified by
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Lanvin fantasy in blue
net paneled from neck
to hem with tiny nich-
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Schiaparelli's navy
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She recommends nails in
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OTHER EXCITING
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pink, yellow, green.

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on a new principle, it is heavier than the regular Cutex
Creme Polish — gives days and days more perfect wear.

51

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00 10,
3010

Eastern Standard Time

00 NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

15 NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

CBS. Richard Maxwell
NBC: Press Radio News

NBC-Blue: Breakfast Club
NBC-Red: Happy Jack

CBS: Manhattan Mother
NBC-Red Family Man

CBS: Girl Interne
NBC- Blue Smile Parade

CBS Bachelor's Children

CBS. Pretty Kitty Kelly
MRS: School of the Air
NBC-Blue: Smilin' Ed McConnell
NBC-Red: Central City

CBS: Myrt and Marge
NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

CBS: Hilltop House
NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
NBC-Red: David Harum

CBS. Scattergood Baines
NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC- Red: Young Widder Brown

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out oi

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life

CBS: Mary Margaret McBricie
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills

FRIDAY S

d i \ : :-,< ^

CBS Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

CBS The Goldbergs

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
NBC-Red: Let's Talk It Over

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

NBC-Red: Words and Music

CBS: This Day Is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gil mans

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Blue: MUSIC APPRECIATION
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

CBS: School of the Air
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

MBS: Ed Fitzgerald
NBC-Red: Betty Crocker

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

CBS: Keyboard Concert
NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

NBC- Red: Dick Tracy

CBS: Men Behind the Stars
NBC-Red: Your Family and Mine

CBS: March of Games
NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong

CBS. The Mighty Show
NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

CBS: News

CBS: Howie Wing

CBS. Bob Trout

NBC-Blue: Gulden Serenades

NBC-Red: Invitation to Romance

CBS Sophie Tucker
NBC-Blue Lowell Thomas

CBS: County Seat
NBC-Blue: Bert Lytell
NBC-Red: Amos 'n' Andy

CBS. Lum and Abner
NBC-Red Jimmie Fidlcr

CBS. Jack Haley

MBS The Lone Ranger

CBS. FIRST NIGHTER
MBS: What's My Name
NBC-Blue: Warden Lawes
NBC-Red: Cities Service Concert

CBS: BURNS AND ALLEN
NBC-Blue: NSC Jamboree

CBS: CAMPBELL PLAYHOUSE
NBC-Blue: Plantation Party
NBC-Red: Waltz Time

NBC-Blue: March o. Time

NBC-Red: Death Valley Days

CBS: Grand Central Station
NBC-Red: Lady Esther Serenade

Red' Uncle Ezra

Orson Welles holds a first rehearsal of a Friday-night script.
Tune-In Bulletin for March 24, 31, April 7, 14 and 21:

kA ARCH 24: Say goodby to two favorite
'"* serial programs today — Don Winslow
at 5:30 and Tom Mix at 5:45, both on
NBC-Blue— they'll be back next fall.

March 3 1 : A new show for your approval
— Bob Ripley starring on CBS at 10:30
P.M., starting tonight. . . . Henry Arm-
strong fights at Madison Square Garden
tonight— listen on NBC-Blue at 10:00,
E.S.T.

April 7: Those fascinating Liberty Mag-
azine short-short stories are dramatized on
NBC-Blue at 7:00 tonight— with Bert Ly-
tell in the starring roles.

April 14: Time to laugh — tune in Burns
and Allen at 8:30 on CBS.

April 21: The New York Giants open
their season in New York, playing Phila-
delphia.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Campbell
Playhouse, starring Orson Welles, on CBS
from 9:00 to 10:00 — one of radio's most
satisfactory dramatic programs.

Even if you're a New Yorker, or come to
New York on a visit, you'll never see a
Campbell Playhouse broadcast. It's one
of the few big-time programs that doesn't
go in for studio audiences, and it would
take something like a Supreme Court order
to get you into the studio. Young Mr.
Welles maintains that he's putting on a
show for radio listeners, not for people to
watch, and that an audience would spoil
the illusion. He's an experienced illusion-
maker (remember those Martians?) so he
must know what he's talking about.

The Campbell Playhouse goes on the
air from Columbia's Studio X, which your
Snooper is sure you've never heard about
before now. Studio X is the ballroom of
Liederkranz Hall, an old-fashioned red
brick building on 58th Street. Its ceiling
is decorated with fat pink cupids riding on

gilded clouds, and the whole thing is very
magnificent and not a bit modern — yet the
room has better acoustic properties than
many a scientifically constructed sound
studio. In one section of the vast room
CBS has built a small studio, complete
with windows and a roof of its own. The
actors work in it, while the orchestra and
some of the sound-effects are outside, in
the hall itself.

Orson Welles stands on a platform be-
side a window, inside the small studio,
where he can keep one eye on the or-
chestra, one on the actors, one on the
sound effects, one — Well, the idea is
that he sees everything that's going on,
and gives all the cues himself.

Three and sometimes four sound-effects
men are kept busy by the show. Crowd
noises are usually done outside the small
studio, normal sound-effects inside. Ac-
tors who are working in crowd noises and
also playing parts often have to run like
mad from the inner studio to the outer
one, and vice versa.

Regulars on the Campbell Playhouse
cast, heard every Friday, are Ray Collins,
star of CBS's County Seat serial; Alice
Frost, star of Big Sister; Myron McCor-
mick, who has been in fourteen Broadway
productions and has a leading part in
the new movie, "... one third of a
nation . . . "; Everett Sloane, who is
Sammy in The Goldbergs and Louis in
Big Sister; and Carl Frank, who is Bob
Deering in Her Honor, Nancy James.

Orson loves to work and has energy
enough for ten ordinary people. While he
was on tour with his own production of
"Five Kings", which he edited h-imself
from material in half-a-dozen of Shake-
speare's plays, he rushed back to New York
every Friday to direct and play in that
week's broadcast.

52

SAY HELLO TO . . .

CATHERINE McCUNE— who came all the way from
Honolulu to be one of Chicago's foremost radio actresses
— plays the role of Clara Potts on Columbia's serial,
Scattergood Baines, broadcast in the East at 11:15 this
morning and in the West at 2:00 this afternoon, Western
time — was almost a child prodigy, getting her high school
diploma at the age of 14 — was educated in California,
and was prominent for years in Pacific Coast radio pro-
ductions as well as in stage productions — toured with
Katharine Cornell and was with De Wolfe Hopper in
"The Mikado."

(For Saturday's Highlights, please turn page)

RADIO MIRROR

If your eyes are brown, like Frances Langfords

Radio Star,
now appearing
on the "Texaco

Star Theatre"

Use MARVELOUS MATCHED MAKEUP... keyed to the color of your eyes!

ANN: Choose face powder by the color of
your eyes? I never heard of such a thing!

RUTH: It's a wonderful new way, Ann, and
it applies to rouge and lipstick, too! Do
try it! Really, with Marvelous Matched
Makeup you look lovelier instantly!

ANN: With your brown eyes, it's perfect,
Ruth! But what about me, with gray eyes?

RUTH: Whether your eyes are gray, blue,
hazel or brown, the Marvelous people have
the right shades for you, Ann! They tested
girls and women of every age and coloring —

ANN: And they found proper cosmetic
shades depend on eye color, Ruth?

RUTH: Yes! And so they created Marvelous
Powder, Rouge and Lipstick keyed to your
true personality color, the color that never
changes — the color of your eyes!

RUTH: Marvelous Matched Makeup is what
we've all been looking for, Ann! The pow-
der is simply wonderful — clings for hours
— never cakes or looks "powdery"! Silk-
sifted for perfect texture, it gives your skin
a beautiful suede-like finish!

RUTH: You'll adore the rouge and lipstick,
too, Ann! Marvelous Rouge never gives
that hard, "splotchy," artificial look . . .
just a soft, natural glow! And Marvelous
Lipstick is so creamy and protective — yet
its color lasts and lasts!

ANN: Marvelous gives a thrilling new beauty
instantly! You can get the Powder, Rouge,
Lipstick separately (Mascara, Eye Shadow,
too) but for perfect color harmony, get them
all! Just order by the color of your eyes! At
drug and department stores, only 55^ each!

(65{ in Canada)

MARVELOUS^WMAKEUP

By Richard Hndnut

KEYED TO THE COLOR OF YOUR EYES!

RICHARD HUDNUT, Dept. M, 693 Fifth Avenue, New York City

My eyes are Blue □ Brown □ Gray □ Hazel □ Name

Please send me my Marvelous Matched

Makeup Kit — harmonizing shades of powder, Street

rouge and lipstick in generous trial sizes. I

enclose 10* to help cover mailing costs. City

53

Eastern Standard Time

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NBC-Blue: Cloutier's Orch
NBC-Red: MiltHerth Ti-io

NBC-Blue Dick Leibert
NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

NBC-Red: Musical Tete-a-tete
NBC-Blue Jack and Loretta
NBC: Press Radio News

NBC-Blue Breakfast Club
NBC-Red: Happy Jack

CBS: Montana Slim

NBC-Red: Saturday Morning Club

CBS: News

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

CBS: Hill Billy Champions
NBC-Blue Smilin' Ed McConnell
NBC-Red: The Wise Man

NBC-Blue: Amanda Snow
NBC-Red: No School Today

CBS: Four Corners Theater
NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade
NBC-Red: Florence Hale

NBC-Blue: The Child Grows Up
NBC-Red: KSTP Presents

CBS: Symphony Concert
NBC-Blue: Music Internationale
NBC-Red: Betty Moore

NBC-Blue: Our Barn

NBC-Red: Eastman School of Music

CBS: KATE SMITH SPEAKS
NBC-Blue: Education Forum
NBC-Red: Cloutier Orch.

NBC-Blue: Farm Bureau
NBC-Red: Call to Youth

NBC-Red: Matinee in Rhythm
NBC-Red: Calling Stamp Collectors

5:30
5:30

6:00
6:00
6:00

6:30
6:30
5:30

7:00
7:00
7:30
7:30

8:00
8:00

8:30
8:30

9:00
9:00

^Kisi^i^::BPi;aia^rc:

CBS: Moods for Moderns
NBC-Blue: Kinney .Orch.
NBC-Red: Campus Notes

NBC-Blue: Frank Dailey Orch.
NBC-Blue: Kavelin Orch.
NBC-Blue: Al Roth
NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

NBC-Blue: Erskin Hawkins Orch.
NBC-Red: Cosmopolitan Rhythm

NBC-Red: Youth Meets Government
NBC-Blue: Southwestern Stars

CBS: News

NBC-Red: Kaltenmeyer Kinder-
garten

6:30
6:30

7:00
7:00
7:00

7:30
7:30
7:30

8:00
8:00
8:30
8:30

CBS: Dance Orchestra
NBC-Blue: El Chico Revue

CBS: Saturday Swing Session
NBC-Blue: Renfrew of the Mounted

CBS: Americans At Work
NBC-Blue: Message of Israel
NBC-Red: Avalon Time

CBS: Joe E. Brown

NBC-Blue: Uncle Jim's Question Bee

NBC-Red: Lives of Great Men

CBS: JOHNNY PRESENTS
NBC-Red: TOMMY RIGGS
CBS: Professor Quiz
NBC-Blue: Brent House

CBS: Phil Baker

9:00
9:00

9:30
9:30

10:00
10:00

NBC-Blue: National Barn Dance
NBC-Red: Vox Pop

CBS: Saturday Night Serenade
NBC-Red: Hall of Fun

CB& YOUR HIT PARADE
NBC-Blue: NBC-SYMPHONY

NBC-Red: Dance Music

■ Complete with Hawaiian background: Phil Baker and "Bottle."

Tune-In Bulletin for March

K^ARCH 25: Mutual has an hour-long
'"■ short-wave broadcast from London,
put on by the British Broadcasting Com-
pany— three to four this afternoon, E.S.T.

Guest stars on Walter Gross' Swing
Club, CBS, at 6:30, are Kay Thompson and
Jack Jenney.

April I : Those waggish networks are
celebrating April Fool's Day today.

April 8: Emil Coleman opens tonight on
the Waldorf's Starlight Roof— with a CBS
wire. . . . Joe Zuti opens at the Nicollet
Hotel, Minneapolis — another CBS wire.

April 15: Must-listen for baseball fans
— Play Ball, Mutual's yearly tour of the big
baseball centers, featuring interviews with
the big-league managers and players.
Seven-thirty to eight tonight.

April 22: Hedda Hopper, of the movies,
stars tonight in Brent House, a weekly
serial on NBC-Blue at 8:30.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Honolulu
Bound, with Phil Baker (and his accordion),
Bottle, his "valet", The Man in the Box,
Johnny Pineapple, the Andrews Sisters,
and Eddie DeLange's orchestra with Elisse
Cooper — on CBS at 9:00, E.S.T. Its home
is CBS Radio Theater No. 4, the medium-
sized one, a handsome red, gold and ivory
auditorium. The stage backdrop for the
program is a painted strip of Waikiki
Beach, with Diamond Head in the far
distance — which is unusual in radio shows.
Usually they use drapes or acoustically
treated white panels. The Hawaiian at-
mosphere is part of what they call in radio
"sponsor identification." Hawaii, you
know, is where pineapples grow. Honolulu
Bound's sponsor is the Hawaiian Pineapple
Co. Get it?

Johnny Pineapple, who reads comedy
lines and sings an occasional song on the
program, is more sponsor identification.

25, April 1, 8, 15 and 22:

He's a native Hawaiian, named David
Kaonohi, who studied at the Oregon State
Agricultural College but soon dropped
that to form a Hawaiian orchestra, which
he still leads between broadcasts.

Because Phil Baker is one of radio's
most dignified and reserved comedians,
Ben Larson, the producer of the program,
calls him "Mr. Baker" and he returns the
compliment with a "Mr. Larson." Phil
takes his radio work seriously — paces the
stage nervously between sessions at the
mike.

McNaughton lives in Great Neck with
his bride of almost a year, the former
Marion Turpie, champ golfer. Harry's a
crack golfer himself, and since he's been
married his handicap has fallen from 12,
which is good, to 7, which is remarkable.

The Man in the Box, who is none other
than your old friend Beetle, the ghost, in
the flesh, actually sits in one of the
theater boxes, with a microphone of his
own over which he can heckle Baker. He's
Ward Wilson, who likes the present ar-
rangement better than when he was Beetle.

Both McNaughton and Eddie DeLange
have had costume-trouble on Honolulu
Bound. McNaughton's sick of the bright-
blue butler's costume he's worn for so
many years, and when Honolulu Bound
opened he thought he'd persuaded the
sponsor to let him wear striped trousers
and a morning coat. He hadn't, though —
after the first broadcast they came around
and asked him please, as a favor, to wear
the monkey-suit. DeLange wears radio's
strangest rehearsal costume — a sleeveless
sweatshirt, a red bandanna around his
neck, slacks, and a red corduroy "lumber-
jack" cap. The wish of his heart is to
wear the same getup during a broadcast,
but he isn't allowed to — has to wear a
palm beach suit, with a necktie.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

KAY LORRAINE— Ash-blonde singer on Your Hit Parade,
on CBS tonight at 10:00 — was chosen to be the Parade's
featured star after 207 other girls had auditioned for
the job — born in St. Louis, she studied piano seven years
and guitar three years in hopes of getting into a band
after she finished at exclusive Rosati-Kain school — got
into a band, but as a singer — had her own program,
Lyrics by Lorraine, on KMOX when the Lucky Strike
people heard of her — is married to Ray Sweeney, script
writer whom she met while she was at KMOX — sang in
hotels and night clubs before joining the KMOX staff.

54

RADIO MIRROR

PUT THE

BEE

ONYOURSPELLING

ARE you a champion speller? — or do
ytA you just wish you were ? In either
* * case, here's a list of words that
will give you some uneasy moments he-
fore you get the correct spelling.
They're supplied by Paul Wing, Master
of the NBC Spelling Bee, broadcast
every Sunday afternoon at 5:30 E.S.T.,
and sponsored by the makers of
Energine.

Only one of the three suggested
spellings is the right one. Mark the
words you think are correct, then turn
to page 64 for the answers.

1. Omnisciency — omniciency — omni-
tiency. Universal knowledge or learn-
ing.

2. Harelip — hairlip — heirlip. A con-
genially divided lip; commonly an
upper one.

3. Sparcity — sparceity — sparsity.
Scantiness; want of plenty.

4. Piccililli — piccalilli — picalilli. A
pickle of chopped vegetables and pun-
gent spices.

5. Sherbet — shurbet — sherbert. A
water ice.

6. Skeedaddle — skedaddle — skidaddle.
To scurry; to scamper.

7. Marriageable — marrageable — mar-
riagable. Of an age at which marriage
is allowable.

8. Aseverations — asseverations — as-
servations. Positive affirmations.

9. Decalcomania- — dechalcomania — di-
calcomania. Act or process of transfer-
ring pictures or designs by a special
method.

10. Percolators — perculators — perco-
laters. Coffee pots in which coffee is
made by the filter method.

11. Dentafrice — - dentrifice — denti-
frice. A preparation used in cleaning
teeth

12. Dutchee — duchy — dutchy. The
territory or dominions of a duke.

13. Languerous — languorous — langor-
ous. Listless; indolent.

14. Nihilism — niahilism — nihillism. A
destructive social doctrine.

15. Objergate — objugate — objurgate.
To chide; to reprove.

16. Quidnunk — quidnunc — quidnunck.
A gossip; a curious person.

17. Horral — houral — horal. Hourly;
of or pertaining to the hours.

18. Maxillary — maxilary — maxalarry.
Pertaining to the jaw bone (loosely).

19. Baccanalian — bacchanalian —
bachanalian. Characterized by reveling
and drunkenness.

20. Pretterist — pretorist — preterist.
One who lives in the past.

21. Gimmick — gimac — gimmic. A
piece of apparatus used in magic.

22. Mettatarsis — metatarsus — meta-
tarsis. The part of the foot which in
man forms the instep.

23. Marquise — marquees — marquises.
Canopies projecting over entrances, as
of theaters, for example.

24. Dossier — doscier — docier. A col-
lection of detailed information, usually
concerning a criminal or criminals.

25. Armadilloes — armadillos — arma-
diloes. Animals having bodies and heads
encased in armor of bony plates.

CI TOLD YOU THAT MARRIAGE
WOULD HIT THE ROCKS . . .

l\

SUSAN: Mercy me, this telegram says our
newly weds are in trouble again! Mollie wants
to pack her bags and come here.

MATILDA: I told you that marriage would
hit the rocks if she didn't get wise to herself.
Come on — we haven't a minute to lose!

SUSAN : But I'm scared to death of these flying
machines. Why can't we send Mollie a tele-
gram instead?

MATILDA: Don't be a ninny! I've told her a
million times Jack wouldn't nag so much if
she'd only keep tattle-tale gray out of his shirts
and things. Now I'm going to show her how
to do it.

SUSAN : H-m-m-m! I'm not frightened a bit any
more. We ought to do more flying, Matilda.

MATILDA : The next flying we'll do is on our
feet— straight to Mollie's and then to her gro-
cer's. Once she stops using those weak-kneed
soaps that leave dirt behind — and changes to
Fels-Naptha Soap— she'll be rid of tattle-tale
gray in a jiffy!

MOLLIE: Hey, forget those dancers a minute
and look at Jack's shirt. It's just marvelous
how white my washes look since Fels-Naptha's
richer golden soap and gentle naftha went to

work for me. Not a trace of tattle-tale gray now !

JACK: That isn't all the good news, darling.
Did you tell these two cupids we're taking
another honeymoon cruise?

BANISH "TATTLE-TALE GRAY"

with FELS-NAPTHA SOAP!

COPR. 1939, FELS & CO.

TUNE IN! HOBBY LOBBY

every Wed. night. See local
paper for time and station.

55

RADIO MIRROR

FUSSY HUSBANDS
EAT LEFT-OVERS
AND LOVE THEM

prepared this savory way!

Have you some left-over meat, some cooked
vegetables? Make Crispy Meat Patties
(recipe below)— see how tempting and flavor-
ful! For Franco-American Spaghetti with its
wonderful cheese-and-tomato sauce (made with
eleven different ingredients)transforms left-overs
into luxury dishes. Serve Franco-American as
a main dish, too. It's highly nourishing, rich
in energy. No work to prepare, simply heat.
A can (3 to 4 portions) costs only ten cents.

CRISPY MEAT PATTIES

Vz cup bread crumbs
1 cup chopped, cooked
vegetables (carrots,
beets, peas)
1 teaspoon Worcester-
shire sauce
% teaspoon salt

1 cup ground left-
over meat

1 egg, slightly beaten
with 1Y2 tablespoons
cold water

1 can Franco-American
Spaghetti

Chop Franco-American Spaghetti fine and
mix with vegetables, Worcestershire, salt
and ground meat. Shape into cakes, dip in
bread crumbs, then in beaten egg and again
in crumbs. Chill 20 minutes in refrigerator.
Saute in hot fat (375°F.) 1 inch deep in a
heavy frying pan until brown on each side.
Drain on ahsorbent paper.

Franco-American

MADE BY THE MAKERS OF CAMPBELL'S SOUPS

SPAGHETTI

VTHE MAKERS OF CAMPBEI

&atSot FREE Tkripe. 7&oA

Campbell Soup Company, Dept. 45

Camden, New Jersey. Please send me your free recipe

book: "30 Tempting Spaghetti Meals."

Name (print)-

Address-

Land of the Free

(Continued from page 11)

City-

_State.

efforts (three guns to one) it is plain
that they believe they can bluff the
individuals in a Democracy out of
their freedom — or that the individuals
in a Democracy are afraid to fight
for it.

In each case — they are mistaken.
Firstly, the bluff of building arma-
ments finds the people of the Democ-
racies united, for no thinking man
would ask his brother to face a mad-
man, without guns. Secondly, men in
this Democracy cannot be bluffed out
of their freedom, because no real
American could live without it. And,
finally, it is the historic mistake of
Dictators, that they believe a nation,
united by arms, can triumph over a
nation united in spirit.

* * *

Anthony Eden will always be affec-
tionately remembered as the one For-
eign Secretary — who didn't take dic-
tation.

* * *

A century and a half ago, the found-
ers of America dreamed a great
dream. They dreamed of passing
down to their children the priceless
gifts of the New World, personal lib-
erty and religious freedom, through a
Constitution which would stand the
test of time. They brought to their
work their best wisdom, for they
knew that a man's ideals are his only
real legacy. They knew that a nation
cannot live if it cannot grow, and that
it cannot grow if its soul is in prison.
They saw that the freedom of the na-
tion rested on the freedom of its
smallest man. And further, they saw
that the new nation could exist only
if the people accepted it in their
hearts. And so they wisely decided
that the way to bring America to all
was to give it to each!

Then, they proclaimed to the world
that in this new country, no man
could be punished except for his own
fault, and that his soul was as free as
he chose to make it. They proclaimed
that before the law of this land, all
men were equal, regardless of race,
color or religious belief.

Deliberately, these men staked the
future of America on respect for the
Individual. Deliberately, they ruled
that no law could be made for one
man that did not apply to all men!
Deliberately, they placed the hope of
the nation in each man's soul. And
deliberately — they depended on the
response from the dignity of each
man's spirit. The long years have
vindicated the faith of our nation's
founders. Today, their work is Amer-
ica's indestructible foundation. To-
day, the Constitution is held sacred
by every American — because every
American is held sacred by his Con-
stitution! And they have proved, for-
ever, that the only way to build a
permanent nation is to put the cor-
nerstone in each man's heart.
* * *

Every American should look about
him and weigh what it means to be an
American. Lest we forget, we should
remind ourselves that the America of
today stands for 150 years of effort.
Lest we forget, we should remember
that the land and institutions we
enjoy today are the result of the com-
bined work of almost every race
and creed in the world — all resolved
to leave America better than they
found it.

For America has grown great be-
cause it protected the lowly. Ameri-
ica has grown mighty, because it was
humble in spirit. Our greatest heroes,
Washington and Lincoln, are exalted
— because they were human.

We should all be thankful that in
Civilization's darkest hour, our Coun-
try is the land that stands for Free-
dom, Tolerance, and the Dignity of
Man. That to the bewildered, op-
pressed and homeless, our country is
the living proof that men of all races
and creeds may live as neighbors.
And, out of our thankfulness, we too
should resolve to bequeath an Amer-
ica greater than when it was given to
us. So that our children's children,
one hundred and fifty years from now, .
will be thankful that we were thank-
ful!

* * *

The people who kick about our
Government should try living under
governments that kick the people!

AS you know, from reading your
front pages, Mankind is in a
death race. The jockeys are the Gov-
ernments of Europe. Under the whip
and the bayonet, they are forcing
their people to manufacture and
shoulder guns. And they are using
old feuds, under new colors, to spur
on their younger generation, so that
their younger generation will demand
dying, in the name of phoney glory.

In the final analysis, ladies and
gentlemen, that is their problem, not
ours. Europe's only hope is to fool
Americans with propaganda. We once
got into one of their brawls, and for
reasons not quite clear — although the
years have clarified the issue. The
only thing worth fighting for — is
America! As for their theories, the
Americans have a word for them —
"Bunk!" B, as in Baloney — U, as in
U-said-it— N, as in Nothing Doing —
and K, as in Horsefeathers. The
President is right! America must re-
arm— not because Americans like
force, but to stop others from forcing
Americans to like anything!

"Archie," chief heckler on CBS's
Sunday show, "This Is New York,"
is Ed Gardner, the show's producer

56

RADIO MIRROR

Over one thousand, nine hundred
and thirty-eight years ago, a Man was
born, whose simple teachings and
ideals are the measure of how much
Man has failed. For Mankind has
erected a complicated Civilization and
has invented all kinds of machinery
to make his physical life better. But
in doing so, Man has multiplied the
ills of his spirit. For, as a race, we
have tried nearly everything but the
simple lesson of the Great Teacher:
Do Unto Others as You Would Have
Others Do Unto You.

But He urged all to have faith and
hope. . . . And the only faith and
hope left — is that all men will finally
accept His charity in their hearts.

* * *

I sincerely believe that the teaching
of all religions is this: That if a man
has faith in his own belief, he will be-
lieve in another man's faith!

* * *

TONIGHT your newsboy is micro-
phoning from the beautiful and
tropical Southland, at Miami Beach,
Florida, where Broadway and many
New Yorkers flee in the wintertime.
And once more, ladies and gentlemen,
what Americans regard as common-
place, demonstrates the majesty of
this country. For a journey of the
same distance in Europe would in-
volve at least four passports and six
spy systems. But from the pines in
the North to the palms in the South,
we are a United People.

Every possible variation of nature,
from the snow-capped peaks to the
sun-kissed beaches, makes America
a natural miracle. And the man-
made miracle Is that our Constitution
makes it available to all. Our United
States have a thousand borders, with
refugees hurrying over none of them.
Our cities provide a thousand camps
— to receive vacationists, not the po-
litically persecuted. And no pass-
ports are needed — because the only
duties of our American police are to
assist the traveler on his way.

* * *

Be glad that we all have a Presi-
dent who puts the Dictators in their
place — instead of trying to take his
place with the Dictators.

* * *

Each man may worship, in America,
in his own way. Until the dark clouds
of Dictatorships came, this was re-
garded as a self-evident rule of Civil-
ization. Common-sense told us that
there could be no greater impudence
than for a government to dictate
what forms were acceptable to the
Almighty. All history teaches that it
fails in jurisdiction — as it fails in
practice.

For God, to all people, only begins
when all that man can bring has
failed. No cabinet can comfort a sick
child in the night. Nor did any group
of legislators ever heal a mother's
heart. And no Dictator can give re-
lief— from a guilty conscience!

And so let us rejoice that our Coun-
try recognizes the limitations of gov-
ernment, for our Constitution guar-
antees that no man will be harmed
because of his religious beliefs. But
let us thank God, and God alone, that
the soul he gave each of us is beyond
the power of all of us. And that the
Jaw within each man is stronger than
all governments without law. Heavy
guns can stop a fleet. Barbed wire
can stop an army. Gas bombs can
terrorize a city. But, Mr. and Mrs.
America — they cannot stop a people's
prayers!

"Suffering cats, Judy, did you hear the door slam? Daddy is fit to be tied. How
long's that baby next door been crying, anyway? Something's got to be done or
we'll all be in the doghouse!"

"Now, Joan, keep your shirt on. Listen— I'll tell you something . . ."

. . . that's a prickly heat cry if I ever heard one. And I told Mother to run over with
Our Johnson's Baby Powder and put some Where it Will Do the Most Good. A
silky, cooling Johnson's rubdown— that's the way to make him pipe down, I said.
So she's over there now . . ."

"look at Daddy— isn't he a scream? He can't make out why the noise has stopped."
. . ."Minute ago he wanted to smack that baby— now he's scared somebody really
has". . ."Don't look so worried, Daddy! It was just Johnson's Baby Powder!"

"Feel a pinch of our Johnson's— isn't it
slick? Such nice soft, soft talc— and no
orris-root either. Won't you get some?
It's such an inexpensive way to make
a baby happy!"

JOHNSON'S
BABY POWDER

Johnson & Johnson, New Brunswick, N. J.

57

RADIO MIRROR

7 SECOND

M YSTE RY

V

HERE'S HOW she does it. She
keeps a package of this famous
Beech-Nut peppermint gum in the
car. Great thing to relieve tension
in traffic, says she. ^

Beech -Nut

Visit the Beech-Nut Building at the New York
WorW^s Fair. If you drive, stop at Canajoharie,
N. Y. and see how Beech-Nut products an made.

You Can't Take Life Away from

ALEC TEMPLETON

Although blind from birth, Alec never found him-
self handicapped. He's enjoyed life to the full.

By ANNEMARIE EWING

LISTEN to Alec Templeton's cheerful
voice as he announces his own
1 piano contributions to one of the
numerous programs which frequently
have him as a guest star. Listen, for
instance, while he swaps banter with
Bing Crosby on the Kraft Music Hall.

Or watch him at rehearsal — a slen-
der, brown-haired young man who is
always the center of a group of laugh-
ing people.

Or on the beach at Seaside Park,
New Jersey, where he spends the
summers, discussing sports, politics,
radio, movies, sunburn cures, "swing"
music with his neighbors. You
couldn't miss it. Alec Templeton is
having a wonderful time out of life.

Yet there are many people who
might say, "What's he got to be so
happy about?" And at first you might
think they are right, because Alec
Templeton has been blind from birth.

"Life wouldn't be worth living!''
perhaps you'd say. "I'd rather be dead
than face life with such a handicap!"

That isn't the way Alec looks at it.

For blindness has never been a
handicap to him. He has never
thought of himself as handicapped,
which may be one of the reasons
why others do not think of him that
way. And one of the reasons why
life, to him, is so worth while.

He doesn't find anything remark-
able about this attitude of his. He
never indicates at all that he considers
himself unusual for having become a
radio headliner, an international per-
sonality, a great artist, a joy to his
family, a charming friend and good
companion in spite of being blind.

The story goes way back — nearly
twenty-five years — to the time when
Alec was four.

Naturally, he had already discov-
ered that there were things he could
not do because he couldn't see. But
he had also discovered, for one thing,
that he could make very pretty sounds
on his mother's piano in the parlor
and, for another, that he knew some
things better than other people for
the very reason that he couldn't see.

He knew the garden better than
his brother and his two sisters did.
He knew the smell of the ripening
berries which they never noticed. He
knew the exact rhythm of the hoofs
of Dolly, the pony. He was aware of
the quiet good night sounds of the
nursery as few children are. Nothing
was too slight for his eager ears to
note.

He put it all into a happy little song
one day — a song which he called
"Mother's Lullaby." It was his first-
expression of what he thought of a
world which might very well have
seemed to him a very hostile, unhappy
place. But didn't.

That little song made his whole
family realize that his blindness was
never going to be a handicap to Alec.
Rather a help and an asset.

It only remained for more people
to find this out.

One of the first to do so was the
conductor of the symphony orchestra
in his native Cardiff, Wales.

He needed a soloist for a local con-
cert. Rather apologetically, he said to
Alec's mother, "I'd love to have Alec.
But there's less than a week before
the concert. He'd never be able to
learn. . . ."

The sixteen-year-old boy didn't
even let him finish.

"I can do it. I don't have to use
notes. You bring me the phonograph

58

RADIO MIRROR

records and I'll play the concerto for
you tomorrow!"

He did, too. In one day he learned
the "Emperor" concerto of Beethoven
— a composition which takes more
than half an hour to play and one
to which most students devote a
year's study.

And he learned it just from listen-
ing to the phonograph records. The
conductor, amazed, could only say,
"Why he learns more quickly without
eyes than most people do with them!"

Blindness a handicap? Not to Alec
Templeton!

It was no handicap to him at
Worcester College, either, where he
made a brilliant record in languages,
learned to swim, and to look forward
to his "holidays" as much as any
other collegian.

Nor at the Royal College of Music
in London where he studied to give
his first piano concert in London's
famous Aeolian Hall.

DUT just playing other people's
•^ music wasn't enough for Alec Tem-
pleton. He wanted, above all, to ex-
press his own complete joy in living,
his understanding of everything that
went on around him. Just because he
couldn't see was no reason, in his
mind, why he should not be able to
grasp the personality of, say, some
French cabaret singer. Or the annoy-
ance of a man who was having trouble
with his "wireless."

He amused himself by doing his
own impressions of such people at
the piano — describing things about
them that were not always apparent
to those who could see.

Jack Hylton, the English orchestra
leader, heard him doing this one night
at a party at the Templetons' Ken-
sington home.

"I've never heard anybody do that
on the piano," was his immediate
reaction. "I'd like you to play with
my orchestra."

That was just the beginning. Soon
the name Alec Templeton was known
all over Europe.

In America, it was the same story.
Audiences at the Rainbow Room at
Rockefeller Center heard him, paused
a moment in delighted surprise, and
then clamored for more Templeton.

People still do that. They stand
around his piano in radio studios be-
tween rehearsals, clamoring for more
Templeton. They bag him to do his
imitation of Louis Armstrong's trum-
pet, of two pianos playing "Lost," of
Boake Carter singing "Goody Goody."

This last, by the way, is one of
Alec's favorite impersonations. Boake
Carter's voice fascinated him from
the first time he heard it on the air.

"He sounds like such an impressive,
important person," Alec says. "That's
why I love to imitate him doing a
silly tune like 'Goody Goody.' It
seems so unlike him. It's such fun!"

He doesn't miss any good thing
about living, nor has he ever been
deprived of any of his fun just because
he couldn't see. He goes his way, de-
lighted with life, his music, his family,
his friends, his "happy listening."

If you want a simple answer to the
secret of his triumph over what to
many of us would seem an unsur-
mountable handicap, ask him if he
wouldn't like to retire to a peaceful
life in his native Welsh hills.

"Oh, no! No!" he says quickly. "Not
at all. I want to live! I haven't done
half enough yet!"

You can't take life away from a
man like that!

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WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?

■ Genevieve Blue, better known to NBC audiences as "Buzz Me Miss
Blue" of the Amos 'n' Andy program, is played by Madaline Lee.

I DOUBT if there are any readers
who, at some time or other, have
not heard the "goings on" of Amos
'n' Andy, that famous black-face radio
team heard over NBC Monday
through Friday from 7:00 to 7:15.
And by the same token, I'm sure
you've heard Genevieve Blue (known
in private life as Madaline Lee) who
plays the part of the "secretary,"
so successfully, many listeners believe
she is really colored.

Madaline was born in Dallas, Texas,
on October 28, 1912, and spent most
of her life in the south. Eager for a
dramatic career since childhood, Miss
Lee studied at Columbia University
and the Theodore Irvine School for
the Theater in New York, at the Uni-
versity of Texas and Southern
Methodist University, after graduat-
ing from the Adamson High School in
Dallas.

Radio work intrigued Madaline and
for a year she took every available
job. She was a news commentator on
several Los Angeles stations and in-
terviewed many screen and stage
celebrities . . . began reading com-
mercials for Amos 'n' Andy, and her
southern personality attracted the
comedians when they began to create
the character of Genevieve Blue. For
two years Miss Lee worked to over-
come what she considered the handi-
cap of a Texas drawl. However, she
slipped right back into the dialect at
the request of Amos 'n' Andy and was
chosen for the part of Genevieve.

Miss Lee is five feet two inches,
weighs 110 pounds, and is active in
athletics. Tennis and golf are her
favorites. She is also an accomplished
pianist.

Hilda Burke, Oswego, N. Y. — Alice
Frost, who plays the leading role in
Big Sister, was born August 1, 1910,

in Minneapolis, Minn. She is married
to Robert C. Faulk, is blonde, five feet
seven inches tall, weighs 125 pounds
and has gray eyes.

Michael Williams, Darien, Conn. —
Jack Armstrong, in the program of
the same name, is played by Frank
Behrens, and he may be reached by
addressing a letter to him in care of
the National Broadcasting Company,
222 North Bank Drive, Chicago,
Illinois.

Willie, North Sydney, N.S.— I am list-
ing below the cast of The Guiding
Light, as you requested:

Gordon Ellis Raymond Johnson

Ned Holden Ed Prentiss

Ellen Henrietta Tedro

Mr. Kransky Murray Forbes

Rose Kransky Ruth Bailey

Jacob Kransky Seymour Young

Grandpa Ellis Phil Lord

Phyllis Gordon Sharon Grainger

Peter Manno Michael Romano

Ethel Foster Sundra Love

Celeste Cunningham . . Carolyn McKay

Miss D. Schofield, Wilkinsburg, Pa.
— Orson Welles was born in Kenosha,
Wise. At fifteen he was an orphan
and decided to go to Scotland, intend-
ing to study scene designing there.
On a stop-over in Ireland, found he
liked Erin so well he bought a donkey
and cart and went on a vagabond
tour . . . Sold the cart and donkey at
a county fair for the price of a meal,
fare to Dublin and a ticket to the
Gates Theater. Welles told the stage
manager that he was a star in New
York's Theater Guild, read a part that
night and was offered a leading role
in the following week's play. For
two years he starred with the Gates
Company in heavy roles such as
"Othello" and "King Lear", and rose
to the rank of director. Finally, he
played in the Abbey Theater — the first
(Continued oil page 66)

60

know it instinctively. And a small,
recognizable voice in the boy's heart
said now: "Get ready. Any minute
now. . . ."

It happened abruptly, and it was
doubly insured. On one afternoon he
paused before the building in which
Stanley Ghilkey, Katherine Cornell's
manager, kept his offices. There was
no particular reason for going in, but
Mr. Power went in anyway. Ghilkey
saw him at once.

IF you're not under contract just
now, I can spot you with Cornell,"
he said. "Have you seen her show?"

"I was going to ask you for some
passes," Tyrone said.

"These," said Ghilkey, handing over
two cardboard slips, "are for tonight.
Let me know your decision."

When Tyrone reached home half an
hour later he found Ghilkey's tele-
phoned message. "Come to see me
about a job before 3:30," it read. And
it was now a quarter of four.

When "Flowers of the Forest"
closed at last, in May, he had a con-
tract for summer stock, and another
that called for his services as an
understudy in Cornell's fall play; and
he went to visit his mother in Cali-
fornia for a time, anxious to show
these contracts to her, watch her face
when she congratulated him.

Then back east, to spend the sum-
mer at Falmouth. This was an idyllic
interlude given over to a certain
amount of hard work but primarily
to relaxing. He could savor things,
now that his luck had changed and

RADIO MIRROR

This Is the Life!

(Continued jrom -page 39)

the harsh nagging of his ambition
had found a certain release.

He played the lead in "Ceiling
Zero," "Private Lives," "On Stage."
And one evening he came into his
dressing room after the third act cur-
tain to find a young man there, wait-
ing. "I want to talk to you about
Hollywood," said this person.

Tyrone sat down, held out his pack-
age of cigarettes, and sat back to
listen. After a time he said, "Yes,
Hollywood's important to me. And I
appreciate your offer. But I know
that town now and I'm going to
refuse."

The talent scout's mouth fell open.
"What?"

"Yes. I'm not ready yet. And
they'd get me for buttons — a little
later they'll come to me with a real
contract. Then I'll be prepared for
anything."

And they did, and he was; but that
was later.

THAT was later, after he had spent
' the winter touring with Cornell's
show, after he had spent part of the
spring of 1936 rehearsing for the role
of De Pongeley in "St. Joan." The
two long seasons had their effect on
the boy; you do not travel about the
country in company with seasoned
stage troupers without maturing at
double speed.

This period in his memory, when
he thinks of it — which is seldom — is
a kind of hodge-podge made up of
sleeper jumps, of numberless stages
and the curtains that rose and fell on

those stages; of applause. . . .

He remembers the time his long
hair, grown of necessity because of
the role he played, came loose from
under his hat, one Christmas Eve
while he rode a trolley, and the re-
sultant chaos among the passengers
because the hair and his pale face and
heavy eyebrows made him look like
a Borgia.

LIE remembers such little, unim-
** portant things; the rest is a kind
of haze, a leading-up period. He was
not surprised, then, when it ended —
nor at the way it ended

He came into his rooms in Detroit,
that afternoon, laden with delicatessen
packages. A little tired, faced with a
long evening of rehearsal, he poured
himself a beer and flopped in a deep
chair to smoke a cigarette before
starting supper.

The phone screamed and he let it
ring, for a time. But it was persistent
and at last, wearily, he went over and
lifted the receiver.

"New York calling. . ." the operator
crooned.

It was his agent. "It's set for Fri-
day!" the agent yelled. " Your screen
test, I mean. And you'd better get
packed!"

Tyrone frowned. "Now I don't
know "

But the agent had hung up.

Supper forgotten, Tyrone wandered
restlessly about his rooms, chain-
smoking and generally working him-
self into a nervous frenzy. He
thought, so soon! I knew it would

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RADIO MIRROR

come, but this is so little warning. Can
I do it? Will I be any good?

He didn't know; and after awhile
his mind went into reverse and re-
fused to consider the problem with
any clarity. He gave it up and went
on to rehearsal.

On Friday, in New York, he made
the screen test. It was unbelievaory
bad.

"It's what I thought," Tyrone told
his agent when the news came. "I'm
simply not ready."

"Listen," the agent said sharply,
"you've been saying that for too long
now. You can go on saying it for
twenty years. Frankly, I think you're
scared."

Tyrone's face went white. "Can
you get them to give me another try?"

The agent had taught himself not
to show pleasure when any of his
schemes worked. His face was impas-
sive when he answered. "I've already
arranged it."

And that, in essence, was the begin-
ning; since with fury in his heart and
a cold sharp control governing his
actions, Tyrone Power made a second
test which brought Darryl Zanuck,
days later in a Holly wod projection
room, to his feet with enthusiasm.
And Zanuck sent a wire, and a con-
tract, and plane reservations to
Tyrone in New York; and younger Mr.
Power answered the first and signed
the second and used the third — and,
in this manner, a star was born.

THE Hollywood success story of
Tyrone Power is one you have read
and heard repeatedly, from its in-
ception. Because it is the perfect,
the unbelievable, the story book tale,
it can be truthfully told without a
hitch. Additionally, it has romance,

it has glamour. It would, because it
is Tyrone's story.

I met him first a day or two after
the premier of "Lloyds of London,"
the picture Mr. Zanuck made to in-
troduce his new property to the world.
Few people had asked to see Tyrone
before that, although he had a bit in
"Girls Dormitory" — but they were
waiting in line, now.

He had an eager courtesy. He
talked freely about himself and what
he liked and whom he liked. He still
does, if you know him well, adding at
the end however the standard "not for
publication" warning. After all, it is
three years later, and he is now one
of the five greatest stars in the world,
and he has learned several bitter
lessons.

But already, when I first spoke with
him, he had fitted on the role of star
like a Lastex suit. He already had a
Cord motor, and a smart new ward-
robe, and a stock of purely Hollywood
stories. He already had met Sonja
Henie. . . .

That romance — at least the papers
called it Romance — is for the record
but so far as its effect on Tyrone or
his life is concerned it is of small
enough account. It was magnificent
publicity, it taught him what to ex-
pect: but it was subordinate business
to his rise in the industry, to his great
ambition.

Almost everything was, and is.

He met her, or rather Sonja met
him, in the studio commissary when
she singled him out and gave him
tickets to her first exhibition in Los
Angeles. He went backstage, turned
on every ounce of his fabulous charm,
and took her home that night.

Their resultant friendship had its
great value at the time. There was

no danger, in the first place, of a
really serious love growing out of the
arrangement they had.

Tyrone is an emotional person, but
he controls his emotions; he was not
ready to fall wholeheartedly in love
then, and so he did not. Sonja just
isn't emotional.

By the time "Love is News" and two
or three other box-office hits had
made certain that Tyrone was going
to sustain- — indeed, to grow — as a star,
he was already trying to forget the
time he threw gravel at Sonja's win-
dow and enjoined her to climb down
a rose lattice in order not to disturb
her sleeping parents. He was trying
to forget many things. . . .

COR some months he saw much of
^several ladies, none with serious
intent, and worked hard at his assign-
ments. With his mother and a friend
whom he had hired as secretary and
general pal, Tyrone took a house in
Bel Air and dedicated himself to the
Zanuck schedule.

Meanwhile he had fallen a little in
love with Janet Gaynor. It was not a
new emotion, nor essentially a real
one; rather it was a necessary comple-
tion of an adolescent thought-trend
which started years ago when he was
twelve and saw Miss Gaynor in the
memorable "Seventh Heaven."

Something about his ego made him
see that young dream turn into re-
ality, just as he had made real his
other dreams of great fame and great
money and great success.

Still a bit awed by Janet — she had
acquired a legendary aura through
the years — he sent her anonymous
notes and roses until at last a mutual
friend relayed to her his invitation to
dinner. After the sporting and rather

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RADIO MIRROR

robust friendship with Sonja this new
liaison was pure romance, built on the
glamour of dim corner tables, of
orchids trembling on ermine, of soft
music and long quiet hours at her
house in the evenings.

It lasted until very recently. Then,
after a decent interval, Tyrone
Power's inexhaustible luck brought
him Annabella along with the new
box-office ratings (just after the com-
pletion of "Jesse James") which an-
nounced him as one of the Ten Best
Stars in the industry.

As if to make his triumph thor-
oughly complete, what appears to be
his final great love — although he
won't say so — and the absolute peak
of his career came to him simulta-
neously. Both happened in a spectacu-
lar way, as is the manner of things
when Tyrone achieves them.

You will not get him to answer if
you ask whether or not he knew
Annabella would join him in South
America after her publicized divorce
in Paris. Nor, any longer, can you
get him to make an answer to any
really intimate question. This is a
new person, this Tyrone Power whom
you will meet today.

THE basic things about him are
there still: his charm, his clear
intelligence, his boundless ambition,
his utterly modern attitude about life,
his 1939-model sense of humor. But
the fervent, too eager youth is gone;
here is a man whose name spells a
fortune in money, a fabulous fame — ■
whose romances with some of the
greatest beauties of our time have
made his personality synonymous with
the idea of romance. His time, his pri-
vate life, his personal freedom no
longer are his: they belong against
his will, to the public.

He knows these things about him-
self. The next story to be written
about Tyrone Power will be an ac-
count of his desperate attempts to
escape from them.

But they were the things he wanted.
And they are his, at twenty-four.

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\n

Ignoring her mother's

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ALICE : Yes, but that was 25 years ago . . .

ALICE : You see, mother, times have changed.
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ALICE: He prescribed a special food formula
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MOTHER: Gracious! A special laxative, too?

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Mysteries of the Mind

(Continued from page 33)

the jury.

"It's true, though," continued the
father, his voice shaking. "In some
way our little girl knew she was
destined to die and, under the cir-
cumstances, we feel that the man who
ran over her should be released. You
see, he really couldn't help himself. It
was an act of Fate!"

Statistics and records show that
there have been thousands of cases
where people have dreamed, or have
sensed while awake, something that
was going to happen to them.

According to Dr. Warner, little
Helen Lane may have been frightened
by a previous narrow escape under
the same circumstances. This would
have left a strong impression and her
fear of being run over, once planted
in her consciousness, might have
brought on this vivid dream.

VET Dr. Hardwicke points out that
' many events that exist in space,
also exist in time, of which we have
ordinarily no knowledge.

Was Helen Lane traveling toward
that moment which would blot out
her young and incomplete life, posi-
tive of an inevitable and terrifying
conclusion?

About two years ago Ralph Dayton
was living with his wife at a mid-
town hotel in New York City. Their
work, their hopes, their loves, were no
different than yours and mine until
one unforgettable evening in March.

Ralph dropped into a nearby restau-
rant for a bite to eat before going
home. As the waiter served him,
Dayton suddenly jumped to his feet,
shook his clothes, and started to slap
himself vigorously.

"I'm on fire!" he cried. "Waiter,
help me. I'm on fire!"

The waiter stared incredulously.
There were no flames, no smoke, no
panic among the other diners. "I don't
see nothin', Mr. Dayton," he mumbled,
rubbing his eyes to make sure, "and
I don't smell nothin'. You feel all
right, Mr. Dayton? Shall I get you
some more water?"

Dayton's face turned red. He eyed
the waiter sheepishly, then he began
to pat his clothes again.

"Alfred," he said quietly, "I must
have dropped a cigarette. It's on me
some place, because I can smell burn-
ing cloth. The odor is very strong."

But his clothes were not on fire,
and at last he apologized, paid his
check, and left his half-eaten meal.
Out in the cold night air the smell
of fire, the fear of burning alive, still
haunted him.

Instinctively he pulled his coat col-
lar closer to him for protection and
muttered to himself: "This is a
strange business. I can't get over it."

If he expected any sympathy from
his wife he was sadly mistaken.
When he recounted the weird episode
to her later that evening, she laughed
and reminded him of his careless
habit of dropping hot cigarette ashes

on his clothes. When they went to
bed she was still joking about his
"marvelous smeller."

At three o'clock in the morning,
both Daytons suddenly awoke. They
looked at one another in alarm. This
time Ralph spoke defiantly:

"Well, Helen, I suppose you're
going to tell me I don't smell some-
thing this time."

"No," she answered nervously, "I
smell it too. It's burning cloth."

Dayton hopped out of bed and
jerked open the window.

"There's a fire on the floor below
us," he shouted. "I've got to wake
those people up or they'll be burned
alive!"

He began yelling loudly. His wife
joined him. After a few minutes a
man's head bobbed out of the window
below.

"Thank God you woke us," he said
gratefully. "Must have gone to sleep
without putting my cigarette out."

When quiet was restored, Ralph
spoke again to his wife: "How do you
account for that? I smelled this fire
last night at nine o'clock, long before
it ever started."

Helen shook her head blankly. "I
don't know, Ralph. It's completely
beyond me, but I won't make fun of
your smeller any more. It's mirac-
ulous."

A similar case occurred in Boston
early in the summer of 1938. William
Walter, an eleven-year-old boy, ran
home one day and told his mother
that the Baptist Church was on fire.
He insisted large crowds had gathered
around the burning edifice, and
described the frantic work of the fire-
men as they piled into the street from
a gleaming hook and ladder engine.

DUT the Baptist Church was not on
u fire. The big hook and ladder that
had thrilled the lad was resting idly
in the firehouse. Bostonians in the
vicinity went about their regular
duties.

Not four hours later William's
mother heard people running and
shouting. She peered out the window
and saw streams of smoke sweep
across the streets of suburban Boston.
A vivid red hook and ladder sped to
the scene.

This time there were no hallucina-
tions. The Baptist Church was on
fire!

Is there such a thing as a "psychic
smell"? Are there thousands of peo-
ple like Ralph Dayton and little
William Walter who have a premo-
nition of terrible things about to
happen?

Dr. Lucien Warner says it is quite
common to imagine that you smell
something with a definite odor. Sug-
gestion is a powerful factor. In the
case of Ralph Dayton, the terrified
man may have been subject to some
unconscious suggestion, such as read-
ing about a fire in the paper. Perhaps
some odor in the restaurant reminded

1. Omnisciency. 2. Harelip. 3.
Sparsity. 4. Piccalilli. 5. Sherbet.
6. Skedaddle. 7. Marriageable. 8.
Asseverations. 9. Decalcomania. 10.
Percolators. 11. Dentifrice. 12.
Duchy. 13. Languorous. 14. Nihilism.

ANSWERS TO SPELLING BEE

15. Objurgate. 16. Quidnunc. 17.
Horal. 18. Maxillary. 19. Baccha-
nalian. 20. Preterist. 21. Gimmick.
22. Metatarsus. 23. Marquees. 24.
Dossier. 25. Armadillos.

64

RADIO MIRROR

him of an odor associated with a past
experience.

Psychic experts disagree. They in-
sist many people have the ability to
pick up a mental impression of some
event which has not yet come to pass.
A person may have a sudden vision
while wide awake.

Perhaps the strangest "mystery of
the mind" concerned a young widowed
mother, destitute and starving, who
was forced to take her four-year-old
daughter to a Child Placement Bu-
reau. Sixteen years later a miracu-
lous string of dramatic incidents
brought the child back to her real
parent.

NO Hollywood scenario, this, but a
true life "case history" that tran-
scends all credibility. Yet scientists
explain that such things have come to
pass time and again.

When Mrs. Jennie Andrews took
her daughter to the bureau, the words
of the matron still rang in her ears
as she trudged wearily away from the
institution. "This will mean that you
will never see your daughter again.
Never . . . never . . . never . . . never."

She knew when she signed the
form that it meant signing away the
nearest and dearest thing she ever
possessed.

The little girl was placed with a
respectable family living in Newark,
N. J. Betty's last name was legally
changed to Everett.

The years passed. At first they
were torturingly slow for the lonely
mother. But when Mrs. Andrews had
a change of fortune, time began to
heal her aching heart. She found work
in a large department store.

Betty grew up with no knowledge
of her mother, though she knew she

had been an adopted child.

Then a strange thing occurred, in
October, 1938.

Mrs. Andrews awakened one morn-
ing with an almost overwhelming
feeling that she must try to get in
touch with her daughter. Something
told her Betty was in trouble. It kept
hammering mercilessly at her head
and then at her heart.

Work finished, the worried woman
rushed to the Child Placement Bu-
reau. The same woman was at the
huge mahogany desk, bare except
for a plaque on which was written
"Mrs. Todd."

"I'm Mrs. Jennie Andrews. Sixteen
years ago I brought you my daughter
Betty. Since then I've never been
in touch with you."

The matron nodded recognition.

"I've lived up to your regulations,"
the mother continued, "but now
there's something I've got to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Have you heard from my Betty
recently?" Mrs. Andrews asked
nervously.

"No," Mrs. Todd said, shaking her
head, "we check up for the first few
years, but if everything is satisfactory
we take it for granted that — " The
woman hesitated as she searched Mrs.
Andrews' eyes. "Why, Mrs. An-
drews, what is the matter?"

Betty's mother leaned heavily on
the huge desk. It was hard for her
to explain this strange feeling. Per-
haps the brisk looking matron would
laugh.

"All day long I've had the oddest
feeling. Things aren't right with
Betty. Please, Mrs. Todd, as a favor
to me, get in touch with the people
who adopted her. Find out how my
baby is."

Mrs. Todd didn't answer.

"I beg you to do it," pleaded the
mother. She started to cry. Hardened
though the matron was to crying,
hysterical mothers, there was some-
thing in this woman's tone that
touched her.

"You wait here," she commanded,
"and I'll try to reach Betty's people
by phone."

The woman walked into the adjoin-
ing room, thumbed through a worn
file of yellowed index cards, and put
through the call to Newark. The
voice of a young girl answered the
phone. The matron asked for Mrs.
Everett.

"She's not here," said the other
voice shakily, "she's in the hospital."

"Hospital?" repeated Mrs. Todd.
"Who is this I'm speaking to?"

"This is Betty Everett."

The older woman caught her
breath. "Betty dear, this is Mrs.
Todd, a friend of your mother's. What
happened?"

The young girl's voice broke into
sobs. "Oh, I'm so afraid," she cried.
"Daddy is in the hospital too. The
doctors say neither of them can live."

MRS. TODD had trouble getting the
details from the distraught girl.
The family were out driving. Betty
was in the back seat. Suddenly there
was a crash. Another car had run
into theirs in a head-on collision.

"Mrs. Andrews," the matron said
slowly when she returned to the
other room, "you were right about
Betty. Both her foster parents are
near death from an auto accident
which occurred last night!"

Both the Everetts died. As a result
Mrs. Andrews and her daughter were
reunited. They are living happily to-

"Colgate's special
penetrating foam gets
into hidden crevices
between your teeth. It
helps your toothbrush
clean out decaying
, food particles and stop
the stagnant saliva odors that cause
much bad breath. Besides, Colgate's
soft, safe polishing agent cleans
enamel — makes teeth sparkle. Al-
ways use Colgate Dental Cream —
regularly and frequently. No other
dentifrice is exactly like it."

RADIO MIRROR

OH D6AR.! . . . POViOBd ALU ODER

THE CLEAN RUCr ANDG-DESTS"

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WHISKS UP MESS, THANKFUL THAT BISSELL
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$3,000.00

For Short Short
True Romances

True Romances Magazine has set aside $3,000 for
the purchase of short short true romances submitted on
or before Friday, June 30, 1939. By "short short" true
romances is meant short true stories of dramatic
quality — stories dealing with the problems of American
life, stories of courtship and marriage sincerely told
with honesty and warmth, the kind of stories that
happen in the life of the average American family —
nothing fantastic, nothing melodramatic. nothing
cheap, but simple, beautiful stories of the dramas that
occur in the lives of American men and women. Stories
submitted under this offer must range from 2500 to
4500 words in length.

For such stories we are prepared to pay up to $250
each.

Undoubtedly you have in mind one or several hap-
penings in human lives that can be set down within
the wordage limits here given. If that is the case it
is doubtful if you will ever find a better chance to turn
them into money. This is not a contest but a straight
offer to purchase. You will not be writing in competi-
tion with anybody. Simply send in your story and if it
meets with our requirements a substantial check will

be mailed to you regardless of what anybody else may
submit.

Do not delay. There is nothing to prevent you selling
us several stories under this offer before it expires
on June 30. Send them in as soon as finished. We
pay for accepted stories as soon as they are passed
upon and approved for purchase.

If you do not have one already, write today for a
copy of our free booklet supplying "Facts You Should
Know Before Writing True Romances". In it you
will find important information regarding the simple
handling which lias proved most satisfactory in writ-
ing true stories. Address your envelope and any
manuscripts you may send later exactly as per the
address upon the coupon we have supplied for your
convenience in securing your copy of the booklet.

Do not submit under this offer any story that has
already been rejected by Macfadden Publications, Inc.

TRUE ROMANCES

P. O. Box 527. Grand Central Station

New York, N. Y.

| True Romances Short Short Editor RM 5R

P. O. Box 527. Grand Central Station. New York. N. Y.

Please send me free copy of your booklet "Facts You Should Know Before Writing True Romances"

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gether today.

"It's such experiences as this one
that give me renewed faith in a pro-
tective creative force — call it what
you will," said Dr. Hardwicke, after
carefully studying this true experi-
ence. "It is easier to believe in a God
that answers human prayers. From a
scentific angle it would seem that this
is a mental energy discharge from the
young girl left alone by the accident.
It is picked up by the mother. Some
people would call this telepathy, but
that is still a world that hides our
ignorance of unknown powers of the
mind."

But Dr. Warner disagrees with this
analysis. He says that Mrs. Andrews
continued to think and worry about
her daughter. Every mention of or-
phans must have focused her atten-
tion on her own problem. Time never
blotted out the emptiness in Mrs.
Andrews' heart.

• What is behind all this? Is the
scientist right? The psychic? Or the
skeptical man of practical medicine?

Science today is seeking to discover
and to understand more and more of
the marvelous hidden powers con-
tained in the mind of Man, and to
explain the different types of psychic
phenomena.

But the answer to it all is still to be
written.

What Do You Want

toK

HOW:

(Continued from page 60)

foreign actor to be starred with the
internationally famous troupe. When
he returned to America, Thornton
Wilder, who knew his Dublin work,
suggested he see Katharine Cornell.
He was cast in both "Romeo and
Juliet" and "Candida." After Broad-
way appearances in "Panic" and nu-
merous other plays, he became es-
tablished as one of radio's foremost
actors.

Virginia Montagna, San Antonio, Texas
— I'm sorry, but we do not have a
service for furnishing photographs to
our readers.

FAN CLUB SECTION

Every effort is being made to in-
crease the membership of the Larry
Clinton Fan Club. If you are inter-
ested in becoming a member, write
to Tommy Gerarde, Pres., 138 Ward
Street, Orange, New Jersey, or Miss
Venni Boccio, Vice Pres., 65 Montauk
Avenue, Brooklyn, New York.

Attention: Enoch Light Fans — Write
to Rose Barry, Pres., 414 Cashua St.,
Darlington, S. C, or Joseph Wright,
47 Sheffield Avenue, Buffalo, New
York, for details.

The Fred Waring Fan Club boasts a
fine membership, but Ruth Stanford,
508-18th Street. Union City, N. J., is
ever on the lookout for new Waring
fans. Drop her a line if interested.

Edna Rogers is secretary of the
Eddy Duchin Fan Club and she may
be reached at 3730 North Eighth
Street, Philadelphia, Penna.

The associate editor of the Jeanette
MacDonald International Fan Club,
Miss Geraldine Storfer, 4414 N.
Springfield, Chicago, Illinois, has
asked us to announce another club in
Miss MacDonald's honor and to say
that information will gladly be sent
on receipt of postage in coin (not
stamps) .

66

RADIO MIRROR

WE CANADIAN LISTENERS ho

■;•""•

RACE BROWN

APPOINTMENT WITH AGOSTINI
. . . half-hour musical melange
in the Guisseppe Agostini style,
out of the Canadian metropolis, Mon-
treal, Tuesday eves at 9.00 o'clock
EST, to the CBC national network
. . . solos by Charles Jordan, and a
modern ladies' chorus, composed of
Marcelle Manata, Marielle Lefebvre,
Simonne Quesnel, Eleanore Hamel,
Germaine Lefebvre, Pierrette Alerie,
Paulette Langis and Therese Lauren-
deau; this new CBC feature is
rapidly building in popularity . . .
I know it pleased my ears when
caught, and fan-mail indicates Agos-
tini has rung the bell again.

GUISSEPPE AGOSTINI ... no-
body ever uses that first name . . .
it's usually "Maestro," tinged with a
great deal of affection . . . he's that
kind of excitable, lovable Italian . . .
born in Pesaro, Italy . . . studied at
the Rossini Conservatory of Music
under the direction of Pietro Mas-
cagni, the composer of top-flight
opera ... at twenty-three, Agostini
came to Canada . . . first job here
was as oboe soloist in the "pit" at
Loew's Theater, Montreal ... it
wasn't long before he had success-
ively conducted in the pits of the
Capitol and Palace Theaters . . . came
the talkies, and Senor Agostini
turned to teaching . . . appointed

musical director at the Lasalle
Academy, Three Rivers, Quebec,
where he remained for some time . . .
but Radio was calling . . . gave the
one-time Canadian Radio Commis-
sion it's first big program out of
Montreal, "One Hour With You" . . .
since that time he has been a CBC
headliner ... on the side, he is in
constant demand as a band and sym-
phonic concert conductor ... he is
an amusing little man . . . his sayings
and doings while rehearsing are
famous around Montreal ... I re-
member he was conducting for one
of my plays, when the trombone dis-
pleased him ... he turned fiercely
on the unfortunate player . . . "You
sound like a bull 'Mooo!' . . ." he
spluttered (and how he splutters!).
"I want you should sound nice and
soft like a cow 'Moooo!'." ... he
makes all his own arrangements, but,
unlike a lot of conductor-arrangers,
he likes giving his musicians a cer-
tain freedom in introducing their
own individuality and original twists
to a composition ... in another day
and age, he would have been a fiery
little man sweepingly and explosively
conducting an opera company . . .
today, opera's loss is Radio's gain . . .
CHARLES JORDAN ... the bari-
tone soloist of "Appointment with
Agostini" ... he is a 1938 discovery

... a Montrealer in his early twen-
ties, he got his first break last year
on a sustainer, specializing in folk
songs, popular classics, and lieder . . .
guest appearances followed . . . sings
in English, French, German and
Italian . . . looks like a young edi-
tion of Lanny Ross would look . . .
studies music in his spare time . . .
doesn't smoke or drink . . . line forms
to the left, girls. . . .

"RUSTY" DAVIS ... he must have
been born with that nickname; no-
body seemed to know his first name
. . . producer of "Appointment With
Agostini" . . . well known in Mon-
treal's younger set, but don't throw
it up at him . . . studied law at
McGill University . . . will be re-
membered as lyricist and musical
director of McGill's "Red and White
Revue" for the years '25 and '26 . . .
the legal bug didn't bite, and Rusty
left McGill for musical study in New
York ... a worried family persuaded
him to return to law studies, but instead
Rusty organized his own band . . .
later he became musical director for
one of Montreal's large advertising
firms . . . was placed in charge of the
productions of their commercial pro-
grams . . . joined CBC staff as pro-
ducer a year ago, and is now into
music up to his ears. . . .

with Complexions that pass the

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clever girls use Lux Toilet Soap

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9" (/V~ pARA

PARAMOUNT STAR

67

RADIO MIRROR

■***

My Diary

tells me

to take S.S.S. Tonic this Spring'

h

"I know from experience
I will be happier when I
feel better and look better."

And the reason for this is quite
simple, because when you have rich,
red blood coursing through your
body, you possess genuine vitality . . .
the means to strength . . . energy . . .
and that assurance of well being.

for that tired-let-down feeling
Worry, overwork, undue strain, colds,
and sickness often reduce the blood's
strength and vitality.

But you may rebuild this strength
by restoring your blood to normal,
in the absence of an organic trouble,
with the famous S.S.S. Tonic.
improves the appetite
Further, S.S.S. Tonic whets the appe-
tite . . . foods taste better . . . natural
digestive juices are stimulated, and
finally, the food you eat is of more
value ... a very important step back
to health.

Buy and use with complete confi-
dence andwe believe you.like others,
will be enthusiastic in your praise of.
S.S.S. Tonic for its part in making
"you feel like yourself again."

At all drug stores in two sizes.
You will find the larger size more
economical. © S.S.S. Co.

. . JUtfu ^piUtCj tcJu.

This Happened to Me

(Continued from page 30)

till then I worked like the devil for
a whole week for the same amount
of money. I began to hunt up contests
in towns anywhere within a hundred
mile radius and enter them. Usually,
I was good enough to cart off one of
the prizes.

When I think back now, I wonder
a little. I was just turning 14 and
still in high school. Officially in high
school, that is. School had practically
stopped for me then. I could think
of nothing but the saxophone. I
ended up by forming a four-piece
band with some of the fellows in my
class. We had a trumpet, drums,
piano and a sax. We'd play once or
twice a week at school affairs or at
parties our mothers gave. I think
then I was the happiest I had ever
been. The noises we four boys made
sounded something like the sounds
from the spotlighted stage of the
Palace.

A FEW months had gone by since
my fourteenth birthday when the
Shaw family was reduced from three
to two. My father left home. My
mother and I still don't know where
he went. We don't know if he is liv-
ing or dead. We have never heard
from him, never seen him since.
Every attempt to find him failed.

Fourteen I was. School, a shattered
family life, poverty — I was either too
young, too foolish or perhaps too
completely absorbed in music to pay
them any attention. Our life didn't
change drastically but I began to dig
up ways of making money.

I had played in a few carnival
bands when Dave Hudkins, a drum-
mer from New Haven, noticed me.
He liked my work, took me in tow
and introduced me to Johnny Caval-
laro. Johnny, owner of the Cinderella
Ballroom, then had the best band in
New England. After two flop audi-
tions, I lost my nervousness and
Johnny hired me. He got me into the
musicians' union and I became a pro-
fessional reed man.

I worked for Cavallaro at night.
Get home late, go to bed, get up and
go to school. During that period, I
never cracked a book. I never knew
the right answers — I just showed up
at classes and sat there. Before I
bought the saxophone, I had been a
good student. But now my only
worry was how soon could I get out?
For a period of three straight months
my report cards showed five F's for
each of my five classes. That meant
automatic expulsion. The principal
called me in. For the first time, I
tried to explain to someone how I
felt about the saxophone. He couldn't
understand. That bewildered me. Yet
I was relieved when I could finally
tell my mother I was finished with
school. Mother didn't agree with me.
She protested my expulsion. I pro-
tested her protest. I lost — and was
reinstated for a month. The story at
the end of 30 days was the same —
5 F's. I left.

I was 15 then. I immediately joined
Cavallaro as a full member of his
band. And that summer we went up
to Bantam Lake, Connecticut, for the
season. It was there I learned one of
the important lessons any musician
learns sooner or later. I had my first
taste of liquor. The results were
slightly catastrophic:

It was a Sunday. We had most of
the day to ourselves and that night
the band had nothing to do but play
an accompaniment for the silent
movie which was shown in the rec-
reation hall. I joined the boys at the
beach. About 4 o'clock in the after-
noon, the trumpet player gave me a
bottle of beer. I remember I was
sitting in a rowboat when I drank it.
I was dressed from shoulder to knee
in a red bathing suit — and that's all.
I finished the bottle and began to feel
drowsy. That was my last memory
until I suddenly woke from a sound
sleep. I looked up. It was pitch black.
There wasn't a soul anywhere near
me. The boat had drifted out on the
lake and all I could hear were the
faint sounds of music blown across
the water.

First, I was a scared kid of 15.
Then, when I realized the music
meant the band was playing for the
movies, I was a scared musician.
That row back to shore must have
broken records. I ran up the path to
the hall, sneaked in the back door.
The place was dark, of course. I
found my way to the orchestra pit,
got my saxophone and started to
play.

I was just beginning to feel com-
fortable again when the hero sud-
denly grabbed the heroine in his
arms, Love's Sweet Dream was ful-
filled— and the movie ended. The
lights went up. Cavallaro looked at
me. I smiled. There were a few
snickers from the audience. His face
began to whiten. I stopped smiling —
I suddenly realized that I was sitting
there in my red bathing suit and
nothing else — not even a pair of
shoes. He picked up his banjo and
came after me. I ran — ran as if the
Devil himself were after me. I won
the race but among the other choice
words I heard Johnny toss after me
was one that sounded like "fired". I
didn't stop to find out if he meant it.

Losing the job didn't bother me.
For the past four nights a gang of
fellows who were forming a band had
been hanging around. They had been
after me to join up with them. After
the beer episode there wasn't much
else I could do. They were all from
Northfield — a town with one general
store and little else.

J WENT home, got my clothes and
■ carefully avoided seeing my mother.
There were ten of us. We all piled
into an old jaloppy and headed for
Northfield. One of the boys owned a
dilapidated shack. We lived there for
a month. Ten kids — living on nothing
but cider and raw corn we stole out
of farmers' fields. We spent every
minute of our time rehearsing. Occa-
s'onally we'd play for a dance in
Waterbury and make a little money.
But we saved that for a reserve fund.

A brother of one of the fellows had
once worked at the Joyland Casino in
Lexington, Kentucky. He thought we
could get a job there. I don't know
why we agreed, but we did. After
that month's rehearsal, we were ready
for the trip. The car was an old open
7-passenger Hudson. Ten boys with
their instruments and bags squeezed
in. We were off for Kentucky.

How we managed to live and buy
gas on that trip south is still an un-
solved mystery. We finally got there,

68

RADIO MIRROR

though, found the Joyland Casino and
talked the manager into giving us a
job.

Here was the ideal existence for
me: playing at night and a chance
to go to school during the day. We
all enrolled in a prep school near the
Casino. We found a boarding house
where we got a room and board for
$5 a week. For one, two, three days —
life was perfect. Then — we had
worked four days when Joyland
closed down for awhile.

MOST of the boys wired home for
money immediately. I couldn't
— I had run away. What's more, I
knew my mother couldn't spare it even
if I did. I stayed on at the boarding
house — my $5 entitled me to a few
more days. By the end of the week,
my nine colleagues had left town. I
was alone in Lexington with not a dime
remaining to weigh down an empty
pocket. I tried to get a job and failed
completely. Finally, I hocked my sax
and extra clothes. That brought
enough for another week at the
boarding house. I tried putting off
the landlady when that ran out. It
didn't work and I was kicked out.
For three days I didn't touch a
scrap of food. At night I slept in the
park. Before going to "bed," I washed
my shirt in the park pond. That was
important if I was to find a job I
could apply for. Here I was alone in
a strange city, slowly starving. I
should have been home, a sophomore
in high-school. That never occurred
to me, though. Even that one night
when the clouds burst wide open and
I couldn't sleep in the park — I sneaked
into a pool parlor and slept on one
of the green felt-covered tables. I

had made up my mind to be a musi-
cian. Any glamour that was attached
to the idea had been wiped out. All
that remained was an unshakeable
obsession to play music.

After three days of no food, I be-
came almost crazy with the desire to
eat once more. Anything — a dried
hunk of bread, a cold potato. There
were no visions of huge steaks, steam-
ing platters — just a mad longing to
fill that cold emptiness in my stomach.

When I could stand it no longer, I
went into a restaurant and followed
the procedure outlined in the best fic-
tion. I ordered a huge meal. And
when they came with the check and
heard I had no money, I brought the
story to its logical ending. I was sent
back to the kitchen to wash dishes.
That night I slept very comfortably
in the park and the next day I went
back to the restaurant. I made the
manager a proposition: "Feed me and
I'll wash your dishes." He accepted.

That arrangement went on for a
week or two — days in the restaurant,
nights in the park. I was just begin-
ning to tire of that convenient little
set-up when I learned that Joyland
was re-opening. I hiked out there one
night. I must have looked like a
broken-down young bum. There could
have been nothing attractive about
me. Yet, I walked up to the leader
and asked him for a job. Clyde
Mosely was his name — he looked a
little startled when I put that request.
Then he sort of grinned and said:

"Doing what?"

"Playing the saxophone. I'm good.
Honest! Just let me play one
number."

I know how he felt. Because I've
felt the way he must have when

someone has come up to me asking
for a job. He was probably a little
kinder than most of us now — he told
me to hang around until the end of
the evening and he'd listen to me. I
waited. One of the boys lent me a
saxophone. I played "Tiger Rag," I
remember — better than I had ever
played anything. Mosely hired me.
He gave me enough money to get
my sax and clothes out of hock and
next day, I left town with the band.

I WORKED with them long enough
■ to save train fare home. When I had
the money, I said good-bye and thanks
to Mosely and left for New Haven.

Word got around that I was back.
It reached Johnny Cavallaro, for
within a week he asked me if I'd like
to rejoin his band. It appears he
hadn't meant to fire me. He was just
kidding!

I went back to my chair with
Johnny and life was a peaceful thing
until he had an offer to bring the
band down to Florida for the winter.
Mother, naturally, didn't want me to
go. I insisted. She, ultimately, gave
in on the condition that Cavallaro
consent to be my guardian. Johnny
was a little hesitant about that and I
certainly didn't blame him. But he at
last consented to take the chance.

Just before we left New Haven, I
made what has turned out to be the
most important purchase of my
career. For $30, I bought a clarinet —
the first time I had ever handled one
of the slender, black instruments. I
boarded the ship with it. And for
the three days and nights we were on
the Florida boat, not one of my poor,
stricken shipmates had a moment's
peace. For me, it was a good trip —

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69

RADIO MIRROR

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massage . . . and be convinced
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I learned the rudiments of clarinet
playing. After two more months in
Miami, I was playing a pretty good
clarinet.

IT seems that every time I meet a new
' musical obstacle, I get very stub-
born about it and attack it as a
gigantic problem that must be solved.
Apparently, that is a pretty good sys-
tem. I learned to play both my in-
struments that way. If I'm stubborn
enough, I can usually win. I learned
to read music that way. I never had
a real music lesson but by a trial and
error system, I learned to read musi-
cal notes. I first made band arrange-
ments the same way.

While we were still in Miami, I
met up with a band from Cleveland.
They were in town for a few days
and made a habit of coming over to
listen to us play. They asked me to
go back to Cleveland with them but
I turned the offer down: after all, I
was working with my guardian and
I did owe him something.

We returned to New Haven, and
while still working with Johnny I
occasionally did extra work with an
outfit called the Yale Collegians. It
wasn't a bad band. The Collegians
played for most of the affairs at Yale,
since the majority of the musicians
were students at the university.
Peter Arno, the cartoonist, once was
a regular member. But that was be-
fore my time. The fellow I remember
best was a blond, quiet saxophonist
who had the chair next to mine. His
name was Rudy Vallee.

Then, shortly after May, 1926, the
Paramount-Publix Theater in town
inaugurated a new policy — house
bands. The New Haven Publix was
the first theater in the Paramount
chain to try the experiment. Most of
the men selected for the orchestra
were from New York, but they asked
me to be first saxophonist. I jumped
at the chance. Johnny released me
immediately — glad to see me get the
opportunity.

I had worked in the pit once before
— up at Bantam Lake. This was a lot
different. It was a nice steady life
and I, at 16, was beginning to settle
down when the Publix tried another
policy — name bands. The house or-
chestra was out of a job. One night,
I was handed my two weeks' notice.
That same night, I received two
offers. One from the Cleveland outfit
I had met in Florida. The other from
what was in the year 1926 the biggest
band in the country — the California
Ramblers. The Ramblers were then
riding the crest of a wave. Its per-
sonnel was famous. Fred MacMurray
was playing saxophone for them.
The Dorsey brothers were two of the
employees. An offer to join them was
a great compliment. On the other
hand, I thought the boys from Cleve-
land were due to hit the top. I was
now faced with what I thought would
be the most important decision I'd
ever made. Which offer should I
take?

'Combed Lashes Are Lovelier"

Next month, more never-before-
revealed episodes in the life of
swing's new idol. Read about his
two marriages . . . about his asso-
ciation with Bix Beiderbecke . . .
about the time he quit music en-
tirely and retired to live on a farm
. . . about the strange life of a truly
unique young danceband genius — in
the June Radio Mirror, out April 26.

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The Secret LOVE STORY Behind
DANIELLE DARRIEUX'S Marriage

How she loves him — big sweet-tempered, master-
fulful Henri Decoin, husband, protector, adviser,
Prince Charming all in one.

She can thank Henry Koster for bringing him
into her life at the moment when the need was
greatest, when life looked darkest, when failure
loomed.

How charming Danielle Darrieux and Henri
Decoin met, loved, wooed and married is a thrill-
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is like a beautiful dream.

The complete, beautiful story appears in True
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Get your copy today at the nearest newsstand.

Livlf Rorncrcee

70

takes the lead in Back Stage Wife, as
Mary's husband, Larry.

After becoming interested in a pro-
gram to the point of feeling it is
mighty real, this illusion is roughly
torn to bits by hearing the same per-
son take a lead in another radio ser-
ial, which makes his first part re-
dundant and unnatural. None of us
are two or three people, and the only
reason we love a certain radio story
js because it has absorbed us with
realism and poignant charm.

Mrs. J. F. Victorin,

Cicero, 111.

FOURTH PRIZE

DOES THE SUN SHINE ALWAYS?

A recent article in a newspaper
stated that in the taking of a radio
poll, One Man's Family was the only
serial mentioned, and I wondered if
there was any connection between
that statement and the opinion ex-
pressed by some of my friends: "I do
not listen to radio serials so much, be-
cause they are so depressing.

Truly the characters in some of the
continued stories go from- one tragedy
to another and life seems to be one
long drawn out misery. Now, I am
not asking for a "Pollyannish" tale.
One Man's Family is not all sunshine,
but the narrative is shot through with
such clever humor and good cheer
that the very infrequent happenings
of a sad nature do not linger in the
mind of the listener.

When the world is in such a state
of upheaval and unrest in many sec-

RADIO MIRROR

What Do You Want to Say?

(Continued from page 3)

tions, would it not be a good idea to
have more wholesome radio serials,
not devoid of serious moments, but
with most of the deep tragedy ele-
ment eliminated?

Jane B. James,

St. Louis, Mo.

FIFTH PRIZE

RADIO'S CREATING AN IDEAL HOME-LIFE

Meet the radio in its new role —
youth-builder. It is responsible for
keeping the young folks at home,
while at the same time giving them a
decent place to enjoy dancing.

As more and more parents are
realizing the needs of the younger set,
more and more recreation rooms or
living rooms with "rollable" rugs are
coming into vogue.

As a result, the children are staying
away from the roadhouses in droves
— are avoiding the questionable sur-
roundings with its liquor and ciga-
rettes. They'd rather bring the gang
to the home, turn on the radio, and
dance to their hearts' content.

Here's to the radio. It has made
possible a new era of homelife for
American youth.

Wendell Knowles,

Salina, Kansas

SIXTH PRIZE

GOOD LUCK, BERT PARKS!

When Bert Parks received the job
of announcer on Eddie Cantor's pro-
gram, that fellow got a break he de-
served.

He not only has a good speaking
voice, but when he sang on the new
program, it was worth listening to.

Now, as the program moves from
New York to California, don't be sur-
prised if Announcer Parks gets an-
other break by appearing in the
movies.

Let's wish Bert Parks lots of good
luck, and let's thank Eddie Cantor for
coming along with an announcer
worthy of the chance to show what he
can do in the field of radio.

Marcella Kaplan,

St. Paul, Minn.

SEVENTH PRIZE

YOU GET TO KNOW FAMOUS PEOPLE

Three cheers and a bouquet of or-
chids to that grand program, Infor-
mation, Please!

It's my favorite program because
it has famous people as the innocent
victims of a barrage of questions. And
frequently you find that even persons
engaged in some important work,
have a sense of humor, just like any-
one else. I sometimes marvel at this
or that person's extensive knowledge
of opera, slang, history, geography,
etc. Of course, some of the questions
are simple- — but even the simplest are
sometimes the "catchiest."

Each week I look forward to the
next program, which will bring me
someone, whose novel I have read,
who is a well-known personage or of
whom I have read in the news.

Yvonne Shima,

Norwalk, Calif.

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RADIO MIRROR

The Case of the Hollywood Scandal

(Continued from page 36)

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voice was as cruel and crisp as the
lash of a whip. "It isn't for you to
decide what you're to tell me and
what not," he said. "Tell me every-
thing."

"Well," I said, thinking fast and
talking fast. "I came here with that
agreement in my brief case. I was
a little early, but I expected to find
you and Mr. Foley here, or at least
find someone at home."

"There was no one in?" he asked.

"No one answered the bell."

"How did you get in?"

"I walked in. The door was open."

"Are you accustomed to walking
into strange houses. . . ."

STOP it," I said. "Don't you try to
cross examine me. I'm working
for Mr. Foley; I'm accountable to him.
I came here at his request, not
yours."

The anger in my voice stopped him.
He was silent for a second or two,
then said, "I beg your pardon, Miss
Bell. I was only trying to protect
you."

"Protect me from what?"

"From the police."

"I don't want to be protected from
the police. The police are my
friends."

"The police," he said, "must never
know that you were here."

"That's what you think," I told him.

"I'm speaking on behalf of Mr.
Foley."

"I think Mr. Foley is quite capable
of doing his own speaking."

He hesitated as though thinking
out a new plan of attack. His voice
became solicitous — too solicitous — I
thought. "My dear Miss Bell," he said.
"I didn't realize what a terrifying
experience you've been through. Cer-
tainly to a young woman who is un-
accustomed to scenes of violence, this
is a great shock, a very great — er —
ah — emotional shock. I want you to go
out and wait in my car. I assure you
you'll be quite safe there. Nothing
will happen, and I'll go up and in-
vestigate. I think you're quite right.
If you are to receive any instructions,
they should come from Mr. Foley,
the man for whom you are working."

"But you can't investigate," I told
him. "The lights are off."

"I know the house," he said. "I'll
grope my way."

"Well, I'm not going with you," I
told him.

"I don't want you to. I want you to
go out and sit in the car. I'll see what
I can find." And he slipped quietly
down the dark corridor.

I started toward the automobile
which was parked at the curb, then
remembered my brief case. I ran
back, and retrieved it after some
fumbling around, returned to the
automobile, opened the door, climbed
in, and sat there, thinking what a
strange combination Frank G. Padg-
ham was. I would never have ex-
pected him to develop the moral
courage to go into that dark house
for the purpose of making an investi-
gation.

There was a drugstore at the cor-
ner. I could see the light shining
through the windows. It occurred to
me they'd have a telephone, and some-
thing which had been merely a vague
half-thought in the back of my mind
crystallized into sudden determina-
tion.

I looked up at the dark house. The
lights were still apparently off, judg-
ing by the diamond-shaped window
in the hallway. I knew from experi-
ence that the curtains and hangings
over the other windows were so heavy
that it would be impossible to tell
whether there were lights on in the
other rooms.

I OPENED the door and slipped out
I to the sidewalk. There seemed to be
no one in sight. I started walking
rapidly toward the drugstore. I had
been around in Hollywood long
enough and had read newspapers to
know what a precious thing a star's
reputation is, whether he is in radio
or movies — and Bruce Eaton was in
both. Let him get in what is known
as "a jam" and unfavorable publicity
can ruin him, and I knew the studios
were keenly alive to the situation.
I felt that it was only fair Bruce Eaton
should have an opportunity to defend
himself.

I entered the drugstore, gave one of
my best smiles to the clerk, and
walked across to the telephone booth.

I looked for Bruce Eaton in the di-
rectory.

He wasn't listed. It occurred to me
then that he wouldn't be. I called
Information and pleaded with her to

It's Kenny Baker, made up to play the part of Nanki-Poo, in Universale
production of "The Mikado." Yum-Yum's played by Jean Colin.

72

RADIO MIRROR

give me Bruce Eaton's unlisted num-
ber. I told her it was a matter of
life and death, something that was
very, very important to Mr. Eaton,
and my emotional storm was wasted
against a wall of official reserve. I
couldn't even get the smile out of her
voice.

And then I remembered reading an
article in a motion picture magazine
about Bruce Eaton, only a few days
ago. That article had mentioned the
name of the agency which represented
him. I couldn't recall the name off-
hand, but there was a magazine stand
in the drugstore.

I LEFT the telephone booth, bought
a copy of the magazine, and found
the name I wanted. That name was
listed in the telephone directory. I
called the number. I hardly expected
there'd be anyone at the office, but I
thought perhaps Information would
give me the number of . . . Someone
answered the telephone, a soothingly
competent masculine voice which
seemed to say, "All right, you've
got me now. There's nothing to worry
about. Tell me what it is."

I didn't want Mr. Padgham to know
I'd been telephoning. Time was short.
I didn't have any opportunity to ask
questions, and I certainly didn't want
anyone to ask me questions. "Listen,"
I said, "your agency represents Bruce
Eaton. I happen to have some infor-
mation of the greatest importance to
Mr. Eaton."

"Yes," the voice said. "We repre-
sent him. Can you tell me who this is
talking?"

"No," I said, "but I have a message
which must get to Mr. Eaton right
away."

This time the voice seemed to have

lost some of its cordiality. "What's
the message?" it asked.

"Please tell Mr. Eaton that the
young woman who removed his gag
recognized him, that her telephone
number is . . ." That was making it
sound too much like a mash proposi-
tion, so I added hastily, "Please tell
him that if he wants to get in touch
with the young woman who removed
his gag, he can call Miss Bell at the
law office of William C. Foley, and
Miss Bell will see that any messages
he desires to give are duly trans-
mitted."

"Can't you tell me something more
about what you're referring to?" the
voice asked. "Can't you be a little
more specific? After all, you know
there are lots of people who admire
Mr. Eaton both as an individual and as
an actor. Many of them try to get in
touch with him. We have literally
hundreds of messages which we sim-
ply can't transmit, because it wouldn't
do any good. Mr. Eaton couldn't even
begin to . . .

"Listen," I interrupted. "This is a
matter of life and death. You're
interested in Mr. Eaton — in any event,
you're interested in his earning ca-
pacity. If you don't do just as I say,
his earning capacity may take a nose
dive, and I haven't time to argue
about it."

I slammed up the telephone receiver
and walked from the telephone booth
conscious of the fact that the clerk
had mistaken my smile for an invita-
tion, and was smirking all over his
fat face.

After I'd left the drugstore, I
walked just as fast as I could make
my legs move.

Halfway to the house I received a
sudden shock. There was no auto-

mobile at the curb!

I kept on walking, hoping against
hope that my eyes had deceived me.
I wondered what Mr. Padgham would
think, wondered if, perhaps, he'd de-
cided I knew more about the affair
of the Spanish house than I'd dis-
closed to him.

An automobile swung around the
corner behind me, coming at high
speed. As the car swayed on its
springs and skidded slightly, the
brilliant illumination of the head-
lights swung far over to the left, held
me in their pitiless brilliance, then
went over to the right and back again
to the left. I heard the sound of tires
protesting against the too sudden ap-
plication of brakes.

After what I'd been through, my
nerves were ragged. I started to run.
Then I heard Mr. Foley's voice call-
ing. "What is it, Miss Bell?"

I turned back toward the car. I
don't think I was ever so glad to hear
a voice in my life.

"Has something happened?" he
asked.

"Yes," I told him.

"What?"

"Lots of things," I said.

HE glanced at the brief case under
my arm. "Do you still have the
agreement?"

"I held on to it through thick and
thin," I said, laughing nervously.

"Want to get in?" he asked.

Did I? I ran around the car and
climbed in beside him.

"Tell me about it," he urged.

"So I started in and told him the
whole thing from the beginning, from
the time the car had tried to run over
me until Mr. Padgham had sent me
out to wait in his car. The only thing

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73

RADIO MIRROR

77 NEW KIND OF

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I held out on was Bruce Eaton and
that key. Somehow I didn't exactly
think it would be cricket to tell even
Mr. Foley — at any rate, not until
Bruce Eaton's agent had had an op-
portunity to tell him to communicate
with me.

"Then you don't know whether the
man in that room had been murdered
or had died a natural death?"

"No, only what Mr. Padgham said."

"You don't even know of your own
knowledge whether he was dead or
not?"

"Certainly not," I said. "I didn't
go in the room."

"But Padgham left you in the auto-
mobile and went up to that room."

"That's where he said he was
going."

"How long ago was that?"

"Perhaps ten minutes."

"And what were you doing in the
meantime?"

"I . . . I went down to the drug-
store," I said. "I was coming right
back."

"You shouldn't have done that," he
told me. "Padgham may have become
worried about you."

I DON'T think he'll ever waste much
' time worrying about anyone except
Padgham," I said.

"Tell me about his emotional reac-
tions when you told him about this
dead man."

"I think at first," I said, "when I
answered the door and it was all dark
inside, he was absolutely terror
stricken. He . . ."

"Yes, yes, I know," Foley interrupt-
ed impatiently. "That isn't what I
meant. I want to know how he re-
acted when you were telling him
about what you'd found in the house."

"Well," I said, "it was dark, of
course, and I couldn't see his facial
expression, but . . ."

"Never mind the facial expression.
You heard him talk. What about his
voice?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Foley," I said, "but
I couldn't tell a thing from his voice.
I havent your ability to read char-
acters and emotions from voices."

"What did he say when you told him
about a dead man in the room on the
second floor. What words did he
use?"

"He said 'Oh— Good Lord!'"

"Now you're certain about that?"

"Absolutely certain. I remember
particularly that's what he said."

"All right," Foley said. "Mimic the
way he said it just as well as you
can."

"But," I protested, "I couldn't mimic
Mr. Padgham."

"I dont mean that particularly.
What I mean is tell me how he said
it. Was the accent on the 'oh' or
on the 'Lord', or did he roll the r's
in 'Lord'? Did . . ."

"He rolled the r's in 'Lord', I said.
"I remember distinctly. He said 'Oh —
Good Lor-r-r-d!!' "

"And how about the 'Oh'? Was it
accented?"

"No, he soft-pedalled that and came
down heavy on the last word."

There were several seconds of
silence while my boss sat there think-
ing. At length, I gained the temerity
to ask, "Does that signify anything,
Mr. Foley?"

He said thoughtfully, "I think it
does," and then turning, smiled at me
and said, "But as yet, I don't know
just what."

"Do you want to go to the house?"
I asked.

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What Becomes of
the Girls Who

Run
Away?

Every day across the nation, young, sweet, attrac-
tive girls are disappearing from the protection of
their parents' homes. Some are abducted di-
rectly into slavery. Others, because of escapades
with boys, failure at school or other trouble, van-
ish almost as completely. Inexperienced, tragi-
cally unprepared to battle against the odds of a
world arrayed against them, they find its grim
realities too much to fight alone. What becomes
of them then?

Stella A. Miner, Director of the Girls' Service
League of America, has seen thousands of these
cases, and in May True Story Magazine she re-
veals the stories of some of the runaway girls she
knows. Their case histories will give you a new
understanding of the problems and the tragedies
of the girls who run away!

May True Story

^ * MAGAZINE ■

20th ANNIVERSARY
NUMBER

74

RADIO MIRROR

"No," he said, shortly. "It's too late
now." He swung his car in the middle
of the block, and turned back toward
the drugstore. "Did you," he asked,
"notice whether there was a public
telephone booth in the drugstore?"

I knitted my forehead into a frown
as though trying to recall, and said,
"Yes, there's a telephone booth there."

It was a species of white lie, but
I hoped it would be justified under
the circumstances. I knew that in or-
der to protect Bruce Eaton I was going
to have to tell plenty of white lies,
and I might just as well get in prac-
tice. ... I wondered if he'd call me.

LOOK here," Mr. Foley said, inter-
■ rupting my thoughts. "Let's get
one thing straight. Exactly when did
the lights go out?"

"Right after I'd discovered this dead
man there in the room."

Mr. Foley slid the car to a stop in
front of the drugstore, but made no
motion to open the door. "Now, tell
me once more," he said, "about your
conversation with Mr. Padgham."

Once more I related the conversa-
tion, and once more Mr. Foley sat
staring straight ahead, his forehead
furrowed in concentration.

After several seconds of silence, I
said, "Did you want to do something
about a telephone?"

He nodded, but still made no move
to open the car door or to get out.

"Is there," I asked, "anything wrong
with my conversation with Mr. Padg-
ham? Did I say anything to him that
I shouldn't have?"

"No," he said, "that isn't what both-
ers me."

"May I ask what it is?"

"Yes," he said. "Hasn't it impressed
you as being significant that Mr.

Padgham didn't ask you at any time
when the lights had gone out?"

"That's right," I exclaimed. "He
didn't."

"You can appreciate how significant
it is," Mr. Foley said. "The man drives
up to a house where he has an ap-
pointment. He naturally expects to
have someone answer his ring in a
conventional manner. He doesn't
know that the house is dark, but
thinks probably that curtains across
the diamond-shaped window in the
front door keep him from seeing any
illumination from within. All of a
sudden, the door swings open. A
tunnel of darkness looms ahead in
place of the lighted corridor the man
had expected to see. A woman tells
him about finding a dead man on the
upper floor.

"Now one of the first questions a
person would naturally ask is 'Well,
what's wrong with the lights? When
did they go off?' Now, you're certain
Mr. Padgham didn't ask you that
question or something like it?"

"Absolutely," I said.

"Go into that drugstore," Mr. Foley
said. "Tell the clerk that you're too
nervous to telephone. Ask him to
telephone police headquarters and re-
port a dead man at that address. Tell
him that you have reason to believe
the man may have been murdered.
Then turn around and walk out."

"What if he asks me questions?" I
wanted to know.

"Walk out," he said.

"Shouldn't I telephone the police
myself?"

"No, I don't want you to give them
your name. If you telephone them,
it will simply be an anonymous call,
and if you ever find yourself in a
position where you have to establish

the fact that you placed that call, you
can't do it. By going in the drugstore
and asking the clerk to place the call
you'll have an out if you need it."

"I see your point," I told him.
"Here goes."

I didn't tell him that I'd already
impressed my personality on the
clerk, because I didn't want to tell
him about that first telephone call I'd
made. I jumped to the curb, crossed
the sidewalk, and knew as soon as I
saw the clerk's face that he thought
he'd made a conquest, that I'd
trumped up some excuse to come back
and get acquainted.

I HAD one satisfaction about deliv-
' ering my message. It wiped the
smirk off that man's face, and while
he was standing there still dazed
from the impact of the news I'd given
him, I turned and went sailing out the
door to Mr. Foley's car.

"And now what?" I asked.

"Now," he said, "you can deliver
the agreement to me, and I'll deliver
you to your home, and you'll try your
level best to forget all about it."

I handed him the brief case. He
stopped the car, opened the brief
case, then looked up at me with ques-
tioning eyes.

The brief case was empty!

Only one day on the job, and al-
ready involved in a murder case!
Is Claire getting into deeper trouble
by withholding some of the infor-
mation in her possession from Mr.
Foley? Read the next instalment of
this swiftly-paced mystery story in
the June issue of Radio Mirror,
on sale April 26th.

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75

RADIO MIRROR

America's Millions

will go by

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I Will Live

(Continued jrom page 19)

Address

City

76

MF-5

doctor who prophesied that tragic
future for her was a wise man, but
there was one thing he didn't under-
stand: the sheer, indomitable courage
of the human heart.

It is almost unbelievable, this
story. . . .

Barbara Luddy was not out of
babyhood when infantile paralysis
first struck her. Not that the physi-
cian who diagnosed her case knew
what was wrong. He said she was
suffering from spinal meningitis.

Barbara doesn't remember her
father. He and Mrs. Luddy were di-
vorced when she was still in her crib.
The father she does remember was
Dr. Newton Sproule, whom her
mother married when Barbara was
six. Cultured, brilliant, charming, Dr.
Sproule had come from his native
Toronto to the prairies of Montana
to absorb the dry summer sun into
his tubercular lungs. Instead of re-
turning to Toronto he became a coun-
try doctor in the United States' rough
northwest — in Harlem, a tiny dot of
a settlement in the midst of the roll-
ing plains, not far from Helena.

T was Dr. Sproule, in the little hos-
pital he set up in Harlem, who first
correctly diagnosed Barbara's illness,
and started her on a series of exer-
cises and manipulations designed to
strengthen her weakened muscles.

They were happy, the three people
of that family. Dr. Sproule's lungs
were getting stronger. His practice
was good and his hospital was a suc-
cess. Babs' condition was improving.
Mrs. Sproule was forgetting the un-
happiness of her first marriage.

Then a typhoid epidemic struck
Harlem. The hospital, designed to
accommodate forty patients, was sud-
denly deluged by a hundred and fifty
desperately ill townspeople and farm-
ers. Five cots were jammed into
single rooms. Doctors — Sproule and
his assistants — and nurses were over-
worked, soon exhausted. Mrs. Sproule,
already suffering from a slight cough
that was too similar to her husband's,
joined the nurses in caring for the
patients.

At the height of the epidemic a
blizzard swept down out of the north.
Into the hospital struggled a half-
frozen, exhausted man. His wife was
giving birth to a baby on their farm
twenty miles out on the prairie. Would
Dr. Sproule . . . . ?

Of course Dr. Sproule would attend
her. He left the hospital alone, order-
ing the prospective father to remain
behind for treatment. One of his feet
had been badly frozen.

The father, however, disobeyed
orders — and saved Dr. Sproule's life.
Half way to his home he found the
doctor's car, stalled in the mounting
drifts. A few feet away was the doc-
tor himself, half buried in the snow,
sunk in the coma which precedes
death by freezing. He revived Sproule,
and together they reached the farm,
where Sproule brought the man's
baby into the world.

But the experience took lasting toll
of the doctor's health. By the time he
got back to the hospital he was des-
perately ill. And there he found that
his wife had also become a patient,
worn out by the strain of caring for
the hospital full of people.

Both husband and wife were bed-

ridden much of the time from then
on. Gradually they lost what money
they'd accumulated, and the hospital
passed into other hands.

Babs was six years old, and the
World War was in its last hysterical
months. She didn't understand the
War, any more than she understood
the tragedy that had come into her
mother's and step-father's lives, but it
was fun to stand on the back of a
truck and sing patriotic songs in
drives for savings stamps. And later,
a day or two after .the Armistice, it
was thrilling to be part of the patriotic
vaudeville bill at the American Thea-
ter in Butte.

Babs didn't know it then, but this
was her first professional engagement.
She sang "The Star Spangled Ban-
ner," and for the climax spread her
folded arms to display the American
flag draped behind her. It brought
down the house. Someone threw a
silver dollar on the stage. Other coins
followed. Soon Babs, still singing, was
running around the stage gathering
up coins from the footlight trough,
under the piano, in the wings.

Her success in this one professional
appearance led naturally to an offer
from the Pantages circuit, and she be-
came part of a traveling company
heading for the west coast. Under
Dr. Sproule's guidance, she added
dancing to her effortless lyric soprano
voice. They were highly original
dance steps, those sinuous Oriental
twists and twirls which she worked
out with the doctor. What audiences
didn't know was that each movement
had been planned by the canny doctor
to straighten her curved spine and
partially paralyzed right leg.

Dr. and Mrs. Sproule went along
on the tour, of course. Dr. Sproule
was anxious to get to Hollywood, hop-
ing to develop a medical practice
there, in a climate more healthy for
his weak lungs. But his condition
grew worse, and soon he was in the
Los Angeles county hospital — to re-
main there for the rest of his brief
life.

Babs sang and danced wherever she
could. Once she was in a burlesque
show, where the world-weary, cynical
show-girls guarded the child with al-
most motherly devotion. Her mother
and step-father were bitterly ashamed
that their little girl must work in such
an environment — but there was noth-
ing they could do. They had to have
the money.

A TIME was coming, though, when
Babs would see her career — her
first career — brought to an abrupt end.
She was singing in a San Diego theater
when, in the very middle of a song,
her voice failed her. She opened her
mouth, and not a sound came out. In
agony, she looked at the orchestra
leader, who was quick-witted enough
to signal his men for a crescendo
while Babs pretended to finish the
song.

Her singing voice was gone. That
was obvious when the curtain came
down. A little of her carefully guarded
money went to a doctor who said the
trouble was overwork and advised
complete rest for the vocal chords.

Luckily, Mrs. Sproule was again on
the road to health and for two years
Barbara went to school while her
mother worked. There were more

RADIO MIRROR

than ordinary living expenses to be
met, too . . . little luxuries now and
then to make the long days and nights
in the hospital more pleasant for Dr.
Sproule . . . and treatments for Babs.
Just one month before she was
fourteen Babs came into Dr. Sproule's
hospital room, her face streaked with
tears. With her were her mother and
the doctor who had been treating her.
Without any preliminaries, he an-
nounced that Babs must begin wear-
ing a back brace to compensate for
the weakened leg.

WEAKLY, but determinedly, Dr.
Sproule refused to permit it.

His thin hand, almost transparent
now, lay on both of Babs'. "Listen,
Babs," he said. "Most of your life so
far, you've had to take care of your-
self, and — we've got to face it — you
probably always will have to. You've
had no formal education. All you
know is the entertainment business —
but you do know that. And you can't
be an entertainer if you wear braces.
You mustn't — you must not — wear
them. You are not going to look like
a cripple!"

Exhausted by the intensity of his
emotion, he fell back upon the pil-
lows. But he'd won his fight. No
braces were ordered for Barbara, and
a few days later she applied for work
as an extra at the movies' Central
Casting Bureau.

Because she was not yet fourteen
she lied. She gave her age as sixteen.
If she had given her real age, a pros-
pective employer would have been
forced by law to hire a tutor for her —
something no film company would
bother to do for a mere extra.

The gods must have been in a cruel-
ly humorous mood when Central Cast-
ing called Barbara for the first time.
For she was to report at the Butter-
fly Comedy studios to test for a part —
as a bathing beauty!

It seemed foolhardy even to answer
the call, but she did. One of six hun-
dred bathing girls, she paraded before
the cool, critical eye of the camera.
She even persuaded the director, who
didn't know her from Eve, to give her
girl friend a test too.

Later she was called back. This
time the director asked her to face the
camera again. She did, breathlessly
afraid, but guarding that weakened
leg by letting it rest casually from a
bent knee, only the toe touching the
ground.

"Will you kick your right leg,
please?" the director asked politely.

This was the end. "I can but I'd
rather not," Barbara replied.

The director nodded, as if in con-
firmation. "Yes," he said, "that's what
your friend told me — the one you per-
suaded me to test. . . ."

But he gave her a contract anyway.
So cleverly had she passed the pre-
liminary tests that he hadn't noticed
anything unusual. If she fooled him,
he told her, she could fool audiences.
The traitorous girl-friend has yet to
make her appearance on any screen.

If only Babs' "father" could have
lived to know!

For six months, until Butterfly
Comedies went bankrupt, Babs was a
bathing beauty. After that, while her
mother worked in a doctor's office,
she added to the family income with
whatever work she could get, which
wasn't much until, after about a year

and a half, she landed a contract to
co-star in a series of comedies for
Fox Films.

That was Barbara's second career:
as a rising young screen ingenue. Per-
haps you'll laugh when you hear how
it ended. Perhaps, on the other hand,
you won't.

She began to gain weight. Six
pounds crept up on her. And Barbara
is only four feet ten inches tall, so
that six extra pounds made a lot of
difference, particularly before the
camera. Her employers ordered her
to lose weight. Nothing particularly
unusual about that — it's done every
day in Hollywood. But Barbara's doc-
tor, when he heard of it, said simply:

"You may lose your film contract if
you don't diet. But if you do diet,
you'll lose your life!"

GIVE up the hard-won position.
Start all over again from the be-
ginning. Try again. Make the rounds
of the few theatrical producers on the
west coast. Keep going. Keep going —

But Barbara Luddy wasn't entirely
unknown by this time, and it wasn't
too long before she was given the
ingenue lead opposite Leo Carrillo in
"Lombardi, Ltd.," in which she did
such a good job that when Carrillo
decided to take the play to Australia
he urged her to go along.

She refused.

Something had happened to Bar-
bara. She'd fallen in love, with a
handsome young British actor that we
might as well call Michael. They
were going to be married, and Bar-
bara had no desire to leave California
and Michael.

Then, just before the Australian

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RADIO MIRROR

tour was to start, Barbara capitulated.
She called Carrillo and told him she'd
go along. Why? The answer is some-
thing that Barbara has kept locked in
her heart until now.

Her doctor had told her that she
must never marry. Not only that, he
said, but the chances were she might
be a hopeless cripple in seven years.

That is the doom which Barbara has
carried everywhere with her for the
last seven years, never telling anyone
except her mother — who knew, al-
ready. Until he reads this article,
Michael has never been able to solve
the mystery of why Barbara suddenly
broke off their engagement and went
to Australia with Leo Carrillo's show.
She apologized for hurting him . . .
but she never told.

SHE kept silence throughout the
Australian tour, and then she re-
turned to the United States to find
that the depression had wiped out all
theatrical activity on the west coast.
She kept silence — and grimly, dog-
gedly set out to begin a fourth career,
as a radio actress.

Determination made that fourth
career a success, and determination —
nothing else — has banished the fear of
being a cripple.

The doctor who threatened dire
consequences if she didn't wear a back
brace was wrong. The doctor who
promised her the painful bed of the
hopeless paralytic before March of
this year was wrong.

Not only has she proved them
wrong, but she's gone on to horseback
riding and dancing. And now ice
skating. It was Bret Morrison, who
plays the role of the First Nighter,
who got her on a horse. Through his
close friendship with her, he discov-
ered her envy of those who could ride.
At last he found out, too, why she was
afraid to try. He scoured Chicago un-
til he found a side-saddle, and almost
forced her to try it. After a year of
riding, dancing, skating, Barbara
visited a famous specialist, who told
her she need never worry again.

Today some people laugh when they
see Barbara riding a horse with that
old-fashioned saddle. They put it
down, no doubt, to an actress' affecta-
tion. But Barbara laughs with them.
She can afford to — now. She can af-
ford to laugh at so many things be-
cause for the first time in years she
is safe.

Foolish Fancy, Maybe

(Continued from page 14)

where I couldn't afford to go; and I
knew no one in Detroit who would
take me there.

Something had to be done, and for
three days I racked my brain, trying
to think what it would be. Then I
remembered that night when Randy
interviewed me on the air. That was
it! I'd go to see him, try to persuade
him he needed a girl singer, and ask
if I couldn't have the job. He'd never
give it to me, but at least I'd have a
chance to talk to him, and then —
well, who knew what would happen?

I went to the hotel where he was
staying, and boldly asked for Randy
Blake on one of the house telephones.
A man's voice answered, and I asked
for Mr. Blake.

"Who's calling?" the man asked.

"Tell Mr. Blake it's Rita Sullivan—
we met in Chicago."

There was a pause at the other end

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RADIO MIRROR

of the line, and I waited, my heart
pounding. Would the trick work?
Or would Randy know that he hadn't
met any Rita Sullivan in Chicago?
Then the man came back to the phone.
"Will you come up?" he said. "Suite
412."

THERE were several men in suite
412, but I had eyes for only one —
Randy, standing tall and self-pos-
sessed in the middle of the room. He
looked at me blankly for a moment —
then his face cleared.

"Why, it's the little girl with the big
brown eyes!" he said. "What are you
doing in Detroit?"

I breathed a silent prayer of thanks-
giving for his friendliness. It hadn't
seemed possible to me that Randy
would be anything but friendly, but
I was awfully glad to be reassured.

"I — I think you ought to have a girl
singer with your band," I said.

His brows went up in mock amaze-
ment. "You do? And I'll bet you'd
like to be her."

"Yes," I said, "I would."

Randy looked at the other men in
the room. "Well," he said, shrugging
his shoulders. "Maybe she's right,
boys. Maybe I do need a girl singer.
Can't ever tell." He turned back to
me. "Ever do any professional work?"

"N-no," I admitted. "Just at pri-
vate parties."

"Um-hm," he said, regarding me
thoughtfully. Then he turned ab-
ruptly on his heel and went over to
a grand piano in the corner of the
room. "Come on. Let's see what you
can do."

I hadn't bargained on anything
quite as sudden as this. I'd expected
Randy either to turn me down com-

pletely or talk to me a while and
make an appointment for a regular
audition.

"Why — I — " I stammered. "Right
now?"

"Sure," he said crisply. "No time
like the present." He ran his fingers
over the keys. "What'll it be?"

"Oh — 'Melancholy Baby,' " I said.
It was an old song, but one I'd always
liked.

When I'd finished the song Randy
sat on a moment at the piano, strik-
ing thoughtful chords, before he
turned and said kindly, "I'm sorry,
Rita — Miss Sullivan, I mean. You'd
have to have more training before we
could use you. ... I really am
sorry."

"Well — thank you anyway," I said.

He took my arm and began walking
slowly toward the door. "Not at all.
It was nice of you to come up. Come
back in — oh, in a couple of years, and
then we'll see."

We were at the door now, he was
waiting politely for me to leave. I
couldn't face his courtesy and kind-
ness— so friendly and yet so imper-
sonal. I turned quickly and went
out.

1 walked slowly down the corridor
to the elevators, pressed a button,
waited for the car to stop for me.
So that ended that. I'd met him, and
I still didn't know him. He lived in
one world, I in another. And there
was no use in my trying to break into
his life. The words of the song I'd
just sung kept running through my
mind. "Foolish fancy, maybe." Mine
had been a foolish fancy, and no
maybe about it.

"Excuse me," a diffident voice said
beside me. I turned, to find a boy

who looked vaguely familiar standing
at my elbow. "Excuse me," he said
again, "but I'm Johnny Mack. I play
sax for Randy. I was back there in
his room, just now."

"Oh — of course," I said, recognizing
him.

"Won't you come and have a bite to
eat with me?" he asked. "I — I'd like
to talk to you, if you don't mind."

I hadn't the least idea of what he
wanted, but I agreed at once. He was
a nice-looking young fellow — he
couldn't have been more than twenty-
two. He had a shy, bashful manner
that was very appealing, and his gray
eyes were gentle and respectful.

LIE led me into the coffee-room of
' ' the hotel, and found a quiet booth
for us.

"You know," he said after he'd
given the waitress our order, "I used
to see you in Chicago. You came to
the Shalimar a lot, didn't you?"

"Yes — almost every night, I guess."
He had, I noticed, just a trace of
Southern accent — not much, just
enough to lend his voice a soft, drawl-
ing quality.

"Um-hum." He nodded, and picked
up a fork and began earnestly tracing
elaborate patterns on the table-cloth.
"You'll probably think I'm butting in
where it isn't any of my business," he
went on, "but — well, how'd you hap-
pen to come to Detroit? If you wanted
to get a job singing with the band,
why didn't you ask Randy in
Chicago?"

"I didn't — I didn't think of it," I
said lamely.

"Oh. Well, I still don't see— There
are lots of other bands in Chicago.
Why didn't you try one of them?"

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RADIO MIRROR

That was a tough question to an-
swer. I hesitated, thinking. I looked
across the table at his intent, honest
face. I'd only known him a few min-
utes, but I felt instinctively he was
my friend. He might have been the
boy who sat next to me in a class at
college. And I did want, terribly, to
confide in someone.

"I don't really want to be a singer,"
I confessed. "I just want to be where
Randy Blake is."

He didn't seem surprised or
shocked. "It's like that, is it?"

"Yes," I said, "it's like that. You
won't tell him?"

"Of course not," he promised. "You
know, I think maybe I can help you.
Randy's been thinking for some time
he needed a girl singer — that's where
you're lucky. But he doesn't know
from nothing the kind of singer he
wants — that's where you're unlucky.
Now, I listened to you just now, and
your voice is terrible."

"It is not!" I flashed back at him.
It was all right for me to admit to
myself that my voice was terrible, but
I didn't intend to let other people say
so.

LJE just grinned at me. "Yes it is,
' ' and you know it. But it's also got
something. I don't know what— a
sort of a warm, throaty quality that
would sound swell over a mike. You
couldn't make yourself heard across
the room with those pipes of yours,
but amplified on a mike — well, then
they might be swell."

"Randy doesn't think so," I re-
minded him.

"I know it, but maybe I can fix it
so he will." And that was all he'd
say, except to urge me to stay around
Detroit for a week or so, and to prom-
ise that he'd come to see me the next
afternoon. He also asked if I had any
money, and I told him I had plenty
in the bank; after which he arranged
to cash a check for me at the hotel.
I hadn't even thought of the difficulty
of getting checks cashed in a strange
town.

For a week nothing happened. I
saw Johnny every afternoon, but he
would only smile mysteriously and
tell me not to worry. Nevertheless, I
did. I wanted terribly to see Randy,
and I knew, unless Johnny's mysteri-
ous plan bore fruit, I never would.
Many times, in the long dark nights, I
resolved to pack up the next morning
and go back to Chicago — but in the
mornings I felt better, and decided to
stay on one more day.

Then, one afternoon, Johnny an-
nounced that everything was set.

"Are you game to sing on the air,
over a little local station?" he asked.
"At noon tomorrow?"

"Of course — but how — "

He chuckled. "I had to do some tall
finagling, but here's the set-up. The
people at the station think you're
somebody Randy wants to try out, so
they're willing to give you a quarter-
hour of time. I gave 'em a phoney
name for you — Lucille Ames. And
Randy doesn't know anything about it
at all. At noon tomorrow I'll see that
his set is on and tuned to your station.
Then, if he likes you, he'll think he
discovered you himself. If he doesn't
— well, you haven't got what I think
you have."

I didn't sleep a wink that night, and
the next morning as I walked to the
station I felt as if I were on my way
to the electric chair. But once before
the microphone in the shabby little

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RADIO MIRROR

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80

RADIO MIRROR

one-horse studio, my nervousness
miraculously fell away. After all, I
thought, if I failed, nobody except
Johnny and I would know. As a re-
sult, when I finished, the studio pian-
ist who had accompanied me looked
at me with genuine approval.

I hurried back to my rooming house
and waited. The hours dragged by,
and slowly I lost heart. Something
had gone wrong. Randy didn't like
me — or perhaps he hadn't listened at
all. Then, late in the afternoon, quick
steps sounded in the hall, and Johnny
knocked on my door.

"Randy wants to see you!" he
beamed. "I was right — you have got
something in that funny little voice
of yours. And if Randy will take a
joke — well, you're hired!"

MY emotions were very different
the second time I entered suite
412 at Randy's hotel, from what they'd
been the first time. I was twice as
scared, for one thing. But what really
worried me was Randy's reaction
when he learned the truth. If he was
angry and unkind, I didn't think I
could stand it.

"This is the girl you heard on the
air," was all Johnny said.

Randy's mouth fell open. For a
moment he looked absolutely stunned.
"You — " he said, and stopped. Then
he began to laugh, and I knew I had
won.

From that moment, I stepped into a
new world — the strange, topsy-turvy
world of danceland, where you work
at night and have daytime to yourself,
except for rehearsal periods.

Being in Randy's band was all I'd
ever thought it could be, and more.
Randy knew all about how Johnny

and I had tricked him into listening
to me on the air, but he never held
it against us.

For my first few days I only did one
or two songs an evening, but one
afternoon Randy spent about four
hours alone with me, playing the
piano while I went over and over half
a dozen songs. At last he gave a satis-
fied sigh and jumped up from the
piano stool.

"One more session like that and
you'll be a real asset to the gang," he
said. "Now let's go downstairs and
have something to eat."

As we went down in the elevator
and through the crowded lobby to the
luxurious hotel grill, I couldn't help
marvelling, thinking how wonderful
it was that in a few short days my
entire life had changed. It didn't
seem possible that I was with Randy
Blake, the man I loved, sitting oppo-
site him at a snowy-white table while
an obsequious waiter received his
order.

"How do you like the band busi-
ness now?" he asked.

"I love it!" I assured him with
such obvious enthusiasm that he
smiled.

"You're a funny little kid," he said.
"I can't quite make you out. How
about that college course at North-
western? School will be opening
again soon."

"Who wants to go to school when
she can be singing in Randy Blake's
band?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Not you, evi-
dently. But — -well, I wish you'd tell
me why you followed us to Detroit,
instead of asking for a job in
Chicago."

It was the same question, almost

that Johnny had asked me, and I still
didn't have a convincing answer to it
— except the truth. "I didn't -think
you'd hire me," I murmured.

"But, thinking I wouldn't hire you,
you came all the way from Chicago
to Detroit? I don't get it."

I couldn't answer. I raised my eyes
to his. For a long minute our glances
locked. I saw first unbelief, then
tenderness, steal into his face.

"You're very sweet," he said softly.

After that, I remember, we were
very gay. Randy told me story after
story about the band and about him-
self— things I was sure he would have
told no one else. And when we
parted, I was so happy I could scarce-
ly keep from dancing down the street
to my rooming house, where I was
still living.

WONDERFUL days followed. I
loved the band work, of course,
but even more I loved being with
Randy. Often, on afternoons when
there was no rehearsal, he'd hire a car
and we'd drive out into the country,
and those sunlit hours were the hap-
piest I'd ever spent.

We never spoke of love, but I said
to myself that could wait. Words
weren't needed, anyway. The occa-
sional touch of Randy's hand, his high
spirits when we were together — these
alone were enough to convince me of
his affection.

I saw a good deal of Johnny, too,
because of course there were times
when the business affairs of the band
tied Randy up and he couldn't get
away. But the hours I spent with
Johnny were subtly different from
those with Randy. Johnny and I
were like a couple of happy kids, ex-

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FOOT
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ploring the city together, going to
movies and arguing over the merits
of different dance bands. I might as
well have been another boy, for all
the difference sex made in our rela-
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I wrote to my parents, telling them
that I had decided not to return to
school. After the last week in August,
the band was going into another hotel
engagement in Minneapolis, and I was
looking forward eagerly to the ex-
citement of departure.

But about a week before we were
to leave Detroit I sensed that some-
thing was wrong. Randy seemed pre-
occupied and worried, and I never
saw him except at rehearsals or per-
formances. I racked my brain, trying
to think of some way in which I had
offended him, and finally I ran after
him as rehearsal was breaking up.

"Randy," I said, "what's the matter?
I never see you any more."

He patted my hand and smiled.
"Nothing's wrong, baby. I'm just
figuring on changing the style of the
band a little."

"Changing the style! But — "

SWING isn't going to last forever,
Rita," he said seriously. "I've been
thinking the pendulum's about due to
start back the other way — and I want
to get a little jump on the other bands,
so I'm going to modify the style.
That's the only reason I've been busy
lately — just figuring out what was the
best thing to do."

He hurried on, leaving me feeling
strangely worried. I couldn't believe
that he was doing the right thing, but
after all, he knew a great deal more
about the band business than I did.

Rumors of the coming changes be-
gan to circulate among the boys in
the band, too. The whole atmosphere
was changed. Instead of the happy,
easy-going, carefree spirit of a few
days before, there was a tension in
the air. During rest periods the boys
would gather in each other's dressing
rooms, whispering, wondering.

Even so, I was entirely unprepared
for what happened the day before we
were to leave Detroit. Johnny came
around, about eleven in the morning,
to my rooming house.

"Randy wants to see you," he said,
and I'd never seen him so serious.

I was all ready to go out for break-
fast, so I took his arm and we began
walking down the street. He wouldn't
answer any of my apprehensive ques-
tions.

Randy was all alone in his suite
when I entered. He drew up a chair
for me, and sat down himself.

"Rita — ■" he began, and paused, as
if uncertain how to go on.

"Yes, Randy."

"Baby, you've got a great future. In
the few weeks you've been with me
you've improved more than I ever
thought a girl singer could. I think
you're a real discovery. And so I hope
you won't be mad when I tell you
what I've done."

I rubbed the palms of my hands to-
gether nervously. They were sudden-
ly damp. "Yes, Randy?" I said again.

"I told you I was going to make
some changes in the band's style.
Well, it's all set. As soon as we get
to Minneapolis we're going to dig in
and start working on a lot of new
arrangements I've had fixed up. But
that isn't the important part, for you.
I've — I've got a job for you with Muff
Elkins' band in New York, if you
want it. I knew you were just the

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RADIO MIRROR

girl Muff's been looking for, and he
wired me, taking you on my recom-
mendation, this morning."

I stared in amazement at the slip of
yellow paper he produced from his
pocket. "But I don't want to leave
you!" I burst out.

"I can't keep you, Rita," he said
simply. "I've hired Diana Blue to
sing with the band. You know who
she is, of course."

yES, I knew. A "name". A big name
in the danceband business. With
her as a featured artist, Randy Blake's
band would be a bigger draw.

He was trying to spare my feelings,
but in spite of himself his eyes shone
with excitement as he went on:
"Don't you see what a wonderful thing
it is to be able to get her? We'll
really go places now, with the band!
And you're going places too, Rita —
in a few months you'll have all New
York talking about you."

"Randy! I don't want to leave you!"
I cried.

"But don't you see," he explained
patiently, "I haven't got a place for
you in the band, any more. If it had
been anybody else but you I'd never
even have bothered to fix you up
with Muff Elkins." He paused, look-
ing at me intently. Then he added,
very quietly: "This is business."

Business! The word echoed through
my mind.

"I thought — I hoped there was
something more than — just business —
between us," I said at last.

"I'm sorry, Rita. I never wanted
you to feel that way. I'm awfully
fond of you — we've had lots of fun
together, but — "

His voice trailed away, but I could

finish the sentence myself. He was
trying to tell me that he didn't love
me, couldn't love me, couldn't love
anything but his band and his career.

I rose and tried to smile. "I under-
stand, Randy. It was good of you to
recommend me to Muff."

"He wants you right away, so I'll
wire him you're leaving tonight,"
Randy said, obviously relieved that I
wasn't going to cry.

"Tonight?"

"Sure, why not? There's a train at
midnight."

Packing, farewells, singing for the
last time. ... I went through them
all in numb misery. I was going to
New York, to a strange new future
— yet all I could think of was that
Randy didn't love me.

It was eleven-thirty. I'd said good-
bye to the boys in the band, and to
Randy, during the interval before the
supper show. Johnny, pressing my
hand, had promised to get away long
enough to see me off.

I went home, picked up my bags,
and took a taxi to the station. Sure
enough, there was Johnny, pacing up
and down the platform. I hadn't
realized what a comfort it would be
to have him wave good-bye.

With one of those bursts of effi-
ciency which people use to cover their
emotions at moments of parting, I at-
tended to tickets, bags, porters — and
then stopped, aware that nothing was
left to do except say goodbye. We
stood in the corridor of the Pullman
car, waiting for the train to pull out.

"Thank you so much, Johnny, for
all you've done," I said.

He shuffled his feet in embarrass-
ment. "It wasn't anything."

The conductor's long-drawn call

came: "Alll a-boooooard!"

"Goodbye, Johnny," I said, holding
out my hand.

"I — I — " he stammered.

The train began to glide slowly
along the rails. "Johnny! Hurry up!"
I cried.

"I — I'm going along!" he burst out.
"■Somebody's got to take care of you!"

"Don't be foolish! Your clothes—
your saxophone — they're all at the
hotel. And you can't let Randy down"

I CAN'T let you down," he said, set-
' ting his chin stubbornly. "And I
don't want to. I've been in love with
you ever since you walked into Randy's
room."

The train was running along fast
now. I gazed at Johnny. The light
in the corridor was dim and yellow-
ish, but it was strong enough to show
me what I'd never bothered to see
before — the love and devotion in his
clean-cut face, the assurance there
that here was my kind of a man, one
who really was a man and not a mere
machine for making music. Johnny
would never be a Randy Blake, but
only because he didn't want to be — -
he wanted to be a human being.

Gratitude for him — for the mere
fact that he was alive, beside me, lov-
ing me — filled my heart. It wasn't
love for him that I felt — not yet. I
knew that, but it didn't matter. There
was time for that, plenty of time.

"Oh Johnny," I said, laughing to
cover the lump in my throat, "and you
haven't even got a toothbrush!"

He grinned, and dug down into his
pocket. "Yes I have," he said. "I
thought I might get up nerve to come
along with you, so while I was wait-
ing in the station I bought one!"

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What's New From Coast to Coast

(Continued from page 5)

Gazing out at the New York sky-
line one night, the young daughter of
Richard Crooks saw the red neon
RCA sign on the building of that
name light up. "Oh, look!" she ex-
claimed, "they've lighted up Daddy's
initials." Crooks is Richard's second
name — his last is Alexander. And not
every singer has his monogram atop
a skyscraper.

* * *

Fred Waring is responsible for a
custom that's growing into a beloved
Broadway and Tin Pan Alley tradi-
tion. Song-pluggers and music pub-
lishers' representatives used to drop
in to see him at all times of the day,
and sometimes he couldn't see them
because he was busy. So he began
asking them to meet him for lunch at
a nearby Automat restaurant, and
now these Wednesday luncheons are
a weekly event. Sometimes Fred pays
for everything, sometimes the gang
selects the victim by voting on some
crazy thing like who has the loudest
necktie, or who needs a haircut most.
It's all grown to the proportions of a
luncheon club now, with a guest band-
leader invited every week, and only
one standing rule — the song-pluggers
can talk business to Fred, but never
to the guest maestro.

* * *

Kay Lorraine, the new singing star
of the CBS Your Hit Parade program,
is probably the only girl who ever
refused to come to New York for an
audition, and got the job anyway. She
was singing on KMOX in St. Louis
when the Lucky Strike people heard
about her and asked her to visit New
York so they could listen to her. Well-
meaning friends advised her not to
go unless she had some assurance that
she'd get the job, so she refused, but
she was recommended so highly that
they hired her nevertheless. The
beautiful Kay wears a Sigma Nu
fraternity pin which belongs to her
husband, Ray Sweeney. He used to
be a KMOX continuity writer and
Kay's romance with him started in
the KMOX studios. When she came
to New York he threw up his job and
came along, figuring that since radio
had brought them together in the first
place, it would be a shame to let radio

separate them. Anyway, he says, it
was cheaper to come along — saved the
expenses of long-distance phone calls
between New York and St. Louis.

* * *

BANGOR, Maine — Fifteen consecu-
tive, uninterrupted years on the air
is the proud record of Dr. Ashley A.
Smith, pastor of Bangor's First Uni-
versalis!; church and founder of sta-
tion WABI. Dr. Smith's weekly radio
church service was started in 1924,
and is one of the oldest, if not the
very oldest, on the air. WABI was
started by him for the purpose of
broadcasting services, and although
he relinquished its operation to others
several years ago, he continued his
Sunday morning broadcasts.

* * *

Do you know a man who hears
radio programs through his teeth? If
you do, please get in touch with the
Mutual Broadcasting System. They
want him.

The whole unlikely story of John
Morskowsky, who heard MBS pro-
grams without the aid of a receiving
set, started last May, when Morskow-
sky came to the network offices, com-
plaining because he was kept awake
at night by their programs. Nobody
heard them but John, but he heard
them all the time the network was
on the air. Mutual engineers analyzed
his plight and discovered that he was
actually getting radio reception
through his teeth. He was a knife
grinder by trade, and bits of car-
borundum from his whirling grind-
stone lodged in his teeth, converting
them into an old-fashioned crystal
radio set. When he lay down on his
bed at night, its frame and springs
made a very efficient antenna.

The engineers advised John to keep
his teeth clean, and heard no more
from him. Ever since then, though,
scientists and doctors have been writ-
ing in, wanting to know more about
him; and now the World's Fair would
like to put him on exhibit, hoping to
amaze visitors by amplifying the pro-
grams coming through his radio-set
teeth. Now Mutual would really like
to get him back, but they can't find
him. The last report heard from him
was that he'd sailed for his native

ADDRESS.

Together on the air and screen — Nan Grey and Bob Cummings in NBC's
"Those We Love," and in Universale "Three Smart Girls Grow Up."

Czechoslovakia — probably hoping they
broadcast there on a wave-length his
teeth couldn't pick up.

WASHINGTON— Phonograph rec-
ords and riddles have made a winning
combination in Arch McDonald's Grab
Bag program on WJSV. Arch, who
besides being one of WJSV's staff an-
nouncers, is one of the best sports
broadcasters in the country, simply
intersperses phonograph records with
riddles and commercial announce-
ments on the Grab Bag show. When
the first person with the correct an-
swer to a riddle telephones in, Arch
reaches into his "grab bag" and pulls
out a prize, which may be a dollar
bill, tickets to a local theater, ball
game or fight, or almost anything. It's
all great fun, and the listeners keep
the telephones busy.

At night, Arch is also heard on his
seven-o'clock sports program, and
during the baseball season of course
he'll be on the air with play-by-play
reports of the Washington Senators'
games.

Arch was born in Hot Springs,
Arkansas, and played football in high
school. Sports weren't uppermost in
his mind then, though, and in 1918
he went to Hollywood, where he was
an extra in silent films. In 1919 he be-
came a friend of Jack Dempsey's, and
spent several years around training
camps, getting acquainted with many
sports champions, before he began
announcing sports events over public
address systems.

He was in Chattanooga, Tennessee,
announcing baseball games, when sta-
tion WDOD hired him to broadcast

RADIO MIRROR

them on the air. He was with WDOD
until 1934, when he joined WJSV, and
has been there ever since.

Arch has been married for seven-
teen years, and has three children,
Martha, Patsy and Sandy. His hobbies
are amateur magic and acting. Last
summer on the opening night of his
appearance with a local amateur group
in "The Old Soak" he had an auto-
mobile accident and broke an ankle.
The accident held up the presentation
of the play for several weeks, but his
sports broadcast went on as usual
from his hospital room.

Remember Allie Lowe Miles of the
Husbands and Wives program a couple
of years ago? She's a dramatic actress
now, playing the villainess, Mrs.
Waite, in the new CBS serial, The
Life and Love of Dr. Susan.

Tommy Dorsey nosed Benny Good-
man out by a small margin in a swing
popularity poll conducted by station
WHAT in Philadelphia. The score
was Dorsey, 292,474 votes; Goodman,
274,442; and Artie Shaw, 99,402.

There's a story behind the appear-
ance of a recent guest star on Dr.
William L. Stidger's Getting the Most
Out of Life program on NBC. Years
ago, when Stidger was a pastor in a
mid-western city, he was awakened
one night by furious pounding on his
front door. He investigated, and found
a drunken policeman on his doorstep.
He invited the policeman inside,
sobered him up a little, and got his

story. He'd become involved in the
graft which was flourishing in the
police department at the time, and
now he was trying to drown his con-
science in liquor. Dr. Stidger talked
to him and advised him to quit the
police force entirely if he wanted to
regain his self-respect. The policeman
went away, and Stidger never heard
from him again until recently. The
policeman had heard Stidger on the
air and lost no time in looking him up
and thanking him. He's now an
evangelist and religious singer, and
agreed at once when Stidger asked
him to go on his radio show.

Thanks to Lanny Ross, you may
hear a swell and really unique pro-
gram some time soon. It all started
when Lanny celebrated his tenth an-
niversary on the air. He got to think-
ing that radio's "veterans" ought to
get together and form a club, but in-
stead of having an ordinary club-
house, they'd have their meetings on
the air. He invited a group of people
to luncheon — Ben Bernie, Graham
McNamee, Frank Munn, Phil Dewey,
B. A. Rolfe, David Ross and Mark
Warnow, all of them in radio ten
years or longer — outlined his plan to
them, and found everybody enthus-
iastic about it. Now the ball is rolling,
and the "Ten Years in Radio Club" —
that's the only name it has, so far, is
planning to have about four meetings
a year on a national network, at which
members will reminisce about the
good old days. And judging from some
of the stories told at that first lunch-
eon, listeners are in for some delight-
ful and amusing tales.

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MY LUCKY BREAK

No matter how talented a person is,
his success depends on a "lucky
break." That's the theme of a program
which has already, after only a few
broadcasts, provided four people with
the lucky breaks they needed to start
them on the road to fame.

The program is called My Lucky
Break, and you can hear it every
Sunday afternoon from 6:00 to 6:30,
E.S.T., on the Mutual network. It's
produced in the studios of WLW, Cin-
cinnati, where many an original pro-
gram idea has been born; and its con-
ductor is Josef Cherniavsky.

My Lucky Break is divided into two
parts. The first part of the show is a
dramatization of the life of some suc-
cessful entertainer, emphasizing the
lucky chance that turned him from
failure to success. Then, as a highlight
of the broadcast, Cherniavsky con-
ducts the WLW orchestra as it plays
an unpublished song by an unknown
composer. To the writer of the song
goes a prize of $25, plus standard
royalties in case the song is chosen for
publication by some music house — but
best of all, the writer gets his "lucky
break."

Writers are sending Cherniavsky
songs which have been returned, un-
opened, by music publishers. The
WLW musical director looks carefully
at them all. "Now," says the maestro,
"music publishers are asking me for
songs they refused to look at before.
Many of the songs written by young
unknowns today need but the name of
a well-known composer to receive
publication and success." Playing of
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network gives that song the value of
a big name.

Cherniavsky is no less generous in
honoring well-known entertainers
than in providing "lucky breaks" for
unknowns. It doesn't matter to him
on what network an entertainer is
starred. All that matters to him is
that the person's climb to fame must
have some incident in it that demon-
strates the importance of a "lucky
break."

The dramatized "lucky break" in
the life of an established star, and the
actual big chance given to aspiring
song writers aren't the only ways the
program lives up to its title, either.
Josef Cherniavsky is himself a "lucky
break" for any show. One of Amer-
ica's most versatile musicians, he has
conducted famous symphonies and
theater orchestras, has composed
music for the movies and won renown
as a cello soloist.

Josef Cherniavsky rehearses his
WLW Symphony orchestra on the
popular "My Lucky Break" program.

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86

RADIO MIRROR

People ask my advice about troubles
and doubts and human bewilderment
of all kinds. And I have built up a
fund of experience, facts and re-
sources which, I hope has been of real
value to my clients.

Vallee: Most of your clients do,
however, seek advice on problems of
the heart.

Miss Fairfax: Most of them, yes.
Problems of the heart, Mr. Vallee,
seem to be fairly universal.

Vallee: Don't they, though! What
question, would you say, is most fre-
quently asked?

Miss Fairfax: That's easy. Ques-
tion Number One is: "How Can I Get
My Man to the Altar?"

Vallee: And your answer?

Miss Fairfax: Perhaps that ques-
tion can better be answered by point-
ing out what one should not do. First,
girls: Don't be a cat! Don't say nasty
and censorious things about other
girls. Especially if these girls have
strictly honorable intentions toward
the young man you are catting to.
Remember, nothing arouses chivalry,
a sense of protection, like saying
mean things about another girl. And
above all — don't pursue your man
openly. A hunted creature is a des-
perate creature. He will turn down
any avenue of escape.

Vallee: Good for him!

Miss Fairfax: Never mind. To con-
tinue, girls: Don't tell the boy friend
your troubles. Look sympathetic and
let him tell you his. He'll eat it up.
Don't invite him to an untidy house
or apartment. He'll see himself in

How to Catch a Husband

(Continued from page 15)

such surroundings. Don't give him
messy meals. Don't dance badly —
nothing is so mortifying as to be
loaded up with a girl on whom there
will be no cut-ins. Don't dress shab-
bily or in an eccentric manner that
will attract attention when you go out
with him. Men are more conserva-
tive than women. They hate to
attract unflattering attention. And
don't be stupid. At least know what
is going on in the world about you,
read the papers. The day of the
Dumb Dora is passing.

Vallee: Not on Broadway, Miss
Fairfax. However . . . let's suppose I
am a young girl of eighteen. . . .

Miss Fairfax: Difficult but pos-
sible. Go ahead.

Vallee: Well, I have observed all
the "don'ts" you suggest, but still . . .
doggone it! . . . my dream prince is
drifting. Should I propose?

Miss Fairfax: Certainly! Women
have been proposing ever since time
began. But it's a wise man who
recognizes the preambles to a pro-
posal. You are convinced she listens
to you in that flattering way because
you are interesting. That she applauds
your bridge, your golf, even your
neckties and the angle at which you
wear your hat — because you do these
things supremely well. There's no
mistaking the way she looks at you,
it's the real thing. And the way she
turns out trick dishes on the electric
gadgets — she's a swell little cook —
good housekeeper, and so on. These,
my dear sir, are some of the ways
nature has taught her to propose.

And get down on your knees and
thank your lucky stars for it — because,
Mr. Vallee there is nothing quite so
forlorn and lonesome as an unattached
old bachelor. Now is there?

Vallee: I . . . wonder. Suppose,
Miss Fairfax, that our predatory
female has pounced on her prey and
dragged him off to the altar, kicking
and screaming. What does she want
to know next?

Miss Fairfax: How to keep him,
of course.

Vallee: How is that done? What
would you say is the zero hour?

Miss Fairfax: Breakfast, of course.
Even to a water addict, there's a good
deal of a hangover about facing a new
day. Yesterday's brush with the boss
— the big order you didn't get, the
deal that hung fire. These loom
bigger and blacker, if there's a frowsy
kimono opposite, and traces of cold
cream on the lady-wife's face. Better
an attractive negligee, or house dress,
at breakfast to gladden the eyes of
your husband, girls, than a glamorous
party frock to incite another woman's
envy. Send him out with a good
breakfast.

Vallee: And there, Miss Fairfax, I
find myself in complete agreement
with you. May I ask your advice on a
certain matter?

Miss Fairfax: Mr. Vallee — with
your looks, with your position, with
your opportunities —

Vallee: Yes?

Miss Fairfax: You don't need my
advice. So long now — and remember
what I said about bachelors.

Jean Parker is blossoming out

as Hollywood's newest glamour girl.
Watch for her in the Hal Roach
production "Zenobia".

Copyright. 1939. by P. Lorlllard
TUNE IN: Old Gold's "Melody and Madness" with ROBERT BENCHLEY and
ARTIE SHAWS Orchestra, Sunday nights, Columbia Network, Coast-to-Coast.

LWAYS FRESH

Doubly protected by two jackets
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opens at BOTTOM of pack.

87

RADIO MIRROR

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Facing the Music

(Continued from page 40)

important commercial series, sup-
planting one of the current big-name
bands.

Just recently Paul Whiteman named
four of the Crosby crew as members
of his "All American" swing band.
This coming of age for a band that
had a desperate struggle to attain
recognition was climaxed with a hand-
some Decca Record Album, contain-
ing the band's swing masterpieces,
and a triumphant fortnight at New
York's Paramount theater.

None of these amazing develop-
ments would have materialized if five
young musicians, their jaws set,
hadn't decided to try once more to
make America listen to their strange
music — the music they discovered on
New Orleans riverfronts. How they
offered Bob Crosby the chance to join
them one night in a smoke-filled New
York hotel room, is one of bandom's
strangest stories.

YOU fit with us like ham and eggs,"
said drummer Ray Bauduc joyfully.

The boys were lucky at that. If one
Bob Crosby of Spokane, Washington,
hadn't the courage to turn his broad
back to the taunts of wiseacres who
said he was trading on his famous
brother's reputation, those musical
musketeers would have returned, a
hang-dog lot, to Louisiana.

Bob Crosby always had music on
his mind. The youngest of a family
of seven children — five boys and two
girls — he never finished his musical
appreciation course at Gonzaga Uni-
versity, because he devoted too much
time to extra-curricular activities.
During class hours, Bob would haunt
a local Walkathon contest and sing
there "for free." As the footsore con-
testants dragged their way around
the arena, the Crosby croon could usu-
ally be heard above the jeers of
Walkathon customers.

Pretty soon Bob crashed a couple of
radio amateur programs, boosted his
stock in the Crosby household when
he managed to get a few professional
engagements and received for his
labors, what Bob calls a "quick five."
That's five dollars to you and you.

Imagine the kid's surprise when
Anson Weeks spotted him and gave
the young Crosby $100 a week as his
vocalist. That was big dough to Bing's
kid brother. He spent most of it eat-
ing roast leg of lamb, swimming in
gravy, at the swank Mark Hopkins
Hotel in San Francisco where the
Weeks orchestra played.

The Crosbys were always a clan-
nish crowd. They stick together like
the verse and chorus of a popular
song. Big Brother Bing and business-
minded Everett were secretly proud
of Bob's efforts but kidded him merci-
lessly.

When Bing told the eighteen-year-
old Bob that he would not allow him
to accept a London engagement be-
cause he thought the boy too young,
Bob squelched his disappointment
and lit out for Broadway. Bob always
took Bing's advice, has never re-
gretted it.

It was while Bob was singing with
the Dorsey Brothers' orchestra that
the change in his career happened.

Our five musicians in search of a
leader were tipped off that the up-
and-coming relative of Bing was their
man.

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88

RADIO MIRROR

The rendezvous for the meeting
was the Hotel Astor. Gil Rodin, a
slim, quietly-dressed man who looks
more like a lawyer than a saxophon-
ist, did the talking. Gil still does the
talking for the Crosby gang. All the
boys including leader Bob call Gil
"Pops." He's father confessor to the
whole gang of horn tooters and they
love him.

These men had left Ben Polack's
orchestra on the west coast. It seemed
like they were always leaving some-
body's band. To them every job was
Dead End. Something had to be done.
They figured the last resort was to or-
ganize their own band and play the
music they loved. The men called it
"Dixieland." Aware of their own
limitations as baton-wavers, the mu-
sicians knew of Bob's voice and con-
tagious personality. Gil told Bob he
was singing the free-and-easy Dixie-
land style and didn't know it!

AS Rodin spoke, the other men, Ray
> Bauduc, the "Noo Ohlins" drum-
mer with the wild eyes, saxophonist
Eddie Miller, he of the nonchalant
manner and southern accent, smilin'
Matty Matlock, inseparable side-kick
of Miller, and the outfit's arranger, and
guitarist Nappy Lamare, another
"Noo Ohlins" product, stayed sheep-
ishly in the background. They let
"Pops" do the talking.

Bob Crosby didn't need much of a
sales-talk. Who could resist such an
offer? This would be his own band,
playing the kind of music he didn't
know too much about but just
couldn't resist. Even the Bing would
approve.

With the blessings of one of the big
band management bureaus, "Bob

Crosby and his orchestra" went into
action. They broke in at Roseland on
Broadway, sweated and swore in a
hundred and one barns and ballrooms
in the cotton belt one-night stand
circuit.

Like all new innovations it took
time to attract attention. Didn't they
yell "gittahorse" at daring motorists?
Hadn't they poo-pooed Lindbergh?

The boys laughed at their critics.
The little Dixieland cult knew they
were playing real swing, without
frills. To the jibes of trading on
Bing's reputation, Bob turned deaf
ears. He was too overjoyed, leading
this happy-go-lucky gang, to pay any
attention to them.

No band ever attacked its work
with such vigor. I think I know the
reason. No one was top man. It be-
came a cooperative organization with
sage-like Gil Rodin installed as presi-
dent. The band grew to fourteen
pieces. However, only seven partici-
pate in the cooperative setup. Each
man gets a salary. Profits are salted
away. Once in a while, on the heels
of a lucrative engagement, Rodin
gives his partners handsome dividend
checks. This sounds like big business,
but to these sincere swingsters it
meant complete freedom.

Nine of the fourteen men are mar-
ried. Bob is married to socialite June
Kuhn. In Chicago most of the wives
spend daytime hours with their hus-
bands, have dinner between dance
sets at the Blackhawk. The married
folk rent apartments. The single fel-
lows shift for themselves, still up-
holding their "freedom" policy.

That the Crosby band is riding
straight to the top is no idle observa-
tion. The Dixieland style has finally

caught on. It is more relaxed jazz. It
has sincerity and purpose. The reason
you don't hear Dixieland style emu-
lated by other bands is obvious. To
play this style bandleaders must turn
the spotlight on the musicians in the
band. Much solo work is needed. And
there are too many maestros who sel-
fishly hog the spotlight.

The Bobcats know in their hearts
that recognition has finally come their
way. Only leader Bob wasn't sure.
He seemed to be waiting for one more
piece of evidence.

It came when the band opened at
the Paramount in January. Bob
scanned nervously through a stack
of telegrams until he found the one
from Big Brother Bing.

"And you know what?" he said
like a schoolboy just told he's been
promoted, "Bing was dead serious!"

Now the band was really on the
crest of a musical wave.

OFF THE RECORD

Some Like It Swing

They Say; I Go For That (vocalion
4548), Mildred Bailey — Slow-moving
tempos romantically warbled by the
Rockin' Chair lady who is now on her
own again.

Bye-Lo Bye Lullaby; Jaywalk (Blue-
bird B10104A), Freddy Martin— Fred-
dy waxes his beautiful theme and it's
about time. The Martin saxophone is
a joy to hear.

Sweet Little Headache; Joobalai
(Decca 2200A), Bing Crosby— Two
luscious hits from Bing's current pic-
ture, "Paris Honeymoon" that stand
out like Fibber McGee's fabrications.
(Continued on page 91)

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89

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HAVE you been taking a close look
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90

By JOYCE ANDERSON

Make your complexion
look as fresh as your
new season's costume

muscles of my face, especially after
a hard day's work at rehearsing.

"But, first of all," Hildegarde said,
"I remove all my make-up with a
liquid cleansing cream. I simply
smooth it on, allow it to remain for
several minutes, and then whisk it
off with soft tissues. Next, I pat the
nourishing cream briskly into my
skin with my finger tips, but very
gently around the eyes, and I leave
this on about ten minutes."

The eyes are very important. Here,
fine lines first begin to show; your
skin's own softening oils may have
begun to decrease because of an over-
abundance of the two extremes —
either too much heat or too much cold.

If your skin feels drawn, it is dry, so
leave some of the nourishing cream
on over night.

"Never rub the skin," warns Hilde-

RADIO MIRROR

* • * •

too can have Hilde-
allure by learn-
ing a simple beauty aid.

garde. "Hard rubbing over-stimulates
the oil glands, sometimes causing a
shiny nose. At least, that's what hap-
pens to mine."

Keep this treatment up for a full
week and the next time you set your
best hat upon your head and take a
good look in the mirror, you'll notice
that that Easter bonnet you bought
doesn't look as funny as you thought
it did when you first brought it home.

That Final Touch

A WELL-GROOMED woman doesn't
want to strike one false note in her
make-up. And yet, how many of us
do? We often slip up on our eye-
brows. To have the rest of your face
perfect and the eyebrows shaggy and
irregular is like wearing a shabby
coat with a smart new hat. Get the
habit of brushing your eyebrows as
often as possible, and do not have
them tweezed down to a thin line.
That is no longer good taste. Just
pluck the stray hairs to clean the
brows up so they look even and
arched. If your brows grow together
over the nose, pluck them out, but
don't pluck the brows narrower than
they grow.

The eyebrow pencil is important.
It gives a more definite shape to the
eyebrow and a sheen, which makes a
better frame for your eyes. If you're
a blonde or a redhead, use a brown
eyebrow pencil; if you're a brunette,
use the black pencil. Remember, it
takes very little time and gives that
finished touch to your make-up.

RADIO MIRROR

(Continued from page 89)
A handsome package when combined
with Bing's other platter "I Have
Eyes" and "Funny Old Hills" (Decca
2201A), from the same picture.

Deep Purple; Romance Runs in the
Family (Brunswick 8301), Kay Kyser
— Sympathetic treatment of one of the
nicest 1939 ballads. Kyser gymnastics
decorate the reverse side.

Among Those Sailing; Mexicali
Rose (Victor 26136A), Sammy Kaye —
Typical exhibition of the fetching
swing and sway title. Is there anyone
left that hasn't heard it?

Some Like It Sweet

Cheatin' on Me; 'Taint What You

Do (Vocalion 4582), Jimmy Lunce-
ford — Sly swing by one of its indigo
interpreters.

A Study in Green; Please Come Out
of Your Dream (Victor 26137B), Larry
Clinton — Another composition from
the Dipsy Doodle man undergoes lav-
ish instrumentation. Less lively is the
reverse but Bea Wain is at the mike
for another Grade-A lesson in modern
vocalizing.

Hawaiian War Chant; Midnight on
the Trail (Victor 26126B), Tommy
Dorsey — It may mean Pa-hu-wa-hu-
wai to natives of Honolulu but to rug-
cutters it's another excuse to cut
capers to the trombone virtuoso and
his great band.

Jungle Drums; It Had to Be You

(Bluebird B1009A), Art Shaw— Sav-
age syncopation with a drum beat you
won't forget so easily. Shaw has toned
down considerably and even the most
extreme swingster is pleased.

Hold Tight; Billy Boy (Decca 2214A),

Andrew Sisters — The smartest har-
mony work since these same girls
disked "Sha-Sha." Easy on the ears
and smart accompaniment by Jimmy
Dorsey. My vote for the swing platter
of the month.

I Know That You Know; I Cried
For You (Victor 26139A), Benny
Goodman Trio and Quintet — Two old
ones revived by the king of swing with
the latter piece, written by Abe Ly-
man, developing into a best seller all
over again.

Down Home Rag; Where Has My
Little Dog Gone? (Decca 2262B), Will
Osborne — The slide trumpets have
their day on wax. Light and cheerful.

Ken Alden,
Facing the Music,
RADIO MIRROR,
122 East 42nd Street,
New York City.

I want to know more about
He is my rec-
ommendation for "The Band of
the Month."

NAME

ADDRESS

(Each month Ken Alden will
write a feature piece on "the band
of the month" telling all you want
to know about the favorite maes-
tros. Your vote will help deter-
mine his selection.)

Leave on a film of this stimulat-
ing cream at bedtime to help
keep skin active, vital

BEAUTY thrives, when your skin stays
awake. But when the skin drowses
with inactivity, it soon grows sluggish.

Scientists say a certain skin-stimulating
Vitamin aids the skin's activity. This
Vitamin, now in Woodbury Cold Cream,
helps build the skin's vitality.

So cleanse your skin at bedtime with
Woodbury Cold Cream. Leave on a deli-
cate coating while you sleep. Woodbury
is a basic beauty cream of germ-free
purity. It cleanses, softens, invigorates.

Begin tonight with Woodbury. Let it
bring your complexion a lovable, touch-
able softness! $1.00, 500, 25*, 10*.

WOODBURY

YOURS . . . SMART NEW MAKE-UP KIT

John H. Woodbury, Inc., 7404 Alfred St., Cincinnati, Ohio
(In Canada, John H. Woodbury, Ltd., Perth, Ont.)

Please send me new Woodbury Make-up Kit, containing
tube of Woodbury Cold Cream; attractive metal compacts
of Woodbury Facial Powder, Rouge and Lipstick. I enclose
lOc1 to cover packing and postage.

CHECK MAKE-UP DESIRED

CHAMPAGNE

(For golden skin)

□

WINDSOR ROSE
(For pink skin)

□

91

RADIO MIRROR

It's easily prepared, appetizing, nourishing. What more could you ask?

FOR nourishing, appetizing, quickly
prepared meals you just can't beat
that perennial favorite, canned
spaghetti. As the extra dish when un-
expected guests necessitate "stretch-
ing" the dinner you have already
planned, it has no equal, for whether
you serve it — piping hot, of course —
as it comes from the can, rich with
subtly-flavored tomato sauce, or
en casserole topped with delicately
browned grated cheese it is simply
delicious. But what really rouses me
to the cheering point is the endless
variety of ways it may be served as
a main course, with the rest of the
meal built around it.

Two excellent spaghetti dinner
recipes I owe to Morton Downey, the
world-renowned tenor who is being
heard currently on NBC's Pall Mall
broadcast every week. The Downeys
(Mrs. Downey was Barbara Bennett,
sister of Hollywood's Constance and
Joan Bennett) are famous for the
hospitality of their Greenwich, Con-
necticut, home, so you may know that
their preference of any dish means it
is really tops — and that's just the
rating Morton gives to baked spa-
ghetti with oysters and spaghetti with
meat balls.

Baked Spaghetti with Oysters

1 can spaghetti
1 dozen raw oysters
V2 tsp, garlic salt

Dash cayenne pepper
3 tbls. grated Parmesan cheese

Drain the oysters and chop them
fine, and add, with the garlic salt and
cayenne pepper, to the spaghetti.
Transfer the mixture to a buttered
casserole, sprinkle with grated Par-
mesan cheese and bake in a medium
oven (350 degrees F.) for thirty min-
utes. Before serving, place a bouquet

By Mrs. Margaret Simpson

of parsley in the center, as shown in
the photograph.

Spaghetti with Meat Balls

1 can spaghetti

1 medium onion, minced

2 tbls. butter

1 lb. chopped beef

1 tbl. chili sauce Vt tsp. nutmeg

2 tsps. salt Pepper to taste

FOOD PROGRESS

The wise housewife is the one who cashes
in on the great number of eye and ear
impressions of modern living around
her . . . She is the one who knows that
every grocer is dedicating himself to
bringing to his clients the most up-to-
date food products and food information
obtainable today . . . For this reason
the news that the grocers of America
have banded together to stage a Parade
of Progress week is of supreme importance
to every housewife in the country . . .
During this week of April 6th to 12th visit
your local grocer . . . Talk with him, learn
about all the new developments that
make it possible for you to have the best
quality foods at all times at the most
economical prices . . . Make the Grocers'
Parade of Progress your own Parade of
Progress. . . .

Heat canned spaghetti. Cook onions
in butter until tender and golden-
brown (about three minutes). Mix
cooked onions, salt, pepper, nutmeg
and chili sauce with the chopped beef
and form into small balls. Place
heated spaghetti in buttered casserole,
arrange meat balls on the top and
bake in hot oven (400 degrees F.)
until meat is well browned.

Add Zest to Your Salads

THE more we learn about the im-
portance of milk as an essential food
not only as a beverage but as an in-
gredient in all sorts of recipes, the
more grateful we are for the pro-
ducers of evaporated and sweetened
condensed milk. But these valuable
milk products have long since passed
the stage when they were used princi-
pally as substitutes for fresh milk.
Their excellent flavor and their rich,
creamy consistency, as much as their
convenience, are responsible for their
popularity, and we find that skillful
cooks everywhere, whose reputations
depend upon the superior qualities of
the dishes they create, are originating
new recipes based on sweetened con-
densed and evaporated milk.

For instance, you may never have
thought of milk in connection with
salad but here is one salad dressing
that will give zest to any salad
course. Cream salad mustard dress-
ing is excellent with meat, fish or
cooked vegetable salads, or the tangy
greens such as escarolle, chicory or
dandelions.

Cream Salad Mustard Dressing

RADIO MIRROR

4 tbls. cream salad mustard
2 tbls. evaporated milk
2 tbls. sugar
2 tbls. vinegar % tsp. salt

Place ingredients all together in a
bowl and beat until light and fluffy.

92

RADIO MIRROR

Out of the Fog

(Continued from page 22)

I know where I am."

"I hope you know." That know-it-
all attitude again.

"Now please," he begged, "be nice.
For the last two hours you've been a
new woman."

Before she could answer another
fog horn sounded somewhere to port.
Quickly Steve rang Mac for dead
slow. The fog. horn blatted again,
nearer this time.

Suddenly Jane saw a huge shadow,
bearing down on them. "Steve!" she
screamed. "He's going to hit our
tow!"

"Ye gods!" Steve said between
clenched teeth, sawing frantically on
the cord that set the tug's horn blow-
ing. Beneath her feet Jane felt the
tug's motor cough and die. Myste-
riously, they were drifting.

Then two short blasts of the other
boat's whistle proved that it had seen
them. It veered off, slid past them, so
close Jane could almost touch it.

"Phew!" sighed Steve in relief.

"Steve — that looked like a ferry."

"Nonsense — it was a river boat.
Okay, ring for the engines again."

BUT the engine room didn't answer,
and a few seconds later Mac poked
his head in at the window. "Sorry,
skippers," he said, addressing both of
them. "Fuel nozzles are fouled. I'll
have to jerk 'em and clean 'em before
we can start again."

"Blazes!" Steve said. "Well, hurry
up. We can't afford to drift around
here with that tow behind us."

"Yes," Jane seconded him. "We
don't want to lose a six hundred dol-
lar job."

Mac goggled at them. "Six hun —
Say, what's in that tow? They don't
pay that kind of dough for haulin'
beans."

"You clean those fuel nozzles,"
Steve ordered him. "I'll worry about
the tow."

"Steve Colman!" Jane demanded.
"I thought there was something fishy
about that price. Just what are we
towing?"

"All right," he capitulated. "I'll tell
you — on that scow we've got two
thousand cases of forty per cent
dynamite!"

"Great Jehosaphat!" said Mac.

"Now," Steve added, "will you get
to work before we drift into some-
thing?"

But Mac didn't go directly below.
He stood there, his face intent. "Lis-
ten," he said. "I hear surf."

In the sudden silence, Jane could
hear the breakers, pounding and roll-
ing on the shore.

"We're goin' ashore!"

"Quick!" Jane cried. "Cut the tow
loose!"

"And let it drift around the bay all
by itself? No sir — Mac, let go the
anchor."

Mac lost no time in obeying, and
the rattle of the chain told them that,
at least, they would drift no farther.
But they had already drifted far
enough to be able to see the dim out-
lines of land — land like cliffs, a fort-
ress, a prison —

"Holy Smoke," Mac said, "that's
Alcatraz!"

So it had been the wrong bridge —
they had been headed for the Golden
Gate all the time. In spite of her fear,
Jane was forced to laugh at Steve's
befuddled expression.

Neatest Trick of the Month!

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2 squares unsweetened chocolate
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Melt chocolate in double boiler. Add Eagle Brand
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RADIO MIRROR

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"But I thought — " he mumbled.

"Skipper," Mac warned, "you better
do more than think! When a boat
comes too close to Alcatraz, 'specially
in a thick fog like this, they don't
think. They shoot!"

Mac was right. They started shoot-
ing, just then A bullet whizzed past
the pilot house, as Mac ducked down.

Steve stood quietly plucking at his
under lip. "If the anchor wasn't
down," he murmured, "we'd drift
away from the island — the tide's run-
ning that way. But it is down, and
there s no power to lift it until Mac
get s those nozzles fixed. . . ."

Another bullet whined its bad-tem-
pered way overhead.

"He's not really shooting at us,"
Jane said hopefully. "He just wants
to scare us away."

"Maybe so — but a ricocheting bullet
might accidentally hit the tow, with
practically the same results," Steve
reminded her.

The next moment he had flung open
the door of the pilot house, and she
heard the clank of metal on metal,
followed by a splash.

WE'RE minus an anchor," he said.
"I knocked a pin out of a link. So
now we're drifting."

"But suppose somebody . . ."

"Runs into us? Exactly." He began
to whistle a cheerful little tune.

"Steve!" Jane cried angrily. "Will
you be serious?"

"Why? This may be my last hour
on earth. Let me enjoy it."

"Don't talk like that!"

All at once, he sobered. "Look,
Jane. If we get out of this mess —
which I doubt — but if we do, won't
you stay ashore? This work is too
tough for a woman."

"No!" she said sharply. "I'm not
staying ashore — and we're going to
haul grain up the river!"

"You're the most stubborn woman
I've ever — "

At that moment, without any warn-
ing, the tug jerked sharply. They
looked back. Another tug had slipped
between them and the scow they were
towing, neatly cutting the line. It
hung limply, now, over the stern —
and the scow was just disappearing
into the fog, adrift, a menace to every
craft in the bay.

Steve and Jane looked at each
other in horror. Then, with one
bound, Steve was on the deck, run-
ning to the stern, with Jane after him.

"Only one thing to do, he said as
he ran. "Go after that scow." He
threw one leg over the rail. "Hand
me that line," he snapped.

"Steve — don't — please," cried Jane,
clutching desperately at his arm.

"Why not?"

Jane gulped. This was hard to say.
"Because — well, for me!"

"I'd do practically anything in the
world for you, Jane, except this.
Toss the line in after me."

Then he was gone. Quickly Jane
caught up an end of the rope and
threw it to him, saw him grasp it
and start swimming, watched him
until her eyes ached. She turned
away — and saw the end of the rope
just disappearing over the rail.

"Steve!" she screamed. "Come
back! The rope's too short!"

But the fog muffled her words.

Two hours later Jane and Mac hung
over the rail, straining ears and eyes
into the thick mist.

"He couldn't swim this long," Mac
said gloomily. "He was nuts to try a
thing like that."

"It was the bravest thing I ever
saw a man do," Jane insisted, choking.

There was a dull thud against the
side of the tug. "What's that?" Jane
asked.

"Log, probably," Mac said.

But the next instant Steve's head
appeared above the rail.

Relief and joy held Jane's heart
still. The sight of that red head was
like a reprieve.

"Oh, Steve," was all she could say.

Steve climbed briskly to the deck,
made fast a line he held in his hand.
Then he turned to her ferociously.

"Now, Miss Innocence," he de-
manded, "just what are you going to
do next? I've been sitting on two
thousand cases of dynamite, trying to
outshout that blamed fog horn, pray-
ing someone wouldn't run into me!
Nice of you to keep that horn going
and drown out my voice!"

"But we thought it would help you
to locate us!"

"Yes, you did! It's a good thing
there was a skiff on that barge, or
your little scheme would have
worked!"

"Steve! What scheme?"

His voice was grim. "Attempted
murder, that's all. I suppose you
thought it was a good way to get rid
of me, giving me that short line!"

"You can't believe I did that on
purpose!"

"Why not? You had nothing to
lose. No witnesses — it was a perfect
set-up. And then you'd be full owner
of the boat."

"You — you inhuman monster!" she
gasped.

"Go ahead. Call me whatever you
like — anything you say will be orchids
compared to what you tried to do!

"I — I — " Jane began to cry.

"Don't worry," he said. "I won't
tell anybody."

"Oh — Steve darling — I — "

He said quickly, "Steve what?"

STEVE, darling. I've just spent two
of the most horrible hours of my
life — hoping, praying, that somehow
you were safe — I've lived a century,
believing that the one real thing in
my life had come and gone — "

"No kidding, Jane?" he asked.

"N-n-no kidding."

"All right," he said with a satisfied
chuckle. "You're forgiven."

"I'm — Then you didn't believe — "

"It was pretty crude," Steve ad-
mitted happily, "but I had to find
some way of breaking that ice crust
of yours."

"I'd — like — to — slap — you!"

"Go ahead," Steve advised. "I don't
mind — now that you've said you love
me."

"I never said anything of the sort!"

"Oh, didn't you? I must have mis-
understood. In that case I'll jump
back into the bay."

He was half over the rail before
she caught him. "Come back, you
idiot!" she said, half laughing, half
crying. "The Masters-Colman com-
pany needs both its owners."

"And that's another thing that's got
to be changed," Steve announced,
coming back to the deck. "I don't like
that name."

"No?" Jane asked suspiciously.

"It's too long. Starting tomorrow,
let's use just one name."

"What?"

"The Colman Company."

It was the first time Jane had ever
been kissed by a man who was drip-
ping wet with salt water.
The End.

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Copyright 1939, Liggett & Myers Tobacco Co.

CIDPTMnrD A G,RL SINGER ANSWERS:
OUHIILIiIILII IS THERE A PRICE ON SUCCESS?

\%m

MARTHA RATE

. .'■;" -;:--\

A , fc^Ci*'" •'.-

LOWERVASE

1881
©ROGERS^

fy ONEIDA LTD. SlLtt^mltk^

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pieces, they would cost you $42.25. So you make an
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your selection today from four smart designs, at your
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ANDREA LEED

featured in the Samuel Goldv.
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— features 1881 @ ROGERS
on her lovely Hollywood toe

This 58-Piece Servic
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RIGHT 1939 ONEIDA LTD.

.ITV

A stunning gown first caught his eye

but what held him was a lovely smile

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For nothing is more pitiful than the girl
with the breath-taking gown— and the dull
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who shouldn't ignore "pink tooth brush."

Take a leaf from her book, yourself, and
do something about it. For no gown— not
even a French import from the last boat in—
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smile. Let other things go if you must, but
don't neglect your teeth and gums.

If your tooth brush "shows pink," see
your dentist. It may mean nothing serious.
Very likely, he'll tell you that your gums
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■««0 ALWAYS BtfUC

june, 1939

i

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\ *

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D""1

JUNE, 1939

ERNEST Y. HEYN
Executive Editor

VOL. 12 NO. 2

/?7//?/?0/?

FRED R. SAMMIS
Editor

BELLE LANDESMAN. ASSISTANT EDITOR

Surrender 1 2

Is there a price on success? A girl singer confesses

25 Years With Eddie Ida Cantor 15

That's a long time for a wife to hold her tongue

At Last! Bergen's In Love! Marian Rhea 16

She's feminine, she's pretty — even Charlie approves

Pretty Kitty Kelly. .. Lucille Fletcher 18

Beginning — radio's fascinating love serial in story form

Should Roosevelt Seek a Third Term? 21

A daring radio debate

Why Make Those Marriage Mistakes? Martha Raye 22

Marital bliss isn't just good luck

"Dare I Marry?" John J. Anthony 30

Dedicated to every couple in love

Latin Lover on the Air Kirtley Baskette 32

Meet Monsieur Boyer with menace in both eyes

That's My Baby! Lynn Burr 34

The Easy Aces take the count — from an orphan

This Happened to Me Artie Shaw 37

Swingdom's newest idol tells his own story

The Case of the Hollywood Scandal -Erie Stanley Gardner 38

Murder takes time out for love in this gripping mystery

What Do You Want to Say? 3

What's New from Coast to Coast 4

Hollywood Radio Whispers 8

Radio's Photo-Mirror

This Is a Luau! 24

Television Ideals 26

I Took Dope. 28

Facing the Music . 40

Inside Radio — The New Radio Mirror Almanac 41

What Do You Want to Know? 54

We Canadian Listeners 61

"Is My Face Red!" 84

The Cup That Cheers 86

COVER— Martha Raye by Robert Reid

(Courtesy of Paramount Pictures)

RADIO MIRROR, published monthly by Macfadden Publications, Inc.. Washington and South Avenues,
Dunellen, New Jersey. General Offices: 205 East 42nd Street, New York, N. Y. Editorial and advertising
offices: Chanin Building, 122 East 42nd Street. New York. Bernarr Marfadden. President: Wesley F.
Pape. Secretary; Irene T. Kennedy, Treasurer; Walter Banlon. Advertising Director. Chicago office: 333
North Michigan Avenue. C. B. Shattuck, Mgr. Ran Francisco office: 1658 Russ Building. Lee Andrews, Mgr.
Entered as second-class matter September 14, 1933, at the Post Office at Dunellen. New Jersey, under the Act
of March 3, 1879. Price in United Slates, Canada and Newfoundland $1.00 a year. 10c a copy. In TJ. S.
Territories, Possessions, Cuba, Mexico, Baiti, Dominican Republic, Spain and Possessions, and Central and
South American countries, excepting British Bonduras, British, Dutch and French Guiana. $1.50 a year;
all other countries $2.50 a year. While Manuscripts, Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's
risk, every effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompanied by sufficient 1st class postage,
and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to bo sure to retain copies of their contribu-
tions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters for the "What Do You Want to Say?"
department will not be returned, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter con-
tributed. All submissions become the property of the magazine. (Member of Macfadden Women's Group.)
Copyright, 1939, by the Macfadden Publications, Inc. The contents of this magazine may not be reprinted,
either wholly or in part without permission.
Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Company, Dunellen, N. J.

RADIO MIRROR

__■

WHAT DO YOU
WANT TO SAY?

FIRST PRIZE

RADIO— MARRIAGE PEACE-MAKER!

Did you know that a radio is one
of the best ways to end a quarrel be-
tween a husband and wife? You who
wish to "make up" but don't know
how to do it because you just won't
be first to say "forgive me," just go
to the radio and tune in some music.
Not jazz or swing (save that till later)
but a deep, throbbing, heart-reaching
melody. After a few seconds of this I
dare you to meet the eyes of your
loved one and stay mad!

Mrs. R. A. Barker,
Centralia, Mo.

SECOND PRIZE

WHO DARES THREATEN CHARLIE'S
AIR SUPREMACY?

A few months ago, in a poll to de-
termine the most popular program on
the air, the Chase and Sanborn pro-
gram was selected, undoubtedly due
to the able efforts of Charlie Mc-
Carthy, or rather Edgar Bergen! Since
then, innumerable critics, both for-
eign and American, have raised their
voices in denunciation over America's
choice, intimating that a people that
chose a dummy for its ideal in radio,
must have a "depraved" sense of
humor.

I, for one, applaud America's choice.
No one can deny the infinite joy the
clever little rascal brings to us poor
mortals. By his clever insinuations
and mocking attitude, he deflates our
ego by showing the futility and stu-
pidity of taking ourselves so seriously.
By his mock flirtations with the
Hollywood stars visiting his program,
he parodies our own flirtations, thus
showing us how ridiculous we must
sometimes look. The choice of Charlie
McCarthy is a glowing tribute to the
American sense of fair play, for here
(Continued on page 76)

THIS IS YOUR PAGE!

YOUR LETTERS OF OPINION WIN

PRIZES

First Prize $10.00

Second Prize $ 5.00

Five Prizes of $ K00

Address your letter to the Editor,
RADIO MIRROR, 122 East 42nd
Street, New York, N. Y., and mail it
not later than May 25, 1939. All
submissions became the property of
the magazine.

SHE OPENED
AN UNSIGNED LETTER!

tv:

/ *m

^SjJJJS^ae.

AN UNSIGNED LETTER! A cowardly
J\. thing, perhaps — but for Nancy —
what a blessing! For in no other way
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more nurses, more girls like you! It's so
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For Sanitary Napkins

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TAKES THE ODOR OUT OF PERSPIRATION

RADIO MIRBOB

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WHAT S NEW FROM COAST TO COAST

Wide World

■ The visit of Great Britain's royal couple, King George and
Queen Elizabeth, creates this season's most exciting radio event.

AS it has done so often in the past
few years, radio helps to make
^ history again this month, when
the King and Queen of England visit
Canada. May 15, according to plans
when Radio Mirror went to press,
will be the first time any reigning
British monarch has set foot on Cana-
dian soil, and microphones will be all
over the place to bring the event to
your ears.

Under the guidance of the Cana-
dian Broadcasting Corporation, all
the American networks will broad-
cast the ceremonies in the United
States, beginning on May 13, when
CBC commentators will be on board
H.M.C.S. Saguenay, meeting H.M.S.
Repulse, with Their Majesties on
board, as the latter enters Canadian
waters off the coast of Newfoundland.
You'll hear a description of the scene
as the two ships meet.

The next evening, May 14, the CBC
will broadcast from Rimouski, de-
scribing the Repulse as it comes up
the St. Lawrence River.

At about 10:30 E.S.T. on the morn-
ing of the 15th, the royal party will
arrive at Quebec, and the scene will
be broadcast. Their itinerary from
Quebec is, first, Montreal, then
Ottawa, the capital of Canada, from
May 17 to May 20, and then to
Toronto. You'll hear broadcasts from
each of these places, and every eve-
ning a CBC commentator, traveling
with the royal party, will broadcast

a summary of the day's activities.
Following a custom established in
England, gold microphones will be
used by the King and Queen when-
ever they go on the air during their
trip.

It was a hectic two weeks that
Edgar Bergen, Charlie McCarthy, Don
Ameche, Dorothy l.amour and the
other members of the Chase and San-
born cast spent in New York. Start-
ing with a riot at Grand Central
Station when they arrived, it pro-
gressed through a fake "kidnaping"
of Charlie, up to a grand climax at
the last broadcast, when Bergen
tripped as he walked toward the
microphone, and fell flat on his face,
to the glee of the studio audience.

The "kidnaping," which made front-
page news all over the country, was
a genuine surprise to Bergen, even if
it was just a joke engineered by a
New York newspaper man. Bergen
told me the next day that many Mc-
Carthy fans had written to him,
suggesting the great publicity value
of a kidnaping, and that he'd always
turned the idea down. "Now," he
said ruefully, "I suppose I owe royal-
ties to everybody that suggested it."
As a matter of fact, Bergen worries
sometimes for fear Charlie is being
over -publicized. He's afraid the pub-
lic might read too much about him,
see too many pictures of him, and
suddenly lose interest. That's prob-

By DAN

SENSENEY

RADIO MIRROR

ably taking a pessimistic view of
things.

As soon as the kidnaping story
broke, gossip columnists began say-
ing that the real Charlie hadn't been
brought to New York at all, but was
locked away in a Hollywood bank
vault. Well, maybe so, but I don't
believe it. The dummy Bergen had
on the high-chair beside him at re-
hearsals and broadcasts looked like
the real McCarthy to me.

It isn't very likely that the Chase
and Sanborn show will ever come to
New York again, all in a bunch. De-
mands for tickets to the two broad-
casts were so heavy that it took net-
work and advertising agency officials
a whole month to recover from their
headaches. Bergen might travel east
again this summer, though, for a,
vacation.

* * *

Chicago — Most radio announcers
live, eat, sleep and dream their jobs —
so maybe John Weigel is the most
unusual announcer in the business.
His big interest in life is not radio;
it's cheese.

John is heard on two Mutual net-
work shows, Pageant of Melody, Mon-
day nights at 10:30, E.S.T., and Con-
cert Review, at the same time Thurs-
days. He's been in radio since he was
fifteen years old, and announced his
way through Ohio State University,
Class of '35. But he's always loved
cheese, and when he came to Chicago
he found there the same dearth of
good cheeses that had troubled him
at home. For a few years, while he
was a member of the CBS Chicago
staff, he saved his money until he
could become a free-lance announcer
_ — and open a cheese store of his own.

Now you can find him, whenever
he isn't at the microphone, dressed
up in a white starched jacket, waiting
on customers in his shop just off busy
Michigan Avenue on Lake Street.
More than two hundred and fifty va-
rieties are on John's shelves, from
more than twenty countries — Argen-
tina, Albania, Hungary, Holland, Ire-
land, and all the Scandinavian na-
tions, to name a few. Pretty soon he
hopes to get some from the Orient and
Africa. Getting a new line of cheese,
says John, is much more complicated
than filling out an order to a whole-
saler— first he has to visit a country's
local consul, to get names and ad-
dresses, and then follow months of
patient negotiations before the cheese
lands in his store.

* * *

The cruelty of some sponsors! The
entire cast of Phil Baker's Honolulu
Sound program, Saturday nights on
CBS, may have to move to Hawaii
this summer for four broadcasts —
sponsor's orders.

* * *

Down in Kentucky and Tennessee
they're listening to Kiwanis Club pro-
grams these days. The famous ser-
vice organization tried the experiment
of putting on radio shows, and found
it so successful the policy will be kept
up for the rest of the year.

Station WJHL at Johnson City,
Tennessee, has a program every Sun-
lay from 5:15 to 5:30 in the after-
loon, featuring Kiwanis speakers
"rom neighboring cities. In Lexing-
ton, Kentucky, the weekly luncheon
leeting is broadcast every Tuesday
rom 1:00 to 1:30. And right now
they're planning on programs to be
broadcast over WHAS, Louisville, and
WSM, Nashville. The programs are

e, 1939

His many neglects
were due to her

ONE NEGLECT

He never remembers
anniversaries . . .

He never pays /J ?/,//?

her compliments . . .l^/'*tf'

He praises fjU^,?

other women . . . l/v*1"?'

He's often
'kept downtown

*

about

She was careless

ior ignorant)
f^inine Hy^ne

This one neglect may be
the real cause of many
divorces... Use "LYSOL" for
Feminine Hygiene.

Let "Lysol" help YOU to
avoid this ONE NEGLECT!

IF there is any doubt in your mind
about this important subject of
feminine hygiene, ask your doctor
about "Lysol". Let him tell you why,
for a full half-century, "Lysol" has
earned the confidence of so many doc-
tors, nurses, hospitals . . . and wives.
Probably no other product is so widely
used for this purpose. Three sizes of
"Lysol" are sold at all drug stores.

1889—1939
50th ANNIVERSARY

What Every Woman Should Know

SEND COUPON FOR "LYSOL" BOOKLET

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Name

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Copyright 1939 by Lehn ft Fink Products Corp.

Lips that invite love must be soft lips . . .
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So— choose your lipstick wisely! Coty
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WHAT'S NEW (CONTINUED)

being promoted by the district or-
ganization of Kiwanis in these two
states, led by District Governor Roy
C. Nelson, himself a radio commen-
tator of repute.

* * *
A success story with a Three Mus-
keteers flavor is the tale of Helen
Jackson, Beverly Freeland and Judy
Freeland, all once of Bristow, Okla-
homa, all at present of Kay Thomp-
son's Rhythm Singers on the CBS
Tune-Up Time broadcast. Helen,
Beverly and Judy all came to New
York on a vacation trip three years
ago, yearning for a career in the big
city but smart enough to realize that
New York jobs don't grow on trees.
They made an agreement: If, in the
two weeks of their vacation they
could all three get jobs, they'd stay.
If only one of them, or two, found
work, they'd all go back to Bristow.
You can guess what happened, but
don't you start packing to come to
New York, thinking it will happen
to you too. They all three were hired
by the Hollywood Restaurant, as
singers, on the very first day of their
vacation, and they've been in New
York ever since, joining the Kay
Thompson singers two years ago.

The musicians union in Los Angeles
just paid Bob Burns a flattering com-
pliment. Union officials came around
and told him he'd have to join — be-
cause he plays the bazooka on the
Kraft Music Hall.

Because they threatened to strike,
radio actors, announcers and singers
this spring persuaded sponsors to
sign agreements guaranteeing a min-
imum rate of pay for their services.
But now, in some cases, their victory
is boomeranging. A few sponsors find
that their programs cost them more
than they used to, and are reducing
choruses to quartets, or, in some day-
time serials, are cancelling the repeat
broadcasts to the west coast. This
explains why some of you Western-
ers have suddenly been missing your
favorite serials.

The Barbara Weeks who plays
Nancy in Her Honor, Nancy James,
is not the Barbara Weeks you used to
see in the movies — although, says
Barbara-Weeks-in-radio, she might
as well be. Both Barbaras live in
New York, and both are actresses,
and the result is that Barbara-in-
radio frequently gets mail and tele-
phone calls intended for Barbara-in-
the-movies. The worst mixup, though,
occurred when Barbara-in-radio was
touring the country as a member of
a dramatic stock company. On that
tour she met all of Barbara-in-the-
movies' distant relatives, who came
backstage to visit her, convinced that
she was the dear second cousin they
hadn't seen for years.

After spending three years looking
for a sponsor, George Jessel now has
two. On Tuesdays he is master of
ceremonies on For Men Only, on the
NBC Red network, and on Wednes-
days he stars with Richard Himber's
orchestra and Mary Small on an ice-
cream-sponsored program heard on
some eastern stations of the Blue net-
work.

Cincinnati — Station WSAI has
started something that ought to be a
model for other radio stations all over
the country to shoot at. In coopera-
tion with the City of Cincinnati, it
has launched an extensive series of
programs promoting safe driving.
Under the direction of Dewey H.
Long, WSAI general manager, every
single member of the station's staff
has a particular job in the campaign.

Free time goes to the Police De-
partment for special broadcasts. Every
Monday night a program goes on the
air from the court where traffic vio-
lators must gather to receive instruc-
tion in proper driving, and every
week the station gives cash prizes
for the best safety slogan submitted.
All in all, a war is being waged
against that old devil Traffic Accident
that ought to produce results.

Ben Washer

■ On their trip to New York, Dorothy Lamour, Edgar Bergen and Don
Ameche attended a performance of 'The Boys From Syracuse." Here
they are visiting back stage. That's Jimmy Savo, kneeling, left.

RADIO MIRROR

PETER GRANT — COMMENTATOR

BROADCASTING the news is not
pleasant business. Not the way
Peter Grant tackles it.

Peter Grant, of WLW, Cincinnati,
is one of the nation's leading news-
casters. His Sunday Evening News-
paper of the Air is heard not only
in his own home town, but in eight
other cities as well, where it is eager-
ly awaited as the week's comprehen-
sive digest of what's going on in the
world. On the air only fifteen min-
utes, Peter nevertheless manages to
pack into each broadcast a total of
2600 words, which is about 400 more
than is ordinarily spoken in that time.

Born Melvin Meredith Maginn in
St. Louis, Peter was expected to be a
concert pianist. His father, a former
child prodigy on the piano and a pro-
fessional musician, thought young
Peter was inheriting his abilities be-
cause he liked to sit on the piano
when he was a baby. It wasn't the
piano's attraction, musically, that
caused this — Peter simply liked to
imagine the piano was a wagon and
he was driving it. When music les-
sons came along, there was trouble,
because Peter showed no aptitude for
them at all.

In high school Peter studied phar-
macy and chemistry, but in college
(St. Louis' Washington University)
he switched to law and dramatics.
During his five years on the campus
he was in almost every college stage
production, and this activity led him
to radio. On his graduation in 1930,
Station KMOX invited him to become
a member of its dramatic staff, and

■ Meet Peter Grant, WLW's speedy
newscaster — 175 words a minute!

he accepted, thinking the money he
would earn on the air would come in
handy while he was getting a law
practice started. He soon found radio
work so exciting, though, that in 1932
he^ went to WLW to become a news
broadcaster, and forgot about law.
The breath-taking speed with which

he rattles through his Sunday-night
program is a real test of physical
stamina. To make it more difficult,
the Newspaper is broadcast three
times in a mere ninety minutes. At
6:15 he is heard over KDKA, Pitts-
burgh. At 6:45 he broadcasts at
KYW, Philadelphia; WSYR, Syracuse;
WHAM, Rochester; WBAL, Balti-
more; WGAL, Lancaster; WDEL,
Wilmington; and WORK, York; and
at 7:30, over his home station, WLW.

He's meticulously cautious about
the temperature of the water he
drinks between broadcasts. Cold
water would shock the sensitive vocal
chords so much that his voice would
be impaired for days, so he drinks
only tepid water. While broadcasting,
he stands instead of sitting, in order
to allow deeper and better breathing.
He reads so fast he can't look at the
clock, and has to be signalled when
the time is almost up. He grips the
script with both hands, shakes his
head violently to emphasize a word,
and often stamps the toe of one foot
at the conclusion of a bulletin.

Peter cherishes one ambition — to
own a couple of horses and several
dogs, and to become, on a small scale,
a gentleman farmer. Planes frighten
him but he'll use 'em rather than
take the longer way. He's six feet
three inches tall, and wears size 13
shoes — a very husky guy, in fact.
Quick, serious, jovial, modest and
sincere, he reflects all these likeable
qualities in his broadcasting voice —
which is undoubtedly the big reason
for his immense popularity.

ART MODEL
THRILLED

by sparkling beauty this

new shampoo reveals

in her hair

Ah

Miss Helen Reese —

famous in fashion art for her gorgeous hair and
exquisite beauty— says:

"I am asked so frequently to pose for hair style
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JUNE, 1939

■ Return engagements of "It Happened
One Night" still go on. Listeners
clamored for one on Monday night's
Lux Radio Theater so Mr. de Mille
presented it with its original stars,
Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert.

TWO blessed events at the Bel-Air
Stables are being anticipated keen-
ly by Robert Young's two small
daughters, Carol Anne, aged five, and
Barbara, aged two. When the colts
arrive, they'll become the property of
the two girls.

* * * 1.

Fanny Brice has just received a fan
letter from a man who said that as a
young man, twenty-five years ago,
he'd seen her at the famous Palace
Theater playing the part of a grown

8

up. "Now I'm married and am the
father of seven sons and two daugh-
ters," he writes. "And you've reverted
to babyhood: Now you're Baby
Snooks!"

Gertrude Niesen is up to her old
romantic tricks again. Since return-
ing to the film town she's been dating
the Hollywood lads with a vengeance.
She's had a new escort for every night
of the week.

There are still some Hollywood
optimists who think that all is well
with the Alice Faye-Tony Martin
household. All I can say is, I hope
they are right, but I am afraid they
are due for an awful shock shortly.
* * *

Mary Livingstone took her daughter
Joan over to the studio to see Jack
Benny in action in "Man About
Town." Seeing daddy in trapeze attire,
Joan turned to her mother in disgust.
(Continued on page 10)

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scalp are again normal."
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Junb, 1939

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I

High Special Rates

for Writers

of True Stories

Following our regular policy we are discontinuing true story
manuscript contests during the summer months. A great new true
story contest will begin on September 1st, 1939. But, in the mean-
time, we are still in the market for true stories for straight purchase,
and in order to secure them are going to renew our sensational
offer of last summer which worked so greatly to the financial
advantage of many writers of true stories.

During the month of May we
gladly will pay writers of true
stories the special rates of 3c per
word for better-than-average true
stories and 4c per word for excep-
tionally good true stories submitted
for straight purchase.

When you consider that our aver-
age year-round rate is 2c per word,
a few moments' figuring will show
you what this offer can mean to
you financially — literally making $2
grow where $1 grew formerly.

Under this offer the Editorial Staff
of True Story are the sole judges
as to the quality of stories submitted.
But rest assured that if you send in
a story of extra quality you will re-
ceive the corresponding extra rate.

IMPORTANT

Submit stories direct. Do not deal
through intermediaries.

If you do not already have one send
for a copy of free booklet entitled
'Facts You Should Know Before Writ-
ing True Stories." Use the coupon pro-
vided for that purpose.

In sending true stories, be sure, in
each case, to enclose first-class return
postage in the same container with
manuscript. We gladly return manu-
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cannot do 60 otherwise. Failure to en-
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that after a reasonable time the manu-
script if not accepted for publication
will be destroyed.

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stories, with a handsome bonus for
extra quality.

Here is your opportunity. The
time, as explained, is limited to the
month of May, 1939. So strike while
the iron is hot. Start today the story
of an episode in your life or the
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you feel has the necessary heart in-
terest to warrant the extraordinarily
high special rates we are offering.
Send it in when finished, and if it
really has the extra quality we seek
the extra sized check will be forth-
coming with our sincere congratula-
tions. Be sure your manuscript is
post-marked not later than mid-
night, May 31, 1939.

MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS, INC.

Dept. K, P. O. Box 629,

Grand Central Station,

New York, N. Y.

TRUE STORY. Dept. K RM-6

P. O. Box 629, Grand Central Station
New York, N. Y.

Please send me my free copy of your
booklet entitled "Facts You Should Know
Before Writing True Stories."

Name.

Street. .

Town State

(Print plainly. Give name of state in full.)

10

Hollywood Radio Whispers

By GEORGE FISHER

(Continued)

"He certainly looks awfully silly,", she
whispered, "but don't tell him I said

Sports announcer Clem McCarthy
isn't one to forget a request. Clem
proved this the other day when he
delivered a deputy badge to Shirley
Temple, making her a deputy of Jack-
son County, Kansas. It was just a
year ago that Shirley glimpsed the
badge and expressed a desire for one.

Comedian George Burns has been
the target of so much comment lately,
I feel a humorous story about him
would be a relief. As you know,
Burns and his wife, Gracie Allen,
have two adopted children. The kid-
dies have never visited the studios
where their parents were working,
so when Burns brought the tots to
see Gracie at work recently, direc-
tor Al Green asked why they had
finally decided to visit the set. One
of the kiddies replied, "Well, daddy
asked us if we would rather go to the
monkey farm or the studio. We
thought mother would be funnier!"

Recently Edgar Bergen and I had
an experience while getting ready to
fly to Catalina Island which showed
me how real a lot of people consider
Charlie McCarthy. When Bergen
mentioned to the girl at the ticket
office that Charlie would be one of
the passengers, she was delighted to
have him take the plane, but also
insisted that he buy a ticket for the
little brat, It took five minutes to
convince her that Charlie would
travel as Bergen's baggage and didn't
need a seat for himself.

Frank Morgan has been smitten by
the bowling bug. Each Thursday after
the Good News Show, he joins a very
distinguished foursome that tries to
split the ten pins. The other three
members are Robert Young, Bob
Burns and Bing Crosby. The bowling
alleys are right across the street from
Radio City, and as usual, Bing is the
expert. His average game is 190.

* * *

Ten years ago they fired Irene Rich
from pictures because they didn't
think she could ever learn to talk
well enough for the talkies. I would
like to see the faces of the talkie
moguls when they hear that Miss Rich
has appeared in over 260 radio plays
in a medium depending entirely on
voice. In addition to 260 plays on the
air, Irene has appeared in 181 silent
pictures and 4,982 vaudeville shows.

* * *

Hollywood is whispering that Burns
and Allen may soon be replaced by
Paul Whiteman's orchestra and revue.
Burns, commenting on the report,
declared "It's news to me!"

Pretty soft for those two hundred
jitterbugs who are working in the
Paramount picture, "Some Like It
Hot." Instead of paying their own
money to dance to Gene Krupa's
swing band, the kids are actually get-

RADIO MIRROR

ting paid for doing what they would
rather do than eat!

* * *

Recently I had the pleasure of
playing host to Lance Sieveking, head
of the British Broadcasting Company's
television department. While show-
ing him the sights of Hollywood, he
told me many interesting things about
television which you might like to
hear. "Television today," said Sieve-
king, "is at the same stage that radio
broadcasting was in during the days
of the crystal sets, and it only needs
some little improvement to make it as
practicable and as popular as today's
radio." However, television will never
replace radio, according to Sieveking,
because in order to watch telecasts,
you must sit in one place in a dark-
ened room; while you can hear a
radio program anywhere.

* * *

Joan Fontaine tells me she will not
marry radio and film actor Conrad
Nagel. Joan, who is Olivia de Havil-
land's sister, says, "I don't think two
people in this profession can be hap-
pily married." I suspect this is good
news for Broadway showgirl, Wilma
Francis, Nagel's one-time girl friend!

* * *

Here's a good deed you can chalk
up for Constance Bennett. While re-
hearsing for a recent Texaco show,
Connie learned of the sad plight of
an eight-year-old youngster, Buster
Phelps, who had been booked for a
part in the show. The youngster was
told that an AFRA card was required
before he could work. The necessary
initiation fee was too much for the

Irene Rich drops in to Holly-
wood's Brown Derby for a bite
after her Sunday broadcast.

youngster's pocketbook, but as he was
about to step out, Connie stepped in
and wrote a check for the required
amount and little Buster began his
radio career!

Gene Autry, the Number One Cow-
boy star, who is scheduled for his own
radio show soon, will make the
column headlines again when the re-
porters hear the following story.
Gene is the favorite film star of
England's Royal Family. I have just
learned that the two little English
Princesses, Princess Elizabeth and
Princess Margaret Rose, have given

Bob Taylor, Clark Gable, and Tyrone
Power the go-by as their favorites.
To them, Gene Autry is now the top
Hollywood star! Which is another
feather in the cap of the two-gun
man!

* * *

Since Dick Powell took over the Al
Jolson show, film producers have
shown renewed interest in him. In
addition to Dick's one-picture deal
with MGM, he is being sought by
Paramount for a series of musicals!

Plans for an unusual wedding were
revealed to me by Cecil DeMille, who
plans to perform the marriage cere-
mony himself for Evelyn Keyes, who
is under personal contract to DeMille.
Sometime this spring Miss Keyes will
board DeMille's yacht with her
groom-to-be, whose name she refuses
to divulge, and in mid-ocean, Skipper
DeMille will perform the wedding
rites. As a wedding present, DeMille
will sail the newly weds to Honolulu!
Complete details of the marriage
plans will be announced soon.

* * *

Your Hollywood Whisperer is happy
to have been chosen as the official
Hollywood host and guide to the win-
ners of Uncle Don's Mutual Network
Hollywood Child Talent Contest,
when they visit Hollywood this sum-
mer! (June) .

* * *

Hollywood is whispering that pret-
ty starlet Nan Grey is more or less
secretly married to Jackie Westrope,
the well-known lad who steers the
horses around the turns at Santa
Anita and other major race tracks.

! !,

now f as won says: "BE FE/M/A///VE

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11

' I

■ Is there a price on success? The
true story of a girl singer who
almost took the wrong road to fame

IF you want my advice — but of
course you don't," Jerry said,
"you'd better stay home."

I stared at him, across the res-
taurant table, in amazement. It was
the first time in all our months of
friendship that I'd seen Jerry Gates
lose his temper. Mild, sandy-haired
Jerry, with his slow smile and his
off-hand way of talking — but now
the smile was gone and his words
were clipped and bitter.

It was all so totally unexpected.
For more than a year now, Jerry
and I had been on the same radio
program, he as the announcer, I as
the featured singer. True, it wasn't
much of a program — just fifteen
minutes on a small New York
station three times a week, with a
Broadway clothing store for a spon-
sor— but it was a living, and I'd
always hoped it would be a stepping
stone to bigger things. In all that
time Jerry had been my best friend,
assuring me when I grew blue and
discouraged that I was good, that I
really could sell a song, that some
day a big sponsor would hear me
and give me my chance on the net-
works. He'd been my bulwark
against loneliness, my father-con-
fessor, my most loyal fan.

And now, when it looked as if
the big chance he'd predicted was at
last on its way, instead of respond-
ing to my happiness and excitement
— he was urging me to throw it over!

"But— Jerry," I said. "I don't
understand. Why shouldn't I go?"

"Look here," he said. "You've
been around New York long enough
to know what kind of a fellow Brad
Staley is. You met him at a party
a couple of months ago, didn't you?

12

And he was pleasant, and talked to
you a long time. So what does that
prove? Don't kid yourself he
thought he'd discovered a new
Frances Langford. To a guy that
produces the Atlas Hour, girl singers
are a dime a dozen."

"I knew that," I explained pa-
tiently. "I didn't expect anything
at all to come of meeting him. But
last week, just after I heard that
Vola Mont was leaving the Atlas
Hour — the very same day I heard
it, in fact — he called me up and
asked me what time I was on the
air. He said he wanted to listen to
me. And that was the first time I'd
heard from him since, the party."

He shook his head — the same ges-
ture I'd seen him use at rehearsal
when he stumbled over a line in the
commercial announcement. "And
so he listened, and called you up to
his office, and asked about your
experience. And now he wants you
to come up to his lodge at Lake
What's-its-name — "

"Falling Leaf Lake."

ALL right — Falling Leaf Lake —
*\ for a week-end party. But
this is the point — have you signed
any contract yet?"

"Of course not! You know that.
But Mr. Staley told me today that
everything's practically set — "

"Practically! What he means is,
everything's set except the week-
end party. That's the little detail
still to be arranged."

I'm sure my mouth fell open.
Strangely, I wasn't angry. The
whole idea that had been brewing
in Jerry's brain seemed too fantas-
tic for that.

"Jerry," I told him, "you sound
exactly like an old-fashioned mama.
Don't you know that sort of thing
isn't done any more?"

A flush spread over his face. "All
right, go ahead and laugh. But you
ought to know Staley's reputation
by now. If you don't, you're the
only one in New York."

"Reputation!" I said scornfully.
"All I've heard is a lot of irrespon-
sible gossip. The whole idea is ab-
surd. Mr. Staley's a gentleman.
And besides — Ray Tucker and his
wife are coming up to the lodge too.
They ought to be good enough chap-
erons for anyone, oughtn't they?"

He shrugged and began to edge
out of the booth where we were sit-
ting. "All right, Nicky. I've had
my say. But I guess it's your busi-
ness."

Outside, we paused in the midst
of the hurrying before-theater
crowds in Times Square. "Want to
take in a movie?" Jerry asked, but
his voice sounded only as if he were
trying to be polite.

"No, I have to go home and do a
little packing," I said.

"Okay." His face was expression-
less.

"I've got to go, Jerry," I pleaded.
"Don't you see — this is my big
chance! It's what I've waited for,
prayed for, ever since I came to New
York. It may never come again.
And if I called Mr. Staley up now,
only a few hours after I promised to
go to the lodge, and tried to back
out — why, he'd think I was crazy."

"Sure, I see that," he answered
coldly. "Well, I only hope you're as
happy when you come back as you
think you're going to be."

RADIO MIRROR

7

That was his last word on the sub-
ject, but after he left me at the door
of the rooming house where I lived,
some of the edge had gone from my
anticipation over the chance of be-
ing featured on one of the biggest
network variety shows. I didn't be-
lieve a single one of the things he'd
hinted about Brad Staley and his
methods — I couldn't, even knowing
Staley as slightly as I did — but I
couldn't help feeling vaguely dis-
turbed over them just the same.

Then, at the memory of Brad's
charming smile and frank, friendly
manners, I threw off my forebod-
ings. Of course it was nonsense!
And it had been Brad's own sugges-
tion that Ray Tucker, star comedian
of the program, and Mrs. Tucker
were to be guests at the lodge as
well.

I realized, suddenly, that I wasn't
worried over what Jerry had said.
I was worried because he'd said it.
We'd been such good friends. He'd
always been at my side when I
needed sympathy. And now, when
for the first time things looked bet-
ter for me, he'd acted — yes, he'd
acted as if he were jealous. As if
he begrudged me my chance. I had
never expected that of Jerry.

BUT in the morning I felt better.
Jerry would get over it, I told
myself. Anyway, the important
thing was the warm feeling of con-
fidence I'd had at Brad Staley' s
words: "I don't mind telling you I
think you've got exactly the kind
of voice I've been looking for to
make my show perfect!" Even if
something happened and I didn't get
the contract, that speech of Brad's
alone would almost make the whole
thing worth while!

Almost on the dot of noon he
drew up in the crowded street out-
side, driving a cream-colored road-
ster that seemed to be the embodi-
ment of speed and luxury. I picked
up my overnight bag and met him
on the steps. Somehow, I didn't
want him to see the interior of the
place where I lived. His face bright-
ened as he saw me, and I mentally
gave thanks that I'd spent more
than I could afford for my new suit
of white sharkskin, with the bright
blue handkerchief tucked in its
breast pocket.

"You're the only cool-looking
thing I've seen this morning," he
said, smiling down at me. His eyes
were deep-set, and of a blue that
contrasted oddly with his jet-black
hair and the deep tan of his skin.

"Ray and Edna are coming along
in their own car," he said as he
stowed my bag in the rumble. "Ray
always refuses to get up before
noon, and it'll probably be three

14

o'clock before they're ready to start,
so I thought we might as well go on
without them."

Then began one of the most en-
chanting rides I'd ever had. The big,
high-powered car seemed to be a
part of Brad Staley, he handled it
so expertly, weaving in and out of
the congested Saturday traffic along
the West Side highway and over
George Washington Bridge. Once in
the country, it hummed with deep-
throated satisfaction and leaped
ahead, yet its movement was so
smooth and soothing that I was sur-
prised when I glanced at the
speedometer and saw how fast we
were going.

All the way to the lodge Brad — I
was calling him Brad to his face now,
and he was calling me Nicky — kept
up a running stream of talk: stories
about radio, the theater, people he

■ "I was terribly
aware of his near-
ness. It was one
of those moments
when, without a
word being spoken,
the air is full of
clamorous thoughts11

knew and I longed to know. I felt
as if we'd been friends for years.

We had lunch at a little roadside
restaurant, and arrived at the lake
about four in the afternoon. The
lodge was all I had dreamed it would
be — a low, rambling log house, set
on the high ground overlooking the
little lake and surrounded by tall,
whispering pines. A breeze ruffled
the surface of the water, and it
sparkled in the afternoon sun as if
it were set with diamonds.

A big woman with gray hair and
a broad Irish face opened the door
and ran down the shallow stone
stairs to take our bags. Brad intro-
duced her to me as Mrs. Geraghty,
the housekeeper.

"Well, here's Falling Leaf Lodge,"
Brad said with a sweeping gesture
of his arm. "It's all yours, Nicky."

He stood beside me, and for a mo-
ment we were silent. The only
sound was that of Mrs. Geraghty's
quick steps moving around upstairs.
Suddenly, I was terribly aware of
his nearness. I knew, somehow,
that his eyes were upon my face, not
upon the view; and some instinct
told me that unless I moved, said
something to break the spell, he
would touch me. It was one of those
moments when, without a word be-
ing spoken, the air is full of clam-
orous thoughts; which can't be mea-
sured by time nor explained in
words.

It was with a real effort that I
turned and spoke to him lightly.
"Let's go swimming! Can we?"

"Of course," he said, responding
at once to my tone. "Me,et you here
in ten minutes."

Upstairs, in the bright, sunny
bedroom, I wondered. Had that mo-
ment really been tense, electric — or
had I merely imagined it, made it
up out of a mind that was too full
of what Jerry had said? I was sure
of one thing — I hadn't been fright-
ened. I liked Brad too well to be
afraid of him. Yet there was some-
thing overpowering about his vital-
ity, his masculinity and self-assur-
ance. I felt that here was a man
who knew women and his power
over them. I didn't resent that
power, exactly, but I made up my
mind that no matter what happened
I'd fight against it.

But there was no need to fight
against it, during the next hour or
so, while we alternately swam in
the icy waters of the lake and lay
full-length on the strip of sandy
beach, letting the rays of the sun
soak into our bodies. After the noise
and confusion of the city, its smells
and dirt, this lonely part of the
mountains was like a paradise — a
beautiful, perfumed paradise.

"Run up and get dressed, and
then we'll have a cocktail, without
waiting for the Tuckers," he said
when, glowing from the sun and the
water, we returned to the house.
"Dinner's at eight, but I don't im-
agine they'll get here much before
seven-thirty."

It was nearly seven when I came
down the stairs, wearing my one
and only evening gown. Brad, mix-
ing drinks at a little table before
the fireplace, looked up and grinned
cheerfully.

Nothing in the world, I thought,
could be more pleasant than the
next half hour, while we sat before
the fire, talking, wrapped in the
peace of the soft mountain air. If
only, I found myself thinking, we
could have the whole evening alone
like this — if only the Tuckers
weren't (Continued on page 69)

RADIO MIRROR

ON JUNE NINTH Eddie and I
will be married twenty-five
years.

Yet, as I think back, it doesn't
seem that long. The present pan-
orama . . . our house in Beverly
Hills, its white-tiled pool, these
purple-gray Hollywood hills, my
sun-tanned Eddie, our five daugh-
ters and even a couple of sons-in-
law . . . they do a complete fade-out.

Instead, I see a dingy gymnasium
in a New York public school. A
basketball game is in progress. And
I ask about the eager skinny boy,
a regular human dynamo, who is
running in and out of the place, ap-
pearing everywhere at once, upset-
ting the players' routine, making us
laugh.

No one knows his name. They
can only tell me, "He is Annie
Cantor's cousin."

Somebody else calls him, "Ruby
Goldberg's fella." I don't like this.
For, right from the start, I have a
crush on him myself.

JUNE, 1939

What other wife ever
waited so long for the
chance to talk back!

BY IDA CANTOR

Eddie awakened my maternal in-
stincts. He was so very thin. He
wore other people's clothes, cast-
offs that were much too big and only
succeeded in making him appear
even more under-nourished than he
actually was.

His parents were dead. He lived
with his grandmother. I think it was
not having a home of his own that
gave him his tremendous love of
family life, an odd quality to find
in an actor.

And his is an all absorbing love.
Through the years, no matter where
acting has carried Eddie, he insisted
that we (the girls and I) join him,
whenever possible. Painstakingly,
we have built and furnished homes
and apartments all over America,
in Mount Vernon, in Great Neck, in
New York City and California, only
to give each one up, take a cheerful
loss and travel on to the next en-
gagement. As Eddie says, our chil-
dren may be duds in arithmetic, but
there's scant excuse for them not to
know geography!

During those basketball days
there were no managers offering
Eddie contracts. He was just a boy,
a little on the nervy side, wanting
badly to be an actor.

At that (Continued on page 73)

15

She's feminine, she has a sense of humor— -and what's
more, even Charlie likes Edgar's new girl friend!

By MARIAN RHEA

EVERYONE around Hollywood
knows that Edgar Bergen, one
of our most eligible bachelors,
has got a new girl. Now, we're
often inclined to jump at romantic
conclusions out here, but it looks
this time as though Cupid were get-
ting in some pretty good licks. . . .
Certainly I think so and it seems to
me I should know, because I spent
an hour in Edgar's office on the
Boulevard the other day and fifty-
seven minutes of that time (the
other three were devoted to the
weather; it was the day it snowed)
were taken up with discussion of
the young lady in question. . . .
Meaning Miss Kay St. Germain, the

attractive brunette singer on NBC's
Signal Carnival and recently guest
on the Eddie Cantor program.

Let's see. ... It has been about
two years and a half, now, since
Edgar and Charlie McCarthy moved
west. Confirmed bachelors they
were when they arrived and it
looked for a while as though they
would stay that way. They — or
Edgar alone when he managed to
elude the irrepressible Charlie —
"played the field." For a while it
was Shirley Ross, whose company
was also regularly shared by Ken
Murray, Edgar's pal of long stand-
ing. Then it was Andrea Leeds
whom Edgar "beaued" on this and

that occasion. Or Anita Louise or
Helen Wood or Florence Heller.
But it was never for long and never,
apparently, seriously. Quiet as he
is (at least until you know him)
Edgar Bergen likes a good time. He
likes to dance. He likes the night
spots. And he likes a gay, attractive
companion. But so often was it a
brand new lady who appeared on
his arm at this party and that party
and premiere, that even Hollywood,
always ready, as I say, to jump at
romantic conclusions, coulda't cook
up a real Bergen romance with any-
one. . . .

Until Kay St. Germain came
along. Now, it looks different.

"Sure," Charlie says, "put a
little romance in Bergen's
life and maybe he'll under-
stand the problems of others."

As for the significance of what he
said about his new "girl friend" —
well, see what you think about
that. . . .

I started him off by asking when
he had first met Miss St. Germain,
where, and all about it. He remem-
bered exactly. It was one day when
photographs were being taken of
NBC stars in connection with the
opening of the new broadcasting
studios in Hollywood. Edgar and
Charlie, Madaline Lee, the girl who
plays "Miss Blue" with "Amos 'n'
Andy," Helen Wood and some
others were gathered around. Edgar
had never seen her before but he
certainly noticed her then. "When
she spoke, there was something in
her voice that made me listen," he
told me. "I thought to myself, 'a
good radio voice.' She has dark
hair, lots of it, and on that day it
was combed simply in what I guess
you would call a 'page boy' bob.

"I talked with her and realized I
should like to see more of her. So,

JUNE, 1939

in order to get her phone number
without appearing conspicuous or
impolite, I asked for the numbers
of everyone in the group and later
invited them to the rhumba party I
was giving around Halloween time.
Kay, among the others, accepted. I
danced with her and I liked her
better than ever because she was
about the best dancer I had ever
danced with. Since then — " He
paused but I prompted him.

"Since then you've been seeing a
lot of her?"

"Yes," he said, "as much as I
have time for and she will let me."

"Tell me other things about her
that appeal to you," I demanded.

He grinned again. "Are you com-
fortable?" he inquired, irrelevantly,
I thought at first, but I was wrong
about that. "Have a cigarette?
Fine. Now. . . . What do I like about
her? Well, that will take time to
tell. That is why I wanted to make
sure you were comfortable." Yes,
he was half jesting, but just half.

Her name's Kay St. Germain,
she sings on NBC's Signal
Carnival — and she's a
Charlie McCarthy fan too.

Exaggerating, but not completely.

"In the first place," he said, "I
like her because she has a sense of
humor and is excellent company.
She is one of the few women I have
met who likes to tell a joke and can
tell it well. She even makes them
up and they're good."

To prove his point he told me a
couple — and they were! For ex-
ample. . . . There was the mother
hen who hatched a brood of a dozen
chickens or so and, since there had
been a duck egg in the nest, one
duck. Eyeing the strange looking,
broad-billed newcomer with com-
plete disfavor, she exclaimed, "Ye
Gods! A Ubangi!"

"Then," he went on, "she likes to
do the things that I enjoy. She
plays golf, a whacking good game,
and she can beat me at tennis —
although, tactful girl that she is,
she doesn't do it too often, for which
I am grateful. Her badminton is
good and so are her bridge and
ping-pong. Another thing, she
seems tickled to death to play them
when I want to, which makes me
feel comfortable.

"She likes to eat, too. When
she goes into a restaurant, she looks
the menu over and orders a sensible
meal, none of your trick foods, salad
dressings made out of non-fattening
oils, tomatoes and pineapples. A
good dinner is as much an event
with her as a good show.

"She is not overly critical. You
can take her to see a picture or to a
broadcast secure in the knowledge
that she won't have it torn to pieces
five minutes after it's over. She
has the same tolerance toward peo-
ple. Men know when women are
being cats and they don't like it for
no other reason than because jeal-
ousy makes them uncomfortable.

"She is restful. You don't have
to entertain her every minute. She
seems to fit in with a mood. If you
want to be hilarious, she keeps up
her end and then some. If you
don't, she can be quiet and serious
and you don't feel that she is mak-
ing a conscious effort to do it, either.
She reads good books and can dis-
cuss them intelligently. She knows
what is going on in the world and
can discuss that."

"Do you ever quarrel?" I inquired.

He smiled. "Well, not exactly,
except that she sometimes becomes
a little upset at a certain masculine
perverseness (Continued on page 59)

£3m

^S.

The Inspector brought out a letter.
"Here," he said. "Take a look at
that — and see if you can make it out."

■

Photograph by Pinchot,
specially posed by Clay-
ton Colly er, Arline ■
Blackburn and Howard
Smith, of the Pretty
Kitty Kelly air serial.

*m

J

W*

wm

m^

'Who am I? And where did I come

from?11 Would you dare fall in love
when you couldn't solve the dark
mystery of your forgotten past?

Part I

THE train to New York sped
onward through the night. But
Kitty did not sleep. Her eyes
wide in the cramped darkness of
the lower berth, she stared out at
the landscape rushing by. She felt
as though she were rushing toward
her own destiny.

Two days ago she had been Kitty
Kelly, dress model in Marks Fifth
Avenue, an orphan girl from Dub-
lin who had lost her memory a
year ago. But now — the mystery
of her real identity had risen to
haunt her again.

That telegram from Inspector
Grady — what did it mean? She
and Michael had read it that morn-
ing in the lobby of the New Hamp-
shire ski resort.

"Bring Kitty Kelly to New York
at once for questioning," it had
read. "Clues that may throw some
light on her identity have turned
up. Mrs. Megram has been mur-
dered. Grady."

Some light on her identity. Her

heart beneath the soft stuff of her
nightgown beat a mad tattoo of
hope. Tomorrow, at this same time,
she might know who she really
was. And the nightmare and con-
fusion of her life during the past
year would be over.

For a whole year, she had lived
in ignorance, like a person in a
dream. A year ago, she had awak-
ened as though from a heavy sleep,
and found herself in the stuffy
third-class cabin of a ship bound
for America. Her only companion
had been a grim-faced old woman in
cheap black clothes. Mrs. Megram.

She had awakened that morning,
as though from utter darkness.
Unquestioningly, in a kind of stu-
por, she had accepted the things
Mrs. Megram told her day after
day in that swaying, ill-lighted
cabin. That her name was Kitty
Kelly. That she was a poor Irish
girl from an orphanage on her way
to find work in America. That she
had been ill during the voyage.
Her mind had been a blank on
which Mrs. Megram's harsh tongue
had traced a dismal story of a
poverty-stricken past.

But not one word of it was true.

She had known that now for two
days. Even before the telegram
from Inspector Grady came, she
had known she was not Kitty

Kelly, a poor Irish orphan. She
had known it ever since that win-
try afternoon two days before at
the hotel, when she and Michael
had gone out to ski on the white
New Hampshire hills.

Neither of them had ever skied
before. And Michael, the dear, had
worried about her falling. "Give
me your hand, Kitty!" he had cried,
catching her as she stood unstead-
ily on the height of the snowy
slope. She had clung to him for a
moment, a little frightened. Then
something had happened to her —
and she had pushed forward, skied
down the steep mountain with sud-
den, effortless ease.

Even Michl, the ski instructor,
had cried out in delight at her skill.
He had rushed forward, as she
braked at the bottom in a perfect
Christiania, and seized her by the
hand.

"But, Miss Kelly — you must have
learned how to ski like that in
Switzerland!"

Switzerland! An Irish orphan
in Switzerland! She had laughed
and shaken her head. But the in-
credible ease she had felt on those
skis had haunted her with a sense
of strange unreality.

And that same night, there had
been the incident of Grant Thurs-
day.

Michael had gone out, and she
and Bunny Wilson had been stand-
ing alone in the lobby, when he
arrived. Grant Thursday. She had
heard about him from the gay
crowds at the ski shop. A wealthy,
handsome young bachelor. A
writer, explorer, man about Eu-

For the first time, in dramatic fiction form, you can read the complete
story of the CBS serial that has thrilled listeners from coast to coast

June, 1939

19

rope. And an expert on skis. In
spite of her love for Michael, she
had felt a little twinge of excite-
ment at the thought of meeting him.
But she had scarcely been pre-
pared for the look of shocked
amazement on his face, when he
came into the lobby that night, and
saw her standing there.

GOOD Lord!" He had given a
low whistle. "Is it possible?
Or am I seeing things?"

She had shaken her head.

"I — I'm sorry, but — we've never
met each other before."

"You haven't, perhaps. But I
have. Don't you remember — that
afternoon last January? At St.
Moritz? You were wearing a little
blue jacket with military frogs, a
knitted white Norwegian cap
peaked in back? You were getting
into a crowded funicular railroad
going up the mountain? And I — I
couldn't get into the car to meet
you? I lost you!"

In a torrent of excitement he had
poured out a wild story of falling
in love with her, following her all
over Europe, in an effort to find out
her name. And at last something
had stirred inside her stunned
brain. She knew him. Somewhere
she had seen his face before.

And now — Mrs. Megram had
been murdered. New clues had
been uncovered. At last, perhaps,
the mystery was coming to a head.
Tomorrow morning, she would be
climbing from the train, racing to
Inspector Grady's apartment in a
taxi, with Michael at her side, rac-
ing toward her destiny . . .

Perhaps she and Michael could
be married at last. For six months
now, she had known she loved him
dearer than life itself. He had
begged her to marry him. But she
had not dared. And now, he was
beginning to grow restless, bored
with their endless existence apart.
This last week-end, when they
should have been so happy to-
gether, he had wandered off several
times by himself, gone skiing with
that pretty rich Isabel Andrews.
Even tonight, he had gone out "for
a last minute smoke" with Isabel.
He had stayed away a long time.

She had been in bed, her cur-
tains drawn, when they finally re-
turned. But wide-awake, staring
into the darkness, she had heard his
whisper, husky and deep, as they
brushed past the closed curtains of
her berth.

"Shh, Isabel. Not so loud. We'll
wake Kitty."

And Isabel's drawled reply: —

"Not a chance. G'night, Michael
darling."

There had been a little giggle, as

20

the train lurched round a bend.
Mockingly that laughter still lin-
gered in her ears. Tomorrow, she
whispered prayerfully in the nar-
row berth. Tomorrow. . . .
* * *

At ten o'clock next morning, she
and Michael were riding up in the
iron-grilled elevator to the Inspec-
tor's apartment on Riverside Drive.
Inspector Grady was waiting for
them, outlined against a huge win-
dow that looked out on the Hudson
River.

"Well, Kitty Kelly, if you're not
a sight for sore eyes! Say, Michael
— if I were twenty years younger,
I'd run off with her myself."

But she was in no mood this
morning for idle banter.

"Inspector — please — what is it
about Mrs. Megram — and . . . and
me?"

His kindly blue eyes scrutinized
her with sympathetic understand-

PRETTY KITTY KELLY

Sponsored by Wonder Bread
and Hostess Cakes on CBS

CAST

Kitty Kelly. . ARLINE BLACKBURN

Michael Conway

CLAYTON COLLYER

Bunny Wilson HELEN CHOAT

Slim ART ELLS DICKSON

Inspector Grady HOWARD SMITH

Grant Thursday ..JOHN PICKARD

Dr. Orbo LOUIS HECTOR

Isabel Andrews LUCILLE WALL

Radio script by Frank Dahm

Fictionization by Lucille Fletcher

ing. He motioned her to a chair.

"I hope my wire to Michael here
hasn't gotten your hopes too high,"
he said. "There's nothing very
definite as yet. But we have found
a couple of queer things out about
this Mrs. Megram. She was mur-
dered, as you know, last Thursday
night. Shot three times through the
back of the head. In a room at the
Wolfert Hotel."

"The Wolfert!" Michael broke in.
"But — that's the most expensive
hotel in New York!"

"Exactly. That's one of the things
I want to talk to Kitty about. Her
friend, Mrs. Megram, was paying
$25 a day for her room. She's been
paying that price for the last six

months. Tell me, Kitty, did she
strike you a year ago as a woman
who was rich or poor?"

"She — she appeared to be very
poor, Inspector."

"Poor — eh?" The Inspector
snorted. "Well — what do you think
of this? Your friend, Mrs. Megram,
left a deposit in the Marine National
Bank of $10,000! She also had
money to play the stock market, and
to keep a gigolo. Now — can you
make out where she could have got-
ten hold of all that dough?"

Kitty shook her head. The whole
thing was too fantastic for belief.
Mrs. Megram wealthy! Why — she
had seemed like a poor old char-
woman, a broken-down derelict of
the slums a year ago. And now —

The Inspector went on.

"You don't know? Okay — we'll
go back to that later. Anyway, to
make a long story short, this is the
other thing that struck us. She was
shot last Thursday night, while she
was writing a letter to you."

"To me? Sure — and what could
Mrs. Megram be writing a letter to
me about?"

"That's just what we wanted to
find out." The Inspector fumbled in
his desk, and brought out a letter.
"Here," he said. "Take a look at
that — and see if you can make it
out."

Kitty took it from him with trem-
bling fingers. It was a piece of ex-
pensive pink stationery, covered
with writing in a deliberate, slanting
hand. A strange scent, overpower-
ing, the odor of some perfume, rose
from it. Her head swam, and for a
moment she could not read the
words. Then:

"Dear Kitty Kelly," she read. "I
am writing you care of the store,
where you are employed, because I
have been told you are in the city.
When you receive this letter, will
you please communicate with me at
once? I have something of great
importance to tell you concerning
yourself. Do not be afraid to see
me, as I no longer want to do any-
thing but help you regain the place
that is rightfully yours. I know that
when you hear what I have to tell
you, I can trust your generosity to
forgive me what I did, and to re-
ward me well for the news I bring
you. I want . . ."

The last "t" in "want" trailed off
in a long inky line down the paper.
At the bottom of the letter was a
smear of dried blood. Nothing more.

Nothing. Tears of disappointment
came into Kitty's eyes. She read the
letter again. Perhaps she had missed
a phrase, a word that might mean
something definite. But no. This
letter was nothing but an introduc-
tion, the (Continued on page 66)

RADIO MIRROR

SHOULD ROOSEVELT SEEK

■ Mrs. America: "But
I thought he'd just
come for a visit."

NO/

BY RAYMOND MOLEY

YES/

BY ROY VICTOR PEEL

I DON'T think the President should
have a third term. And this is why:

There are certain characteristics about a human be-
ing that can readily be understood and that are com-
mon to all. If you stab a human being he will bleed.
If you shut him up without air he will die. If you
touch him with a hot iron he will be burned. If you
strike him he will either shrink away or fight back.
If you give him too much power he will abuse it. This
is a danger inherent in human nature (now I'm not
talking about Franklin Roosevelt, I'm talking about
any man) and it is the best purpose of human govern-
ment to limit power in the interest of freedom, and,
so far as possible, to divorce it from personalities.

Even the most casual observation of human beings
in possession of power reveals that the thirst for power
is the original sin of rulers. It grows by what it feeds
on, dulling the perceptions, clouding the vision and
leading its victims away from that contact with reality
which is the very essence of democracy. There is an
impatience of restraint, an (Continued on page 53)

o.

'BVIOUSLY, the Constitution places
no restriction on the number of terms that a President
may occupy the office. There is nothing anywhere in
the Constitution limiting this.

The third term is, therefore, clearly constitutional.

While the prejudice against the third term has been
sedulously cultivated by the politicians, by the dis-
contented and the ambitious, there is no ground at all
for believing that the principle is more than a custom,
which is foreign to our constitutional system, lacking
any authoritative support, and existing only because
its abolition has not been urged at a propitious time.

The practice of keeping leaders in power as long as
they are giving satisfactory service and inspired direc-
tion to affairs, is a cardinal principle in American busi-
ness and associational life. Imagine what a shock it
would be if the president of one of our larger corpora-
tions were removed from his office simply because he
had served eight years. Even more to the point is the
practice in our states and cities where able and efficient
governors and mayors are not (Continued on page 53)

Condensed from a debate by Professor Peel and Professor Moley, broadcast over station WEVD,
New York City, and arranged under the auspices of the Rand School of Social Science

JUNE, 1939

21

dPfi

Listen to Martha Raye
Tuesday nights on CBS,
sponsored by Lifebuoy.
Below, with her first
husband, Bud Westmore.

M

**^*M%3

yMMJ*

Paramount

■ Wedded happiness isn't just luck
that's the lesson one girl learned
from a disastrous first experience

A CAREER marriage can work.
David, who is very practical
about such things, would say
that I'm "sticking my neck out a
mile" making such a statement —
after all, we haven't had any anni-
versaries to celebrate so far, except

22

for monthly ones, and this is Holly-
wood, where anything can happen,
even to the best laid plans.

But just the same, I say that a
career marriage can work — if, all
other things being equal, a couple
enters it with their eyes open, de-

termined not to make the simple,
fatal mistakes that have wrecked so
many other promising partnerships.
Because David and I did all of our
worrying before we made that trip
to Ensenada. Everytime we'd bump
up against an "if" or a "maybe,"

RADIO MIRROR

we'd sit right down and work out
a way to get around it, and the re-
sult is a system which we think will
make our marriage work — no matter
how hard Hollywood tries to defeat
it — and probably would help any
marriage to sail along on an even
keel, whether it's in Hollywood, or
Muncie, Indiana.

My first marriage was unsuccess-
ful. In it I'd made enough mistakes
to wreck every happy home from
here to Calcutta. I'd let the public,
friends, work, outside interests,
everything, come between me and
my home. I suppose the public
hasn't forgotten that first, brief and
unhappy marriage of mine — and
you can be sure I haven't. But at
least it pointed out the pitfalls which
David and I must avoid, if we are
to have the happy life together that
both of us want so terribly.

I'm optimist enough to think that
I can learn how to do things the
right way from doing them the
wrong way. There should be les-
sons here for you, too, even if your
home isn't in Hollywood and you
aren't working for a living in radio
and the movies — because, funda-
mentally, the lessons I learned apply
to every marriage, everywhere.

Dave and I want to stay married
just as much as you do, for we both
believe that marriage is the best
way of life, even for two ambitious
careerists. We think we have found
the key.

Briefly, it's this: Work together
when you can. When the job at
hand is something you have to do
alone, then do it alone. Don't drag
the other fellow in, just to stand
around and wait for you. Guard
a free hour together, as though it
were your last hour on earth. And
don't let anybody intrude on it.

Just two simple rules. Just two
don'ts.

But ignore them, and before you
know it marriage rhymes with mess.

I think these rules will work not
only for the first year together, but
for the first ten, and the first twenty,
and forever.

David and I were thinking in

terms of a whole life together when

we exchanged wedding vows in that

little chapel at Ensenada. "Till death

(Continued on page 75)

v

>,1

1 '<d \

■' A

JH

JUNE, 1939

Fink

Dave and I want to stay married, just as much as you
do, for we both believe that is the best way of life.

A LUAU!

TO PRONOUNCE IT)

|[he South Seas moved
4 to Hollywood when Jon
Hall and Frances Lang-
ford gave a real Luau
— in plain English,
just an evening of

■ Pineapples, melons, bananas —
and Walter Kane, Lynn Bari,
Vic Orsatti, Marjorie Weaver.

■ Guests were supposed to come
in hula skirts or beachcomber
togs — and Kenny Baker (right)
poured out the Hawaiian punch.

■ What does it take to

be a star of the new-
est thing on earth?
These two beauties
know the answer — it's
not what you think!

Do you yearn to star in radio-pictures
—but think you haven't the right kind
of face or coloring? Then cheer up,
for now television engineers say that a
girl can be blonde or brunette, piquant
or patrician — it doesn't matter as long
as she has that one glamorous at-
tribute: Personality! That's something
possessed in abundance by the 'Tele-
vision Girls" of the East and West
Coasts. Left, Patricia Murray, of New
York City, is NBC's nomination.

RADIO MIRROR

■ Across the continent, Mutual's Station KHJ in Los Angeles says
that Betty Jane Rhodes is also a perfect television type. Betty
is already a sound-radio star, singing on her own program every
Monday. Patricia has won success in movies, and stars in the
Macfadden picture, "I'll Tell the World," which will be shown
at the New York World's Fair this summer. Both girls are blonde,
but that's just a coincidence. Patricia's features are regular
and rather large; Betty's are smaller and more sharply modeled.
But both photograph like a million — and that's what's important.

TONE, 1939

t*

i

NEW YORK CITY listeners this
spring heard Juanita Hansen
speak the startling words printed
on the opposite page.

Once a lovely star of the silent
movies, she began taking heroin
during an illness. In 1922 she
undertook a cure, which was com-
pleted in 1924. But in 1928 she
was severely scalded in a shower
bath, and formed the habit a sec-
ond time, so that once more she
went through the heart-breaking
task of curing herself. Now, her
movie career behind her, she is
planning a narcotics exhibit at the
New York World's Fair, where she
will lecture this summer.

RADIO MIRROR

■ Opposite, Juanita Hansen in
1918, at the height of her ca-
reer; above, with Jack Mulhall
in a scene from an early film.

■ Left, Miss Hansen as she is
today. Above, as the heroine
of an old-time serial called
"The Secret of the Submarine."

AS BROADCAST BY MISS HANSEN ON STATION WMCA

MY mission is to warn the youth
of America against narcotics
— I would save them from
paying the price I paid through
ignorance.

I believe ignorance is the root of
all evil. I cannot and I will not be-
lieve that the intelligent youth of
our nation today would deliberately
destroy their God-given good health
if they knew the destructive power
of all narcotic drugs.

From the first indulgence down
the path that leads to addiction, the
steps are so gradual that the victim
is unsuspectingly caught in the un-
dertow that grips and binds.

If you only knew the suffering
and mental anguish the unfortunate
victims of this menace endure you
would be horrified. I know where-
of I speak for on the altar of dope I
placed a career, health, wealth and
youth.

Much has been said about limit-
ing the source of supply of narcotic
drugs. I believe that is putting the
cart before the horse. Stop the de-
mand and there will be no need for
supply — this can only be accom-
plished through education.

I want you to tell your children if
they are ever tempted to try mari-
juana cigarettes, heroin, morphine,
cocaine or opium in any form, I
want them to think of me. I had
everything in the world to live for
— a beautiful future in motion pic-
tures and I lost it all through nar-
cotics. It took me two years to
regain my health, and every day,
week and month of that two years
was filled with physical pain and
such extreme nervousness I nearly
lost my reason.

For the past two years I have car-
ried a dream in my heart: that I
might have a Narcotic Museum at

the New York World's Fair — which
will be the first Educational Nar-
cotic Exhibition of its kind ever to
be shown. To that end — I have
toured United States, lecturing in
Schools, Teacher's Colleges, Univer-
sities, Federated Women's Clubs,
Civic groups and from the pulpits of
many churches

I want to take the Narcotic Prob-
lem out of the taboo category and
bring it right out into the open —
for our only weapon against this
narcotic menace is Education. If we
would save our children from this
narcotic evil then throw off the
cloak of ignorance. I would rather
have all the risks which come from
the free discussion of the narcotic
evil than the greater risks we run
by the Conspiracy of Silence. Open
the door of knowledge to all for
ignorance will destroy the beauty of
the world.

Li

r i

1939

FORMER SCREEN STAR

BROADCASTS
A DARING CONFESSION

29

iple in love, but most of

all to those who are afraid

to marry without money

a course in happiness by

the director of radio's

Original Good Will Hour

SO*

30

John J. Anthony is the di-
rector and master of cere-
monies of the Original Good
Will Hour, sponsored by Iron-
ized Yeast and heard over the
Mutual Broadcasting System
every Sunday at 10:00 P. M.,
E. S. T. He is also director of
his own Marital Relations In-
stitute, and is well known as
an authority on marriage and
its problems.

THEY come to me by the hun-
dreds— young men and women
in love, wanting each other,
anxious to marry, yet prevented
from doing so by one thing:
money, or the lack of it. Confused
and uncertain, they know what
they want, but not how to get it.
They ask me for advice. They've
been told they should be "prac-
tical." They've been advised to
wait until they have some money
in the bank — until John gets a
raise — until Jane can quit her job
— until they can afford to buy their
own furniture. There is always,
in these cases — an "until."

In all but a very few instances
my advice is the same: "Don't
wait. Tomorrow may never come.
Get married now — and then tackle
the problems that are worrying
you."

For these youngsters, with their
doubts and fears, are the most ter-
rible indictment of our modern age
that it is possible to conceive. A
hundred years ago, we in America
had no automobiles, no radios, no
telephones, none of the many lux-
uries which today we think of as
necessities. The words "standard
of living" were unknown. For
shelter, many a happy couple had
nothing better than a log hut, with
the wind whistling through its
chinks. But when two young peo-
ple fell in love, they went ahead
and got married, and didn't worry
too much over jobs and finances.
Or if they did want to be "prac-
tical," there was enough security

in the world to enable them to
plan ahead and eventually find
happiness without waiting for too
many years.

But today, in far too many cases,
young men and women are being
forced to postpone their happiness.
They are being denied the right
to marry — the right to the greatest
happiness possible to a man and
woman. Thousands of young peo-
ple— and some, unfortunately, not
so young — who have prepared
themselves to take part in modern
life, now find suddenly that mod-
ern life doesn't want them and
won't grant them the security they
need to build a home and family.

To you who are caught in this
deadlock, I have only one answer:
Take your courage in your hands
and marry anyway. Don't wait,
and don't gamble with your future
happiness.

I am assuming, of course, that
you are really in love — that you
are aware of the " difference be-
tween love and infatuation, that
you have looked into your hearts
honestly, and found there, not
sexual desire alone, but all the
other things that go to make
up a marriage as well: loyalty,
community of interests, affection,
friendship, respect. This article
isn't meant for you otherwise.

But if you are in love, it's your
right to be married, and no one
can take it away from you.

Frank and Judy came to see me
recently. Both were graduates
of a large Eastern university. I
looked into their faces and saw two
examples of fine American youth.
They were intelligent, healthy,
ambitious — and, I thought, coura-
geous. They'd make good citizens
of any town in the country.

"We want to get married,"
Frank told me, "but neither of us
has a job — and the way things look
now, the chances aren't very
bright. For more than a year we've
both been living with our parents,
hoping something would turn up

RADIO MIRROR

so we could marry and have a
home of our own. Lately the worry
and strain have been getting us
both down — we've started losing
our tempers at each other, and we
never used to do that."

I looked at the two unhappy
faces. "And what did you want
me to tell you?" I asked sympa-
thetically.

Frank blushed and shifted in his
chair with embarrassment, but
he'd come to ask my advice and he
meant to go through with it.

"We made up our minds we
could do one of two things. We
could call the whole thing off, and
decide not to see each other any
more — or we could — well, we
could be happy together without
waiting to get married."

"You mustn't do either of those
things," I told him. "You -must
go right down to the court house,
get a license, and find a preacher
to marry you. But, once you're
married, go out and try to get jobs
— try exactly twice as hard as
you've already been trying."

To this young couple, battered
and bruised by lack of sympathy
from all sides, this simple sugges-
tion served as an inspiration. Un-
der its impact they found new hope
and faith in each other and in
themselves. They married, and it
was only a couple of weeks later
that they'd both found jobs —
small ones, to be sure, but never-
theless a means of earning their
living.

They're living now in a one-
room apartment. According to
some standards, they're only exist-
ing. Yet I've seldom seen two
happier kids. With their love to
sustain them, they can get along
on very little. They'll prosper later.
Meanwhile, they are not for-
saking their moments of happiness
because of economic insecurity.

Frank and Judy were just one
couple who proved the truth that
problems which seem insurmount-
able to (Continued on page 60)

Jims, 1939

!,

■ "We want to get married, but neither of us has a job — and the chances
right now aren't very bright. Which shall we do — call the whole thing
off and not see each other any more— or take our courage in our hands?"

31

tion of radio's new

matinee idol when, you
tune in Charles Boyer

WHEN Charles Boyer made
his stage debut in Paris
some years ago, one dra-
matic critic raved — "He acts as if
he had a temperature of a hundred
and four!"

When he hypnotized Hollywood
on the screen a few years later, the
local victims cried — "He's more
magnetic than Valentino!"

After the preview of "Algiers"
last year, one ordinarily dignified
and sensible Hollywood glamour
girl wailed right out in public —
"His attraction is positively tor-
menting!" And just the other day
I heard a little Hollywood extra on
his set sigh wistfully —

"That guy Boyer has menace in
both eyes and ruin in every
whisper!"

They're saying much the same
superlative things about Charles
Boyer again today — only this time
the praise rings out along Radio
Row in Hollywood where the mes-
merizing personality of this elec-
tric Frenchman has already made
him a solid, sensational hit every
Sunday on Woodbury's Hollywood
Playhouse over NBC.

And once again the power of his
amazing personality is cast in the
light of a mystery. You can get
an argument any hour of the day
at the corner of Sunset and Vine
on this subject: What has Charles
Boyer got? How does he do it?

Well — people have been trying
to figure that out ever since
Charles was in diapers. His own
mother was baffled. When Charles
was little more than a pair of big
black eyes and barely able to talk,
she trotted him down to a church
school in the little town in France
where he was born.

"I don't expect you to teach my
son anything," she told the sister.
"He's too young for lessons. But
— I wish you'd see if you can make
him sit down and be still!"

A few weeks later Charles came
home and babbled out in perfect
order a long religious poem. His
folks were astounded and a little

RADIO MIRROR

By KIRTLEY BASKETTE

angry, too. They promptly scolded
the teacher for putting a mere in-
fant to such a prodigious task of
memory. The teacher was just as
astounded.

"He's never had a lesson," she
protested. "He's just been sitting
still!" But while he was learning to
sit still the terrific vitality of Baby
Charles had to be spent doing some-
thing. So he had silently mastered
all the lessons of the older kids!

You can't analyze that certain
something Boyer has — except that
it's something which is dynamite,
especially to the fair sex. You
might as well try to catalogue the
attraction of Clark Gable or the lure
of Hedy Lamarr. Boyer's got it —
and that's that. But as for how he's
brought it to the air — that's some-
thing different.

I didn't expect to find him in

studio A at NBC's great new Holly-
wood Radio City. Our date at
Thursday night rehearsal was one
thing — but the Academy Award
Banquet that same night was an-
other, and a very big other. It's
the biggest night in a film star's
year, as everyone knows, the night
when the highest honors of the
screen are bestowed, when coveted
gold "Oscar" statuettes are doled
out and all Hollywood pays honor
to the lucky winners.

Charles Boyer had been nomi-
nated for the 1938 male star per-
formance award. What's more,
with vast respect pervading Holly-
wood for his work in "Algiers," it
looked very much as if he'd get it.
He didn't, as you know now, but
that's not the point.

The point is that Woodbury re-
hearsals start at eight o'clock and

at eight-one Charles Boyer hurried
down the long corridor toward me,
his gray overcoat, worn in Napole-
onic cape fashion, flying in the
breeze, his cigarette trailing sparks.

"Am I late?" he asked anxiously.

"I didn't expect you at all," I said.
"I thought you'd be at the Academy
Dinner. You may get the award,
you know."

He shook his head. "I feel very
bad about not showing up there," he
said. "Since they were good enough
to nominate me, it seems rude not
to attend. But," he shrugged, "I
have work to do here. I couldn't
disappoint these people." And that
settled it. He rushed into the re-
hearsal studio.

Now that, I think, shows two im-
portant things about Charles Boyer.
First, work comes absolutely first
in his life (Continued on page 79)

■ Boyer and his charming wife,
Pat Paterson, who helps hirr
over his big stumbling block.

m

*m~

i

II

'

1

MEET THE EASY ACES FOR THE FIRST TIME IN STORY FORM. FIC-
TIONIZED BY LYNN BURR FROM THE RADIO PROGRAM SPONSORED BY
ANACIN. HEARD OVER NBC, TUESDAY. WEDNESDAY AND THURSDAY

WHERE have you been?" Mr. Ace demanded.
Jane Ace stood there in the doorway of the
bungalow, wearing a contented smile because
she was just too dumb to know when to be upset. Such
as this occasion, for instance. Mr. Ace was upset.
Marge, the family's closest spectator, was upset. And
both with righteous cause. For the hour was 8:30 p.m.,
neither had had their dinner, and Jane had been
missing all day.

Mr. Ace tried to be patient, though it was always a
painful process for him, for he knew that whatever
Jane had been up to, she had meant no harm. She
just had a big heart and little brains, and although this
produced many trying situations, you couldn't really
get mad at her. Or if you did, you couldn't stay mad,
anymore than you could stay mad at a little child
who was trying to bake you a cake, even though she
burned the whole back of the house off in the process.

Jane paused and looked surprised. "Why dear, I
thought you knew. I've been to the orphange."

"The Orphange?"

"Yes, to adapt a child. After all, we discussed it all
last week and I tried out different children, and
everything . . ."

Mr. Ace sat down heavily. It had been less than
a week ago when somehow, orphans had been men-
tioned, and Jane had as suddenly decided they should
"adapt" one. Ace and Marge had talked, but could get
no further than to make Jane undecided as to whether
it should be a boy or a girl. This had produced the
trying situation they'd endured for three long days.
For Jane thought up a way to decide the question;
she'd try out both sexes, by borrowing the neighbors'
children, a girl one day, a boy the next. The neighbors,
who knew a good thing when they saw it,
were happy to cooperate.

Three days of the worst children the
neighborhood could produce, with Jane
still undecided, had Ace feeling confident
the idea of "adapting" a child had played
itself out. But no. Now Jane had been
to the orphanage!

"Oh yes," Jane explained, "I've been
every day for the last three days. But
it's so hard to decide because they've got
more children than you can shake. I got
acquainted with most of them though."

"Oh, you did?"

"Yes, and some of them got to know
me. They'd say, 'She's in again!', and we'd all laugh.
Oh, I learned a lot about children from Mrs. Baker."

"She's the head of the orphanage, I take it?" Marge
asked.

"Uh huh. She's awfully sweet. The children all love
her. They have a nickname for her. They call her
Simon Legree."

34

What's nicer than adopting a lonely orphan, except when the
little waif is six feet tall and has to shave? The Easy Aces
discover the disconcerting answer in this rollicking story

Illustration by
Mary Horton

■ Ace never knew what hit him! He slumped to
the floor like a wet sack. "Say, you big lug,"
Marge demanded of Cokey, "Who are you hitting?"

"Isn't that awful?" Ace moaned, and then rose from
his chair. "Well, all this can wait. How about some
supper?"

"But it can't wait." Jane jumped up, and opening
the front door, went out on the porch. In a second she
reappeared. Behind her stood a huge, hulk
of a young man with a forlorn look on his
face. He towered above Jane like a giant,
and looked for all the world like the entire
Pittsburgh backfield.

"What's that?" Ace demanded.
"I want you all to meet Cokey," Jane
said.

"Cokey?" Ace muttered. "Jane, what's the
idea of coming home with strange men?"

"But he's not a man, dear. Not quite. He
won't be twenty-one for another month."
"All right, where does he fit in?"
"Don't you see dear, I adapted him."
"You what?"
"I adapted . . . Well, after all, those small children
I tried out last week were so much trouble, and this
afternoon the idea hit me in the face like a flash in
the pan. I decided that as long as we're going to adapt
a child, why not get one big enough to shovel coal
and tend the furnace."

"Jane, you didn't?" Marge exclaimed.
"Yes, wasn't that smart of me? We had an awful
time getting here though. We hitch hoke."
"Hitch hoke?"

"Yes, he showed me how. I didn't know before that
if you put your hand out like this with your thumb
like this they stop the car and let you in. I knew about
putting your hand out the window when you want to
turn, and . . ."

"Jane, will you stop this jabbering?"
Jane did, for a second, and Ace slid down in the
chair. "A twenty-year-old 'child', named COKEY!"
he muttered.

The following afternoon Cokey was still "in," by
virtue of Ace having been at work all day, and not
having figured out a way to talk Jane out of the idea
of keeping him. In the meantime, between shoveling
coal, and listening to "mother," Cokey was very busy.
"And another thing," Jane rattled on, "you have to
go out sometime and play. You've stayed inside all day
today, and there's a lot of children around here. What
do you like to play?"
"Pool."

"Well, tomorrow I'll . . ." Jane hesitated. "Pool? I
don't think they play that around here. Is that all you
can play?"

"I play first base."

"First base? That's a new one I guess. Oh, I forgot.
Isn't it time for you to tend the furnace again?"
"Yes. It's been fifteen minutes."

35

7Ad*

Mflkfy

MEET THE EASY ACES FOR THE FIRST TIME IN STORY FORM. FIC
TIONIZED BY LYNN BURR FROM THE RADIO PROGRAM SPONSORED BY
ANACIN. HEARD OVER NBC. TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY AND THURSDAY

WHERE have you been?" Mr. Ace demanded.
Jane Ace stood there in the doorway of the
bungalow, wearing a contented smile because
she was just too dumb to know when to be upset. Such
as this occasion, for instance. Mr. Ace was upset.
Marge, the family's closest spectator, was upset. And
both with righteous cause. For the hour was 8:30 P.M.,
neither had had their dinner, and Jane had been
missing all day.

Mr. Ace tried to be patient, though it was always a
painful process for him, for he knew that whatever
Jane had been up to, she had meant no harm. She
just had a big heart and little brains, and although this
produced many trying situations, you couldn't really
get mad at her. Or if you did, you couldn't stay mad,
anymore than you could stay mad at a little child
who was trying to bake you a cake, even though she
burned the whole back of the house off in the process.

Jane paused and looked surprised. "Why dear, I
thought you knew. I've been to the orphange."

"The Orphange?"

"Yes, to adapt a child. After all, we discussed it all
last week and I tried out different children, and
everything . . ."

Mr. Ace sat down heavily. It had been less than
a week ago when somehow, orphans had been men-
tioned, and Jane had as suddenly decided they should
"adapt" one. Ace and Marge had talked, but could get
no further than to make Jane undecided as to whether
it should be a boy or a girl. This had produced the
trying situation they'd endured for three long days.
For Jane thought up a way to decide the question;
she'd try out both sexes, by borrowing the neighbors'
children, a girl one day, a boy the next. The neighbors,
who knew a good thing when they saw it,
were happy to cooperate. ^*i

Three days of the worst children the
neighborhood could produce, with Jane
still undecided, had Ace feeling confident
the idea of "adapting" a child had played
itself out. But no. Now Jane had been
to the orphanage!

"Oh yes," Jane explained, "I've been
every day for the last three days. But
it's so hard to decide because they've got
more children than you can shake. I got
acquainted with most of them though."

"Oh. you did?"

"Yes, and some of them got to know
me. They'd say, 'She's in again!', and we'd all laugh.
Oh, I learned a lot about children from Mrs. Baker "

"She's the head of the orphanage, I take it?" Marge
asked.

"Uh huh. She's awfully sweet. The children all love
her. They have a nickname for her. They call her
Simon Legree."

34

What's nicer than adapting a lonelv •».
Httle waif is six feet tai. and h \ ' ""^ *** '*'

«. .r hOS *° Shave? The Easy Aces

discover the disconcerting answer in «.• ...

* answer m this rollicking story

Marge demanded of Co\ey "Wh^ ^J^,
^°Key, Wno ore you hitting?"

hisSr*3™"1^ iCe m°aned' and then r°se fr<»«
supper?" ' thlS C3n Wait How about s°me

the wVan't W3it" Jane jUmped UP' and °PeninS
the front door, went out on the porch. In a second she

reappeared. Behind her stood a huge, hulk
M a young man with a forlorn look on his
face. He towered above Jane like a giant
and looked for all the world like the entire
Pittsburgh backfield.

"What's that?" Ace demanded.
"I want you all to meet Cokey," Jane
said.
"Cokey?" Ace muttered. "Jane, what's the
,«-_/' " idea of coming home with strange men?"

"But he's not a man, dear. Not quite. He
won't be twenty-one for another month."
"All right, where does he fit in?"
"Don't you see dear, I adapted him."
"You what?"
"I adapted . . . Well, after all, those small children
I tried out last week were so much trouble, and this
afternoon the idea hit me in the face like a flash in
the pan. I decided that as long as we're going to adapt
a child, why not get one big enough to shovel coal
and tend the furnace."
"Jane, you didn't?" Marge exclaimed.
"Yes, wasn't that smart of me? We had an awful
time getting here though. We hitch hoke."
"Hitch hoke?"

"Yes, he showed me how. I didn't know before that
if you put your hand out like this with your thumb
like this they stop the car and let you in. I knew about
putting your hand out the window when you want to
turn, and . . ."

"Jane, will you stop this jabbering?"
Jane did, for a second, and Ace slid down in the
chair. "A twenty-year-old 'child', named COKEY!"
he muttered.

The following afternoon Cokey was still "in," by
virtue of Ace having been at work all day, and not
having figured out a way to talk Jane out of the idea
of keeping him. In the meantime, between shoveling
coal, and listening to "mother," Cokey was very busy.
"And another thing," Jane rattled on, "you have to
go out sometime and play. You've stayed inside all day
today, and there's a lot of children around here. What
do you like to play?"
"Pool."

"Well, tomorrow I'll . , •" Jane hesitated. "Pool? I
don't think they play that around here. Is that all you
can play?"
"I play first base."

"First base? That's a new one I guess. Oh, I forgot.
Isn't it time for you to tend the furnace again?"
"Yes. It's been fifteen minutes."

35

Cokey strode slowly over to the
cellar door, and a few minutes after
he'd gone downstairs, Ace arrived
home.

"What is this, Jane?" he drawled
as soon as he got inside, "Do you
have to keep it this hot in here?"

"Is it hot, dear?"

"Is it hot? It's suffocating!"

"Well, Cokey's been tending the
furnace."

"Oh. . . . Well, you tell him to let
it cool off a little." Stomping out in
the back Ace opened a window.
After all, he didn't want to hurt
Jane's feelings, but this was too im-
possible to continue. All day long
he'd racked his brain for some means
of maneuvering Jane into changing
her mind, but without success. So
he'd finally decided to come out
bluntly, and put his foot down.
"Jane, this is the most ridiculous
situation we've ever been in. That
big lummox is going back to the
orphanage."

"What?"

"Now you heard me. I don't want
any trouble with the orphanage, and
I don't want any trouble with you."

"Oh dear," Jane began to wail,
"my own child, my own flesh and
bones . . ."

"... Your own flesh and bones?"

"Well," Jane mumbled, "it seems
like it now."

THE argument which ensued
dragged out into the evening,
Ace trying to use common sense,
battling against Jane's sudden
"mother" instinct to protect her
"young." Ace's idea was very
simple and sound. Cokey would be

released from the orphanage on his
twenty-first birthday anyway, which
was only a month away. Ace had
talked to Jane's brother Johnny,
who had married into a responsible
position in the local department
store, and between them they'd
gotten a job for Cokey, to start when
he became twenty-one. In the
meantime, Ace wanted to send
Cokey back to the orphanage, since
no binding papers had been signed.
It was slow going through all of
Jane's "My own flesh and bones,"
"It'll break his little heart," and
similar remarks, but finally Ace won
his point. Cokey was called up from
the cellar.

"Oh dear," Jane wept, "I don't
know how to say it."

"Well, don't start to weep."

"But I can't help it. I'm the
weeper sex."

"Oh," Ace moaned, and then
turned to Cokey. "Look, Cokey,
we've got a job for you when you're
twenty-one, but in the meantime
you'll have to go back to the or-
phanage."

Cokey's huge, dumb face fell, and
he looked as if his best friend had
just sold him down the river. After
a second his expression returned
once more to its usual nothingness,
and he spoke very calmly.

"Oh, no you don't."

"Yes, and we'll . . . Huh?" Ace
looked dumfounded.

"You're not gonna send me back.
I've seen what happens to those no-
body wants."

And on this point, Cokey re-
mained firm. Marge returned home
a few minutes later to find them all

They're Jane and Goodman Ace
in private life as well as in
their thrice-weekly NBC series.

arguing in the hallway, and she too,
joined in the discussions. Through
the better part of the evening they
pleaded and begged, but Cokey
seemed to know only four words,
which he kept repeating over and
over in answer to all attempts to get
rid of him. "Oh, no you don't."

It was the next morning when all
else had failed, that Ace finally lost
his temper. He turned to Marge
first. "You better go to work. You're
late now."

Marge only laughed. "No sir. I
wouldn't miss this for the world."

Ace grunted, and turned to Cokey.
"All right you, you're going out of
here." But as Ace stepped forward to
eject him bodily, Cokey's right hand
came up like a lazy sledgehammer.
Ace never knew what hit him! He
slumped to the floor like a wet sack.

"Say, you big lug," Marge de-
manded, "who are you hitting?"

"I didn't mean to. . . ."

"Oh dear," Jane fluttered, "he
struck his own father."

"But I . . ."

"Ace dear, wake up," Jane called.
"Oh, he looks so comfortable, it's a
shame to . . ."

"Here, this'll fix him." Marge,
coming from the dining room with a
glass of water, dashed it in Ace's
face. He groaned. "Ohhhh," and
slowly opened his eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Half past ten."

"I must have overslept."

At that moment the doorbell rang,
and who should appear on the
scene but Jane's garrulous brother
Johnny. He strode through the
doorway with, "Hello everybody,"
and then stopped. "Say, what hap-
pened to you, Ace?'

"He ..."

"And who's this?"

"That's it. That's what happened
to Ace."

"Oh yeah," Johnny remembered,
"this is Cokey. Ace told me about
him yesterday and we got him a job
with the old man down at the store.
But I thought he was going back to
the orphanage for a month."

"So did we," Marge agreed, "but
just try and budge him. He won't
move."

"He won't. . . . Well, that's simple.
Just call up the orphanage, they'll
send somebody to . . ."

"Oh, no you don't," Cokey inserted
calmly, but firmly.

"What?"

"Oh, no you don't."

"He means no," Marge explained.

"Now, see here, my good fellow,
you may be able to bluff these peo-
ple here, but you'll find me a differ-
ent story."

"Johnny, I wouldn't start any-
thing with . . ." (Cont'd on page 78)

36

RADIO MIRROR

A success story in swing time —
brought to you in his own words
by the jitterbugs' newest idol

V '* /^» -

■

m*

S»;

BY ^

ARTIE SHAW

As told to Jerry Mason

Seldom have the editors of
Radio Mirror published a suc-
cess story as unusual as this.
Last month Artie Shaw told
you of his early life — of poverty
in one of New York's "Dead
End" slums — of how he quit
school when he was fifteen be-
cause all he wanted to do was
play a saxophone, and at once
became a full-fledged musician
in a dance band — and of how
he slept on park benches and
washed dishes for his meals
when he was barely old enough
to shave. Now, at twenty-nine,
he is a famous bandleader — and
this is how it happened:

Part II

I WAS faced with two offers — and
I couldn't make up my mind
which one to take. I was sixteen
years old, and although I'd been

june, 1939

earning my own living as a musi-
cian for considerably more than a
year, I still didn't have enough
maturity to make a decision that
was likely to affect the rest of my
life.

The California Ramblers wanted
me — a band that was then, in 1926,
riding the crest of the wave. On
the other hand, my second offer was
from a Cleveland band that I was
convinced was going places. Hav-
ing a pair of good jobs like these
handed to me on a silver platter was
flattering — but remembering the
lean days I'd already been through,
and suspecting that some just as
lean would come along in the fu-
ture, I couldn't help wishing that
the offers didn't have to come to-
gether.

After a whole day and night of
indecision, I finally decided to send
a wire of (Continued on page 62)

! ,1

€k&. 9taw0ey (Sivufc&t,

Author of

"The Case of the Velvet Claws"

"The Case of the Howling Dog," etc.

The story thus far:

WILLIAM C. FOLEY hired me as his secretary be-
cause he liked my voice. Later I discovered that
he judged people's character by their voices. On the
very first day of my new job things began to happen.
A man who said he was a private detective investi-
gating the hit-and-run injury of Mr. Foley's former
secretary forced his way into the office and demanded
to see my employer. After Mr. Foley had gotten rid
of him, another visitor came — Frank C. Padgham, who
seemed to be a talent agent. I was called into the office
while Mr. Foley dictated a long agreement between
Padgham and two men named Carter Wright and
Woodley Page. Mr. Foley instructed me to type the
agreement and deliver it to a Wilshire address that
night.

On my way to carry out his instructions I was almost
run down by a car — and it didn't look like an accident,
either. I was panic-stricken when I reached the house.
It seemed completely deserted. Then, coming from up-
stairs, I heard a thumping noise. Investigating, I found
Bruce Eaton, the radio and movie star, bound and
gagged in a closet. I set him free, and under pretense
of getting a drink, he slipped out of the house, leaving
me alone. As I started to follow him, I picked up a
safe-deposit key from the floor — and then, through
an open door at the end of the hall, I saw a dead man
slumped over a desk!

While I stood gaping, every light in the house went
out, and I hurried downstairs. At the front door
I met Mr. Padgham and told him what I'd seen. He

38

She got to her feet and pointed angrily at him.

went into the dark house, telling me to get in his car
and wait for him. Instead, I went to a nearby drug
store and called Bruce Eaton's agent, telling him to
give Eaton a message from the young woman who re-
moved his gag — to call me at the office the next day.
I returned to the house, to find Padgham and his car
both gone, but Mr. Foley was there. I told him every-
thing that had happened, except about Bruce Eaton
and the key, and he advised me to go into the drug
store and tell the clerk to notify the police of the mur-

RADIO MIRROR

Should a beautiful secretary

remain loyal to her boss or
believe blindly in the man
she loves? Miss Bell finds

'And I thought I could count on you for help!"

der. I did as he said, and returned to his car. All
evening I'd kept tight hold of the brief case with the
Padgham agreement in it. But now, when Mr. Foley
asked me for it — the brief case was empty!

M

Part III

ORNING BROUGHT the newspapers and gave
me the first really definite information I'd been
able to obtain about what actually happened.

june, 1939

Police, it seemed, having been notified by a drug
clerk that the body of a murdered man was in one of
the more expensive homes in an exclusive Wilshire dis-
trict, had sent a radio car to investigate.

The house turned out to be the property of Charles
Temmler, a wealthy, retired contractor. The police
found the' front door of the house unlocked. A main
light switch near the heater on the back porch had
been thrown, plunging the entire house into darkness.
Using flashlights, the police climbed the stairs to the
second floor, where they found a dead man seated at
a desk in what was evidently an upstairs study. From
letters in the man's pockets and cards in his cardcase,
the police tentatively identified the body as that of
one Carter Wright, a man who had been employed
by Mr. Temmler as chauffeur.

Death had been practically instantaneous, caused by
a bullet fired at close range from a .38 caliber auto-
matic.

In another upstairs bedroom, the police had found
evidence which led them to believe a man had been
tied and gagged. Two handkerchiefs, moist from
saliva, and which had evidently been used as gags,
had been found on the floor. A sheet had been jerked
from a bed, torn into strips, and tied in square,
business-like knots. Later on, apparently, this man
had been liberated by some person who had cut
through the strips of cloth with a sharp knife. There
was no clue whatever as to the identity of either of
these two persons. Police were testing everything on
the property for fingerprints.

I was particularly interested in seeing myself as
others saw me, for the clerk in the drug store had
given a description of the woman who had reported
the murder. This young woman was the subject of
intensive and widespread search. I read the descrip-
tion with interest.

Dark chestnut hair, rich (Continued on page 81)

39

I

V

0l£,*S%UA^(3K'U&&b

Author of
"The Cote of the Velvet Claws"
"The Coie of the Howling Dog." etc.

The story thus far:

WILLIAM C. FOLEY hired me as his secretary be-
cause he liked my voice. Later I discovered that
he judged people's character by their voices. On the
very first day of my new job things began to happen.
A man who said he was a private detective investi-
gating the hit-and-run injury of Mr. Foley's former
secretary forced his way into the office and demanded
to see my employer. After Mr. Foley had gotten rid
of him, another visitor came — Frank C. Padgham, who
seemed to be a talent agent. I was called into the office
while Mr. Foley dictated a long agreement between
Padgham and two men named Carter Wright and
Woodley Page. Mr. Foley instructed me to type the
agreement and deliver it to a Wilshire address that
night.

On my way to carry out his instructions I was almost
run down by a car— and it didn't look like an accident,
either. I was panic-stricken when I reached the house.
It seemed completely deserted. Then, coming from up-
stairs, I heard a thumping noise. Investigating, I found
Bruce Eaton, the radio and movie star, bound and
gagged in a closet. I set him free, and under pretense
of getting a drink, he slipped out of the house, leaving
me alone. As I started to follow him, I picked up a
safe-deposit key from the floor— and then, through
an open door at the end of the hall, I saw a dead man
slumped over a desk!

While I stood gaping, every light in the house went
out, and I hurried downstairs. At the front door
I met Mr. Padgham and told him what I'd seen. He
38

Should a beautiful secretary
remain loyal to her boss or
believe blindly in the man
she loves? Miss Bell finds
Cupid isn't the least danger-
ous foe in this thrilling
serial of murder in filmland

l

Illustration by Mario Cooper

She got to her feet and pointed angrily at him.

went into the dark house, telling me to get in his car
and wait for him. Instead, I went to a nearby drug
store and called Bruce Eaton's agent, telling him to
give Eaton a message from the young woman who re-
moved his gag— to call me at the office the next day.
I returned to the house, to find Padgham and his car
both gone, but Mr. Foley was there. I told him every-
thing that had happened, except about Bruce Eaton
and the key, and he advised me to go into the drug
store and tell the clerk to notify the police of the mur-

RADIO MDWOB

And ' *hou9ht I could count on you for help!"

even' * dTid as he said' and returned t0 his car- AU
Padrt d kept tight hold of the brief case with the
asklrf agreement in it. But now, when Mr. Foley
" me for it— the brief case was empty!

Part III

°**NING BROUGHT the newspapers and gave

me the first really definite information I'd been

D'e to obtain about what actually happened.

to

M

*"*. 1939

Police, it seemed, having been notified by a drug
clerk that the body of a murdered man was in one of
the more expensive homes in an exclusive Wilshire dis-
trict, had sent a radio car to investigate.

The house turned out to be the property of Charles
Temmler, a wealthy, retired contractor. The police
found the' front door of the house unlocked. A main
light switch near the heater on the back porch had
been thrown, plunging the entire house into darkness.
Using flashlights, the police climbed the stairs to the
second floor, where they found a dead man seated at
a desk in what was evidently an upstairs study. From
letters in the man's pockets and cards in his cardcase,
the police tentatively identified the body as that of
one Carter Wright, a man who had been employed
by Mr. Temmler as chauffeur.

Death had been practically instantaneous, caused by
a bullet fired at close range from a .38 caliber auto-
matic.

In another upstairs bedroom, the police had found
evidence which led them to believe a man had been
tied and gagged. Two handkerchiefs, moist from
saliva, and which had evidently been used as gags,
had been found on the floor. A sheet had been jerked
from a bed, torn into strips, and tied in square,
business-like knots. Later on, apparently, this man
had been liberated by some person who had cut
through the strips of cloth with a sharp knife. There
was no clue whatever as to the identity of either of
these two persons. Police were testing everything on
the property for fingerprints.

I was particularly interested in seeing myself as
others saw me, for the clerk in the drug store had
given a description of the woman who had reported
the murder. This young woman was the subject of
intensive and widespread search. I read the descrip-
tion with interest. ,

Dark chestnut hair, rich (Continued on page 81)

39

BENNY GOODMAN insists he is
not breaking up his band. The
star soloists who have left the
king of swing to form their own bands
were all recipients of Benny's good
wishes . . . Cab Calloway and warbler
June Richmond have parted company
. . . Kay Kyser hits the west coast this
summer . . . Charles Baum stays at
New York's St. Regis throughout the
summer . . . Red Nichols set to sup-
plant Teddy Wilson at the Famous
Door by May 1 . . . Eddy Duchin is
now giving his "magic fingers of ra-
dio" a workout in Chicago's Palmer
House with a MBS wire . . . They say
Hal Kemp and Tony Martin were none
too friendly offstage when the pair
shared top billing at New York's Par-
amount . . . Orrin Tucker takes his
"conversational music" to San Fran-
cisco by the time you read this . . .
Elmo Tanner, Ted Weems' whistling
soloist, and Eleanor Jones, a Birming-
ham school teacher, tied the knot . . .
As predicted here Tommy Dorsey
gets the New York Hotel Pennsylvania
roof berth this summer . . . Ben Ber-
nie shifts to the Hotel Astor roof on
July 3 for the World's Fair tourist
trade . . . Helen O'Connell, 19-year-
old singer, who got her first break

40

■ Andre Kostelanetz creates a new
instrument, a "bass drum fiddle."

with Larry Funk's band, is now work-
ing for Jimmy Dorsey. Helen replaced
Ella Mae Morse . . . Three bands rap-
idly rising in public favor are Charlie
Barnett, Gray Gordon and Jan Savitt.
Barnett has the looks and ability to

■ Hal Kemp sits one out with his wife,
Martha Stephenson; left, three impor-
tant members of his orchestra — Mickey
Bloom, Jack LeMaire and Saxie Dowell.

worry Shaw. Gordon scored at New
York's Hotel Edison and was elevated
from Bluebird to Victor platters. This
is the first time in history that the
record company transferred a band
from lower priced disks to higher
priced ones . . . Jan Savitt came up
from Philadelphia to Gotham and re-
vealed an interesting style. Jan used
to play fiddle for Toscanini . . . Artie
Shaw will be featured in a Warner
Brothers picture when he gets to the
coast with the Bob Benchley show.

THE NEW HAL KEMP

THE slender, soft-eyed collegian who
' sprouted like a string bean over the
heads of other North Carolina stu-
dents as he spoke hopefully of leading
a professional dance band, was a far
cry from the sophisticated showman
who now tops one of radio's favorite
orchestras.

But both descriptions fit Hal Kemp.
That is, the first one did fit before the
"Time to Shine" CBS maestro passed
through a multitude of experiences
that eventually stamped him as one
of America's great dance band figures.

The Mason & Dixon hayseed who
developed through the years into a
(Continued on page 56)

RADIO MIRROR

The New Radio Mirror Almanac

BY THE STUDIO SNOOPER

■ Presenting the listener's best friend — ■
a complete network program directory, day-
by-day reminders of highlights you don't
want to miss, thumbnail biographies of in-
teresting people, and the fascinating be-
hind the scenes stories of seven programs!

PROGRAMS FROM APRIL 26 TO MAY 25

a.
tt<u

8:00
8:00

8:30
8:30

9:00
9:00
9:00

10:00
10:00
10:00

10:30

10:45

11:00
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12:00

12:15

12:30
12:30

2:00
2:00
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3:00
3:00
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4:00
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7:00
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10:00
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10:30
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11:00
11:00
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12:00
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1:00
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2:15

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3:30
3:30

4:00
4:00
4:00

5:00
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5:30
5:30
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6:00

6:00
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7:00

7:00

7:30
7:30

8:00
8:00
8:00

8:30
8:30

9:00
9:00

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Blue: Peerless Trio

NBC-Red: Organ Recital

8:30

NBC-Blue: Tone Pictures

NBC-Red: Four Showmen

8:45

NBC-Red: Animal News

9:00

CBS: From the Organ Loft

NBC-Blue: White Rabbit Line

NBC-Red: Turn Back the Clock

9:15

NBC-Red: Tom Teriss

9:30

8:30 CBS: Wings Over Jordan
8:30 NBC-Red: Melody Moments

10:00

9:00 CBS: Church of the Air
9:00 NBC-Blue: String Quartet
9:00 NBC-Red: Radio Pulpit

10:30

9:30 NBC-Blue: Russian Melodies
9:30 NBC-Red: Music and Youth

11:00
NBC: News

11:05
10:05 NBC-Blue: Alice Remsen

11:15
10:15 NBC-Blue: Neighbor Nell

NBC-Red: Chimney Hous:
10:15 11:30

10:30 CBS: MAJOR BOWES FAMILY
10:30 NBC-Blue: Southernaires

12: Noon
11:00 NBC-Blue: RADIO CITY MUSIC

HALL
11:00 NBC-Red: Music for Moderns

12:30 P.M.
11:30 CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle
11:30 NBC-Red: University of Chicago
Round Table

1:00

12:00 CBS: Church of the Air
12:00 NBC-Blue: GREAT PLAYS
12:00 NBC-Red: Ireene Wicker

2:00

1:00 ' US Americans All
1:00 NBC-Blue: Magic Key of RCA
1:00 NBC-Red: Sunday Dinner at Aunt
Fanny's

2:30

CBS: Words Without Music

2:45

NBC-Red: Kidoodlers

3:00

CBS: N. Y. PHILHARMONIC

(Ends Apr. 30)
NBC-Red: Sunday Drivers

2:00
2:00

2:30

3:00

3:15

3:30
3:30

4:30
4:30
4:30

5:00
5:00
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6:30

7:00
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8:00
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8:30
8:30

9:00
9:00
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9:30
9:30

10:00
10:00

v'-'-'r
' ;;

3:30

NBC-Blue:

Festival of Music

4:00

NBC-Blue: National Vespers

NBC-Red: Hendrick W. Van Loon

4:30

NBC-Blue: Crawford Caravan

NBC-Red: The World is Yours

5:00

CBS: St. Louis Blues

5:30

MBS: The Shadow

CBS: BEN BERNIE

NBC-Red: The Spelling Bee

6:00

CBS: SILVER THEATER
NBC-Blue: New Friends of Music
NBC-Red: Catholic Hour

6:30

CBS: Gateway to Hollywood

7:00

CBS: People's Platform
NBC-Blue: World's Fair Program
NBC-Red: JACK BENNY

7:30

CBS: Screen Guild
NBC-Blue: Radio Guild
NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon

8:00

CBS: Dance Hour
NBC-Blue: Out of the West
NBC-Red: DON AMECHE, EDGAR
BERGEN

9:00

CBS: FORD SYMPHONY

NBC-Blue: HOLLYWOOD PLAY-
HOUSE

NBC-Red: Manhattan Merry-Go-
Round

9:30

NBC-Blue: Walter Winched
NBC-Red: American Album of
Familiar Music

9:45

NBC-Blue: Irene Rich

10:00

CBS: Robert Benchley (ends May 14)

NBC-Red: The Circle

MBS: Goodwill Hour .

10:30

CBS: H. V. Kaltenborn

NBC-Blue: Cheerio

11:00

CBS: Dance Orchestra

NBC: Dance Orchestra

Jack Benny and Mary Livingstone watch a Jell-O Show rehearsal.

Tune-In Bulletin for April

APRIL 30: Daylight Saving Time starts
in New York — if your community
stays on Standard Time, all your pro-
grams will come an hour earlier than be-
fore. . . . Three p.m., on CBS, the N. Y.
Philharmonic's last program of the season.
... On all networks, the N. Y. World's
Fair opens. . . . Six p.m. on CBS, Douglas
Fairbanks, Jr., stars on the Silver Theater.

May 7: Nine p.m. on CBS, violinist
Jascha Heifetz is on the Ford program.

May 14: Nine p.m. on CBS, the Green-
field Mixed Chorus sings on the Ford
Hour. . . . Ten p.m., Robert Benchley and
Artie Shaw broadcast their last show on
CBS — moving to NBC on Tuesdays.

May 21: Six p.m. on CBS, great actress
Helen Hayes stars in a Silver Theater play
— this is the first instalment. . . . Six-thirty
p.m., NBC, Eamon de Valera, prime min-
ister of Ireland, speaks from the Chicago
stadium. . . . Nine p.m., Kirsten Flagstad
sings on the CBS Ford Hour.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Jell-O
Show, on NBC's Red network from 7:00 to
7:30 Eastern Daylight Saving Time, with a
rebroadcast for the West Coast at 7:30,
Pacific Standard Time.

If you were Jack Benny, star of the
Jell-O Show, you'd have to figure on re-
hearsing a full week for every thirty-minute
program — that's what Jack does. He starts
on Monday morning to prepare for next
Sunday's show — a full-time job from Oc-
tober until early in July. That's how im-
portant radio is to Mr. Benny.

The week's procedure goes something
like this. Jack collaborates with his two
gag-writers, Bill Morrow and Ed Beloin,
and the three are virtually inseparable
until the script is in shape. In fact, Jack
relies so much on the boys' comedy sense
that his screen studio hires them to write

30. May 7. 14 and 21!

additional dialogue for his Paramount pic-
tures. When the script is ready, the regu-
lar cast — Mary Livingstone, Kenny Baker,
Phil Harris and Don Wilson — get together
with Jack to read it. A reading rehearsal
means hours of work, because showman
Jack insists that every word must be paced,
timed and given just the right inflection.
The microphone rehearsal doesn't take
place until Sunday morning, at the studio,
when producers Ted Hediger of NBC and
Murray Boland of Young and Rubicam,
Jell-O's advertising agency, time the pro-
gram and make the necessary cuts.

Jack personally supervises every detail
of the show, but he's particularly fussy over
sound effecj-s. They mean so much to his
scripts that he always instructs the sound-
men himself, and sometimes during a
broadcast even waves his arm to cue the
sounds in.

Sunday night, after the broadcast, is
"date night" for Jack and Mrs. Jack, who
is of course Mary Livingstone. Mary wears
a neat tailored suit to rehearsals, but shows
up at the actual broadcast in a more so-
phisticated costume, suitable for the gayety
afterwards.

Before the program gets under way in
NBC's Studio B in Hollywood Radio City,
Jack comes out, cigar in mouth and fiddle
in hand, and gives a curtain talk — joking,
playing the violin, kidding celebrities in
the audience, and introducing Mary's
mother, who sits in the front row.

The voice that always says "Telegram
for Mr. Benny" is that of Harry Baldwin,
who also acts as Jack's secretary. Harry's
the only secretary in Hollywood who has a
contract — he's been with Jack I I years.
Blanche Stewart, the girl who does all the
feminine parts except Mary's, is an old-
time vaudeville trouper, and a great friend
of Mary's.

42

SAY HELLO TO . . .

BOB GIBSON — vocalist on Ben Bernie's program, spon-
sored by Half and Half Tobacco, on CBS at 5:30 today —
is a modern Horatio Alger hero — was a CBS page boy
little more than a year ago — a CBS executive heard him
singing in an empty radio theater, and gave him a
chance on a sustaining program — he made good and now
sings in the same theater he used to usher in — born in
Newark, Bob worked as a telegraph messenger at night,
an errand boy in the afternoons — although he's strictly
a popular singer, he likes opera to listen to — hates
crowds, noise, and the color green.

RADIO MIRROR

u

S
h

a

OS

<
a
z
<
i-

HI

o

Ll

3

<
a.

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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

8:15

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:30

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade

8:45

NBC-Red: Radio Rubes

9:00

CBS: Richard Maxwell

NBC: News

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15

CBS: Manhattan Mother

9:30

CBS: Girl Interne

NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

NBC-Red: Central City

10:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

NBC-Blue: Jane Arden

NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00

CBS: It Happened in Hollywood

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

CBS: Scattergood Baines

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life

NBC-Red: Road of Life
12:00 Noon

CBS: Mary Margaret McBride
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street
12:15 P.M.

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills
12:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

CBS: Life Can be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over
1:30

CBS: Road of Life
NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
1:45

CBS: This Day is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gilmans
2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob
2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter
2:30

NBC-Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches
3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin
3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
3:45

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
NBC-Red:
4:00
NBC-Red:

The Guiding Light
Backstage Wife

Don Winslow
Jack Armstrong

4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

5:00

NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

5:15

NBC-Blue: Sheriff Bob

5:30

NBC-Blue:

NBC-Red:

5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00

CBS: News

6:15

CBS: Howie Wing

6:30

CBS: Bob Trout

6:45

CBS: Sophie Tucker

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy

NBC-Blue: Orphans of Divorce

7:15

Lum and Abner

CBS
7:30

CBS:
MBS
8:00

CBS

EDDIE CANTOR
The Lone Ranger

Cavalcade of America
NBC-Red: AL PEARCE
8:30

CBS: Howard and Shelton
NBC-Red: Voice of Firestone
9:00

CBS: LUX THEATER
NBC-Red: Hour of Charm
9:30

NBC-Red: Morton Downey
10:00

CBS: Guy Lombardo
NBC-Blue: True or False
NBC-Red: The Contented Hour

MONDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

Director Cecil B. DeMille — assistant director Frank Woodruff.

Tune-In Bulletin for May 1, 8, 15 and 22!

kA AY I: It's May Day . . . and all the
'"' networks will have May Day Pro-
grams. . . . 10:30 p.m. on Mutual, a stream-
lined version of Gounod's opera, "Faust."

May 8: Remember that Amos V Andy
are on CBS tonight at 7:00.

May 15: Ten a.m., on all networks — the
King and Queen of England arrive in
Canada — something you shouldn't miss.

May 22: On NBC— the King's Plate
Race, from Toronto, Canada, and the King
and Queen will be there to watch it.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Lux Radio
Theater, on CBS from 9:00 to 10:00,
Eastern Daylight Time — repeatedly voted
America's favorite dramatic air show.

The Lux Theater has been a weekly pro-
gram, except for short vacations, ever since
October I, 1934, when it made its debut
from New York. One year and three
months later — January I, 1936 — it moved
to Hollywood, and has come from there,
under the direction of Cecil B. DeMille,
ever since.

Practically every great personality of
Hollywood has at one time or another
broadcast for Lux from the stage of Co-
lumbia's Music Box Theater, on Hollywood
Boulevard two blocks north of Columbia
Square. It's a handsome theater of
Spanish design, seating a thousand people.

Producing the Lux Theater is the biggest
undertaking in the radio business, and
more persons contribute to the program
than to any other on the air, because it is
built partly in New York and partly in
Hollywood. Ideas and plans cross the
country by telephone and telegraph every
day in the week.

First, the play is selected, and producing
rights are purchased — a job that some-
times involves long legal and business ne-
gotiations. Then writers George Wells and

Sanford Barnett adapt the play to radio.
This is no cinch either, because a play
that runs two hours and forty minutes on
the stage has to be reduced to 43 minutes
on the air. The script is then read by
DeMille, Frank Woodruff, and Danny
Danker. Woodruff is DeMille's assistant
director, and Danker represents the
J. Walter Thompson advertising agency.
Danny Danker is a Hollywood institution,
who knows the entire film colony so well
he carries the unofficial title of "Mayor
of Hollywood." He's the man who signs
up the important stars. Probably no one
else could wheedle, coax and bully so
many famous people into signing on the
dotted line. For a Lux guest-shot is fun,
but it's also work — all Lux contracts call
for a minimum of 25 hours of rehearsal, in
order to insure those fine broadcasts.

There are usually about fifty people on
the stage at a Lux broadcast — the stars,
DeMille, the supporting cast, Lou Silvers'
orchestra of 25 men, sound-effects men
and technicians. Occasionally, as many
as 73 persons are in the actual cast. Sup-
porting players on Lux plays are veteran
actors of stage, screen and radio, all of
them competent themselves to play the
leading roles in case of emergency. Some
of them are Lurene Tuttle, Lou Merrill, Ed-
ward Marr, Frank Nelson, James Eagles,
Sara Selby, Florence Lake and Margaret
Brayton.

Besides the play itself, the Lux Theater
each week presents guests of honor in
interviews with Cecil B. DeMille. These
interviews are written by Sandy Barnett.

The Lux Radio Theater is an interna-
tional institution now. On March 16 De-
Mille formally opened the Lux Radio
Theater of Australia by broadcasting
greetings from Hollywood to Sydney, 8,080
miles away.

JUNE, 1939

SAY HELLO TO . . .

TOM HOWARD — the crazy half of the comedy team of
Howard and Shelton, stars of the Model Minstrels, spon-
sored by Model Tobacco, on CBS at 8:30 p.m. — is like
Ned Sparks in that he never cracks a smile but delivers
his comedy lines with a sad face — he and George Shelton,
his partner, prepare their own scripts and never read
from them during a broadcast — they get their programs
together merely by starting an argument over some sub-
ject— almost any subject will do — Tom's a real hobbyist
— has a huge collection of more than a thousand pipes
in his home at Red Bank, N. J.

43

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44

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio
8:15

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn
I 8:45

NBC-Red: Radio Rubes
9:00
8:00 NBC: News

9:05
8:05 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15
8:15 CBS: Manhattan Mother

9:30
8:30 CBS: Girl Interne

9:45

8:45 CBS: Bachelor's Children
8:45 NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

9:00 CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC-Red: Central City

10:15

S:15 CBS: Myrt and Marge
9:15 NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
9:15 NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30

9:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Blue: Smilin' Ed McConnell
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

9:45 CBS: Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah
9:45 NBC-Red Woman in White
11:00

10:00 CBS: Mary Lee Taylor
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

10:15 CBS: Scattergood Baines
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

10:30 CBS: Big Sister

10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

10:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
10:45 NBC-Blue: Getting the Most out of
Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life
12:00 Noon

CBS: Kate Smith Speaks
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street
12:15 P.M.

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills
12:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

CBS: Life Can be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
1:30

CBS: Road of Life
NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
1:45

CBS: This Day is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gilmans
2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob
2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter
2:30

NBC-Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches
3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin
3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
3:45

NBC-Blue:
NBC-Red:
4:00

NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
4:15

Stella Dallas

11:00
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Ted Malone

The Guiding Light

NBC-Red:

4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

5:00

NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

5:15

NBC-Blue: Sheriff Bob

NBC-Red: Your Family and Mine

5:30

NBC-Blue: Don Winslow

NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong

5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00

CBS: News

6:15

CBS: Howie Wing

6:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy

NBC-Blue: Easy Aces

7:15

CBS: Jimmie Fidler

NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen

NBC-Red: Vocal Varieties

7:30

CBS: HELEN MENKEN

8:00

CBS: BIG TOWN

NBC-Blue: The Inside Story

NBC-Red: Johnny Presents

8:30

CBS: DICK POWELL

NBC-Blue: INFORMATION PLEASE

NBC-Red: For Men Only

9:00

CBS: We, the People

NBC-Blue: Melody and Madness

NBC-Red: Battle of the Sexes

9:30

CBS: Benny Goodman

NBC-Blue: MARY AND BOB

NBC-Red: FIBBER McGEE

10:00

CBS: Hal Kemp

NBC-Blue: Cal Tinney

NBC-Red: Bob Hope

V^i>"-¥SM

Valiant Lady and suitors: Charles Carroll, Joan Blaine, Ray Johnson.
Tune-In Bulletin for May 2, 9, 16 and 23!

MAY 2: Two new programs — ten p.m. on
CBS, Hal Kemp's band stars in Time
to Shine, to continue all summer. . . . Ten-
thirty p.m. on NBC-Red, Raleigh Cigar-
ettes sponsor a new show.

May 9: On NBC — the Cotton Carnival
from Memphis, Tennessee.

May 16: Watch this time change —
tonight and from now on you hear Mary
and Bob on NBC-Blue at 9:30, not 9.00.

May 23: Nine p.m. on NBC-Blue —
Robert Benchley and Artie Shaw's music
start their new series on this network.

ON THE AIR TODAY: Valiant Lady,
starring Joan Blaine, sponsored by
Wheaties, on NBC's Red network every
day except Saturday and Sunday, from
2:30 to 2:45, Eastern Daylight Time.

In a box-like studio in New York's Radio
City, far removed from the glamor and
hullabaloo of the big night-time shows, a
little group of people gather to rehearse
and broadcast a fifteen-minute slice of
a continued story — the story of Valiant
Lady. This is radio as it used to be — no
studio audience, no applause, nothing but
bare walls and a microphone.

In Valiant Lady's case, there isn't even
any music. Its theme song, Estrellita, se-
lected by Joan Blaine herself, comes from
far-away Chicago, where all the other pro-
grams on the General Mills Hour, of which
Valiant Lady is a part, originate. Joan
Blaine likes New York and specified when
she signed her contract that her show must
come from there.

Several of the actors on Valiant Lady are
Chicago graduates. Joan herself; Charles
Carroll, who plays Dr. Tubby Scott; Raymond
Johnson as Paul Morrison; Judith Lowry as
Stevie; and even Manny Segal, the sound-
effects man, all used to work in Chicago
radio. Johnson, a recent addition to the

cast, was Joan's leading man several years
ago, and she said then that if she ever got
a program of her own, on which she could
have a say as to story and supporting
actors, she wanted him to play opposite her.

In the story of Valiant Lady (which is
partly based on Joan Blaine's own life)
Johnson and Charles Carroll are rivals for
Joan's love; in the studio, at rehearsals,
they adopt a joking attitude of rivalry,
criticizing each other's performances, glar-
ing at each other over the microphone,
and so on. It's one of those private jokes
radio actors love to carry on.

Valiant Lady's rehearsal begins at one
o'clock, an hour and a half before broad-
cast time. The studio is on the third floor
of Radio City, and outside, in the lobby,
is the radio actor's unofficial club — a huge,
luxurious lounge where actors who are
working and actors who aren't gather to
smoke and gossip.

The rehearsal is very quiet, with Joan
and the others in the cast gathered around
a table in one corner of the room. At
two, they run through the script at the
standing microphone, timing it. This mike
is surrounded by tall screens to deaden the
slight echo the walls of the studio make.
At 2:29 you'll find Raymond Johnson squat-
ting on the floor, his script spread out in
front of him, mumbling a difficult passage
to himself. At 2:30 the announcer, at a
special mike in another corner of the
studio, starts his commercial — and still
nobody in the cast seems to be paying
much attention. But when the announcer
has finished, there they all are, standing at
the mike, ready to speak the opening lines.

Joan, one of radio's most charming ac-
tresses, always comes to the broadcast
beautifully dressed — in fact, she was re-
cently named radio's best-dressed woman
by the New York Fashion Academy.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

MILTON CROSS— The "Canada Dry Expert" on tonight's
Information Please program, NBC-Blue at 8:30 — has been
a radio announcer ever since 1922, when broadcasting
was just getting started — always with NBC — is quiet
and calm, but big and husky too — likes classical music
and is NBC's best operatic announcer — wouldn't trade
his job of announcing for any other work in the world —
has a good tenor singing voice — outside of the Metro-
politan opera broadcasts, his favorite program is the
Sunday-morning children's show. Coast to Coast on a
Bus — he's married — was born in New York City in 1897.

(For Wednesday's Highlights, please turn page) BADI0 mirror

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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

8:15

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:30

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade

8:45

NBC-Red: Radio Rubes

9:00
8:00 CBS: Richard Maxwell

9:05
8:05 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15
8:15 CBS: Manhattan Mother

9:30
8:30 CBS: Girl Interne
8:30 NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45
8:45 CBS: Bachelor's Children
8:45 NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00
9:00 CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC-Red: Central City

10:15
9:15 CBS: Myrt and Marge
9:15 NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
9:15 NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30
9:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45
9:45 CBS: Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah
9:45 NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00
10:00 CBS: It happened in Hollywood
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15
10:15 CBS: Scattergood Baines
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30
10:30 CBS: Big Sister

10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45
10:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
10:45 NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of
Life

NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon

CBS: Mary Margaret McBride

NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

12:15 P.M.

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James

NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent

NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour

12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs

1:15

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful

NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News

NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over

1:30

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

1:45

CBS: This Day is Ours

NBC-Red: Those Happy Gilmans

2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters

NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30

NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

2:45

Betty Crocker

11:00
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Sheriff Bob

Your Family and Mine

NBC-Red:

3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45

NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

4:00

NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

5:00

NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

5:15

NBC-Blue:

NBC-Red:

5:30

NBC-Blue: Don Winslow

NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong

5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00

CBS: News

6:15

CBS: Howie Wing

6:30

CBS: Bob Trout

NBC-Blue: Gulden Serenaders

6:45

CBS: Sophie Tucker

NBC- Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy

NBC-Blue: Easy Aces

7:15

CBS: Lum and Abner

NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen

7:30

CBS: Ask-lt-Basket

MBS: The Lone Ranger

8:00

CBS:Gang Busters

NBC-Red: ONE MAN'S FAMILY

8:30

CBS: CHESTERFIELD PROGRAM

NBC-Blue: Hobby Lobby

NBC-Red: Tommy Dorsey

9:00

CBS: TEXACO STAR THEATER

NBC-Red: TOWN HALL TONIGHT

10:00

CBS: 99 Men and a Girl

NBC-Red: KAY KYSER'S COLLEGE

10:30

CBS: Edgar A. Guest

Fred Allen harangues Peter Van Steeden, Portland, Harry Von Zell.
Tune-In Bulletin for April 26. May 3. 10, 17 and 24!

APRIL 26: On all networks — The Crown
Prince and Princess of Norway arrive
in America for an extensive tour of the
whole country.

May 3: Tonight on NBC-Blue— Bill Stern
announces a prizefight from Madison
Square Garden.

May 10: This afternoon on NBC — Clem
McCarthy describes the Dixie Handicap
horse race at Pimlico. . . . Al Donahue
opens at the Rainbow Room in New York,
featuring singer Paula Kelly — you'll hear
him three times a week on NBC.

May 17: Larry Clinton and his orchestra,
with Bea Wain, open at the Park Central
Hotel in New York — hear them on NBC.

May 24: Brush up on your popular-song
knowledge by listening to Kay Kyser's Col-
lege on NBC-Red at 10:00.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Town Hall
Tonight, starring Fred Allen, sponsored by
Ipana and Sal Hepatica, on NBC's Red
network from 9:00 to 10:00, Eastern Day-
light Time, with a rebroadcast to the West
Coast at 8:00, Pacific Standard Time.

There's nothing easy-going about this
program. Each week it's the result of hours
of work by many people, headaches, con-
ferences, telephone calls, revisions, rewrit-
ings, rehearsals — and all-around sweating.

Fred Allen has two assistant writers, Her-
man Wolk and Arnold Auerbach. Some
day he hopes to have four, so he won't
have to write any of the script himself,
but so far he hasn't been able to find that
many who measure up to the Allen stand-
ards. Wolk and Auerbach talk to The
Person You Never Expected to Meet and
do the first draft of his air interview with
Fred; and they write the first draft of the
Mighty Allen Art sketch.

Thursday night, Fred takes what they've
written and starts writing the rest of the

show, filling in the Wolk-Auerbach con-
tributions and rewriting them as he goes
along. He works until some unholy hour
Monday morning, doing it all in pencil,
making very tiny printed letters. Sunday
afternoon Portland Hoffa's sister, Lastone
(yes, that's really her name), comes in and
types what Fred has finished; Sunday night
and Monday morning Portland, who is Mrs.
Allen, finishes the typing job.

Monday afternoon the whole cast re-
hearses it twice, in a small NBC studio, at
a microphone. Then Fred, his writers, the
directors and production men, all get to-
gether and revise the script. After that
everybody goes away and Fred rewrites the
whole thing himself.

Changing and revising go on right up to
broadcast time, and even past it — often
the repeat broadcast at midnight con-
tains lines that weren't in the first one.

The show originates in NBC's biggest
New York studio, 8-H, which seats about
1400 people on folding chairs. Fred and
the rest of the cast always go to a res-
taurant between first and second broad-
casts, and Fred eats an omelet. After the
second one he hangs around, signing auto-
graphs and talking until about two, then he
and Portland go out for their only real
meal of the day, and get home between
four and five in the morning.

The Mighty Allen Art Players are Charlie
Cantor, John Brown, Minerva Pious, and
Aileen Douglas — the last two members of
the company since it was first formed.
Walter Tetley, Lionel Stander, and Jack
Smart were Mighty Allen players until
they went to Hollywood.

Fred will take his usual vacation this
summer, but he won't go to Maine again.
Too many people found out where he was
last year, and he didn't get any rest. He
won't tell anybody his destination this year.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

ADELE RONSON — who plays Elizabeth Perry in the dra-
matic serial, John's Other Wife, on NBC-Red at 10:15
this morning, sponsored by Bisodol — was born in New
York City — moved to Tulsa, Oklahoma, when she was
eleven, and took part in all the high school plays there
— left for New York after graduating to study dramatics
at Columbia University — was on the stage and also in
the movies — came to radio in 1930 — likes to collect rare
editions of books and to knit sweaters — has reddish
brown hair, brown eyes and an extra-special complexion
— used to play Wilma Peering in the Buck Rogers serial.

46

(For Thursday's Highlights, please turn page)

RADIO MIRROR

T&mktetf

^AOfhzifa

FOLLOW TODAY'S EXTRA SKIN CARE

Titled U. S. Visitor — The Lady Ursula Stewart, sister
of the Earl of Shrewsbury, has seen much of the United
States. "I always use Pond's to cleanse and soften my skin."

Daughter of the Earl and Countess of Mayo. Deeply interested
in acting, The Lady Betty Bourke has studied 4 terms at the
Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. She believes in the new skin
care with "skin-vitamin" in Pond's.

Royalty Attended Her Wedding— The
Lady Grenfell, snapped at Ascot. When
skin lacks Vitamin A, it gets rough and
dry. "I use Pond's to help supply this
'skin- vitamin.' "

In Smart Society Journals, photographs of

the charming Lady Morris often appear.
"Pond's is famous for smoothing skin — adds
sparkle and glamour to my make-up!"

In Britain, as in America, smart
society women are quick to grasp
the meaning of the new skin care.
Vitamin A, the "skin-vitamin"
so necessary to skin health, is now
in every jar of Pond's Cold Cream.
Skin that lacks this vitamin be-
comes rough and dry. But when
"skin-vitamin" is restored, it helps
make skin soft and smooth again.
Use Pond's night and morning
and before make-up. Same jars,
same labels, same prices.

june, 1939

* Statements concerning the effects of the "skin-vitamin" applied to the skin are based upon medical literature and tests
on the skin of animals following an accepted laboratory method. Copyright, 193°. Pond's Extract Company

47

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9:00
19:00

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

8:15

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:45

NBC-Red: Radio Rubes

9:00

NBC: News

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15

CBS: Manhattan Mother

9:30

CBS: Girl Interne

NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

NBC-Red: Central City

10:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

NBC-Blue: Jane Arden

NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Blue: Smilin' Ed McConnell

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00

CBS: Mary Lee Taylor

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

CBS: Scattergood Baines

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life
12:00 Noon

CBS. Kate Smith Speaks
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street
12:15 P.M.

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills
12:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

CBS: Life Can be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
1:30

CBS: Road of Life
NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
NBC-Red: Words and Music
1:45

CBS: This Day is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gilmans
2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob
2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter
2:30

NBC-Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches
3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin
3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

CBS: Sonata Recital
NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
3:45

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
NBC-Red: The Guiding Light
4:00

NBC-Blue: Sunbrite Smile Parade
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas
4:30

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Vic and Sade
4:45

NBC-Red: Girl Alone
5:00

NBC-Red: Dick Tracy
5:15

NBC-Blue: Sheriff Bob
NBC-Red: Your Family and Mine
5:30

CBS: March of Games
NBC-Blue: Don Winslow
NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong
5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie
6:00

CBS: News
6:15

CBS: Howie Wing
6:30

CBS: Bob Trout
6:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas
7:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy
NBC-Blue: Easy Aces
7:15

NBC- Blue: Mr. Keen
NBC-Red: Vocal Varieties
7:30

CBS: Joe E. Brown
8:00

CBS: KATE SMITH HOUR
NBC-Blue: Parade of Progress
NBC-Red: RUDY VALLEE
9:00

CBS: MAJOR BOWES
NBC-Red: GOOD NEWS OF 1939
9:30
NBC-Blue: AMERICA'S TOWN

MEETING
10:00

CBS: Walter O'Keefe
NBC-Red: KRAFT MUSIC HALL

i<r-. m*\i^ -'\.

Bing polishes up a number while Bob Burns and Johnny Trotter look on.
Tune-In Bulletin for April 27, May 4, 11, 18 and 25!

APRIL 27: Ben Pollack and his band,
swing pioneers, open tonight at the
Culver City Club, near Hollywood, broad-
casting over NBC.

May 4: Segar Ellis and his brilliant new
Choir of Brass orchestra open at the Van
Cleve Hotel in Dayton, Ohio — listen late
at night on NBC. . . . Enric Madriguera's
band opens at the Pierre Hotel in New
York— CBS.

May II: Four band openings: Emil
Coleman and Xavier Cugat, both on the
Starlight Roof of the Waldorf in New
York, playing alternately — CBS. Abe Ly-
man at the Beverly Hills Country Club, in
Newport, Kentucky — CBS. Ben Bernie at
the Ritz Carlton Hotel in Boston— CBS.

May 18: Birthday greetings to three
famous men: Raymond Paige, Meredith
Willson and Ted Malone.

May 25: Tonight on NBC — the Max
Baer-Lou Nova fight, coming from the
Garden Bowl in Long Island City.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Kraft
Music Hall, on NBC's Red network from
10:00 to 11:00 o'clock, Eastern Daylight
Time — the most informal and easy-going
show on the air.

Bing Crosby, star of the Kraft Music
Hall, is Hollywood's most casual celebrity,
and takes radio very much in his stride.
Wearing slacks, a short-sleeved sport shirt
(lately it's been of the Hawaiian variety),
an old hat with a pheasant band, and com-
fortable zipper boots, and puffing his pipe,
Bing shows up at the studio around noon
on broadcast days. He usually has a rac-
ing form under his arm. After some kid-
ding with John Scott Trotter, his heavy-
weight bandleader, and the orchestra
boys, he plants himself on a high stool
at the mike and rehearses — still puffing the
pipe. He always has time to talk to the

song-pluggers he allows into the rehearsal,
which is another of the many reasons he's
such a popular guy with everybody.

Bob Burns arrives about 2:45 and there's
more visiting and kidding. Bob may talk
like a hillbilly, but he doesn't look like one.
He's better dressed than Bing — his clothes,
though conservative, are very smartly tai-
lored, and his ties, shirts and accessories
all harmonize in color. He's also one of
the few radio stars whose scripts are never
checked before broadcasting by the net-
work— Amos V Andy and Lum and Abner
are the only others.

Harry Lillis Crosby, Sr., Bing's dad, and
his two brothers, Everett and Larry, who
manage his business affairs, are also al-
ways on hand at rehearsal and broadcast.

Everybody takes the rehearsal casually
except the producers, Ted Hediger of
NBC and Bob Brewster of the J. Walter
Thompson advertising agency. It's due to
their expert direction that the completed
product runs off so smoothly. The Bing
has his own favorite NBC engineer, Murdo
Mackenzie, who knows the crooner's tone
qualities to a T. Carroll Carroll is the
young writer responsible for the snappy
dialogue — he also thought up Ken Car-
penter's weekly bell-ringing routine.

People who take their opera stars seri-
ously sometimes object to Bing's off-hand
way of talking to them when they guest-star
on his show — but the opera stars themselves
usually love it; it makes them feel at home
and breaks down the nervous tension they
work under.

Bing's program comes from the same
Studio B that Jack Benny uses. It seats
only 320 people, and is filled every time
it's used. Visitors often remark on its
pleasant and tasteful color scheme, robin's-
egg blue and deep red — but to the Bing
it's just black and white. He's color blind.

48

SAY HELLO TO . . .

ANNE ELSTNER— who plays the title role in the NBC-Red
serial, Stella Dallas, heard this afternoon at 4:15, spon-
sored by Milk of Magnesia Cream — was born at Lake
Charles, La. — her mother was a musician, her father a
poet — she took part in all her school plays, doing every-
thing from Hamlet to old character women — filled her
first professional engagement in New York doing solo
dances and characterizations in costumes of her own
design at a steel men's banquet — was with the Theater
'"' >.. Guild for a while — is five feet, four and a half inches

tall — likes to cook and putter around the house.

(For Friday's Highlights, please turn page) RADIO MiRR0R

Tommy's life is one big Success Story!

CHAPTER 1. THE FIRST YEAR: CLAPP'S STRAINED FOODS

"Baby specialists approve of Clapp's," says
Tommy Malek's mother. "Did you know that
Clapp's is the only large company that makes
nothing but baby foods? Clapp's has been mak-
ing them longer, too— 18 years.

"They've always worked with doctors. Each
Clapp's food has a texture suggested by doctors
to suit babies best. They surely suited Tommy! . . ."

CHAPTER 2. RUNABOUT YEARS: CLAPP'S CHOPPED FOODS

"The way that baby grew! My neighbors
couldn't get over it. There was one time when
he tripled his weight in 5 months. %t he was
solid, too— strong as a baby bear.

"%u knew to look at him that he was getting
plenty of vitamins and minerals in his Clapp's
Foods. And appetite!... his dish would be empty
almost as soon as it was filled!"

17 VARIETIES

Every food requested and approved
by doctors. Pressure-cooked, smoothly
strained but not too liquid— a real ad-
vance over the bottle. The Clapp Com-
pany—first to make baby foods— has
had 18 years' experience in this field.

Soups — Vegetabie Soup • Beef Broth
Liver Soup • Unstrained Baby Soup
Strained Beef with Vegetables

Vegetables —Tomatoes • Asparagus
Spinach • Peas • Beets • Carrots • Green
Beans • Mixed Greens

Fruits — Apricots • Prunes • Apple Sauce

Cereal — Baby Cereal

"Food dislikes? Not a one) Babies often do
get the stubbornest notions when the time comes
for coarser foods. But Tommy slid onto his new
Clapp's Chopped Foods like a charm.

"No lumps or stems, you see— these foods are
evenly cut, though coarse, just as doctors advise
for toddlers. And since they had the same good
flavors as Clapp's Strained Foods, they made
the same big hit!"

"A big menu and well -planned — that's an-
other reason why Tommy eats and grows so well
on Clapp's. He has 11 kinds of Chopped Foods,
including those hearty new Junior Dinners that
combine meat, vegetables, and cereals.

"We're a family of Clapp's fans— now baby
sister's getting Strained Foods. I tell other
mothers, 'If you want your baby to have the
best, it's worth while insisting on Clapp's!' "

More coarsely divided foods for chil-
dren who have outgrown Strained
Foods. Uniformly chopped and sea-
soned, according to the advice of child
specialists. Made by the pioneer com-
pany in baby foods, the only one which
specializes exclusively in foods for ba-
bies and young children.

Soups— Vegetable Soup

Junior Dinners — Beef with Vege-
tables • Lamb with Vegetables • Liver
with Vegetables

Vegetables — Carrots • Spinach
Beets • Green Beans • Mixed Greens

Fruits — Apple Sauce • Prunes

Free Booklets — Send for valuable
information on the feeding of babies
and young children. Write to Harold
H. Clapp, Inc., 777 Mount Read Blvd.,
Rochester, N. Y.

CLAPP'S BABY FOODS

STRAINED FOR BABIES

CHOPPED FOR YOUNG CHILDREN

JUNE, 1939

49

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50

Eastern Daylight Time

. • 8:00 A.M.

~ NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

<n 8:15

j NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

9:00
8:00 CBS: Richard Maxwell
8:00 NBC: News

9:05
8:05 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15
8:15 CHS Manhattan Mother

9:30
8:30 CBS: Girl Interne
8:30 NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45
8:45 CBS: Bachelor';; Children

10:00
8:00 CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC-Red: Central City

10:15
9:15 CBS: Myrt and Marge
9:15 NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
9:15 NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30
9:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45
9:45 CBS: Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah
9:45 NBC-Red: Woman in White
11:00
10:00 CBS: It Happened in Hollywood
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15
10:15 CBS: Scattergood Baines
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30
10:30 CBS: Big Sister

10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45
10:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
10:45 NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
10:45 NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon
11:00 CBS: Mary Margaret McBride
11:00 NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

12:15 P.M.
11:15 CBS: Her Honor. Nancy James
11:15 NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30

11:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
11:30 NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
11:30 NBC-Red: Time for Thought

12:45
11:45 CBS: Our Gal Sunday

1:00
12:00 CBS. The Goldbergs

1:15

12:15 CBS: Life Can be Beautiful
12:15 NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
12:15 NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over

1:30

12:30 CBS: Road of Life
12:30 NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
12:30 NBC-Red: Words and Music

1:45

12:45 CBS: This Day is Ours
12:45 NBC-Red: Those Happy Gilmans
2:00
1:00 CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
1:00 NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

2:15
1:15 CBS Dr. Susan
1:15 NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30
1:30 NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

2:45
1:45 NBC-Red: Betty Crocker

3:00
2:00 NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

3:15
2:15 NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

3:30
2:30 NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45
2:45 NBC-Red: The Guiding Light
4:00
|3:00 NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
4:15
3:15 NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30
3:30 NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45
3:45 NBC-Red: Girl Alone

5:00
4:00 NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

5:15
4:15 NBC-Blue: Sheriff Bob
4:15 NBC-Red: Your Family and Mine

5:30
4:30 NBC-Blue: Don Winslow
4:30 NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong

5:45
4:45 NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00
5:00 CBS: News

6:15
5:15 CBS: Howie Wing

6:30
5:30 CBS: Bob Trout
5:30 NBC-Blue: Gulden Serenaders

6:45
5:45 CBS: Sophie Tucker
5:45 NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00
6:00 CBS: Amos 'n' Andy
6:00 NBC-Blue: Vocal Varieties

7:15
6:15 CBS: Lum and Abner
6:15 NBC-Red: Jimmie Fidler
7:30

MBS: The Lone Ranger
8:00
7:00 CBS: FIRST NIGHTER
7:00 MBS: Guess Where
7:00 NBC-Red: Cities Service Concert
8:30

CBS: BURNS AND ALLEN
9:00
8:00 CBS: CAMPBELL PLAYHOUSE
8:00 NBC-Blue: Plantation Party
8:00 NBC-Red: Waltz Time
9:30

NBC-Red: Death Valley Days
10:00
9:00 CBS: Grand Central Station
9:00 NBC-Red: Lady Esther Serenade
10:30
CBS: Bob Ripley

'{ :.:'}[ ,■', . '>.';;. ;i-,'"j: <

They keep Gracie dumb: Helm, Medbury, Bill Burns and George Burns.
Tune-In Bulletin for April 28, May 5, 12 and 19!

A PRIL 28: Last chance to hear two CBS
** programs — The School of the Air, at
2:30, and The Mighty Show, at 5:45. Go-
ing off the air for the summer.

May 5: Birthday greetings to Freeman
Gosden — Amos of Amos V Andy — born
in Richmond, Va., this day 1899.

May 12: Ten p.m. on NBC-Blue — light-
weight champion Solly Krieger fights
Billy Conn — with Bill Stern announcing.

May 19: Ten p.m. on NBC-Blue — an-
other fight from Madison Square Garden,
announced by Bill Stern.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Burns and
Allen in the Chesterfield Show, on CBS
from 8:30 to 9:00, Eastern Daylight Time,
rebroadcast to the West Coast at 7:30
P.S.T.

Somebody once said that the consistent
popularity of George Burns and Gracie
Allen, year after year, is due to the fact
that Gracie is every man's private idea
of his own wife.

At any rate, it takes a lot of man-power
to keep Gracie dumb. The weekly script
is prepared by John P. Medbury, Harvey
Helm, and William Burns, George's brother,
working in collaboration with George him-
self. Gracie never sees the script until
rehearsal-day, which is Thursday. An in-
formal reading-through is held then in a
small CBS studio, after which the after-
noon is spent in rewriting. Ray Noble's band
holds its first rehearsal Friday morning, six
hours before the broadcast. He's one of
the few bandleaders who actually makes
all his own arrangements, and his band is
so used to playing together that by the
time it has gone through a number three
times it has every trick of shading down
pat.

A Friday-afternoon rehearsal looks like
this: Ray Noble in the control room, lis-

tening to his band and checking meticu-
lously every bit of instrumentation and
shading; George and Gracie in a huddle
with their dramatic cast about a table;
Frank Parker in the wings, warming up on
a French or Italian operatic aria, and
then emerging on stage to sing some-
thing like "Jeepers Creepers." Paul Doug-
las, the announcer, who is an excellent
copy reader and editor as well, stands at
one side practicing his commercials and
comedy lines.

Many comedy shows like to give "pre-
views"— fake broadcasts the night before
the actual broadcast, in order to get
audience reactions. Burns and Allen don't
subscribe to this fashion. They tried a
preview a few weeks ago and dropped
the idea at once — thought it robbed the
show of spontaneity.

Half an hour before every broadcast
there's an impromptu jam session back-
stage, to get people warmed up for the
show. Cliff Arquette at the piano, Paul
Douglas on a trumpet, Frank Parker at
the drums, producer Bill Goodwin on a
trombone, and George and Gracie tap-
dancing — all this sends Ray Noble into
the wings with his fingers in his ears.

When they started their present series
George and Gracie found one riddle they
couldn't solve. The first joke on the broad-
cast, no matter how good, always fell flat.
Finally Bill Burns solved the mystery, by
watching some women in the front row
of the audience. They were so busy in-
specting Gracie and taking in every detail
of her very modish clothes they couldn't
put their minds on the show. The problem
was solved by having Gracie take her
first bow without a comedy line, so the
customers could look at her clothes and
settle back to enjoy the comedy the second
time she stepped up to the mike.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

LINDA LEE — Bob Ripley's beautiful vocalist on his new
program, sponsored by Royal Crown Cola on CBS from
10:30 to 11:00 tonight — her real name is Hattie Richard-
son— she's twenty-five and a New Orleans belle — made
her social debut in 1931 — went to St. Louis on a vacation
and sang at a private party — the manager of the Am-
bassador Theater heard her and offered her a one-week
job — which she kept for four weeks — went on KMOX,
CBS outlet in St. Louis — came to New York in 1935 and
sang with Russ Morgan and Paul Whiteman — was with
Ripley in 1937 — is married to the Group Theater manager.

(For Saturday's Highlights, please turn page) RADI° M1RR0H

For brown-eved girls like Ethel Merman

Th

eres

M

A star of
"STARS IN
YOUR EYES"

arveious

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1

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JUDY: Yes! It's Marvelous Matched Make-
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lipstick I've ever used, Lois! It's amazing
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JUDY: Whether your eyes are blue, brown,
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LOIS: And they found eye color to be the
guide to proper makeup shades, Judy?

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gives you so much more than becoming
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JUDY: I'm devoted to Marvelous Rouge and
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And Marvelous Lipstick goes on so smoothly
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MARVELOUS^^MAKEUP

By Richard Hudnut

KEYED TO THE COLOR OF YOUR EYES!

RICHARD HUDNUT, Depl. M, 693 Fifth Avenue, New York City.

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.State.

JUNE, 1939

51

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9:30

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Blue: Cloutier's Orch.

NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

8:15

NBC-Blue: Dick Leibert

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:30

NBC-Red: Musical Tete-a-tete

8:45

NBC-Blue: Jack and Loretta

9:00

NBC: News

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

NBC-Red: Texas Jim Robertson

9:15

CBS: Montana Slim

NBC-Red: Saturday Morning Club

9:251
CBS: News

9:45

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

CBS: Hill Billy Champions
NBC-Blue: Smilin' Ed McConnell
NBC-Red: The Wise Man

10:15

NBC-Blue: Amanda Snow

NBC-Red: No School Today

10:30

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade

NBC-Red: Florence Hale

10:45

NBC-Blue: The Child Grows Up

NBC-Red: Armchair Quartet

11:00

CBS: Symphony Concert

NBC-Blue: Music Internationale

11:30

NBC-Blue: Our Barn

12:00 Noon

CBS: KATE SMITH SPEAKS
NBC-Blue: Education Forum
NBC-Red: Cloutier Orch.

12:30 P.M.
CBS: Let's Pretend
NBC-Blue: Farm Bureau
NBC-Red: Call to Youth

1:15

NBC-Red: Calling Stamp Collectors

1:30

CBS: Moods for Moderns
NBC-Blue: Kinney Orch.
NBC-Red: Campus Notes

2:00

CBS: Men Against Death
NBC-Blue: Red Nichols Orch.
NBC-Red: Matinee in Rhythm

2:30

NBC-Red: Music Styled for You

3:00

NBC-Blue: Its Up to You

NBC-Red: Golden Melodies

3:30

NBC-Blue: Al Roth Orch.

NBC-Red: KSTP Presents

4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

4:30

NBC-Red: Southwestern Stars

5:00

NBC-Blue: Erskine Hawkins Orch.

NBC-Red: Paul Martin Orch.

5:15

NBC-Red:

Youth Meets Government

5:30

NBC-Red. Cosmopolitan Rhythms

5:45

CBS: Adventures in Science

6:00

CBS: News

NBC-Red: Kaltenmeyer Kinder-
garten

6:05

CBS Dance Orchestra

NBC-Blue: El Chico Revue

6:30

CBS: What Price America

NBC-Blue: Renfrew of the Mounted

7:00

NBC-Blue: Message of Israel

7:30

CBS: Americans at Work

NBC-Blue: Uncle Jim's Question Bee

NBC-Red: Lives of Great Men

8:00

CBS: JOHNNY PRESENTS

NBC-Red: Tommy Riggs

8:30

CBS: PROFESSOR QUIZ
NBC-Blue: Brent House
NBC-Red: Avalon Time

9:00

CBS: Phil Baker

NBC-Blue: National Barn Dance

NBC-Red: Vox Pop

9:30

CBS: Saturday Night Serenade

NBC-Red: Hall of Fun

10:00

< BS: YOUR HIT PARADE

NBC-Red: Arch Oboler's Plays

10:30

NBC-Red: Dance Music

This is how the Lucky Strike dance orchestra looks from the wings.
Tune-In Bulletin for April 29, May 6, 13 and 20!

APRIL 29— On all networks— the arrival
of the U. S. Fleet in New York City—
150 ships, which is a lot. You'll hear the
description of the sight no matter what
station you tune in. . . . Ten p.m. on CBS —
Mark Warnow's last broadcast directing
Your Hit Parade.

May 6: Six p.m. on CBS — listen to a
description of the Kentucky Derby.

May 13: This afternoon on NBC — the
Preakness Stakes horse race, with Clem Mc-
Carthy announcing.

May 20: This day twelve years ago
Charles A. Lindbergh took off on his trans-
Atlantic flight.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Your Hit Pa-
rade, sponsored by Lucky Strike Ciga-
rettes, on CBS from 10:00 to 10:45, East-
ern Daylight Time — a monument to one
sponsor's sense of showmanship.

Most sponsors know how to manufac-
ture and sell their products, but they don't
know what entertains the public — which
explains why some radio shows, subjected
to too much sponsor-interference, are not
as entertaining as they might be. George
Washington Hill, president of the Ameri-
can Tobacco Company, not only knows how
to make and sell cigarettes, but how to
amuse listeners as well. Your Hit Parade
is mostly his idea. It is also the only
straight-musical program, except the Ford
Symphony and "style bands" like Dorsey
or Lombardo, with a popularity rate of
more than 10 in the official survey. Your
Hit Parade's rating is about 16 now,
higher than it's ever been before — partly
due to Lanny Ross' singing and partly to
Mark Warnow's conducting.

Each week the Lucky Strike orchestra
plays the ten most popular songs, graded
according to their popularity. There's
no fake about the way they're selected,
either. About fifty people are kept on

full-time jobs conducting the survey which
indicates the nation's favorites in the song
line. Information comes from three
sources, coast to coast — from band iead-
ers, who tell Lucky Strike what songs are
most requested by dancers; from music
stores, who report comparative sales of
sheet music and recordings; and from net-
works and radio stations, who keep track
of the number of times each piece is
played on the air. All this information
comes into the American Tobacco offices
in New York, is quickly tabulated, and
turned over to the director of the or-
chestra, who gets the music arranged and
rehearses his band.

People watch the results of the Hit Pa-
rade, too. Many folks have regular Sat-
urday-night Hit Parade parties in their
own homes, and it's whispered that some
of them regularly bet on the identity of
the leading three songs. As an indica-
tion of how carefully listeners keep track
of their favorites' places in the poll, if
the announcer on the show makes a mis-
take and ascribes a number to fourth
place last week, when it was really in third,
hundreds of indignant letters come in.

Mark Warnow has been directing the
Hit Parade for the last thirteen weeks,
but will probably relinquish his baton to
another maestro after April 29. No con-
ductor has ever remained on the show
more than thirteen successive weeks. Lanny
Ross, singer Kay Lorraine, the Songsmiths
Ouartet, and the Raymond Scott Quintet
are more or less permanent features, how-
ever. The Quintet, which plays sophisti-
cated swing, is really a sextet, but Scott
doesn't like the sound of that word. Its
members are Scott on the piano, Dave
Harris, tenor saxophone, Russ Case, trumpet
Pete Pimuglio, clarinet, Lou Shoobe, bass
viol, Johnny Williams, drums.

52

SAY HELLO TO . . .

RED SKELTON — comedian of Avalon Time, on NBC-Red
at 8:30 tonight, sponsored by Avalon Cigarettes — is the
son of a Hagenbeck-Wallace circus clown and was a tent-
show performer himself — is a doughnut-dunker, which
gave him the idea for the hilarious lecture on doughnut-
dunking you heard him give in the movie of "Having
Wonderful Time" — he played the part of the camp social
director — and was cast for it without ever having a
screen test — his real first name is Richard but he never
uses if — he lives now in Cincinnati, where Avalon Time
originates.

HADIO MIRROR

Should Roosevelt Seek a
Third Term?

(Continued from page 21)
NO! BY RAYMOND MOLEY

intolerance of opposition, a conviction
of personal rectitude that leads un-
erringly to the suppression of oppo-
sition. It imprisons the victim in the
chill isolation of a self-created aura
of intellectual infallibility.

I well realize that the friends of
Mr. Roosevelt and those who believe
in his reforms hold that his reforms
will be endangered if their sponsor is
not maintained in power to support
them and continue them.

But this brings us to the question
whether ideas, in order to live, must
depend upon individual persons. If
the ideas that friends of Mr. Roosevelt
admire and cherish are good ideas,
they can stand on their own two feet
and live their own lives and pass
from hand to hand in the long march
to the future. But if they are so frail
that they will die if their present
exponent and preserver is removed,
then they are not worth maintaining.
And the sooner we test this fact the
better for everyone.

AS TO the perfection of Roosevelt's
*» program, I share my friends' ap-
prehension, but apparently President
Roosevelt does not share it, because
he said in his message that his pro-
gram was over. It is complete. If so,
then why not let it stand? I believe
in that program. I don't believe that
the ideals are weak, because I spent
three years of my life working for
them. But I worked for the princi-
ples, I didn't work for a man, and I
believe the principles will go on re-
gardless of the man.

YES! BY ROY VICTOR PEEL

capriciously turned out of office, until
they have had ample opportunity to
perfect their programs.

The question now arises as to
whether we should encourage Presi-
dent Franklin D. Roosevelt to seek a
renomination from his party. It is my
belief that we should.

I think that he has endowed the
party with pride, strength, confidence
and unity of a degree unparalleled in
its history. He has infused into its
ancient body a sense of bounden duty
and high social obligation. But his
work is as yet incomplete and the
perilous state of world affairs, so
much like that which confronted us
at the end of Washington's first term,
is so critical that only he can preserve
the integrity of the party, and only
he can be relied upon to maintain
unimpaired the promise of the New
Deal.

Only Franklin D. Roosevelt can
interpret the ideals and principles
which he has in speech and action
enunciated on behalf of the Demo-
cratic Party. His most loyal asso-
ciates lack either his gifts of magnetic
appeal or his firm and comprehensive
grasp of political realities. In other
words, the party can have only one
standard bearer who will honestly
lead it in the paths that have been
followed with its approval, and who
will lead it to victory — and that is
Franklin D. Roosevelt.

June, 1939

MARY GOT 3 MYSTERIOUS LETTERS

-WITH NO SIGNATURtS!

"The first made me furious!"

"The second made me fly into action!"

"The third made me happy as a lark!"

P.S. Nobody may take the trouble to warn you, but there's bound to be plenty of
neighborhood gossip if your clothes are full of tattle-tale gray.

Why take a chance? Ask your grocer for Fels-Naptha Soap today and pin up the
whitest, brightest washes that ever flapped in a breeze!

COPR. 1939, FELS a CO.

BANISH "TATTLE-TALE GRAY" WITH FELS-NAPTHA SOAP!

TUNE IN! HOBBY LOBBY every Wednesday night. See local paper for time and station.

53

ffell sense the
aijjerence— tonight-

THIS FRAGRANCE OF FLOWERS

Men are unbelievably sensitive to
fine things— fine odor§^fine clothes,
fine influences — like yours/

(£>,,-<.

XU

So when you^pajalgfor tonight just

shower yourseJlfiMgi head to foot

with this ^xquisitefs|ingering fra-

grance— M§vis Talcum. Just make

him say, SXChy/ You're too won-

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&\&

#\MSGo buy this famous red tin — to-

_n idajM-in 25*!, 50^ $1 and conve-
«ryj nient IO?5 sizes.

curn^

THE WORIO'S tARGEST SELtING

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?

■ Joan Tompkins is Judy Wilbur
on NBC's Your Family and Mine.

HAVE you ever listened to a pro-
gram that completely held your
interest from the beginning to
the very end of the broadcast? Well,
just such a program is Your Family
and Mine, heard over the NBC-Red
Network Monday through Friday at
5:15 P. M.

Joan Tompkins, whose picture we
have chosen to print this month, plays
Judy Wilbur on this serial ... is twen-
ty-one years old and is considered
one of the youngest top-notch dra-
matic stars in radio. Joan has also been
a success in the theater. Her first
Broadway role, several seasons ago,
was in "Fly Away Home" which
played for one year. She followed
this with playing one of the Bennett
girls in the dramatization of Jane
Austen's famous novel, "Pride and
Prejudice." Following her success in
these two plays, Joan was literally
swamped with radio and screen offers.
She chose radio because she prefers
its ^"fluidity" as she describes it.

Miss Tompkins likes to crochet, has

blonde hair, blue eyes, is five-feet-

four and weighs 110 pounds.
* * - *

J. M. W., Baltimore, Md.— Dr. Robbie
Clark is played by Carleton Young
in the popular serial Hilltop House
. . . Joe Marlin is portrayed by Robert
Griffin and Bunny Mitchell by

Frances Carlon in The Story of Mary
Marlin.

A Fan, Houston, Texas — The theme
song of the Big Sister program is
"Valse Bluette" by George F. Drigo
. . . David Brewster is played by Alex-
ander Kirkland on the Big Sister show
and no fan club has been organized
for Alice Frost.

Eva, East Weymouth, Mass. — We are
not permitted to give out home ad-
dresses of stars. However, I would
suggest you write to those you are
interested in, care of the stations over
which they broadcast.

M. D. W., Houston, Texas — Here's the
short biography on Richard Maxwell
you requested: He was born in Mans-
field, Ohio, and started his career at
the early age of two when he appeared
as local church soloist. He sang in
the choir when he was six and was
quite thrilled when his salary was
increased from five to twenty cents
a week. Educated at Georgetown
University, Kenyon College and the
Ohio State University Aviation
School, Maxwell made his professional
debut in "Lady In Ermine." He was
understudy to John Steel in both the
second and third editions of the
"Music Box Revue," and also appeared
in the "Greenwich Village Follies."
. . . first appeared on the radio in
1923. He likes to fish; plays golf and

54

RADIO MIRROH

tennis. Weighs 175 pounds, is five
feet eleven inches tall, has brown hair
and hazel eyes.

Mrs. J. S. Haller, Bassett, Ncbr. —
Mary Noble is played by Vivien Fri-
dell and Larry Noble by Ken Griffin
in the serial, Backstage Wife . . . Kitty
Keene is portrayed by Frances Carlon
and Charles Williams by Bill Bouchey
in the program, Kitty Keene . . . Bill
Davidson is Arthur Hushes and Nancy
Donovan is Ruth Russell on the Just
Plain Bill show.

FAN CLUB SECTION

In the April issue I mentioned I had
no record of a Horace Heidt Fan Club
and I've been deluged with letters
from readers, since that issue went on
sale, telling me there most certainly
is a club for Horace, whose president
is Mrs. Helen Hayes Hemphill, 201
West 105th Street, Los Angeles, Calif.
Write to Mrs. Hemphill for details.

Anyone wishing to join the Bert
Parks Fan Club should contact Eleanor
Pryde, 1415 Genesee Street, Utica,
New York.

Here's good news for all the Gene
Krupa fans! A club has now been
organized and Charlotte Bicking, pres-
ident, 33 Downing Avenue, Downing-
town, Penna., will be glad to hear
from prospective members.

Kay Browning, president of a Bing
Crosby Fan Club, is instituting a drive
for new members. Her address is
Camden, Mississippi.

Mary Wilson, 807 Eighth Street,
West Park, McKeesport, Penna., is
president of the Kay Kyser Fan Club
of Pittsburgh. She'll welcome all new
members, so why not drop her a line,
all you Kay Kyser fans?

We have been requested by N.
Davis Wilson of Treasure Gardens,
Glen Ellyn, Illinois, to make the fol-
lowing announcement: "To the many
Radio and Theater friends of our Hon-
orary President, Mr. Paul Page, The
North Star of the Air, and famous
NBC baritone, we extend greetings
and membership in our interesting in-
novation, The North Star Service
Symphony.

The Bernarr Macfadden Foundation

conducts various non-profit enterprises :
The Macfadden-Deauville Hotel at Miami
Beach, Florida, one of the most beautiful
resorts on the Florida Beach, recreation
of all kinds provided, although a rigid
system of Bernarr Macfadden methods of
health building can be secured.

The Physical Culture Hotel, Dansville,
New York, is open the year round with ex-
cellent accommodations at attractive prices
for health building and recreation.

The Loomis Sanatorium at Liberty, New
York, for the treatment of Tuberculosis
has been taken over by the Foundation
and Bernarr Macfadden's treatments, to-
gether with the latest and most scientific
medical procedures, can be secured here
for the treatment in all stages of this
dreaded disease.

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Facing the Music

(Continued from page 40)

sartorial rival to Lucius Beebe, a
dance band maestro who bows his
head to no one, and the husband of
one of cafe society's choicest morsels,
is an even more amazing case history
than the one Shaw concocted for
"Pygmalion."

Those of you who really don't know
Hal Kemp, except to wave a cheery
greeting to him as he smiles down
from the bandstand, would never be-
lieve Hal was just a bright young lad
with a lot of musical tricks from a
town called Marion, Alabama. But
his friends know. Take away the ex-
quisitely tailored clothes, the $1,000,-
000 worth of charm, the luxurious
suite he and his pretty wife Martha
Stephenson occupy at the Waldorf-
Astoria, and the real Hal Kemp still
remains the kind of guy you'd like to
call a friend. Down deep Hal hasn't
changed a bit. Saxie Dowell, Porky
Dankers and Jack Shirra, musicians
who have been with Hal for years, call
him friend. Otherwise you can bet
your social security card that these
faithful associates would never have
stayed in harness so long.

That transformation is one of ban-
dom's great stories, because with it
goes the story of one of the first style
bands.

Even before Hal was graduated
from North Carolina University, he
knew his career was music. Why he
still recalled the nine-year-old kid
who made $2 and passes for the fam-
ily grinding a player-piano in the Bo-
nita theater back in Marion.

So each year Hal would amaze the
student body at school by producing
a better dance band than the one he
directed previously. But it was in
Hal's senior year, 1925, that the real
dance band came along. There was
roley-poley Horace Kirby Dowell III,
a self-taught saxophonist; Skinnay
Ennis, the nervous drummer with the
shaky voice; pianist John Scott Trot-

ter, who pestered Hal about extrava-
gant arrangements; Dave Wade, a
young man with a horn; Harry Pine
and Ben Williams, another saxophon-
ist, devoted to the glories of Delta
Tau Delta.

Fred Waring, a collegiate-trained
maestro himself, heard the band one
day when he was in Charlotte. What
he heard called for action. Fred told
Alex Holden, a bandbooking friend.
Holden, a shrewd business man, spoke
quickly, "Fred, the trend today is
toward college bands. The public
wants them clean and good looking.
I'll get a load of this Kemp bunch
and see what makes them tick."

Alex Holden is still manager of Hal
Kemp's orchestra.

The band broke in professionally at
Shea's Buffalo Hippodrome theater.
Before Hal left school he made a typ-
ical Kempian gesture. He bequeathed
his band dictatorship of the campus
to a fast-talking college politician
named Kay Kyser.

The march uphill began rapidly.
Hal started to get the hay out of his
blond hair by immediately purchas-
ing a snappy tuxedo. Because the
band in its early days was like a dia-
mond in the rough, the sparkle at-
tracted people. Other bands of the
day were enmeshed in stock orches-
trations. Holden soon spotted Kemp
on a series of one-night stands, wind-
ing up in 1929 at New York's old
Strand roof.

From New York, Hal and the boys
sailed for Europe, soon knocked Lon-
doners, including drum-playing David
Windsor, the Prince of Wales, into
their respective royal aisles, and re-
turned to America in 1932. A year
before Hal had married the regal-
looking Margaret Elizabeth Slaughter,
who had better looks and a longer
family tree than Scarlett O'Hara. Two
children were born: Sally, now six,
and James, now three.

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56

RADIO MIRROH

However, it wasn't until Hal
brought his band to Chicago's Black-
hawk that the band's name meant
something to passersby when they
saw it nicker over marquees.

Weird, wonderful effects like stac-
cato brass, which Hal calls "tucka-
brass" — subtone clarinets, double-
octave piano solos, and glissando sax-
ophones, became smooth, expert
trade-marks. Not all these embel-
lishments clicked immediately. Many
a night was spent, long after the
dancers had departed, working on a
new phrase, a new trick. Some ideas
were carried over from the original
college band. Others, after weeks of
practice, were tossed mercilessly into
a waste basket.

Staccato brass has a background
written in simple, sixteenth notes as
three trumpets phrase their notes bit-
ingly. As the musicians cut these
notes short, the nervous energy simi-
lar to a telegraph machine is pro-
duced. The idea to play this way
came about when Skinnay Ennis sub-
stituted for the ailing Saxie one night
at a college prom. Skinnay half-
spoke, half-sang the lyrics, leaving
large holes in the number which the
exasperated musicians had to fill hur-
riedly. It wasn't until 1930, though,
that Kemp perfected this style.

1935 found the band back in New
York. Few remembered that it was
the same band that ground out so
amateurishly at the Strand roof and
later at the Hotel Manger.

THE lanky conductor had the kids
I nocking in droves, but preferred to
stay quietly in the background as En-
nis, Bob Allen and Maxine Grey pro-
jected their personalities.

Radio commercials came along. Re-
cordings were best-sellers. Things
were going beautifully — too beauti-
fully. In 1938 Kemp received a re-
sounding body blow. He almost went
down for the count, but came up smil-
ing, southern accent intact, and en-
riched with something he never be-
fore possessed. The setback gave him
a new outlook on life; a sharper, more
matured personality.

Maxine Grey was badly banged up
in a train wreck. Skinnay Ennis left
to start his own band. Hal's home
life struck a snag. The rumors along
radio row mushroomed to stage whis-
pers.

But the divorce came quietly and
the suspense was soon over. Hal
plunged himself into his work, tried
to forget everything else, mapped out
a vigorous road trip.

Everything worked smoothly until
the boys in the band noticed that Hal
was heading for one particular table
in the latter part of the Hotel Astor
engagement.

The occupant was 20-year-old Mar-
tha Stephenson and as pretty a pic-
ture that ever posed before El Mo-
rocco's zebra-stripes. But this girl
was different. She didn't spoil any
plans. As a matter of fact, she want-
ed to be a part of them. Her viva-
cious spirit instilled Hal with fresh
hope. A strenuous tour was in the
offing, but that didn't stop Martha and
Hal. They were married on Friday,
January 13, 1939, in Pittsburgh, be-
tween stage shows at the Stanley
theater.

Out of all these whirling events
blossomed the new Hal Kemp. Old-
timers rubbed their eyes. Before Hal
concentrated on the music rack. To-
day the new groom is a showman.
Three years ago his southern drawl

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held him back. Today he's a smooth-
talking master of ceremonies. Plenty
of radio work helped. The band now
plays more comedy tunes. Audiences
roar with delight when Hal shuffles
merrily across the footlights, towers
over four-foot-nine Judy Starr.

On college and one-night-stand
dates, the crowd loves it when Hal
shouts, "What do you kids want to
hear?" The requests sweep across the
floor. Hal isn't kidding. He has 500
tunes in the books, with a turnover of
200 new tunes a year, ably orches-
trated by Hal Mooney. The backfires
contain 2,400 other selections.

The band is composed of 13 mu-
sicians, Hal, Bob Allen and Judy. Of
the original six only two are left.
Harry Pine left because he preferred
the real estate business. Dave Wade
dropped out in 1928 to join another
band. John Scott Trotter is now Bing
Crosby's maestro. Skinnay Ennis has
his own band but is managed by Alex
Holden.

Ben Williams and Saxie are still
with Hal but others in the band are
also considered veterans. Handsome
Bob Allen who used to be a drugstore
clerk until Ben Bernie discovered him,
has been with Hal since 1933. Mickey
Bloom, the Brooklyn trumpeter has
worked with Hal on and off for eight
years. Trombonist Eddie Kusby and
trumpeter Clayton Cash both joined
the outfit in 1933. Pee-Wee Jackie
Shirra, the Scottish bass fiddler and
husband of Judy Starr signed up in
1931. And loyal Harold "Porky"
Dankers is just as bashful as he was
the day he joined nine years ago.

When I saw the boys at New York's
Paramount theater they were pretty
tuckered out, doing five and six shows
a day. Seven of the boys I encountered
were sprawled out on cots. Saxie was
sewing a button on his uniform. An
enthusiastic jitterbug in the audience
had ripped the old one off.

Working theaters and ballrooms is
tiring work but the Kemp men laugh
it off.

"Playing a hotel engagement is
more restful," said one, "but the gold
is on the road, so you don't mind the
hours and rides."

You'll like the new Hal Kemp
better. But for all his showmanship
and smoothness, he blushed like that
nine year old Marion, Alabama pian-
ola player when he asked and GOT
$5,000 to play a New Year's Eve dance
party for Evalyn Walsh McLean,
Washington society woman. Mrs. Mc-
Lean wanted Kemp's band so badly
for her blowout, I think she would
have tossed in her famous Hope dia-
mond to get him.

OFF THE RECORD

Some Like It Sweet

I Cried For You; Let's Tie The Old
Forget-Me-Not (Decca 2273A) Bing
Crosby — A more mellow Crosby is dis-
covered on this dandy double-header.
"I Cried For You" is an old tune that
has recently been revived with sur-
prising success.

I Get Along Without You Very Well;
Chopsticks (Brunswick 8308) Kay Kyser
— Harry Babbitt gives this frothy tune
a big-league rendition. Kyser gets
tricky with those inevitable chopsticks.

You Got Me Crying Again; Heart of
Stone (Victor 26165B) Hal Kemp. The
staccato brass and glissando saxes rip-
ple merrily across both sides of this
elegant platter which bring back two
traditional Kemp classics. Bob Allen

replaces Skinnay Ennis on the vocals
and you don't mind a bit.

Among Those Sailing; It Took A
Million Years (Vocalion 4623) Enoch
Light— The Hotel Taft tune titan re-
turns to the records with a rhythmic
pair of ditties.

Kinda Lonesome; Junior (Brunswick
8304) Dorothy Lamour. Those who like
the sarong-for-your-supper soloist will
find this a record-breaker. The tunes
are from Dorothy's new "St. Louis
Blues" picture.

This Is It; It's All Yours (Victor
26149A) Tommy Dorsey. This is the
way to play a pair of show numbers.
They are from the new musical hit,
"Stars In Your Eyes." Jack Leonard
does the vocals with the proper finesse.

Penny Serenade; Could Be (Victor
2160B) Sammy Kaye. Jimmy Brown
hits the high ones on the Penny ballad.
Neat balance on a pert platter.

Some Like It Swing

Art Shaw's "Album of Popular Mu-
sic" (Bluebird) Five solid records in
the Shaw manner of tunes that will live
for a long time. A collector's item as
Shaw swings "Carioca," "Bill," "Donkey
Serenade," "Rosalie," "Lover, Come
Back to Me," "Vilia," "The Man I
Love," and other hits.

Blue Lou; The Blues (Victor 26144A)
All-Star Band. Metronome magazine
worked this one out, recruited such ace
musicians as Goodman, Dorsey, Beri-
gan, Teagarten, Miller, Mastrin, James,
Rollini, Dunham, Zurke, Bauduc, Hag-
gart, Spivak, Shertzer, to merge their
talents. The tunes are nothing to write
home about, but you'll want this record
anyway.

Diga-Diga-Do Part I and II (Decca
2275) Bob Crosby. A field day for the
Crosby crew. Dixieland style really goes
to town.

Boogie Woogie Prayer Part I and II
(Vocalion 4606) Three pianos harmo-
nize in this latest swing style, led by
its creator Meade Lux Lewis.

Honolulu; This Night (Bluebird
B-10130-A) Van Alexander. A new
band to keep tabs on. Fresh, lively
and brimming over with syncopation on
both sides of this waxing from the
M-G-M Eleanor Powell picture.

Pick-A-Rib Part I and II (Victor
26166A) Benny Goodman Quintet.
Seems to be the vogue right now to
play the same tune on both sides of
a record. Goodman wrote this crazy,
lingering melody and dedicated it to his
brother's barbecue bistro which is lo-
cated on Swing Alley (Fifty-Second
Street, N. Y.)

Ken Alden,
Facing the Music,
RADIO MIRROR,
122 East 42nd Street,
New York City.

I want to know more about
He is my rec-
ommendation for "The Band of
the Month."

NAME

ADDRESS

(Each month Ken Alden will
write a feature piece on "the band
of the month" telling all you want
to know about the favorite maes-
tros. Your vote will help deter-
mine his selection.)

58

RADIO MIRROR

on my part. You see, I won't light
her cigarettes for her and she gets
pretty heated, sometimes, on the sub-
ject of 'neglect.' But I always tell
her, 'If a woman is strong enough to
smoke nicotine, she is strong enough
to light her own cigarettes."

"Is she pretty?" I asked him. (I
hadn't seen her then, although I have
since. She is pretty — quite.)

CDGAR considered. "Well, yes," he
^ said, "but, thinking it over, I believe
'attractive' is a still better word. Per-
sonally, I don't go much for beautiful
women, because it has been my ex-
perience that the raving beauty is
usually so entertained and dated and
made much over because of her
beauty that this adulation often in-
terferes with her life. She has no
time to study or in other ways de-
velop the facets of personality."

"But this is not true of Kay?" I
suggested.

He smiled quietly. "No," he said.
"She is attractive in many different
ways."

Well, since I have met her, I think
so, too. There is, for one thing, that
interesting voice quality which Edgar
noticed right off. When she speaks,
even though her voice is low, you
notice her. There is also that warm
appeal of health, vitality and good
spirits at once captivating and endur-
ing.

She was born in Minot, North Da-
kota, but spent much of her life in
Portland, Oregon. Although her father

At Last! Bergen's in Love!

(Continued from page 17)

and mother were not professionals,
both were musical, and she says she
has been singing since she can re-
member. She got her first radio job
through a dare made by a trio of
girls with whom she was playing
bridge one day. Listening, idly, to
the radio while the game was going
on, she remarked that she was going
to get an audition "sometime."

"Dare you to call and ask for one
right now," one of her friends said.

"All right, I'll do it." Suiting the
action to the word, she went to the
phone; got an important producer on
the wire and talked him into hearing
her. Spots on NBC's Signal Carnival,
Tune Types and other program ap-
pearances in San Francisco, Holly-
wood, New York and Chicago were
the result.

As for what she thinks of Edgar.
She laughed when I asked her about
that and wisecracked that it wouldn't
be "maidenly" to declare her undy-
ing affection for Charlie McCarthy's
father "right out in print." Besides,
she added, "it was really Charlie that
got me started. I've been a McCarthy
fan since that first broadcast on Rudy
Vallee's show in December, 1937. Not
that he appreciates it, the Lothario.
He never appreciates any woman's
devotion."

Charlie, however, approves of the
Bergen-St. Germain romance most
heartily.

"For one thing, Bergen better get
himself a steady girl while he still
has some hair," he remarked to me

that day I visited his "father's" office.
"Nobody loves a shiny dome. Now
look at my luxuriant locks!" he added
complacently.

THEN you would give the two of
■ them — Bergen and Miss St. Ger-
main— your blessing?" I asked.

"Sure," he came back. "Put a little
romance in Bergen's life and maybe
he'll understand the problems of
others. You know . . . maybe he'll
see how it is that 'in the spring a
young man's fancy lightly turns to
love!' "

"Meaning your fancy?" I inquired.

He winked knowingly. "Sure. Why
just the other day Carole Lombard
said to me, 'Charlie, I can't seem to
get you out of my mind.' Moreover,"
he confided, "I think a lot of that girl,
too. I sometimes think I love her as
much as it is in me to love anyone.
But Bergen is always objecting to my
affaires de coeur. He has a heart of
stone. He won't increase my allow-
ance so I can spend any money on a
girl — not that I like to spend on any-
one. . . . Anyway, I hope he has
fallen for Kay (I always call her Kay)
pood and hard. Then perhaps he will
be more symoathetic toward my own
yearnings "

At this point, Charlie's father un-
ceremoniously clapped him into his
suitcase and conversation proceeded
sans further McCarthian comment.
But judging from what was said,
Charlie's fond wish is not so far from
fulfillment.

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june, 1939

59

»are

Marry!

(Continued from page 31)

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one unhappy person, are easily solved
by two happy ones. I've seen it hap-
pen so often that I've stopped telling
young people in love to be "practi-
cal." Life isn't made up of practical
actions — it's something more than
that. And love is the least practical
thing in the world.

I sympathized with Frank and Judy
— but I frankly haven't much com-
passion for another type of couple
who often seek my advice. Jonathan
and Mary came to my office two years
ago, to tell me that their plans for
marriage seemed to be on the rocks.

Both had jobs, in a large depart-
ment store. But here was the rub.
Mary, through brilliant executive
ability, was rising fast in the store,
while Jonathan seemed doomed to
stay in the same position in which
he had started three years before. He
just lacked the vital spark that spelled
the difference between success and
mediocrity. And he had a shocking
request to make of Mary.

"I want Mary to give up her job,"
he told me. "Otherwise our happi-
ness will be jeopardized. It won't be
long before she will be considering
me a failure."

I LOOKED questioningly at Mary,
' thinking that if what Jonathan said
were true, she had much better not
marry him. She silenced that thought
by bursting out:

"But I won't! It doesn't make any
difference to me, if I make more than
you. I'd love you just as much if you
weren't making any money at all."

He shook his head, unable to see
things that way. "That's what you
think now, but marriage is built on
the leadership of the man, not the
woman. We just wouldn't be happy!"

I'd kept quiet while they set their
problem before me. Now I said, as
patiently as I could, "But, Jonathan,
you're asking the impossible. Not
that Mary wouldn't give up her job
for you, if she really thought she
ought to — but she knows that if she
did so she'd really be wrecking your
future happiness. You're not asking
her just to give up her job — jobs
mean little to a woman of Mary's
mental capacity — but you're also ask-
ing her to give up her right to better
your family finances. And even more
important, you're asking her to give
up her right to the full enjoyment of
her mental and executive gifts. She
has as much right to express herself,
in work, as you have. The truth is,
Jonathan, you're jealous."

He tried to deny it at first, but at
last he broke down and admitted I
had spoken the truth.

"Good," I said. "Now, you two love
each other and you should get mar-
ried. But no giving up jobs. Jona-
than, you know you are jealous of
Mary's ability, and that's the first
step in ridding yourself of your jeal-
ousy. Once you can do that, you'll
keep pace with her, simply because
she'll stimulate you to greater en-
deavor. Remember, a happy man
can do twice as much as an unhappy
one, and do it better."

They took my advice and were
married. They're happily married
now, and what I predicted has come
true. Jonathan is an executive in the
same department store in which his
wife is now an important official.

Similar to Jonathan are those men

who announce firmly that if they
can't support a wife, alone and un-
aided, they won't marry.

A recent survey by the Original
Good Will Hour indicated that 43 per
cent of our American women are
ready and willing to help their hus-
bands maintain a home by working
at outside jobs. And why not? Since
civilization's beginning the woman
has been at the side of her man, work-
ing with him and for him. In earlier
days, she did back-breaking labor in
the home or in the field. She doesn't
have to do that work any more,
thanks to modern labor-saving de-
vices most of which even the poorest
of us can afford. It's only logical
then that she should make her con-
tribution to the family in another
way — by going out and earning her
share of expenses, if necessary.

Many couples try to reach an im-
possible financial goal before attempt-
ing marriage. My advice to them is
to forget this ambition. They are
wasting too many good years of their
lives. Their courtship will become
humdrum, and romance will fade and
finally disappear!

DOB and Lucille came to me with
lJ such a problem. Both were em-
ployed, at inadequate salaries. How-
ever, they were each putting aside a
very little money each week, toward
the far-distant day when they could
have a nest-egg of some size. They
wanted me to tell them how large
that nest-egg should be before they
married.

Instead, I asked them another ques-
tion: "And what will you do, if one
of you is ill or something else equally
important makes it necessary for you
to spend what you've saved? Sup-
pose you never get much of a nest-
egg together? Suppose your salaries
never are raised?"

The defeat in their eyes was my
answer.

"Go on and get married," I said.
"You have enough for your present
needs. You can have a modest home,
where careful budgeting will make
both ends meet. Most of us never
reach the financial goal for which we
strive, so why sacrifice happiness for
something you may never get?"

They saw the point, and like Frank
and Judy were married and are liv-
ing happily together at this very mo-
ment. Things aren't easy for them,
financially. But they love each other,
they're together, and that's what
really counts.

The marriage drive is so powerful
that it must overcome all economic
barriers — and rightly so, because
homes and families are the things
upon which civilization is built. But
if our civilization sets up obstacles
in the way of the normal expression
of the sex instinct, we must expect
trouble. If .we tell a boy and girl
they can't and mustn't marry, we
must not be surprised to find them
coming together without marriage —
or, even worse, becoming neurotic
and depressed, useless both to them-
selves and to their communities.

And that's the reason I say to every
couple in love: Be true to yourselves!
Marry, and face life and its problems
together. Two can't live as cheaply
as one — but, on the other hand, two
heads, and two loving hearts, are
better than one!

60

RADIO MIRROR

WE CANADIAN LISTENERS

HORACE

KEN SOBLE, Canada's Amateur
Man, started his fourth year on
the air recently with his "Ken
Soble's Amateurs," sponsored by
Royal Canadian Tobacco Company
. . . program is heard each and every
Sunday at 12.30 noon. EST, over six-
teen Ontario stations and CFCF, Mon-
treal . . . broadcast from the 1200-
seater Lansdowne Theater, Toronto.
. . . Canadian Facts, Registered, for
February 26, of this year, gave the
show a Crossley rating for Canada
of 37.82%, surpassed in the Dominion
only by Bergen and McCarthy and
Jack Benny . . . the other amateur
show, headed by one Major Bowes,
received a rating of 24.4% ... so
it's the Major who gets the gong this
time.

On the recent anniversary broad-
cast, Ken Soble received ninety thou-
sand requests for tickets to the 1200-
seater! No wonder Royal Canadian
Tobacco Company signed him for an-
other fifty-two weeks without look-
ing.

Ken Soble's Amateurs are drawn
from all over Ontario and Quebec.
"Tours for Talent" are conducted,
with elimination contests in all cen-
tres, comprising 35 theaters . . . the
winners are then brought to Toronto,
expenses paid, where they compete
for valuable prizes . . . finalists usu-
ally receive a week with pay on some
of Ken's vodvil units. A few of his

Ken Soble, with arms raised, leads
the applause for his amateurs on
the Royal Canadian Tobacco show.

amateurs (and they're strictly ama-
teur, without casting any aspersions)
have made good professionally. Jean
Hemand, six-year-old Montreal tap-
dancer, recently made a short for
Vitaphone at Long Island. Mildred
Moray of Hamilton is singing with
famed Luigi Romanelli and his or-

chestra at the King Edward Hotel,
Toronto. Eddie (Angel) Allan and his
accordion are now a daily feature of
the popular CBS-MBS "Happy Gang".

I/EN is young. Only 27. He started in
'^ the radio game in his native To-
ronto ten years ago, after graduating
from Jarvis Collegiate Institute. He
was a radio time salesman and an-
nouncer. After ten years we find
Ken is the following: president of
Metropolitan Broadcasting Service,
Limited, one of the largest radio ad-
vertising agencies in Canada; general
manager of Soble's Artists' Bureau,
supplying forty Canadian theaters
with talent; managing director of
CHML, Hamilton.

Ken has some pertinent observations
on this amateur business. He has
found from time to time that if an
amateur steps up to the mike in audi-
tion and faints dead away that, with-
out fail, the next two or three in line
will likewise keel over. Now, when
anyone faints, he calls off the audi-
tion for a while.

And finally, just to show how this
amateur business gets 'em young, on
the program's third anniversary
broadcast, Ken Soble presented a
charming young tap-dancer, who was
born the day of the first Ken Soble's
Amateurs broadcast!

Which is my cue to say: "Good
listening!"

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june. 1939

61

There sat Jones —

my husband's richest

customer — bored stiff.

"Have some Beeman's?" said

I, after the coffee — and the miracle

happened! " My favorite flavor! "said

Jones, suddenly very cheerful.

"No meal's complete without Bee-
man's!" he declared. "That refreshing
tang adds the touch of perfection! It's
tonic to your taste! Delicious is the
word ! Thanks a million, dear hostess
— for a perfect dinner — and a perfect
after-dinner treat!"

62

This Happened to Me

(Continued from page 37)

acceptance to the California Ramblers.
After the theater that night, the band
I was with played a late dance date.
I was just leaving the hall when I
looked at my watch. Three o'clock —
and I was dead tired. I'd wire the
Ramblers in the morning.

Then a crazy thing happened. It
sounds like something out of a gang-
ster thriller. I was practically taken
for a ride.

I stepped out of the doorway and
found two familiar-looking gentlemen
waiting for me. They were my friends
from the Cleveland band — the one I'd
decided not to join. They didn't waste
much time in greetings: "Come on,
Shaw, you're going with us."

We all piled in their car. The driver
seemed to know where to go. We
drove out by the Yale campus and
parked behind the darkly silhouetted
Yale bowl. One of them carried my
saxophone case and I, pleading for an
explanation, followed. The leader was
the first one to speak:

ARTIE, we think you belong with
'this band. But we want to hear
you play again. Will you?"

I unpacked my case. Leaning there
against the concrete wall of the great
empty stadium, I played "Blue Skies."
Not so long before, the Bowl had
sounded with school cheers and the
thump of a booted pig-bladder. Now
it was quiet with a huge silence. A
saxophone solo of "Blue Skies" didn't
make much of an impression on it.

But my companions listened care-
fully. They looked at each other and
nodded. We got back into the car,
and I promptly began to doze. The
whole business seemed like a dream
to me, anyway. Then the car went
over a bump, and I happened to see
that we were just passing the New
Haven city limits.

"Hey, what's this?" I yelled.

"Don't get excited, Artie. We're
going to New York. There's a con-
tract there we want you to sign."

It was close to five then, and the
sun was beginning to come up. I was
too sleepy to argue. At something
after six that morning I signed a con-
tract and we drove back to New
Haven. I can't take any credit for
making that decision.

I've often wondered, since then,
what my life would have been if my
Cleveland friends hadn't been so high-
handed, or if the band hadn't hap-
pened to play a late date that night,
tiring me out so much that I literally
couldn't do anything but let matters
take their course. Almost certainly
I'd never have met the girl who was
later to become my wife — with un-
happy results for both of us. But I
might have met the girl I later mar-
ried. Would I have formed my own
band, eventually — or would I today
still be playing for someone else?

It's all speculation — and, I guess,
not particularly productive specula-
tion, at that.

They were laying off the house-

band in the theater at New Haven,
where I was playing, and I'd already
had my two weeks' notice before I
joined the Cleveland outfit. I finished
my job, got into my car, and drove
off to Cleveland.

The band, playing then in a Chinese
restaurant, belonged to Joe Cantor.
It was a good little outfit. We had two
brasses — a trombone and a trumpet- —
three saxes and a rhythm section. As
soon as I joined them, I began ar-
ranging seriously. Up to then I had
been writing out choruses for two or
three part harmony — the stuff I picked
up off of good records plus ideas of
my own. But now I tried working
out harmonies for a full band. It took
me three weeks to write my first ar-
rangement, one of "Wabash Blues" —
and the result was terrible.

When the boys first tried playing
my orchestration it sounded like a
terrific clambake — which it was. That
taught me the first lesson of arranging
— restraint. I'd completely overdone
my work. The next lesson came from
listening to the boys going over and
re-arranging that first woebegone ef-
fort. From then on I did at least one
or two arrangements a week. I learned
how to score, too. In addition, I began
concentrating on the clarinet.

I'd begun to feel I was traveling
the way I wanted to go when I got
an offer from another Cleveland band
— Austin Wylie's, then the top dance
orchestra in the mid-west. Wylie was
playing close to the great phono-
graph records of the time. What Bob
Crosby is doing now, Austin was doing
then. He offered to let me take charge
of his band, and the opportunity was
too good to turn down.

I WASN'T eighteen when I first
' started to work for Wylie, yet he let
me do almost everything but conduct
the band. (I even did that, at re-
hearsals.) Arranging, scoring, play-
ing, conducting, kept me busy and
gave me more good experience than
any young musician had a right to
hope for.

It was while I was with Wylie that
another offer came my way, from Ben
Pollack. He had a great band — it's
already gone down in swing history.
He came through Cleveland on a one-
night stand, looking for a clarinetist,
and said I could have the job. But I
liked my own band, and turned the
offer down. A good clarinetist, named
Benny Goodman, joined the Pollack
band instead.

It was 1928, and the Wylie band
began broadcasting over WTAM. That
was my first contact with the new
entertainment device slated to be the
greatest single factor in the music
business — but at the time that didn't
seem as important to me as a piece
of good luck that came — well, I can
truthfully say that it came right down
out of the sky.

One day when I had about two
hours with nothing to do I happened
to see a story in the paper about the

Attention! Contestants in the SAMMY KAYE MUSICAL

TREASURE HUNT — The winners of the cash prizes which were

offered for helping Sammy Kaye finds words for his theme

song, will be announced in the July RADIO MIRROR

RADIO MIRROR

National Air Races in Cleveland. It
contained the announcement of an
essay contest. "Write 250 words on
'How the Air Races Will Benefit
Cleveland' and win a two week air-
plane trip to Hollywood — all expenses
paid."

Well, I had time on my hands. So
I wrote an essay. A few days later
I got a notice informing me that my
essay had won first prize.

I had always wanted to see Holly-
wood, anyhow.

AUSTIN gave me a leave of absence
*♦ and young Shaw left for the
Golden Coast. It was a swell two
weeks. I didn't do much except rest
and perform most of the standard
tourist duties and watch a few bands
work. But that holiday trip got me
my next job.

One evening there was some sort of
an affair staged by the air race people
at the Roosevelt Hotel. Irving Aaron-
son, then one of the big-time orches-
tras, was playing there with his
Commanders. They introduced me to
him as the winner of the essay con-
test. When I began talking to him
about sharps, flats, arrangements, he
looked at me much as we in these
days look at an "ickie." I explained
that I was clarinetist-arranger for
Austin Wylie. That changed his ex-
pression.

Changed it so much, in fact, that a
few weeks after I was back in Cleve-
land- Aaronson, with his arranger,
came into our restaurant and offered
me a job with him. Two months later
I left Wylie to join the Commanders
in California.

I really wasn't with Aaronson very
long — a month in California and an-

other few months while we traveled
across the continent and into New
York. And New York got me. I was
nineteen and here was a town I
wanted to catch by the tail and throw
around. I told Aaronson that when
he went on tour again I'd stay behind.

I stayed behind, all right — but with-
out a job. I couldn't work without a
New York union card, and, as an out-
of-towner, I had to wait three months
to get one. When the card finally
came through, I was broke again.

Luckily, I met Bix Beiderbecke,
that great swing trumpeter, and we
liked each other. Both of us were
very short of cash, and both were
looking for jobs, so we decided to
room together. The spot we picked
was the Forty-fourth Street Hotels-
smack in the middle of Times Square.

Bix was in that in-between period
where he had just left Paul Whiteman
and was on the point of going back to
him. The illness that was to kill him
had already begun to make its mark.

Our joint finances got very low in-
deed, but it didn't seem to matter
much. That's one thing about being
a musician — you can usually figure
that something will turn up.

Something did — three things, in
rapid succession. First a place with
Paul Specht, then one with Red
Nichols, and then one with Freddie
Rich at the Columbia Broadcasting
System. This last job was something
— secure, well-paid, with short hours.
If I wanted to pick up extra money
I could play free-lance jobs in other
radio bands.

I had a lot of time on my hands,
and decided to catch up on my edu-
cation. After all, I'd been flunked out
of school when I was fourteen. But

Columbia University didn't want me,
wouldn't have me, once it discovered
that I didn't have a high school diplo-
ma. I was infuriated at what struck
me as a stupid, hidebound system of
education. A couple of years later I
tried again, at New York University
this time, and met the same blank
wall. Finally I was forced back to
my original conclusion — that formal
education was a stupid thing. I hired
tutors, and with their help and my
own determination, taught myself
what I wanted to know, without the
guidance of learned professors and
a benign university.

But I'm getting a little ahead of my
story. After my tussle with the Co-
lumbia University authorities, every-
thing went smoothly until January,
1931. Then a visitor from Ohio came
to town. Years before, when I was
still working for Joe Cantor, in Cleve-
land, I had met the daughter of a
doctor practicing in a small Ohio
town. We were close friends, and
when she came to New York and we
met again, we thought we were in
love. I was twenty; she was a year
or so younger. We were married.

IT WAS a mistake. A bad mistake.
' Luckily, it didn't take us long to
discover it. Three months after our
marriage we separated and arranged
for a divorce.

I tried to settle back to work. It
was hard at first. I'd been through an
emotional upheaval, and it had left
its mark. But music has always been
the most important thing in my life,
and now it came to my rescue. I
worked hard and well — and with re-
sults. I played first saxophone and
clarinet in different CBS orchestras,

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June, 1939

63

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Contains the lyrics of the latest popular song hits including
those from the newest screen musicals. Beautifully illus-
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* CORRECT LYRICS BY PERMISSION OF COPYRIGHT OWNERS

accompanying such stars as Bing
Crosby, Morton Downey, and the
Mills Brothers, and before long was
averaging $500 a week.

For a year and a half I went on,
making money. Then, one morning,
I pulled myself up with a jerk. I
don't know exactly what happened —
it was probably only the accumula-
tion of a thousand thoughts and feel-
ings. But I knew that music had
become a business to me. It was a
trade — no longer an art. It had stopped
bringing me the unending enjoyment
that had kept me going since I was
fourteen. I had to stop it!

It was then 1933. I had saved
$12,000. I decided I must get out of
New York. Try to write, maybe. I'd
always wanted to. But more im-
portant, no matter what else I did,
I'd make an attempt to straighten
myself out. Life had turned sour on
me.

Out in Bucks County, Pennsylvania,
ninety miles from New York, I bought
a farm — an old house, far up in the
hills, completely lacking every mod-
ern convenience.

Just before I left for the farm I
married again. My second wife was
a nurse. We loved each other then.
There was no question about it. To-
gether, we left for Bucks County.

I WAS there for a year. Not once
■ did I touch my clarinet. I got all the
music I needed by playing the piano.
The rest of my time I spent trying to
write a book and working. The work
I did was pure manual labor — wood-
chopping, farm chores. Whenever
money ran out, I'd get a job on the
Pennsylvania road gangs and help
make roads for three dollars a day.
My only recreation was walking and
thinking. I needed that last badly.

I read almost savagely from the
large collection of books I had
brought with me, lapping up every
bit of knowledge I could get my hands
on. But one evening I came across
a technical term whose meaning I
didn't know. I looked it up in the
encyclopedia. I read the explanation
twice — but couldn't make sense out of
it. Then the realization came again
that I didn't know enough. I tore up
every word I'd written.

That was when I returned to New
York and made my second assault on
a university education — as fruitless an
assault as the first. But it did ac-
complish one thing. It settled my
mind and put me back to work.

I was happy. I didn't need much
work to keep myself going, and I
found enough when I was hired for
two commercial radio programs. I
made enough to live on, and had
plenty of free time — all of which I
spent at home, reading, writing,
studying. My wife remained on the
farm, for our relationship had
changed. We understood, respected,
and were fond of each other; but that
element which had first drawn us to-
gether was gone. I had changed too
much in that year on the farm — not
for bad or for good, necessarily, but
I was different from the person she'd
married. Separation was the only
logical step. We both wanted our
freedom and got it.

May, three years ago, saw the be-
ginning of a new life for me. It was
then that the Swing Concert was held
at Manhattan's Imperial Theater.
Every name band in the country was
to be there — Goodman, Casa Loma.
Crosby, Dorsey. Joe Helbock, then

RADIO MIRROR

owner of the Onyx Club, asked me
to appear. I had no band but I
agreed

That Swing Concert was the be-
ginning of my succe.=3, really. I had
a few friends who were classical
musicians. Once or twice a month
I'd get together with four of them
who had formed a string quartette as
a hobby, and I'd play the clarinet
against their strings. We used the
works of Brahms and Mozart. When
I signed up for the Swing Concert I
asked them if they'd like to work
with me. After they consented, I be-
gan work on a composition I called
"Interlude in B Flat."

THE night we stepped on the Im-
perial stage reminded me of the
evening when I woke with such skin-
tightening fright on the rowboat and
heard Johnny Cavallaro's band play-
ing without me. I couldn't understand
how we'd had the nerve to go in there,
following fourteen and fifteen piece
crews which had been blasting the
roof off. But there we were — four
nice soft string instruments, a guitar,
a bass, a drum, and a clarinet, play-
ing an original composition called
"Interlude in B Flat"!

I know we were stunned when we
heard the prolonged applause. And I
was more surprised and nattered than
I'd ever been when, a few minutes
later, George Gershwin came back-
stage. I don't think I'll ever forget
what he said to me: "That was the
first original contribution to jazz mu-
sic in the last fifteen years."

Next morning I began getting calls
from bookers and agents, all offering
the new "band" jobs — and the moon.
We decided to go slowly, though, and

it was August before we opened in
the Hotel Lexington.

At the Lexington, with two violins,
a 'cello, a viola, clarinet, two trumpets,
trombone, tenor sax, drums, guitar,
piano and string bass, we stayed six
months, and when we left the official
judges called us a flop. One cause
more than any other was responsible:
nobody knew what we were doing.

The band broke up, but I was com-
pletely sold on being a bandleader by
this time, and I formed a new one.
No instrumental tricks this time — just
the legitimate fourteen pieces and my
own clarinet. We started on a road
tour to break the band in, hitting
every kind of spot imaginable. Mining
camps, farm communities, college
towns. It was the toughest work I
had ever done.

But that training welded us into a
unit. Gruelling as it was, it was the
making of Artie Shaw's orchestra.
Those few musicians who didn't be-
long, left. Most of them stuck. They
stuck because they had complete faith
in the idea behind the orchestra.

I think we reached the up-trail in
Boston, at the State Ballroom. The
State is no swanky spot. Neither is it
a dime-a-dance joint. But a dinner-
jacket and a champagne cocktail
would feel completely out of place
there. Yet, after a week or so, we
began to notice a difference in the
dancers. From Cambridge, Harvard
boys and their dates began to drift in.
Week-end nights were collegiate af-
fairs. Then broadcast wires were
installed and we had a national net-
work a couple of nights a week. And
by fall we were ready for New York.

You know the rest of the story. In
October, we came to New York and

opened at the Hotel Lincoln. The re-
action was what we had hoped and
prayed for. The final touch came in
November when we were signed for
the Sunday night Old Gold program
with Robert Benchley. We had ar-
rived. Arrived not so much financially
as professionally. We're no longer
limited. The result of the experiment
at the Hotel Lexington in 1936 had
naturally made me hesitate before
trying anything new. Yet I feel now
we are in a position to do those things
we want to do. For instance:

An ordinary dance number is
limited to about three minutes. But
several of the numbers we play are,
I feel, more than dance tunes. A
group of them can make a miniature
swing concert — each taking from seven
minutes up to play. That sort of
thing had never been heard on the
average sustaining dance broadcast.
When we reached New York, we de-r
cided to try it. Judging from listener
response, the idea was successful.

It may now even be possible to
revive the string section idea. That's
what having "arrived" means, I think.
That's part of the peculiar psychology
attached to success. My ideas may be
no better now than they were two or
three years ago, but my professional
standing is better. It makes it possible
to experiment successfully.

My feeling has always been that
any American contribution to a
world's music will come from "jazz"
or "swing." Most music being played
today is no further advanced than the
work of Armstrong and Hines in the
twenties. It's my job and the job of
other conscientious and sincere mu-
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66

Pretty Kitty Kelly

{Continued from page 20)

beginning of a revelation, silenced
forever, by death.

"It's evident that Mrs. Megram was
murdered so that she couldn't tell
Kitty who she really is," the Inspector
was saying. But she scarcely heard
what he said. For with a little cry
of "Michael!" she had burst into bitter
sobs.

IT was good to get home to the
. apartment on 31st Street at last.
Good to find Bunny curling her bru-
nette mop over a gas jet, and
whistling "Flat Foot Floogie," as she
got ready to go out.

"I've got a date with Slim — at an
Italian joint in the village. Ravioli
up to here!" Bunny burst out gaily,
but stopped short at the sight of
Kitty's face.

"What's the matter, Kit? Nothing
come of your confab with the Inspec-
tor?"

"No."

"Aw, gee, kid, that's too bad. And
I had a hunch you were on the right
trail at last." Bunny heaved a sym-
pathetic sigh. "Well — sit down, and
rest your dogs for a while. I'll get
you some crackers and milk — "

"Thanks, Bunny — but sure and I
don't feel like eating at all."

No. Tonight she wanted only to
crawl into the little brass bed in
the tiny bedroom she shared with
Bunny. She wanted to forget all of
the events of the day — Mrs. Megram's
cold face in the morgue, the Inspec-
tor's questions — but especially that
moment this evening, when she had
invited Michael back to her apartment
for dinner.

They had been riding downtown in
the taxi, and she had noticed, even in
the dusky twilight, the little look of
embarrassment that came over his
face.

"I'm sorry, Kitty. But I — I can't
make it tonight. I have an engage-
ment."

"With Isabel Andrews?" The stupid
question had slipped out jealously be-
fore she knew it. And under a pass-
ing street light, she had seen his eyes
evade her.

"Not — not exactly. It's with her
grandfather. He's — he's made a
proposition. Wants to set me up in a
law-office, do some legal work for
him. He's trying to put over some
kind of important deal. It looks like
my big chance at last. . . ."

"But Michael — I thought you were
happy working in the District Attor-
ney's office — "

She had hesitated for a moment,
hating to sound so unenthusiastic, but
remembering Mr. Andrews — white-
haired, pompous, with the flashing
manners, the smoothness of a born
gambler. He and Michael would
never get along.

But Michael had picked her up
on it.

"There's no future there. Jog along
for years on a small salary, waiting
for an advancement. This Andrews
thing is big. I'll have my own office,
my own secretary, make my own deci-
sions. . . ." He turned to her suddenly,
struck perhaps by her silence, per-
haps by his own conscience.

"What's the matter, Kit? Say—
you're not jealous of Isabel Andrews!
You know she doesn't mean a thing to

me. I'm just having dinner with her
and old A. J. for our sake — that's
all."

"Of — of course, Michael — " She had
tried to smile, tried to share his en-
thusiasm. But that laughter last
night, that suppressed giggle on the
train, had persisted in her mind. She
had said goodbye to him, and come
back to the apartment, with a heavy
heart.

Michael! He had been her shield
against the world for six long months.
What would become of her, if he
failed her now?

Bunny came back into the room,
bearing a glass of milk.

"I was just talking to Yonson, the
janitor, and he told me something
that may interest you. It seems that
while we were away Mrs. Megram
was here to see you — and a funny
looking big guy named Dr. Orbo — "

She listened listlessly, sipping the
milk. Mrs. Megram. A funny look-
ing man named Dr. Orbo. Clues.
More futile, foolish clues. Perhaps
tomorrow, when she was not so tired,
she would be able to start the
puzzle all over again. But tonight
she could think only of one thing.
Michael. Michael sitting down at a
candle-lit table, smiling into Isabel
Andrews' brown, compelling eyes.

Suddenly her reveries were shat-
tered by the sharp sound of a buzzer.
Slim, she thought to herself. Bunny's
Slim, calling for his date. Then a
familiar voice sounded in her ears,
and she turned to stare up at six feet
two of blond masculinity.

"Grant Thursday!"

He grinned at her obvious surprise.

(*")H, say now, I can't tell from that
>^ tone whether I'm welcome or not.
It isn't glacial, and yet there's no
warmth in it. After all — when I've
trailed you all the way from Switzer-
land and New Hampshire — at least
say you're not sorry to see me — !"

"Of course I'm not sorry. I'm —
I'm glad!"

"That's better!" He was all atten-
tion, all eagerness to please. And in
spite of herself, she could not help
feeling a warmth at his nearness. He
was handsome — not Michael's rough-
hewn strong kind of handsomeness —
but in a kind of careless, devil-may-
care way that swept all opposition,
all doubts before him. And his deb-
onair style of speech, his gay laugh
were very infectious.

She began to feel less miserable,
less alone.

"Have dinner with me, Kitty — and
make me the happiest man in New
York" he cried, his gray eyes hungrily
upon her, belying his foolish words.
She drew back for a moment, a little
frightened by his eagerness, remem-
bering the strange circumstances
under which they had met. Then
once more, like a sharp stab of pain,
the thought of Michael returned!
Michael's face, smiling over a lace
tablecloth at Isabel Andrews.

She pushed back her red-gold curls
with a carefree gesture, and smiled
into Grant Thursday's eyes.

"Why not?" she said softly. "Why
not—?"

They went to the smartest restau-
rant in town. A French place, soft-

RADIO MIRROR

carpeted, old world, save for its
shining, chromium bar. The head-
waiter, a smiling Frenchman with a
little waxed mustache, knew Grant
at once. He bowed low, and led them
to a table near the wall, snapping his
fingers at the other waiters round
about.

"Vite! Pour mademoiselle et mon-
sieur— le mieux!"

IT WAS not until the thrilling little
' flurry of excitement had died down,
that she looked up, and saw them
standing at the bar, just beyond
Grant's shoulder.

Michael — and — Isabel !

He was dressed in dinner clothes,
his black hair sleek and shining. She
had never seen him look so distin-
guished, so tall. And even in her hurt,
her heart cried out to him with long-
ing. She wanted to go to him, beg
him to explain.

But he was raising his glass to
Isabel, swaying a little.

"Grant!" She leaped to her feet,
pushing back her chair. "I — I want
to go home!"

"But, Kitty, my dear — we haven't
even begun . . !"

"It doesn't matter! Please — Grant
— I — " Her mind searched frantically
for an excuse. Anything. Illness. A
telephone call. Something she had
forgotten.

All the people in the place were
turning to look at her. And still she
could find no words of explanation.
Then at last the inevitable came.
Michael turned and stared at her too.

"Kitty!"

She could feel his eyes upon her,
Isabel too, turning to stare with
supercilious, raised eyebrows. But she

could think of nothing to do. So this
was where they had gone. Not to
A. J. Andrews' house at all. But out,
on a secret rendezvous, together.
While she could remain, forgotten and
alone.

Michael left the bar, and came to-
ward her. He was pale and shaky.
She could see him weaving his way
around the white tables, steadying
himself on the backs of the chairs.
He came and stood before her, and
his voice was thick, uncertain.

"I'm — shorry, Kitty. Shorry. Please.
Let me 'splain. 'Splain everything.
Ishabel — she'll 'splain too. Please,
Kitty. No. Don't go. Old Andrewsh
— not home. Not home at all. Sit
down, Kit. Pleash — 'splain. Please —
please — "

His lips trailed off in a string of
meaningless words. He tried to grasp
her arm, push her into a chair. But
Grant stepped forward, and with one
swift gesture, had jerked him away.
Sick at heart, she saw his eyes,
clouded and blue, staring at her with
a puzzled look. Then she could stand
it no longer.

"Please, Grant — take me home.
Let's get out of here!"

"I've a good mind to sock him one
before I go!" Grant hesitated. But
she caught his arm, and urged him
toward the door. Hurrying into her
wrap, she saw Isabel Andrews saun-
tering slowly from the bar, and bend-
ing over Michael's slumped figure.
Then she and Grant were in the dark
taxi, and she was crying like a child
against his shoulder.

$ $ &

They talked that night — Bunny and
Slim, Grant and herself — far into the
dawn. There was no real point,

Grant said, in being sorry about
Michael. After all, he insisted, she
had only known Michael six months
— in this new period of her life. He
was a passing phase of her present
existence. But there was still a vast,
important life behind her — a life of
mystery and darkness, that yet re-
mained unknown.

She must concentrate on finding out
about that life, he said. Find the
place that Mrs. Megram's letter had
said was "rightfully hers." It was
foolish to go on, being plain Kitty
Kelly, denying herself things that
might be just around the corner.
Things like travel, wealth, beautiful
clothes, gay friends. But, he insisted,
she must go about finding herself
scientifically. This silly policeman
stuff, these vague "clues" she had been
following, were useless. She must
go to a good psychiatrist, have him
explore the recesses of her mind.

MICHAEL took Kitty to a doctor
once," Bunny murmured. "He
was a psychiatrist. But she never
went back. Dr. Weyman — that was
his name."

Grant raised his eyebrows.

"Good Lord Weyman's the best
psychiatrist in New York! And you've
never gone back! Kitty, darling — but
you must!"

"He — he didn't seem to help me!"
She sat on the sofa in the paling light
of dawn, staring at her lap. What
did it matter — a new life? No matter
what it was, she did not want it, with-
out Michael at her side.

"But, of course not, my dear. No
psychiatrist can help a patient in one
treatment. It's a long business — "

Gently, insistently, his debonair

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manner gone, Grant persuaded her, as
the gray morning crept across the
sky. They all persuaded her — even
Slim, whose hard-boiled reporter
manner had disappeared out of sheer
sympathy with her plight. She must
go to Dr. Weyman tomorrow — begin
her search for happiness anew.

And dully, she nodded her head,
promised that she would go. But all
the time, her heart was thinking. I'll
give him one more chance. If he
calls me up today, I won't go. I'll
forgive him. I'll forget all about the
old life, be contented with this one.
We'll be married.

At six o'clock, Grant and Slim
finally went home, and she and Bunny
crept into bed for a few hours sleep.
But she tossed back and forth be-1
neath the blankets, waiting. Seven
o'clock. Eight o'clock. Nine. She
and Bunny were up and dressed,
powdering their noses. By now, he
should be home. Perhaps, if she
called his housekeeper. Secretly,
while Bunny was in the next room,
she dialed the number.

"Mrs. Murger. This is Kitty Kelly.
Is — Is Mr. Conway there?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Kelly, but he hasn't
yet come home. . ."

TEN o'clock. And now she was
pirouetting before the customers in
Marks Fifth Avenue, in a French im-
port with a silly little spring hat upon
her red curls. Eleven o'clock. Twelve.

At twelve, she whispered an excuse
to the buyer, and hurried out of the
store, through the hurrying noon-day
crowds toward the canyons of Park
Avenue. Her face was set and de-
termined. In ten minutes, she was
sitting in Dr. Weyman's spacious
office, waiting while his starched sec-
retary whisked through the door.

"Will you come in, Miss Kelly?"

Dr. Weyman, a pleasant, middle-
aged man, dressed in a plain, dark
suit, greeted her with a handshake
and a brisk, appraising smile.

"Oh yes, I remember you well, Miss
Kelly. A most unusual case. In fact,
I still have the card I made for you
last year. Miss Schilling — " He
buzzed a button on the mahogany
desk. "Please bring in Miss Kelly's
record — "

He bent over the square of card-
board, with its minute symbols and
figures, as impersonally as though he
were studying a cross-word puzzle,
instead of a human being. But she
was glad of his scientific detachment.
One kind word, one note of sym-
pathy, she thought, would have made
her scream.

"Hm." He looked up at her, scru-
tinizing her closely. "Memory any
better now?"

"No better, doctor."

"You can't remember anything that
happened farther than a year back?"

"Not a thing."

"Hm." He paused, looking at the
card once more. Then suddenly, a

light dawned in his face, and he laid
it back on the desk, with a low excla-
mation.

"Great Scott" he cried. "Why didn't
I think of that before?" His profes-
sional reserve melted into boyish
excitement. "Miss Kelly — this is most
fortunate! It so happens that this
week the International Institute of
Psychiatrists is meeting here in New
York. We have specialists in town
from everywhere. And right in my
laboratory here is a man who knows
more about amnesia than anyone else
in the world. His name is Dr. Orbo."

Dr. Orbo! But she had heard that
name somewhere before. What? She
tried to think, as Dr. Weyman's secre-
tary came and went, and the seconds
ticked off, and finally, footsteps, heavy
and plodding came slowly down the
hall.

Then the door opened, and she
knew. A strange looking man, satur-
nine, with piercing eyes. Heavy, ape-
like shoulders. A peering expression.
Dr. Orbo. The man Bunny had men-
tioned last night. The mysterious man
who had come to see her.

"Dr. Orbo — this is Miss Kitty
Kelly." Dr. Weyman said, intro-
ducing her. The massive head turned,
the blinking eyes stared at her. Then,
a strange look came over that weird
face.

"But — I have met Miss Kelly be-
fore!" Dr. Orbo said slowly. His
voice was low, with a kind of hum-
ming quality. He turned to Dr. Wey-
man.

"Quick!" he said. "Get me that
copy of the British Medical Journal.
The one with my article. Give it to
me. Look. On page 723. The 15th
experiment. The subject:- Miss K.
Listen:- On January 15th I performed
an experiment in artificial amnesia
on a young woman. She was in good
health, submitted easily. . . But it
does not matter. You have read the
experiment through. What matters is
that Miss K of that experiment is this
Miss Kelly I see before me!"

"Dr. Orbo!" Dr. Weyman scarcely
breathed. "But is it possible? What a
coincidence!"

ASK your patient to uncover her left
shoulder. You will find the marks
of my needles, my injections. . ."

Dr. Weyman came forward profes-
sionally. "Certainly. How very in-
teresting. Now, Miss Kelly — if you
will permit me?"

But Kitty drew herself away, and
ran forward with a suffocated cry
toward that weird figure.

"Doctor Orbo!" she cried. "Who am
I?" Tell me who I really am?"

What is the story Dr. Orbo has to
tell? Will he help Kitty to find love
with Michael, or . . . perhaps . . . with
Grant Thursday? Don't miss next
month's exciting instalment, in the
July issue of Radio Mirror, on sale
May 26.

68

DORSET vs. DORSEY

It's comic! It's tragic! It's a feud that has all Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey's
friends scratching their heads, trying to find a way out. Read about it in the

JULY RADIO MIRROR

RADIO MIRROR

>urrender

coming — But of course they had to
come; I couldn't very well stay if
they didn't.

Then the telephone rang, with a
husky, muted buzz.

Brad answered it — and as I lis-
tened I knew exactly what he would
say. All the time, without wanting
to, I'd expected something like this.
It had all been too perfect.

HE HUNG up and returned to the
fireside, his face grave. "That was
Ray Tucker," he said. "Awfully apol-
ogetic, and all that, but they can't
come after all. Edna's sick — they kept
hoping all afternoon she'd be better
so they could come, but finally they
had to give up and decide to stay
home."

"Oh — " I said weakly, my disap-
pointment showing itself all too clear-
ly in my voice.

"I'm terribly sorry, Nicky. If only
I'd asked somebody else — another
couple besides — "

"I'm sorry too," I said, trying to
smile. "I — I guess I'll have to go
back to town now."

"Yes, I suppose so." He stood there
a moment, staring into the fire. "Well,
that's that. Tell you what — there's
no sense in wasting Mrs. Geraghty's
good dinner. We'll eat, and then start
out for New York."

He rang for Mrs. Geraghty, and
soon we were sitting at a table which
had been laid at the other end of the
room. The dinner was delicious, but
something had gone wrong — -very
much wrong. I didn't want to go back

(Continued from page 14)

to New York. I hated the thought of
the hot, stifling city. But I knew I
couldn't stay here. It wasn't so much
that I didn't trust Brad, as that I
didn't entirely trust myself. Was I in
love with him? — I didn't know. Jerry
seemed very far away from this beau-
tiful room, and very different from
the sophisticated man at the other
side of the table.

We lingered over dinner, each of
us reluctant to meet the moment
when we must start back. At last I
could delay no longer. I got up and
wandered over to the fireplace, warm-
ing my hands, which were suddenly
cold and stiff. Brad followed. He
was standing beside me — and just as
before, I was aware of a tension in
the air. But this time I was unable
to move. I felt languorous, almost
hypnotized by the flickering flames on
the hearth, by the spell of the mo-
ment.

Then Brad's arms were around me,
his breath on my cheek. I felt the
blood throbbing in my temples. In-
stinctively my hands crept to his
shoulders, and for one second of for-
getfulness I gave myself to his em-
brace. For though Jerry had warned
me against Brad, he hadn't thought
to warn me against myself!

"Don't go back tonight," I heard
him murmur. "Stay here — there's no
reason you shouldn't — "

I came back to myself with a start.
Still with his arms around me, I
leaned back so I could see his face
and search it with my eyes. "The
week-end party — that's the little de-

tail still to be arranged." Jerry's
words came back to me. And so far,
everything had happened the way he
had suggested it would. I was ter-
ribly attracted to Brad — the moment
that had just passed was proof of that.
But how much could I trust him?
The absence of the Tuckers, the lone-
ly mountain lodge, Brad's plea for
me to stay — all these were so pat.
Had he arranged everything, and was
surrender to him thinly disguised as
accident, the price of my big oppor-
tunity on the Atlas Hour?

Well, perhaps so. But if it was,
it was too great a price to pay.

In little more than a second, all
these thoughts had raced through my
mind. Now I twisted in his grasp.
"Please, Brad — you mustn't — "

He tried to hold me; in sudden
panic, as I felt the force of his per-
sonality numbing my will, I tore my-
self loose and stood, panting with the
exertion, on the other side of the fire-
place.

"I'm sorry," he said curtly, and I
realized he had misunderstood my
vehemence — had thought I was re-
pelled by him, instead of attracted
so violently that I didn't dare remain
near him.

NO, YOU don't understand," I said
quickly — and then stopped. How
could I explain; how could I tell him?
"It's — it's just that I'm a girl who
wants you to give her a job. If I let
you — make love to me — I'd have the
feeling that I was — buying the job
that way."

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I saw the muscles of his jaw tight-
en. "But why should you think that?"

"Oh — I don't know — " I faltered —
and then I realized I must know the
truth. "Brad — did you plan all this?
Did you ever invite the Tuckers up
here at all?"

"What a wonderful reputation I
must have," he said quietly. "No,
Nicky, I did not plan it. I did invite
the Tuckers, and that was Ray Tucker
on the phone just now. But I'll tell
you the truth. I was glad when I
found out they weren't coming. I
wanted us to be alone together. And
I suppose — yes, somehow I have to
tell you this — I suppose that I real-
ized, and was using, the power my
position as producer of the radio show
gave me over you."

He turned away, fumbling for a
cigarette in the box on the coffee
table.

He broke the silence that followed:
"I just want to tell you this — nothing
that's happened makes the least dif-
ference about your job. I won't pre-
tend that I haven't — well, mixed busi-
ness and pleasure before now, but I
never had any intention of doing that
in your case. If you'd slapped my
face — and perhaps I deserved it — I'd
still have given you the contract. Be-
cause you've got a voice, and I want
that voice on the show. Besides, I
knew you weren't that kind of a girl.
. . . And now I guess you'd like to
start back to town."

I LAUGHED shakily. His utter
* frankness had thrown me once more
off my guard, and I believed every-
thing he had said. It no longer seemed
terribly important that I get back to
town, although I knew I must. "I
suppose so," I said, "but I hate to
think of you driving all that way and
spoiling your week-end, just for me.
Can't you put me on a train?"

"Of course not," he said, smiling.
"It's my fault you have to go back.
The least I can do is drive you there."

All at once, the atmosphere had
cleared. We were friends again.

"Wait a minute," he said, as I
turned toward the stairs. "I just
thought — there's a swell little inn
about five miles from here. What
would you think about staying all
night there? We could run down
there now, as a matter of fact, and
have a few dances before I leave you.
And in the morning I'll drive down
and bring you back in time for
forcskfcist "

I hesitated. Truthfully, I didn't
want to go home, and the prospect
he held out was too alluring to re-
fuse.

"All right," I said.

He held out his hand. "And we're
friends?"

"Of course."

And we were, very good friends the
rest of that evening and all the sun-
drenched, wonderful day that fol-
lowed. He stayed at the inn until
about eleven, and we danced to the
music of the small orchestra. Then
he left me, and I slept for eight hours
of oblivion in the cozy bedroom that
was almost as pleasant as the one at
the lodge. He was back, in the morn-
ing, to drive me up to the lodge for
breakfast.

Not until late Sunday night, when
we'd driven back to New York and
the cream-colored roadster drew up
in front of my rooming house, did
either of us mention the scene after
dinner.

"I've had a wonderful time," I said,

70

holding out my hand to say good-by.
"Really."

"In spite of last night?"

"I — I'm sorry about last night, too,"
I stammered. "Sorry I accused you
of planning it all, I mean."

He had been smiling, but the smile
faded from his face. "You needn't
be," he said in a low voice. "As I
told you, I'm capable of it — but not
with a girl like you."

While I was trying to think of an
answer, he straightened up and gave
my hand a little pat. "Shall I see
you at the office tomorrow? I'll have
all the papers ready to sign. And
maybe we can arrange that meeting
with Ray Tucker then."

I said goodby to him at the door,
watched him drive off down the
street, and then went into the gloomy
little hallway. It was almost mid-
night, and everyone should have been
asleep, but I was surprised to see a
light burning in the parlor. The next
thing I knew, Jerry was standing in
the doorway between the parlor and
the hall, looking at me.

"Jerry!" I said in pleased astonish-
ment, all the wonderful story of the
week-end leaping to my lips. I want-
ed to tell him that everything was all
right, that I had the job sewed up,
that my big chance had come at last.

"What happened?" he asked hoarse-
ly. The light was behind him, and I
couldn't see his face, but his voice
was strained and unnatural.

"Why, I — " I began.

"Were the Tuckers there?" He fired
the question at me like shot from a
gun.

"No — that is, they were supposed
to be, but something happened and
they couldn't — "

"Was anyone up there — besides you
and Staley?"

The reaction from spending a per-
fect day, then coming home to this
scene, was too much for me. "Stop
talking to me like a district attor-
ney!" I snapped. "If you must know,
there wasn't anyone else there!"

"Well?" he snapped viciously.

WELL . . . nothing. Just that I
sign my contract tomorrow. I
spent last night in an inn, five miles
from the lodge — but I don't expect
you to believe that."

"You're right I don't believe it —
knowing Staley!"

I felt tears springing to my eyes.
His previous warnings, before I'd
gone to the lodge, had been bad
enough. But this assumption that I'd
yielded to Brad, simply for the sake
of a job, was so cruel that for a mo-
ment I could hardly speak.

"I wish you'd go away," I said, try-
ing to keep from choking over the on-
rushing sobs. "I've told you the truth
and if you won't believe it I don't
want to talk to you any more."

He hesitated — then he seized his hat
and brushed past me, out of the house.

I cried myself to sleep that night.
Possibly I was tired and overwrought
— perhaps too many emotions had
been poured into me during the
twenty-four hours I'd just lived
through. I didn't love Jerry — I knew
that now, although there had been
times in the past when love had not
seemed so far away for us. But even
without love, it is a terrible wrench
to find that your friend has left your
side, exchanged his sympathy and un-
derstanding for hardness and cruelty.

I'd thought that success had no
price — but now I saw that it had. I'd
made sure of my big chance on the

RADIO MTRROR

air, but I'd lost a friendship that I
valued.

I was thankful, during the next two
weeks, that I was so busy. Not even
Jerry's coldness could take the thrill
out of the knowledge that at last I
was going places. Contracts to sign,
rehearsals to' attend, new songs to
learn, pictures to be taken, new people
to meet, new clothes to be bought —
all this while I was still doing my
old program, from which I would not
be free until the two weeks were up.
I saw Brad every day, and Jerry on
the three days a week when I broad-
cast. On the first day, I hoped fer-
vently that he'd say something, ask
my pardon. I was ready and eager,
if he would make the first move, to
forget the things he'd said. But he
remained stiff and aloof.

Then, one night, he came to the
broadcast white-faced and unsteady.
He stumbled over the words of his
announcement, while I listened to him
in agony. It wasn't possible that I'd
done this thing to him! In all our
association, I'd never known him to
take more than one drink — and here
he was, so intoxicated he scarcely
knew what he was doing. I put my
hand on his arm, trying to steady
him as he stood at the mike, but he
turned on me with a look I can never
forget, and shook me off. I sang very
badly that night.

AT MY next broadcast, Jerry was
' missing. They had fired him.

I was frantic. It was only four days
before my opening program on the
Atlas Hour — but suddenly nothing
seemed to matter except Jerry. What-
ever his faults, I saw now, he had
loved me enough to break up entirely
when he thought I had given myself
to another man. For the first time,
I had a glimpse into his strange, re-
pressed mind — so quiet and calm,
usually, on the outside, so high-strung
within. I didn't know what to do.
I couldn't let him drift irresponsibly
into poverty and degradation. I had
to find him and somehow bring him
to his senses.

He wasn't at his home. None of the
people at the studio knew where he
might be. I couldn't imagine where
to locate him. And already I was due
at Brad's office to go over some songs.

Unable to think of anything more
to do, I got in a taxi and rode up-
town to keep my appointment, hoping
that I would be able to concentrate
sufficiently to get through the eve-
ning's rehearsal. But Brad's keen
eyes met me as I entered his office,
and he knew at once something was
wrong. Halfway through the first
number, he stopped me.

"Come on, Nicky," he said. "What's
the matter? I listened to your pro-
gram tonight, and you sounded like
the substitute soprano at a tank-town
picnic. And now you can't even read
music."

I broke down then, and told him
the whole story — about my long
friendship with Jerry, our conversa-
tion on the night before the week-end
trip, our meeting on my return and
what had happened since.

While I talked, Brad had sat at the
piano, drawing strange lines and
crosses on the margin of a musical
score.

"I can't bear to have him think
what he does about me," I finished.
"He's ruining himself, and it's all my
fault. I should have made him be-
lieve me!"

June, 1939

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"If a man ruins himself, it's usually
his own fault," Brad said wearily.
"All right, Nicky, I think I can prob-
ably find him for you. I know him
slightly, as a matter of fact. So
you run along home and stop wor-
rying."

I didn't hear from Brad the rest
of that night, nor until noon the next
day. Then he called me up. "I've
got your Jerry in my apartment," he
said. "I think you'd better come up
and see him."

"Is he — "

"Oh, he's all right. Just a little
ashamed of himself."

I went right up to Brad's apartment
on Central Park, and found both men
waiting for me. Jerry was wearing
a dressing gown that was so much
too big for him I knew it must be
Brad's. He looked tired and ill.

Brad excused himself as soon as I
came in, and left us alone. For a
moment there was silence. I don't
think either of us knew what to say.
Jerry spoke first.

I'VE made a fool of myself, Nicky,"
' he said humbly. "I'm sorry. Staley
brought me home with him last night
— I don't even know where he found
me — and this morning he told me
what really happened up at the lodge.
I — -well, all I can say is I'm sorry, and
I said that before."

"I'm sorry too," I told him.
He seized my hand and began to
talk very fast. "It was only because
I loved you so much, Nicky. I couldn't
tell you that before — I couldn't seem
to find the words, or the right time
and place. But I — I just went crazy
when you told me you were going
up to the lodge with Staley. I couldn't
get you out of my mind that Saturday
and Sunday — thinking about you,
wondering what you were doing. I
was crazy jealous. You understand,
don't you?"

"Yes. I understand."
"And you forgive me?"
"Of course I forgive you."
His tired face lit up, and he pressed
my hand harder between his own.
"Nicky — darling — if I don't say it now
I'll never dare to — won't you marry
me?"

I shook my head. "No, Jerry."
His brows drew down over eyes
that were suddenly darkly glowing
with anger. "You're in love with
Staley!" It was an accusation.

"Jealous again, Jerry?" I said

gently. "If I am in love with Brad,
that's my business. The point is, I
don't love you. I'm tremendously
fond of you, and I always will be. But
I don't love you. I don't think I ever
will now."

"Isn't there anything I can do — "

"You can't manufacture love, Jerry.
I think I was on the verge of loving
you, once, but you weren't willing to
trust me. Now I guess there's noth-
ing much either of us can do about
it."

He got up and stood there a min-
ute, looking forlorn and uncomfort-
able in his too-large dressing gown.
"I'll send Brad in to see you," he said,
and left the room.

A moment later Brad came in. His
eyes sought mine questioningly.

"Nicky!" he demanded. "I've got
to know. Do you love Jerry?"

"No."

"Thank heavens! I was afraid, for
a while — "

I stood up, holding out a hand as
if I could ward off the words I knew
were on his lips.

"You know just about every bad
thing there is to know about me,
Nicky," he said earnestly. "You know
I've played around — I've done as I
liked, always. Maybe I'm that kind
of a guy. But just the same — I'm ask-
ing you to marry me."

The longing to say yes struggled in
my heart with the old fear of him.
This man who always got what he
wanted — could a real marriage be
built, with him? Might there be a
day when what he wanted — wasn't
me?

HE SAW me hesitate, and rushed
on: "It was a game I tried to play
with you, that night at the lodge, but
I'm not playing games any more. And
last night, when I thought you were
in love with somebody else, I knew
I'd have to tell you soon — "

But I wasn't listening. My thoughts
had flown back to the day, two weeks
before, when he had stood beside me
at the window in his lodge. Then I'd
felt that he was consciously exerting
all his power upon me, mentally will-
ing me to surrender to him. Now all
that was gone. This wasn't the Brad
Staley I had known then. He was ut-
terly different. In love and humility,
he was surrendering to me.

I laid my hand on his arm. "Stop
it, Brad," I said, smiling. "Of course
I'll marry you."

Still friends — the Jack Bennys and the George Burnses who make
the social life in Hollywood gayer by their many unusual parties.

72

RADIO MIRROR

25 Years With Eddie

(Continued from, page 15)

time, to people like ray parents, the
good substantial folk, an actor was a
bum. They simply couldn't under-
stand what I saw in Eddie. They
thought I was crazy.

But he always made me laugh. And
with his sense of humor there was
mixed a priceless touch of pathos, the
heritage of a clown. Eddie has a sen-
sitivity and a feeling and a love for
humanity that amounts to a religion.
I can truthfully say that in all our
years together I have never heard him
utter one unkind word about any-
body.

I think that big-hearted, human side
of him developed during those early
days when he learned, first hand, the
meaning of struggle.

He knew my parents did not ap-
prove of him. Yet his actor blood ran
too deep for anyone to change the
course. Valiantly he tried to make
good and impress my family.

I SHALL never forget when he got
' himself a job as singing waiter in a
Coney Island cafe. He told me he was
the manager of the place. So I, want-
ing to show my relatives that Eddie
was really turning out to be some-
body, took them all to the cafe.
Eddie, seeing us enter, must have died
a million mental deaths. But he was
quick-witted enough to face any pre-
dicament. He merely tossed his apron
aside and, throughout the evening,
acted the part, transferring his orders
to the other employees and the owner.

It took a comparatively short while
for him to show my folks, because as
soon as Eddie worked for Gus Ed-
wards, he started making money.
After he traveled with the Edwards
act he sent me part of his salary to
save for him. The day that salary
reached one hundred dollars a week
he asked me to marry him.

At this time Eddie landed an en-
gagement in London. He planned
taking me to Europe for our honey-
moon.

My parents gave their consent. One
hundred dollars a week plus a Euro-
pean honeymoon meant success, even
if a man's business was in the theater.

So in 1914 we sailed, second class,
on the Aquitania.

I've always been proud of what
Eddie said about that trip: "It's all
right to travel second class, when you
travel with a first-class wife."

During the trip I faced reality, for
Eddie's act, due to his partner, didn't
work out so well, and we nearly went
hungry. Now we laugh whenever we
remember the day we counted pen-
nies before venturing tea in an Eng-
lish restaurant. Spying a huge tray
of French pastry, with a price tag on
it, a price equivalent to our dime,
Eddie gobbled six pieces, figuring that
if he stuffed himself he could go with-
out dinner, and ten cents seemed so
cheap for all that cake. It was his
mistake. When he paid the check he
discovered the sign meant ten cents —
apiece!

I could not help recalling that inci-
dent last summer, when, again, we
were in England, only now my Eddie,
who had known so well the meaning
of want, worked, night after night,
with all the concentrated power of his
talents, energy and emotions, to col-
lect money for refugees. And the boy,
who once was obliged to eat pastry in

June, 1939

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order to fill himself, had become a
man, who, within three weeks, col-
lected a sum equal to five hundred
and fifty thousand American dollars.

I thought of the incident again when
we visited Ambassador Joseph Ken-
nedy and his wife. The couples pre-
ceding us were announced, all im-
posing names, Lord and Lady This,
the Duke and Duchess of That. When
our turn came, imagine my embar-
rassment— Eddie whispered to the
footman, who immediately bellowed,
"Eddie and Ida!"

Ambassador and Mrs. Kennedy
rushed forward to greet us and I sud-
denly realized what my given name
has grown to mean. Eddie talks so
much about Ida that it had achieved
an identity of its own, an identity of
which I was totally unconscious until
that moment, and one other, drove it
home to me.

The other occurred at a charity
gathering when I was introduced to
President Roosevelt's mother as "Mrs.
Cantor," and she simply said, "So
you're Ida."

BECAUSE this surprised me, my girls
laugh, and say I'm naive. But I
have tried to stay out of the limelight.
I never go backstage. I keep away
from theatrical gossip. Before open-
ing nights, when Eddie is nervous and
jittery, I see that he takes a comfort-
able hotel suite so he can be alone and
attain at least a measure of calmness.
And I trained the children to be quiet.

The nervous disposition of Eddie's,
so typical of the artist, affects his en-
tire system. I am afraid it has made
him into something of a hypochon-
driac. He is apt to go on diet spurts
and then the whole family must go
right with him. When our daughter
Marilyn was quite little and we vis-
ited my relatives, she marveled, ex-
claiming over and over again, "What
good food they have." At that time
our branch, led by Eddie, was subsist-
ing on sauerkraut juice!

However, I am jumping ahead. Re-
turning from our honeymoon, we
moved into a small apartment in the
Bronx. I did the cooking. Eddie says
this is what gave him the incentive to
become a star. He says he knew he
had to make enough money to be able
to afford a cook because he never
could have lived on my culinary ef-
forts! He jokes like that, always.
But it was twenty years ago that he
first publicly told a joke about me.
It happened by accident.

He went away for the week-end
and I carelessly forgot to pack the
long woolen drawers he loved to
wear. Luck was against me, the
weather turning very cold. Conse-
quently, for two days and nights,
Eddie shivered in a poorly heated
country house. On Monday, when he
got back to New York, I didn't see
him, as I was spending the day with
some friends from out-of-town. That
evening, anxious to meet him, I went
to the theater and sat out front.
Eddie claims he senses when I'm in
the audience and that, by my laugh,
he can tell just where I'm sitting. So
it was after I had laughed that I saw
him stop short, walk straight to the
footlights and calmly ask the audi-
ence what they thought of a woman
who neglected to pack her husband's
woolen drawers when zero meets his
knees!

The audience loved this. They lit-
erally howled. The woolen drawers
routine went right into the show, and
from then on, Eddie made jokes about

74

his family and the little incidents that
are part of our everyday life. In fact,
he says we'll never be divorced be-
cause I've been such a good act!

Frankly, I play up to his sense of
humor. When Marilyn was born,
Eddie happened to be on the road
with "The Midnight Rounders." I
wired him, "Another girl, excuse it,
please!"

Eddie believes in disciplining by
jokes. When Edna bought a sweeps-
takes ticket, Eddie, who hates gam-
bling, never scolded. Instead, he
cooked up a scheme, with a New York
friend of his, to have her sent a tele-
gram announcing she had won. Edna,
all excitement, ran out and bought
, new clothes and presents for herself,
her sisters and each of the servants.
The final joke was really on Eddie, be-
cause her gifts were charged to his
accounts. However, he let everyone
keep their presents. We had a good
laugh. And Edna was cured of any
gambling tendencies.

Only once during our entire married
life have I seen Eddie unable to wise-
crack. That was in 1929 when the
stock market took his life earnings.
For three desperate weeks our house
seemed hopeless, silent, barren, un-
natural. Then one night, Eddie woke
me, demanding I listen to a new joke.
Until dawn we stayed up, while he
dictated gag after gag. By the next
evening he had written "Caught
Short," which sold over two hundred
thousand copies, starting him on his
way toward recouping a fortune.
But none of that mattered to me. I
was content in the knowledge that
Eddie was himself again. He had
thought of a joke.

As a man he is difficult to describe.
I have already written about his great
heart. As to his mind, well, he never
forgets a name or a face; he reads
practically every magazine published,
every story, every article, and what is
more, he remembers them.

As a father, in spite of joking about
that son, his love for his daughters is
beautiful to watch. Always, he has
been considerate, always careful
never to play favorites, never to hurt
anyone's feelings.

WE DID disagree over their educa-
tion. Eddie won, but he is a
graceful winner. I wanted all my girls
to go to college. Eddie felt that, un-
less they wanted to study, this was
foolish. So each daughter chooses her
career.

When Janet, our youngest, was
born, Eddie's hopes were so strong for
a boy that he had planned to name
him Michael, after his father. He
compromised by giving Janet the
middle name — of Hope.

If asked what he wished for them
he would say that he wants each to
find a nice husband, make a good wife
— and be happy.

He teases me for feeling blue be-
cause, up until now, our house has
been too small for such a large, grow-
ing family, and only last year we
built a new one, with a bedroom for
each daughter. Then Natalie and
Edna were married. And I see two
empty rooms. Mother-like, I sigh at
the passing of time, and the growing
up of our babies. But Eddie winks.
He says never mind, because maybe
there'll be a grandson — called Eddie
Cantor.

And I laugh, as I always laugh at
his jokes. Because that, of course, is
the most important rule for a wife —
to be an appreciative audience.

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Why Make Those Marriage
Mistakes?

(Continued from page 23)

do us part," meant just that as we
repeated it to one another.

You see, ours was not what Holly-
wood calls a "week-end" marriage.
We had talked about it for a long
time, and, as I told you, hurdled all
the "ifs" and "maybes" before we took
the final step.

I met David a long time ago — be-
fore my first marriage, as a matter
of fact. He was a staff arranger at
NBC in Chicago. I was a singer with
a band. Both of us were looking for
broader horizons. David was compos-
ing. His original modern pieces were
being played every week, on the Roy
Shields program, over NBC in Chi-
cago. Although he was young and
unknown, one of his numbers, a tone
poem, "Shadows," was played at a
concert in Grant Park. He had had
Hollywood offers, but was consider-
ing them only because he felt more
money would give him more freedom,
more time for creative work. I, too,
was Hollywood bound. My agents had
booked me for a run in a night club
there. If I clicked, they told me, I
might get a movie chance.

Even then, when each of us was
deeply engrossed in his own work,
David and I were aware of one an-
other. I remember when "Little
Jackie" Heller introduced us. "This
boy," I thought, "is really nice."

WE MET again in Hollywood. David
was to do some of my arrange-
ments for "The Big Broadcast of
1938." No one else has worked with
me since. It was David who convinced
me that I needn't be just a "comedy"
singer.

"You have a real voice," he told
me. "Use it. Sing it straight — then
swing it. They'll like you in a new
mood."

He worked out unusual harmonies
for me, showed me that I had range,
tone quality I'd never used. I've been
singing steadily better since I've
worked with David, and the credit is
entirely his.

His composing, in which I have only
an interested spectator's part, is done
when I am at work elsewhere. He
is working now on a rhapsody, "En-
senada Escapade." He plays part of
it for me when we are alone together
in the evenings. I think it is destined
to be a great modern work.

I suppose we're like the postman
on his day off, but much of our play
time, too, is devoted to music. We
have a wonderful radio-phonograph,
and a library of records . . . we both
love the moderns, Debussy, Stravin-
sky, De Falla. We plan whole con-
cert programs in advance, then sit in
front of the open fire and listen.

We spend most of our free time at
home. I have occasional vacations
from the studio, but we can't leave
town because of David's work and my
weekly radio broadcast. We go to
occasional concerts, work on our
music, and take long walks.

You see, we are still so much in
love that it is more fun to be alone.
Not only that, but too many good
times, at parties and night clubs, is
one of those mistakes I made before
and don't intend to make again. Don't
you make it either, whether yours is
a career marriage or not. Have your

Joan Blondell and Dick Powell, two great
Hollywood stars. Happily married, have two
children. Joan Blondell is said to originate
this very fashionable
hair-do. Her dress is
black and green with
jacket effect.

june, 1939

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75

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what causes this change?
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Send name and address on post card to S.S.S.
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"night out" once a week or so, and
enjoy it to the utmost. Then it be-
comes a luxury, a special occasion.
Parties and night clubs are like choco-
late cake — wonderful now and then,
but apt to cause indigestion if taken
as a steady diet.

Always remember that love can't do
without the simple, quiet hours to-
gether, and that no marriage can
really prosper if a couple insists upon
keeping up the rate of gayety that
was so much fun during courtship.

We live alone. My family is in
Hollywood, and so is David's. We see
a lot of them. They come for dinner
— we go to see them. But we know
we must keep our home for ourselves.
Mother and my step -father have the
big, hilltop house I lived in before
David and I were married. My
brother, who is starting out on a
career of his own, has his own apart-
ment. So does my father. David's
mother and father live quite close to
us — they have been so kind to me,
and I love them both — but they all
feel that we must have our chance at
life without the handicap of too many
onlookers.

PRIVACY is essential if you are to
make a marriage — any marriage —
work.

My secretary works at the studio.
David doesn't have to be bothered,
ever, with business correspondence, or
fan mail, interviews, or photograph
appointments. Nor am I ever bothered
with the smaller details of his busi-
ness. The maid has instructions never
to call us to the telephone for a busi-
ness conversation when we have
planned to spend an evening together.
If the phone is too persistent, we have
discovered a wonderfully effective
way to shut it off without pulling the
phone out of the wall, or even getting
the phone company into a dither over
line trouble by leaving the receiver
off the hook. Just dial the first two
digits of any phone number . . . your
line is busy the rest of the evening.
Only don't tell the phone company I
mentioned it.

The phone is a nuisance, sometimes,
but newspapers can be worse. When
we were first married, we often fumed
an entire day away because some col-
umnist had "rumored" that "Martha
Raye and David Rose are calling it a
day" or some such blast. One news-
paper man saw David having supper
alone at the Brown Derby. I was
working at the studio, it was the
maid's night out. David thought it
would be simpler to drop in at the
Derby for dinner than to raid the ice-
box. So he said we had "pffftt!"

It's easy enough to shrug your
shoulders at these items, to discuss
phoning the erring reporter and then
to agree to "skip it." But no matter
how many times you "skip it," a new
rumor always gets under the skin. If

we could only talk back!

We've solved that problem, too, just
like the telephone. We read maga-
zines— we have to find out somehow
what's going on in the world — and
have cancelled all our newspaper
subscriptions. The gossip hounds
can make up whatever they like
now: we're blissfully unaware of any
of it.

There are other "problems," much
thornier, really, which bother us much
less. On the subject of finances, we
have no disagreements. We worked
out a budget plan before we were
married, and so far have had no trou-
ble with it.

David pays half of the household
expenses, I pay half. He buys his
clothes, I buy mine. Ditto for our
automobiles, etc. We don't go in for
much swank — have a simple house,
two servants, each his own car. If
I make a little more money than he
does — it comes out even in the end
because I have more personal obliga-
tions. A gal doesn't know how many
relatives and old friends she has un-
til she becomes a movie star — nor
does she realize how much Uncle Sam
depends upon her to keep Congress
in session. But why worry? We live
very well, we put a little money in
the bank, and there are no arguments.
The financial hurdle is easier in a
career marriage, I think, than when
just one partner is bringing home the
pay-check.

We discourage "drop-in" guests.
We love to have people at the house,
but because our daily schedules are
unpredictable in advance, we prefer
to invite our families, and our friends,
to visit us on specified occasions. The
rare, unexpected evenings at home are
greater blessings when we can spend
them together, without interruptions.

I USED to have the idea that a bride
should conduct a sort of perpetual
open house. Most brides, proud of
their new homes and their new hus-
bands, probably feel that way too.
But it's a mistake — another mistake.
Have your friends when you're pre-
pared for them, and when you can
really enjoy their presence and de-
vote all your thoughts to them — not
when you've come home all tired out
and looking forward to a quiet eve-
ning listening to the radio or just sit-
ting and talking.

We have a few close friends. We
see them as often as we can. But if
I am in the midst of a picture, and
David is up to his ears in work, we
just hang the "Do Not Disturb" sign
on the front door. At times like that,
free time is too precious to share with
others.

There's very little more to tell.
We're working very hard, and living
very happily, and we hope "for ever
after." (You've no idea how hard it
is to write with your fingers crossed.)

What Do You Want to Say?

(Continued from page 3)

we laugh at a dummy, rather than at
other people's religion or the shape
of their noses. Lilian Milowsky,

New York, N. Y.

THIRD PRIZE

THE REAL ACTORS VERSUS THE REEL
ACTORS

I hope that Tyrone Power's recent
removal from the radio by his motion

picture bosses is the start of a general
exodus of movie actors from the air.
Personally, I am a bit weary of
hearing such a galaxy of movie stars
as we now have on our programs. It
seems to me that the majority of these
actors use this medium to publicize
and advertise themselves and their
current pictures. They laud their pic-
tures and praise their fellow-actors to

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RADIO MIRROR

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high-heaven. This doesn't make good
entertainment.

The radio needs something new,
and I'm of the opinion that using more
of the abundant talent it has in its
own field, is the answer.

There are REEL actors and there
are REAL actors. Let's keep them in
their places!

Mrs. M. Williamson,

Memphis, Tenn.

FOURTH PRIZE
AM I BURNED UP!

So, swing belongs with the riff-
raff? Well, what's it doing on the
radio?

Never yet have I turned on the
radio when swing music was all that
met my ears.

Everyone has his favorite form of
radio entertainment. If you don't like
swing, don't listen to it! Tune in on
your beloved classics, serials, drama
and comedy, and let us enjoy our
swing.

Has everyone completely forgotten
that there is still a younger genera-
tion, with its own ideas? Well, our
idea is to dance, laugh, be gay and
swing it!

Orchids to the jitterbugs and a
toast to swing!

Ruth Goldthwaite,
Allegany, New York

FIFTH PRIZE

THERE'S ALWAYS AN ALTERNATIVE

I bemoan the missing of Bette Davis'
"Alter Ego" broadcast. I'll bet it was
a "hummer" — if I know my Bette
Davis.

At least I have the consolation of
not missing the story itself — thanks
to Radio Mirror.

"Her Other Self" was just the sort
of story I enjoy most, something out
of the ordinary, not kiss and live
happily forever after.

When one gets through reading a
gripping story like that, it makes one
pause — maybe there is something in
this mystical Joan-Carmen matter!

Who knows? Can us poor mortals
say yes or no?

Tomothy F. Donovan,

Lewiston, Maine

SIXTH PRIZE

IS SHE A SOUR PUSS?

Hello there! Just how do you feel
about the new program "The Circle?"
Somehow I just haven't felt as though
I were a member of it as yet. For
the money invested, results are weak.
Anyway, I haven't gone out to buy
cornflakes in payment for my pleasure.

Does anyone agree with me or is
my "puss sour?" Mrs. L. V. S.,

Monroe, Wis.

SEVENTH PRIZE

THAT "SWING" IS HERE AGAIN!

I've read complaints in your column
about the swinging of classics but not
a word against the swinging of Negro
Spirituals.

These songs are sacred and it makes
my blood boil when I hear an orches-
tra beating out "Swing Low, Sweet
Chariot" and other spirituals.

And now they've gone to the Bible
for material to write swing songs.
This seems like mockery to me.

I like the right kind of swing music
but I believe in placing God and all
things sacred on the highest level.
Mrs. Margaret Powell,

McDonald, Pa.

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78

That's My Baby!

(Continued from page 36)

But Marge spoke too late. Johnny
had already "started" something.
There was a little "pop" as Cokey's
fist met Johnny's chin, and then a soft
thud as Johnny hit the floor. Once
more Cokey looked as if he would cry.

"I didn't want to do it. He made
me."

Ace sat up. "I'll move over and
make room for Johnny."

"Johnny ... oh dear," Jane ex-
claimed. "Look at him, he's so quiet."

"That's a pleasant change." Ace
got up painfully. "Did I go down like
that?"

"Just about," Marge replied, return-
ing with another glass of water.

Johnny came around slowly, and
after a few moments he regained his
composure and jumped up. "Say,
we're rich!"

"Rich? . . . What ..'.?"

"Why it's a natural. I'm his man-
ager, I tell you. I earned it just now.
What a fighter he'd make!"

"Wait a minute," Ace demanded, "I
did a little earning myself before you
came in here. If anybody's going to
be his manager . . ."

"What a right!" Johnny exclaimed
again. "I'm cutting myself in, do you
understand?"

"He's mine!" Ace shouted, "I'm his
father!"

"Okay," Johnny conceded, "we'll be
partners, you and me. We've got a
gold mine here."

IT'S strange what rapid changes can
be made in the Ace household
without anyone noticing that a change
was even contemplated. By the end
of the week, Cokey and his fistic
career had become a vital cornerstone
in the Ace family existence. Jane
was sitting over in a corner after din-
ner, sewing a pair of trunks for Cokey
to fight in. She was singing too.

"Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top,
when the wind blows . . ."

"Jane, will you stop that unearthly
noise?"

"When the wind blows . . ." Jane,
not having heard Ace's request,
looked up questioningly. "When the
wind blows he'll be awfully cold in
just these trunks. Do you think I
should make him a bathrobe too?"

"Oh, I don't care. Only hurry with
those trunks. You want to have them
ready for his first fight."

Monday night at the Coliseum
found everyone in Cokey's dressing
room except Marge, who was holding
seats at the ringside. Johnny was
giving instructions, and jabbering ex-
citedly about fighting for the cham-
pionship, and all the money they
would make. Ace wasn't carried away
by championship dreams, but since
he had bet fifty dollars on the fight,
he was excited about the easy money
he was going to make.

"Now Cokey," Johnny continued
instructing, "remember to watch out
for this fellow's right. I hear it's
dynamite, and if he ever hits you on
the button with that . . ."

"Huh?" Jane asked.

"I said, if he gets hit on the button,
he'll be knocked out."

"He will?"

"Oh Johnny," Ace said, "don't waste
time talking to her. I'm nervous
enough as it is is. What's the name of
this palooka we're fighting, anyway?"

"Kid Jones," Johnny answered. "By
the way, let's take a look at him. He's

in the next dressing room."

As the door closed behind them,
Jane went over to Cokey. "Did you
hear what they said?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, I made a big mistake, but
thank heavens it isn't too late. Here,
let me fix you."

"Hey," Cokey protested, "what'cha
doing?"

"There," Jane straightened up.
"Now it's fixed."

A few minutes later Ace and
Johnny returned. "All right, Cokey,"
Johnny exclaimed, "we're on."

Jane jumped up. "Okay, I'll give
the pep talk."

"Jane, this isn't a movie."

"Well, it's a fight, and you have to
talk real peppy to them to make them
want to win. And I know how. Now
Cokey, you want to be sure to win
and remember we're all for you and
you're all of us. And don't take no
for an answer."

"And don't take. . . . Isn't that aw-
ful?" Ace demanded.

"Yeah. Come on, Cokey." Johnny
took Cokey by the arm and they
started up the ramps toward the
stadium.

DUT at the entrance, Jane suddenly
D stopped. "Oh, dear, I forgot my
purse. Its on the chair in the dressing
room."

She started back toward Cokey's
dressing room, but of course she got
the wrong number at first, and was
nearly embarrassed to tears. But
after a few minor delays, she recov-
ered her purse and started back.

At the entrance she bumped into
Ace and Johnny, coming back! Cokey
was being carried between them.

"But . . . what happened?"

"One punch" Ace bellowed. "The
shortest fight in history."

"Yeah," Johnny moaned, "there
went our chance at the title, and
everything. Cokey didn't even put up
his hands. Just walked out and let
the guy hit him on the button."

"He did not," Jane retorted as they
dragged Cokey back into the dressing
room and laid him out on a table.
Ace grunted.

"Oh Jane, be quiet. You weren't
even there."

"It was over before I could get
back."

"I can't understand it," Ace turned
back to Johnny. He kept fooling with
his trunks, and took it right on the
button."

"He did not!" Jane exclaimed. "I
took the button off there."

"Will you stop interrupting while
. . . what button?"

"The button I sewed on his pants
to keep them up. I ripped it off when
you said, if he got hit on the
button . . ."

"You tore off the button that . . ."

"So that's why he couldn't raise
his hands!" Johnny exclaimed, "His
pants would have fallen down."

Ace sat down heavily. "If this isn't
the most ridiculous thing I ever
heard . . ."

(Yes, but when Ace made that
crack, he undoubtedly didn't know
about the present adventures the
"Easy Aces" are now having on the
air. Be sure to tune in every Tuesday,
Wednesday, and Thursday over the
Blue Network of NBC.)

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STUDY THE ADS AND
MAKE $2.00

Cash for Readers' Time

Pick out the advertisement which you like best,
or dislike most, in this issue of Radio Mirror. Then
tell us why in about fifty words.

Or, if you prefer, write about the product ad-
vertised. Have you had any experience with it,
favorable or unfavorable . . . tell us that. You can
praise or criticize, it makes no difference as long
as you believe it helpful, as long as it will help the
advertiser to write a better advertisement or make
a better product.

Leaf through the pages now, examine our ad-
vertisements carefully and then write us a letter
in your own words. Fancy composition not im-
portant. The Macfadden Women's Group* will pay
$2.00 for each contribution accepted.

Address your letters to:

Advertising Clinic

MACFADDEN WOMEN'S GROUP

122 East 42nd St., N. Y. C.

* The Macfadden Women's Group consists of five
magazines: True Romances, True Experiences, True
Love and Romance. Movie Mirror and Radio Mirror.
These five Macfadden publications are sold to adver-
tisers as a single advertising unit.

june, 1939

Lati

in

(Continued from page 33)

— before even the honors that it might
bring. And second, he is sensitive
and considerate about the people he
works with.

I noticed this again when he rushed
into the rehearsal studio and grabbed
a script to get to work. He went
around to every small radio bit player
and greeted each separately, taking
each one's hand and chatting a mo-
ment. A small thing, that, but reveal-
ing. Most Hollywood stars I know
would have ignored them.

In a way, it was this very consid-
eration, this latin courtesy that gave
Boyer his first big break in Holly-
wood.

Four years ago he was packed and
ready to hop the train from Holly-
wood, with his steamship tickets to
France in his wallet when a telephone
call came to him from New York. A
man he didn't know named Walter
Wanger said he'd appreciate it if
Boyer would stay over in Hollywood
until he arrived, as he was rushing
out to talk to him.

AT that point Charles Boyer didn't
** want to talk to anybody about
anything connected with Hollywood.
He had just ended his third heart-
breaking try at American pictures and
it had been anything but a charm.

The first time he had been imported
for French versions at Metro-
Goldwyn-Mayer, which studio
promptly stopped making French
versions when Boyer arrived. The
second time his MGM career con-
sisted of playing Jean Harlow's chauf-
feur in "Red Headed Woman" — a tiny
silent bit — and Boyer the most dra-
matic actor in France! The third time
had just ended disastrously with a
picture called "Caravan" at Fox
studios, and the less said about it the
better. After that, he had ripped up
his Fox contract and sworn off Holly-
wood for keeps.

But a man was crossing the con-
tinent just to see him — and — well, he
couldn't be rude. So he changed his
reservations. Meanwhile Walter
Wanger, the producer, had taken in
a ship's movie en voyage from Europe
to New York. The picture was a French
one, "La Bataille", and the star was
Charles Boyer. Wanger, Alfred Lunt
and Lynn Fontanne and a few other
passengers who should have known,
agreed he was terrific. Hence
Wanger's wire — and hence, too, "Pri-
vate Worlds" and Boyer's Hollywood
"discovery" a little later. It pays to
be courteous and considerate.

The thing that still baffles the old
radio hands around NBC is how
Charles Boyer caught on to his job
so quickly.

Besides one or two guest spots
with Louella Parsons on the old
Hollywood Hotel, Charles Boyer had
never breathed his fiery charm into
the business end of a mike until Ty-
rone Power left the Woodbury show
last year on vacation. He didn't know
a cue from a station break.

But when he left the air after his
pinch-hitting, anxious ladies swamped
him with letters. The collective wails
explained that a catastrophe had be-
fallen American womanhood which
could be righted only by Charles
Boyer's radio return.

So when Darryl Zanuck eased Ty-
rone Power off the air in the recent

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80

Great Radio Purge of picture person-
alities, Woodbury's, naturally, offered
the spot to Charles, and he accepted.

It doesn't take any gift of second
sight to realize at once that the Wood-
bury Hollywood Playhouse is all
Charles Boyer's show. First of all,
he chooses the script material. "I
spend four hours every day reading
material," he told me. If you don't
think that's a job — try it some time —
especially when you're making a pic-
ture at the same time. It means you
read at breakfast, at lunch and after
dinner too.

He supervises writing the script. He
picks every member of the cast.
Around NBC they chuckle at the ex-
acting way he picks his supporting
players — as if they were actually to
appear on the stage.

Just the other week the Woodbury
script called for a little, bent old man
— a minor part. Now, of course, some
of the best old men's voices on the
air are played by youngsters in their
twenties. As far as radio goes, what's
in a face? It's the voice that counts.

DUT Boyer couldn't see it that way.
^ He interviewed a string of hopeful
players until finally he found a little
bent, gray headed old actor with just
the right senile quaver in his voice!
Only then was he happy.

His own enthusiasm for seeing his
radio job as a real acting assignment
makes him put on by far the best
personal show of any dramatic air
star. Boyer, in fact, had a hard time
remembering he's playing to the mike
instead of the large studio audience
that gathers to hear his shows. Some-
times he forgets and almost upsets
his shows, such as the other night
when he was supposed to choke a vil-
lain. Boyer got so worked up he
reached across and grabbed the actor
by the neck, as the mike stand tee-
tered dangerously and the audience
roared. Another time he beat sav-
agely on one of his actor's ribs, al-
most drowning out the dialogue.
Boyer's own excuse is that acting en-
thusiasm "projects" over the air, even
if you can't see it — and a lot of people
say he's right about that. In other
words, you can feel a smile or a
frown in a voice, if it's the real
article.

If genius is the capacity for taking
infinite pains as Thomas Carlyle is
supposed to have said, Boyer is al-
ready a radio genius. As his cast
grouped around him in a semicircle
to rehearse his script, he governed
every tempo and changed the inflec-
tions of almost every speech. His big
eyes darted around the circle to every
voice as it spoke, appraising or criti-
cal. He was familiar with every word
in his script.

He shuttled constantly between the
stage and the glassed-in control booth
to consult with producers Dave Elton
and Jay Clarke. Even the sound
effects concerned him. He dropped
everything twice to go through a
series of experiments with the sound
man, trying to get just the right vol-
ume to a water splash!

Boyer's coat was off by now, his
tie dangling. Cigarettes littered the
floor, for Boyer is a chain smoker.
(He's trying to give up cigarettes
now, though, since a doctor told him
it would hurt his radio voice.)

After the fifth rehearsal his red lips
parted. "Ah," he said happily, "that's
more like it!" The rest of the cast
was limp. But Boyer paced to and

fro nervously. "Let's do it again,"
he pleaded.

Boyer's accent is his greatest per-
sonal bugaboo. Oddly enough, and
he realizes it to some extent, it is also
a large part of his terrific charm.
There is nothing more devastating to
American womanhood than a latin
accent, especially one like Boyer's
that reeks with romance.

After one of his first guest star
radio appearances, Charles Boyer re-
ceived a letter from a woman listener.
"I can't understand half what you say,
Toots," she wrote, "but that's okay
with me. Just keep talking and I'll
listen!"

Boyer can laugh at things like that
but they bother him just the same.
"I was scared to death when I started
this program," he told me. His great-
est fear, he said, was of sounding like
a musical comedy Frenchman, a "zis
and zat guy." He records his rehears-
als every Thursday and takes them
home with him to go over with his
cute blonde, English wife, Pat Pater-
son. Together they iron out the Anglo-
Saxon tongue twisters that might
make him sound funny on the air.

He's eager and impatient every
second he's near a microphone.
There's little time for the gags that
all radio people are so fond of, but
when they do creep in, he never fails
to catch on quickly and usually
manages to supply a topper.

He plays a violin slightly — in a
squeaky and somewhat corny manner,
and sometimes at rehearsals to relax
himself he grabs a fiddle from some
member of the orchestra and saws
away, to the consternation of every-
one within earshot.

TO trick him one night, his writer
typed into his script the line, "I will
now play 'The Bee'." At the first
reading, Boyer came to the line, read
it with a slight frown of surprise and
then walked rapidly to the orchestra.
Borrowing a violin with mock gravity
he stepped to the microphone with
a flourish and played "The Bee"! It
was pretty awful, but it actually was
"The Bee." Nobody had any idea he
knew Jack Benny's favorite melody,
least of all the chagrined prankster.

Champagne is Boyer's favorite
drink, and when he's in the mood he
can consume a quart of it at a sitting.
After his debut program gagsters
again ganged up on him. They in-
vited him to a champagne supper —
only the champagne, served in im-
pressive gold sealed bottles, was gin-
gerale.

Boyer drank without blinking an
eye and complimented his hosts ex-
travagantly on the excellence of the
vintage. Then he asked the privilege
of buying everyone a drink, saying
he wanted to select the whiskey per-
sonally. He whispered to the waiter
and soon the highballs arrived. The
special whiskey was black tea!

As usual, Charles Boyer sails for
his beloved Paris this summer, where
he can absorb all the real vintage
champagne he wants — and even more
violent feminine worship than Holly-
wood can hand him.

Despite these two potent attrac-
tions, he's cutting his trip shorter this
year than ever before. He'll be back
in two months to start work on the
fall Woodbury Hollywood Playhouse.
Pictures never pulled him back that
soon.

"But radio," said Charles Boyer,
"ah — that is different!"

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RADIO MIRROR

205 East 42nd Street, New York, N. Y.

The Case of the Hollywood
Scandal

(Continued from page 39)

warm brown eyes, very full red lips,
a smooth satiny complexion, average
height, approximately one hundred
and sixteen pounds, possessing a su-
perb figure, and naturally graceful in
her actions. She disclosed even, reg-
ular teeth when she smiled, was
probably about twenty-four, and ac-
cording to the clerk, might be in
pictures, because of her beauty —
although he was quite certain he'd
never seen her face on the screen.

After reading that, I was inclined,
to forgive his smirks. He'd evidently
been completely hypnotized. He
hadn't been able to describe a single
article of clothing I was wearing —
only to give a glowing, but neverthe-
less general and vague description.

I had breakfast and went to the
office, opening the door with the key
Mr. Foley had given me. There was a
pile of mail under the door, and, be-
cause Mr. Foley had given me no
instructions about opening mail, I
stacked it in a neat pile on his desk.

While I worked, I kept thinking of
the events of the night before. Had
Bruce Eaton taken that agreement?
Had Mr. Padgham opened my brief
case under cover of the darkness in
the corridor? There had been an in-
terval, while he was groping for the
light switch.

I OPENED the drawer to take out my
' shorthand book. I couldn't find it.
Hastily, I searched every drawer in
the desk. My book was gone!

The door opened, and Mr. Padgham
entered the office. He was flustered
and pretty much excited.

"Where's Foley?" he asked.

"Mr. Foley hasn't come in yet," I
told him.

He came across the room to stand in
front of my desk. "What happened to
you last night?"

"What happened to you?" I coun-
tered. "I waited in the automobile,
expecting you'd be right down."

"You weren't there when I got
back."

"Well," I told him, "I was only gone
for a minute. I had no idea you'd
run away and leave me."

"I didn't run away and leave you,"
he sad. "You ran away and left me."

I took refuge behind a secretarial
mask. "I'm sorry," I said, with im-
personal politeness.

He studied me with his selfish, glit-
tering, deep -set little eyes.

"Have you," he asked, "read the
morning papers?"

"Yes."

"You understand, then, what it was
you saw last night?"

"Certainly."

"You haven't — well, I gather from
the description given by the drug
clerk that you were the one who no-
tified the police."

I smiled serenely up at him. "Why,
of course, I notified the police, Mr.
Padgham. Isn't that the proper thing
to do when one stumbles upon the
body of a murdered man?"

"It may be proper, but — but, well,
is it advisable?"

"I thought it was," I said.

"I'm not certain that Mr. Foley will
like it."

"We'll leave that matter entirely up
to Mr. Foley," I said.

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81

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82

He leaned impressively forward
until his cheeks were so close I could
smell the odor of shaving lotion.
"You'd better be pretty careful not to
offend me, Miss Bell," he said. "You
understand that I could tell the police
who instructed the drug clerk to put
in that call."

"Why, certainly," I said, making my
eyes large and round with simulated
hurt innocence. "Aren't you going
to? I am. I'll tell them I ran
down to the drugstore to telephone,
while you went into the house to — "

He straightened as though I'd
jabbed him with a pin. The color left
his cheeks momentarily, then returned
darker than ever. "Miss Bell," he
said, "under no circumstances are you
ever to tell a living soul that I was
in that house."

"Under those circumstances," I said,
"it's up to you to keep the police from
finding out I was the one who talked
with the drug clerk."

He cleared his throat and returned
to his pompous manner.

"Of course," he said, "there are
times when a — er — ah — prevarication
is sometimes not entirely unwise."

"You mean lie to the police?" I
asked, keeping my eyes big.

He was about to say something
more when Mr. Foley came in.

Mr. Foley nodded to me and, I
thought, from the look on his face,
that finding Mr. Padgham there irri-
tated him. He said, "Come in, Padg-
ham. Please see that I'm not dis-
turbed, Miss Bell."

I saw that he wasn't interrupted, to
the extent of stalling off two tele-
phone calls and a person who looked
like a salesman.

The telephone rang and, as I picked
up the receiver a masculine voice
asked, "Is this the office of Mr. Wil-
liam C. Foley, the attorney?"

I launched into my speech. "I am
very sorry, but Mr. Foley isn't avail-
able. If you'll leave your number,
I'll have him call . . ."

"I don't want Foley," the voice said.
"I want his secretary."

"Oh," I said inanely.

"Are you she?"

"Yes."

"Hold the line, please."

I felt suddenly weak. I had to prop
my elbow on the desk to hold the re-
ceiver to my ear. There was no need
to tell me who it was. I knew.

I could hear the rustle of motion at
the other end of the line as the re-
ceiver changed hands. A masculine
voice which I'd have recognized any-
where— I'd heard it often enough on
the air — said, "I am trying to get in
touch with a young woman who left
a message for me. I am very anxious
indeed to talk with her."

I tried sparring for time. "Do you
know her name?" I inquired.

His voice became sharply authori-
tative. "A young woman," he said,
"telephoned one of the principal Hol-
lywood agencies last night about leav-
ing a message for a gentleman whose
name she mentioned. She stated the
party could get in touch with her
through you."

"Yes," I said, "I understand. I
know the party."

"That's better," he told me. "I'll be
at the Royal Hawaiian Cafe in Holly-
wood at twelve-thirty. Please ask
this young woman if she'd care to
have lunch with me . . ."

"Oh, but that's way out in Holly-
wood!" I exclaimed. "This party
works. You'd have to come in to Los
Angeles to see her."

"All right," he said. "I'll drive past
any corner you name at any time you
mention."

"Make it Fifth and Spring," I said,
"at ten minutes past twelve. I'll —
she'll be on the northwest corner."

"All right," he said. "Now remem-
ber this. I'll recognize her. If this
is on the up and up, it's all right. If
it isn't, there's going to be trouble."

"There won't be any trouble," I said.

"Very well,' he said crisply, "now
please take a message for this party.
Tell her it is absolutely imperative
that she say nothing whatever to any-
one about anything which happened,
and if she found any of my property,
she's to keep it until she can return
it to me in person. Can you get that
message to her?"

"Yes."

He had no more than hung up when
Mr. Foley pressed my buzzer.

I grabbed a new shorthand book
and entered the office. Mr. Padgham
had gone. The boss motioned me to
a seat. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Fine," I said.

Abruptly, he said, "Don't trust
Padgham."

I kept quiet.

"I wanted to see you," he went on,
"before you'd talked with him. How
long had he been here before I ar-
rived?"

"About ten minutes."

"What did you tell him? Any-
thing?"

"Mr. Padgham," I said, "of course
realized that I must have been the one
who telephoned for the police."

"Did you tell him it was at my sug-
gestion?"

"No."

"Did you tell him that you had met
me out there?"

"No."

"Did you accuse him of taking those
agreements from your brief case?"

"No. I don't think he did. I thought
so at first, but now I don't — well, I
don't think he would have done it."

"Why?"

"Because the person who took them
must have been someone who wanted
to know what was in them. Mr.
Padgham already knew."

A look of relief came over his face.
"Thank heavens, you have sense," he
said. "What did you tell him?"

"As I explained to you, when I left
Mr. Padgham's automobile, I went
down to the drug store. He assumed
this morning that I'd gone to tele-
phone the police."

Mr. Foley stared thoughtfully at the
carpet for a second or two, then said,
"Don't ever trust yourself to the
mercy of a grandstander."

"Is Mr. Padgham a grandstander?"
I asked.

"A grandstander and a four-flusher.
That type of man always thinks of
himself first, foremost and always.
He'll sacrifice anyone in a pinch.
You have noticed the way he talks?"

"Yes," I said. "He usually hesitates
in the middle of a sentence, and then
comes out with a big word which he
seems to roll over his tongue with all
the satisfaction of a mother cat purr-
ing over her kittens' bath."

Mr. Foley threw back his head and
laughed. "I'm going to remember
that. That's priceless!"

"Is that," I asked, "what you
wanted me to notice about his conver-
sation?"

"Yes," he said. "The sincere,
straightforward man of action usually
chooses short, crisp words. He never
uses a long word when he can express

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himself with a shorter word. Padg-
ham talks along until he gets near the
middle of the sentence, and then
pauses to find the most impressive
word he can think of. Mind you, he
already has the thought of the sen-
tence, already has it clothed in every-
day words, but he hesitates so he can
substitute some longer word which
will sound more impressive. And
when he pronounces it, he slows down
the tempo of his diction slightly, so
as to make the word seem longer than
it really is.

"Don't ever let him get anything
on you. If the going gets rough, he'll
toss you out to the wolves."

"If it's not being presumptuous," I
asked, "did Mr. Padgham explain any-
thing to you about this contract?"

"He did," Mr. Foley said dryly, "and
I have come to distrust his explana-
tion."

Abruptly I asked, "Do you always
get your secretaries at that same em-
ployment agency?"

"Yes. Why?"

"And pick them in the same way?"

"Yes. Why?"

"It occurred to me," I said, "that
someone has been particularly in-
terested in finding out the terms of
that agreement. The accident which
crippled your secretary was deliber-
ate— as the detective pointed out.
Someone tried the same trick on me
last night. Fortunately, I escaped. I
think Miss Blair was in the car. And
she certainly thought she was going
to be your new secretary. If you had
employed her instead of me — well, you
can see how simple it would have
been for her to have taken your dic-
tation, then telephoned her accom-
plice . . ."

DUT what's in that agreement," he
u interrupted, "that the whole world
couldn't see?"

"I don't know," I told him, "but I
do know it's something. Last night,
someone stole the agreement. This
morning, my shorthand book with
the notes is missing from my desk."

He stared at me, and was just start-
ing to say something when the door
from the reception room opened, and
a fleshy woman in the late forties
came sailing into the room, talking
before she'd crossed the threshold.

"I'm looking for Mr. Foley, the law-
yer," she said.

Mr. Foley gravely inclined his head
and indicated a chair. "I am Mr.
Foley," he said.

"And I'm Mrs. Charles Temmler.
You know, it was in my house the
body of Carter Wright was found by
the police last night."

Mr. Foley's eyes indicated that I
was to remain and listen. "Yes, Mrs.
Temmler," he said.

"Carter Wright had been employed
by my husband as the chauffeur and
discharged for dishonesty," she said,
dropping into the proffered chair.

"Indeed," Mr. Foley said, inviting
her to go on; and go on she did in a
big way.

"My husband," she said, "had some
very important papers, and for rea-
sons best known to himself placed
them in a safety deposit box in a rural
bank. Carter Wright stole the key
to that safety deposit box, and had it
with him at the time he was mur-
dered. I want to avoid any publicity,
but that key is my property and I
want you to get it for me."

"Why," asked Mr. Foley, "did you
come to me?"

(Continued on page 85)

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83

//

IS MY FACE

RFDI

it

Walter Wanget

JUNE is at hand, with joyous pros-
pects of vacations and weekends.
Summer is outdoor playtime. The
modern girl is an outdoor girl, a good
companion in all the sports the sum-
mer offers — motoring, boating, fishing,
swimming, tennis, badminton, and all
the rest. But a word in your ear,
lady: what are you planning to do
about sunburn?

Of course we are no longer so fool-
ish as to blister ourselves into a
physician's care the very first day out.
But many a girl who stops short of
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The radio stars know better than
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days at 8:00 p. m., condemns sun-
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terms. "I think it is just plain
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says she. "Even if you never go to
the beaches, the reflected glare from
city pavements is enough to damage
an unguarded complexion. And what
about that unsightly burned triangle
on your collar bones and chest that
marks the neckline of your summer
dresses and blouses? It certainly is
unbecoming with evening gowns."

Claire is one of the most consistent-
ly charming of radio's and movies'
favorites. Her lovely complexion is
evidence of intelligent care.

84

Claire Trevor, star of the CBS dramatic serial, Big Town.

By DR. GRACE GREGORY
■ Don't start your summer vocation
before you've educated yourself to
the intelligent way of sun-tanning!

Sunburn, even in mild form, defi-
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spend a long blissful day on a boat,
in a glare from sky and sea which
nothing can withstand. Quick, Henry,
the healing cream or lotion or salve!

Which you will need depends upon

RADIO MIRROR

• • * •

all sorts of considerations. First, the
tried and true burn remedy that
comes in a handy tube. Sunburn, re-
member, is a real burn, just as much
as what you get when you touch a
hot stove. Then, there is another
remedy with a long history back of
it — a healing balm. Just a drop goes
a long way. And how comforting it
is! Or, if you prefer, there is an ex-
quisitely cooling and healing grease-
less cream that gives instant relief.

AND DON'T FORGET—

AS the summer days come, do not
^ forget the usual cold creams and
other creams which you are accus-
tomed to use. A good cleansing cream,
followed by soap and water, removes
make up and dust. Quite a battle
rages between those who use soap and
water alone and those who use cleans-
ing cream alone. I vote for both.

The night creams and foundation
creams keep the skin supple. Oddly
enough, they are a corrective for both
the too-dry and the too-oily condi-
tion. Choose the ones best suited to
you. There are many on the market,
put out by cosmetic firms of estab-
lished reputation, whose very name is
a guarantee of the purity and re-
liability of their products.

RADIO MIRROR

(Continued from page 83)

"Because," she said, "I happened to
know that before Carter Wright was
discharged, he'd been in correspon-
dence with a man by the name of
Padgham, and Mr. Padgham sent
Carter Wright a telegram in which
he said he would employ you to
draw up an agreement, that you
are one of the best and most con-
scientious attorneys in the country.
I just happened to remember your
name, and not knowing any lawyers
whom I could trust, I came to you."

"Most flattering," Mr. Foley agreed,
"but suppose Mr. Padgham's business
with Carter Wright should have had
something to do with that safety de-
posit box — mind you, I'm not saying
that it does because I don't know — but
I'm merely outlining the possibilities.
You can readily see that, as an attor-
ney, I would be placed in an impos-
sible position."

"Oh, but that key has nothing to do
with Mr. Padgham's business!" Mrs.
Temmler exclaimed.

"Do you know the nature of Carter
Wright's business with Mr. Padg-
ham?"

"Oh, yes. It had something to do
with acting. Carter got to thinking
he was an actor. He was a very ex-
cellent chauffeur until he started in
training with a theatrical crowd — not
real actors, amateurs. He entered the
Little Theater plays and had some
flattering press notices, and he hasn't
been worth anything since."

"But," Mr. Foley objected, "even if
I agreed to represent you, I couldn't
do anything except go to the police.
The coroner took charge of Carter
Wright's personal effects, everything
that was in his pockets or — "

"But that's just what I want you to
do! I want you to go to the coroner
at once. But you mustn't tell him
whom you're representing."

Mr. Foley smiled. "I'm afraid I
couldn't get hold of a key to a safety
deposit box unless I explained mat-
ters fully — and even then the police
would open the lock box and inven-
tory the contents in the presence of a
representative of the state inheritance
tax appraiser."

Disappointment flooded her fea-
tures. She said, impatiently, "Mr.
Padgham said in his telegram that
you were a very resourceful attor-
ney."

Mr. Foley said, sympathetically,
"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Temmler, but
I'd have to be more than resourceful
to get possession of that key. ... In
whose name is the box registered?"

"Well," she said, "you see — "

"Yes?" Mr. Foley asked, as she hesi-
tated.

"It's rather a peculiar situation,"
she said. "The box is registered in
such a way that whoever has posses-
sion of the key has access to the con-
tents of the box. It's an arrangement
— well, Mr. Foley, I suppose it's ille-
gal, but you mentioned something
just now about the state inheritance
tax appraiser. He's always supposed
to be present when the safety deposit
boxes of dead persons are opened,
isn't he?"

"A representative of his office," Mr.
Foley said, glancing significantly at
me.

"Well," she said glibly, "that's the
reason we rented this box the way we
did. It's rented under an assumed
name. My husband told the banker
he was negotiating an agreement with
(Continued on page 87)

june, 1939

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85

HE CUP THAT CHEERS

Tea keeps him in
top form, says Doc
Rockwell of NBC's
Brain Trust show.

IT WAS William Cowper who first
said, in speaking of tea, 'cups that

cheer but not inebriate,' and even
though that was nearly two hundred
years ago it's still the best description
of tea that's ever been given."

The speaker was Doc Rockwell,
radio's newest comedy star. We were
sitting in his office just after he'd
finished putting his "Brain Trusters"
through their regular stiff rehearsal
for their Tuesday night show over
NBC, and Doc was busy making tea,
which he consumes in quantities and
considers indispensable for keeping at
top form in the busy, nerve-wracking
life he leads.

"Tea's really a man's drink, you
know," Doc went on. "Heaven alone
knows where the past generation got
the idea of associating it only with
women's parties and gossip. Originally
tea drinking was a ceremony, in-
dulged in by the prominent men of
the community. Statesmen, philoso-
phers and other big-wigs would sit
for hours over their tea, discussing
and solving the problems of the day.
If the early Chinese had had the word
for it they would have called it a
dual purpose drink, for it first relaxes
then stimulates, and the combination
results in the cheer that our old friend
Cowper mentioned."

Like all connoisseurs on any given
subject Doc is full of fascinating in-
formation about his hobby, not only
ancient lore about the ceremonials
in which tea drinking was an im-
portant part, but facts and figures
about the growing, harvesting and
curing of the tea leaves. Only the
three tenderest leaves are picked from
a stalk, he tells me, for it is these
tender leaves alone that will produce
the fine flavored brew that exacting
appetites demand today.

In support of his statement that tea
is a man's drink, Doc cited a num-
ber of interesting examples. For in-
stance its use by athletic coaches as
part of the training table diet of
the athletes under their charge. "At
Notre Dame," Doc said, "athletes can
drink all the tea they want with their
meals, and on the day of a game

86

By Mrs. Margaret Simpson

they are given a late morning meal
of tea and toast, their final meal before
the game."

Whether you buy the finest of teas,
which, Doc told me, is the Darjeeling,

TEA for TWO-or TWENTY

There's no more charming or hospitable
gesture than the serving of tea to one's
guests. ... It is the mark of the gracious
and sophisticated hostess. . . . Whether
your tea party is large or small, you will
want to add individual touches that will
make the gathering stand out in your
guests' minds as one of the most delight-
ful they have ever attended. . . . One
way to do this is to vary the condiments
and flavorings with which tea is usually
served. . . . Lemon, cream and sugar,
of course, but for extra interest serve
some of the following sweetmeats for
additional flavor. . . . Lemon or orange
slices stuck with cloves. . . . Maraschino
cherries. . . . Fresh mint, lemon verbena
or rose geranium leaves. . . . Candied
fruits, such as lemon or orange peel. . . .
Fruit drops of any desired flavor. . . .

RADIO MIRROR

• *

grown in India, or the most inexpen-
sive brand your grocer carries, you
are sure of a drink fit for a king for
only a few cents a cup. The secret
lies in the preparation. Here are Doc's
rules for making fine tea.

"Have the water bubbling hot. If
you are using a teapot, pour sufficient
boiling water into the pot to heat it.
Pour off this water, then add the tea
— one teaspoon of tea leaves (or one
tea bag) per cup, and one for the
pot. Now pour on the boiling water,
a cupful for each teaspoonful of tea
leaves, cover the pot, and allow the
tea to steep."

The length of time for steeping de-
pends on your own taste. Doc believes
that the full flavor and aroma will
not be released from the leaves under
four or five minutes. For tea to be
served with milk, and for the early
morning cup which helps you to open
your eyes and for late afternoon
drinking, when you need a gentle
stimulant after a hard day, he says no
less than five minutes, though for tea
to be served with a meal a milder
brew is sufficient.

For iced tea — and very soon now
we'll be serving it daily, for nothing
can quite take its place as a sum-
mer beverage — Doc suggests that you
double the amount of tea used per
cup, for a stronger infusion is needed
to maintain the flavor after the brew
has been diluted by the melting ice.

IT'S REFRESHING—

ONE of the most versatile products
you will find at your grocer's these
days is tomato juice. There's nothing
more refreshing and appetizing as a
pre-luncheon or dinner cocktail than
rich red, ice-cold tomato juice, served
just as it comes from the can, but if
you prefer a tangier taste, try adding
the following ingredients to a can of
the ready prepared juice:

1 small onion, sliced thin

2 tbls. minced celery leaves
1 tsp. lemon juice

Let the mixture chill in the refrig-
erator for an hour before serving,
then strain and serve.

RADIO JVMRROB

(Continued from page 85)
another party covering the possession
of certain notes that had to do with a
very valuable invention. The notes
were too valuable to be delivered in
the ordinary course of business and so
my husband had arranged to give the
purchaser the key to this box when
the money was paid over. The bank
was to give this purchaser, or his le-
gal representatives, access to the box
whenever he showed up with the
key."

"That," Mr. Foley said, "is highly
irregular."

"I know it's irregular. That's why
my husband chose this country bank
at Las Almiras. I don't suppose they
have more than half a dozen safety
deposit boxes in all. And my husband
signed a blank power of attorney
which the banker agreed to fill in
with the name of any person who
might appear with the key."

"Then the box actually does contain
notes relating to an invention?" Mr.
Foley asked.

She said, "Well, there are some
notes there, yes; but those are just a
blind. There's currency in the box."

"Where's your husband now?"

"He's in New York."

"Why don't you have your husband
wire the banker that the key had been
stolen, and withdraw any authoriza-
tion to enter the safety deposit box?"

"Because my husband doesn't know
it's been stolen."

"How does that happen?"

"He trusted the key to me. . . . Can't
you see? That's why I'm so anxious
to get it back. He'll think I was
having an affair with the chauffeur.
I must get it back without anyone
knowing."

MR. FOLEY said, "I'm very sorry,
Mrs. Temmler. There's nothing I
can do. The entire affair sounds rather
— well, rather bizarre. Incidentally,
Mrs. Temmler, if the police have
found any such key they didn't men-
tion it to the newspaper reporters."

"Oh, they've found it right enough,"
she said.

"You're certain?" Mr. Foley asked.

"Quite. They must have found it.
Carter Wright had it with him. I
know he did."

"Do you know who killed him?"

"No, of course not."

"Do you have any suspicion?"

She said, "Well, my — no, I won't
say that! No, I haven't even any
suspicion."

Mr. Foley said, with an air of final-
ity, "Mrs. Temmler, I think you
should go to the district attorney.
Tell him your story in detail. Ask
him to see that your identity is
guarded."

She got to her feet, and pointed
angrily at him. "And I thought I
could count on you for help ! I thought
that's what an attorney was for."

"A lawyer," Mr. Foley said, "is
obligated to cooperate with law en-
forcement, not to conspire to thwart
it."

"Bosh," she said, as she sailed
through the door. "That's a perfectly
mid-Victorian outlook on life! I
thought you were resourceful."

The slamming of the door punc-
tuated her departure.

I knew that Mr. Foley would be
looking at me, and, for the life of me,
I couldn't bring myself to meet his
eyes. Should I have told him about
that key to the safety deposit box?
There it was in my purse right this

JUNE, 1939

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minute. . . . But it was Bruce Eaton's
property. He'd said so himself. He'd
told me I wasn't to mention it to any-
one. I was to return it to him per-
sonally.

Mr. Foley said, "If you're interested
in voices, Miss Bell, make a note of
that woman's. Don't ever trust the
judgment of a woman who forms her
word sounds on the roof of her mouth.
You can trust the integrity of persons
who talk that way, but you can never
trust their judgment."

"It impressed me," I said, "that she
was lying."

Mr. Foley laughed. "Of course, she
was lying. That stuck out all over
her. The question arises as to where
the truth left off and where fabrica-
tion began. Doubtless, I could have'
discovered it, if I'd taken the trouble
to cross-examine her."

"Why can't you trust people who
talk with the roofs of their mouths?"

T 3^jl<rA(~l

"I don't know," Mr. Foley said, "but
you can't — not in ninety per cent of
the cases. Such people may have
imagination. Usually they're quick,
intelligent, and highly versatile, but
you can't trust their judgment. If
you want someone who has good
mental perspective — which is, after
all, a necessity to judgment — pick
someone who talks with his dia-
phragm."

I WANTED to get away, wanted to
' be where I could think things over.
After all, I was working for Mr.
Foley. He'd been simply splendid to
me, and . . .

"I'm going out," he said, "and won't
be back until quite late this after-
noon. In fact, I may not be in again
all day."

The announcement was a relief.
"May I leave for lunch promptly at
twelve, Mr. Foley?" I asked.

He glanced at me sharply, and I felt
myself color.

"Some day," he said, his eyes twin-
kling, "I'll tell you about the little
trick of vocal expression which means
that a woman's thinking of the man
of whom she's very, very fond. . . .
Yes, Miss Bell, by all means; leave
a little before twelve if you want.
You've had rather a strenuous time
of it, so you don't need to come back
at all this afternoon — and I hope you
have a very nice luncheon with a very
fascinating young man," and he
walked out of the door leaving me
standing there, blushing like a school-
girl.

I felt self-conscious standing on the
corner with the hordes of luncheon-
goers streaming past me. I won-
dered what they'd think if some-
one had pointed me out and said,
"There's the little secretary waiting
on the corner for Bruce Eaton to come
and take her to lunch."

My heart thumped wildly as a big,
blue automobile slid in close to the
curb. It was he!

Bruce Eaton smiled at me and
raised his hat.

Feeling that strange sense of un-
reality which comes in dreams, I
pushed forward. He opened the door,
and I found myself seated beside him.
He slid the gearshift lever back into
place, and the big automobile shot
across the street.

"So it really was you, after all," he
said.

"What was?" I asked.

"The young woman who telephoned
my agent. I was afraid it was some
sort of a racket."

My laugh was nervous. "I was
afraid — oh, skip it."

"After the way I treated you last
night," he said, "I suppose you expect
almost anything from me. I'm sorry,
but circumstances made it necessary
for me to act as I did. I'm hoping
you'll give me the opportunity to ex-
plain."

"You don't need to," I told him,
"because there's nothing to explain.
After all, you're not entirely your own
agent, you know. You have your
sponsor and your studio to think of as
well as your own career."

"That's a mighty sensible way to
look at it," he said, nickering his eyes
from traffic to look at me.

"I always try to look at things that
way." .

"You're too good looking to be sen-
sible," he laughed. "That is, I mean,
most beautiful women become very
much a law unto themselves. Being
sensible comes with considering prob-
lems from the other's viewpoint.
Beautiful women rarely do that."

I didn't have any answer to that.
I wanted to be calm and sensible, and
I was quivering all over.

When I didn't answer, he lapsed
into silence, driving on through traffic,
leaving me free to surreptitiously
study the profile which I'd admired so
much on the screen.

He was just as he appeared in pic-
tures, magnetic, handsome, and in-
tensely masculine, not in the hard-
boiled, coarse, two-fisted way, but
with a certain mental virility which,
to my mind, was largely responsible
for his screen success.

While we were waiting for a traffic
signal, he turned to me and said
abruptly, "How about that property
of mine? You have it?"

I started to hand over the key, and
then changed my mind. After all, I
had to talk with him about something,
and banter about that key was better
than bromides about pictures. And
then he might lose interest in me
after he got the key. "I'm afraid," I
told him, "you'll have to identify it.
After all, you know, a finder is re-
sponsible for the property until he's
surrendered it to its rightful owner."

He was silent.

"Go ahead and describe it," I in-
vited.

I saw then that he was silent be-
cause I had hurt him. Evidently, down
underneath that vigorous exterior the
man was sensitive.

| LAUGHED and said, "I'm only jok-
' ing, you know."

"Well," he said, "where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"My stickpin."

"Your stickpin!" I exclaimed in dis-
may.

"Yes. I lost it last night in the
scuffle which immediately preceded
my — er — predicament."

I fumbled in my purse, took out the
long, flat key.

"Then just what is this?" I de-
manded.

He barely took his eyes from the
road. "Looks like a key to a safety
deposit box. Where did you get it?"

Is Bruce Eaton trustworthy — or is
Miss Bell making a big mistake when
she fails to tell her boss about him
and the mysterious safety deposit box
key which may be the biggest clue to
the murder of Carter Wright? Next
month — another chapter in this tense
story of mystery in Hollywood.

RADIO MIRROH

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ON TOBACCO QUALITY

Joe Cuthrell, auctioneer, says : "Tobacco's
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HANTOM DESIRE- Every Wife's Deadliest Rival

A Great Real Life Broadcast
BY AUNT JENNY

1ULY

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THE DARING MARRIAGE GAMBLE
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netted ^4U| iCrte^ ~X?je)XeA, ^&i \\cm,

Jean revamped her bath technique
and her popularity hit a brand new high

Bill met Jean and things happened! "You're
the only girl for me," said his eyes. "And
you're the only boy for me," flashed her
smile! And of course, they dated!

This was to be the night of Jean's dreams.
And how gloriously fresh she stepped from
her bath— how fragrant and sweet— how ra-
diantly sure of her charm! Poor, poor Jean.

Before the first dance was over. Bill's
smile faded! Before midnight Jean was
alone and in tears. Poor silly litde goose,
not to know never to trust a bath alone.

"Your own fault," scolded Peg. "A bath re-
moves only past perspiration— it can't pre-
vent odor to come! But Mum prevents odor
—guards freshness all evening long."

And Jean wins I Bill's back in her life and
back to stay. Life's more fun for the girl
who decides,'-' A bath alone is never enough
—underarms always need Mum!"

HOURS AFTER YOUR BATH MUM STILL KEEPS YOU FRESH!

No MATTER how fresh you feel after
your bath, don't forget that under-
arms always need special care to prevent
odor yet to come.

Wise girls use Mum after every bath,
before every date. Mum is so fragrant, so
pleasant to use, so dependable. Mum is
QUICK . . . it takes just half a minute to use,
yet you're protected for a full day or eve-
ning. Mum is SAFE... completely harmless

to fabrics. And even after underarm shav-
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Mum is SURE . . . without stopping per-
spiration, Mum stops underarm odor, keeps
you sweet all evening long. Be sure you
never offend. Get Mum at any drug store
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ANOTHER USE FOR MUM- More women
use Mum for sanitary napkins than any other
deodorant. They know it's gentle and safe.

y^-et

UXOR

»

sits lightly — stays on smoothly!

Don't let a heavily overpowdered
face spoil the soft charm of your
appearance this summer. Make
sure you use Luxor "Feather-cling"
—the face powder with a light touch.
Luxor is a delicately balanced, me-
dium weightpowder that sits lightly,
stays on smoothly, won't cake or
streak. Choice of shades? All five
of the season's smartest! Each
55^. Rose Rachel is very popular.

tke

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Mso try **T

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8ati»y »?„ .-oat"1*1

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HltlROIITIOn

ton on

JULY, 1939

VOL. 12 NO. 3

ERNEST V. HEYN
Executive Editor

BELLE LANDESMAN.
ASSISTANT EDITOR

FRED R. SAMMIS
Editor

Honeymoon House for Rent. . Adele Whitely Fletcher 10

The daring marriage gamble of AJice Faye and Tony Martin

Phantom Desire 12

Aunt Jenny tells a great real life love story

Brothers — and Enemies'. Jack Sher 14

The true facts about the music world's most famous feu'd

Not the Loving Kind 16

Sometimes it takes a scandal to open a man's eyes

They're Human, After All Norton Russell 20

All you want to know about those Musketeers of Information Please

His Life Is News! . . . Mildred* Luber 22

The romantic story of Walter Winchell he never told

17 Men Are My Chaperones Bea Wain 25

She has the oddest job a girl ever had

Pretty Kitty Kelly Lucille' Fletcher 32

Continuing the dramatic story of radio's most gripping love serial

Hollywood Radio Whispers George Fisher 35

Special news from our special reporter

The Case of the Hollywood Scandal Erie Stanley Gardner 36

A rendezvous with Bruce Eaton leads Miss Bell into peril

Bridge of Mercy 38

Would you help the woman you loved to take her life?

What's New From Coast to Coast 4

What Do You Want to Say? 8

Radio's Photo-Mirror

One Night Stand! 26

Junior Jamboree 28

How Much Do Radio Performers Really Earn? 30

Facing the Music 43

Inside Radio — The New Radio Mirror Almanac 44

Contest Winners 55

What Do You Want To Know? 62

Blondes Beware! 82

Healthy Babies and Happy Careers! 84

COVER — Alice Faye and Tony Martin by Robert Reid

(Photo by Hyman Fink)

RADIO MIRBOB. published monthly by Macfadden Publications, Inc., Washington and South Avenues,
Dunellen, New Jersey. General Offices: 205 East 42nd Street, New York, N. T. Editorial and advertising
offices: Chanin Building, 122 East 42nd Street. New York. Bernarr Macfadden, President: Wesley F.
I'ape, Secretary; Irene T. Kennedy, Treasurer; Walter Hanlon, Advertising Director. Chicago office: 333
North Michigan Avenue. C. H. Shattuck, Mgr. San Francisco office: 1658 Buss Building. Lee Andrews, Mgr.
Entered as second-class matter September 14, 1933, at the Post Office at Dunellen, New Jersey, under the Act
of March 3, 1879. Price in United States, Canada and Newfoundland $1.00 a year. $10c a copy. In U. S.
Territories, Possessions, Cuba, Mexico, Haiti, Dominican Bepublic. Spain and Possessions, and Central and
South American countries, excepting British Honduras, British, Dutch and French Guiana. $1:50 a year;
all other countries $2.50 a year. While Manuscripts, Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's
risk, every effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompanied by sufficient 1st class postage,
and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to be sure to retain copies of their contribu-
tions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters for the "What Do You Want to Say?''
department will not be returned, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter contributed.
All submissions become the property of the magazine. (Member of Macfadden Women's Group.)
Copyright, 1939, by the Macfadden Publications, Inc. The contents of this magazine may not be reprinted,
either wholly or in part, without permission.
Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Company, Dunellen. N. J.

RADIO MIRROR

//

wet

Beware of the ONE NEGLECP
that sometimes kills Romance!

I

fiJf

? 'NhJ1*^ z^*- ■ ^^H

Are you a good housekeeper?

Are you always

careful about

Feminine Hygiene?

Carelessness (or ignorance)
on this question means
that vou "flunk" the test.

Are you economical?

"Lysol" can help you make a perfect score

A GIRL can take courses that teach
. her how to keep a house. But how
to keep a husband seems to be left
mostly to guesswork.

There are women who neglect their
husbands and still hold their love. But
the woman who neglects herself is apt
eventually to live alone, whether she
likes it or not. Neglect cf intimate per-
sonal cleanliness, of feminine hygiene,
may spoil an otherwise happy marriage.

Many thousands of women have
solved the problem of feminine hygiene
. . . with the help of "Lysol" disinfect-
ant. Probably no other preparation is so
widely used for this purpose. Here are
some of the important reasons why—

july, 1939

I — Non-Caustic . . . "Lysol" in the proper dilu-
tion, is gentle and efficient, contains no
harmful free caustic alkali.

2— Effectiveness . . . "Lysol" is a powerful ger-
micide, active under practical conditions, effec-
tive in the presence of organic matter (such
as dirt, mucus, serum, etc.).

3— Spreading . . . "Lysol" solutions spread be-
cause of low surface tension, and thus virtuallv
search out germs.

1889-

-50th ANNIVERSARY-

•1939

FOR FEMININE HYGIENE

4— Economy . . . "Lysol" is concentrated,
costs only about one cent an application in
the proper dilution for feminine hygiene.

5— Odor . . . The cleanly odor of "Lysol" dis-
appears after use.

6— Stability . . . "Lysol" keeps its full strength
no matter how long it is kept, how often it
is uncorked.

What Every Woman Should Know

SEND COUPON FOR "LYSOL" BOOKLET

Lehn & Fink Products Corp.

Dept. R.M.-907,Bloorafield, N. J., U. S. A.

Send me free booklet "Lysol vs. Germs"
which tells the many uses of "Lysol".

Name-

Street-

City-

State-

Copyriirnt 1939 by Lehn & Fink Prtxfctcts Corp.

I

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CREAM ,

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Whether you prefer cream deodor
ants for steady use, or for those occa
sions when a liquid is inconvenient
you will welcome Nonspi Cream
for its outstanding advantages:

1 . Checks both perspiration and odor
—from 1 to 3 days.

2. Feels and looks like velvety vanish-
ing cream. Goes on easily— dries almost
instantly. Not greasy.

3. May be used directly after shaving.

4* Has a reaction approximating that
of the normal skin — so cannot injure
either skin or clothing.

5. Works on new principle— "adsorbs"
odors.

Be one of the first to take advantage
of this wonderful new discovery of
science! Get a generous jar of Nonspi
Cream — today. 50tf at drug or de-
partment stores. Also in liquid form.

WHAT'S NEW FROM

mmmm

Fibber McGee and Molly — all grin is Fibber these
days now that Molly is back on his program again.

THERE wasn't a dry eye in the
studio the night Molly returned to

the Fibber McGee program after
an absence that began in the fall of
1937. Molly herself burst into tears
when she entered the studio and saw
what Fibber, the rest of the cast, and
many of her fans had done to wel-
come her back. They'd banked the
walls of the NBC studio high with a
mass of flowers. Letters and tele-
grams of congratulation filled a table
at the side of the room.

Molly looks fine, as you can see
from the picture, although she is still
a little weak. You don't get over a
long illness like hers in a hurry. How-
ever, her doctors say she can stand
the strain of broadcasting, at least
until the program goes off the air for
a vacation late in June.

Incidentally, Molly's return was an
occasion for rejoicing by an office boy
in her sponsor's factory — even though
he's never seen her and lives two
thousand miles from Hollywood. He
suggested that the homecoming pro-
gram be written around a budget
theme — and reaped a hundred-dollar
bonus for his idea.

* * *

On my way to a rehearsal of the
Johnny Presents program, one balmy
spring afternoon, I stopped outside
CBS Playhouse No. 2 to watch a side-
walk violinist. He wasn't a very good
violinist — in fact he didn't seem to
be playing any tune at all — and he
was all bundled up in an overcoat,
the collar coming up around Jhis chin
and mouth, and his hat pulled down
over his eyes. On the curb in front
of him was his open violin-case, with
a few pennies in it, dropped there by
passers-by. "Poor fellow," I thought,
and added a coin of my own. Then I

caught a glint of wicked merriment
from the eyes under the hat-brim, and
I took a closer look at the sad figure.
It was Johnny Green, maestro of the
Johnny Presents orchestra, who had
come to rehearsal early and was let-
ting the spring air make him cut
capers.

P.S. Johnny made eleven cents with
his sidewalk concert, but he had to
split with the first violinist of the

orchestra, whose fiddle he'd borrowed.

* * *

Kate Smith is up against one of
those problems that come sooner or
later to all dog owners. She has a
cocker spaniel puppy called Freckles,
and she loves to take him to re-
hearsals— she spends all of Thursday,
you know, in the CBS playhouse
where her variety show originates.
But young Freckles loves chewing-
gum, and a theater is a wonderful
place to find lots of it — the second-
hand variety, but Freckles doesn't
mind that; in fact, he prefers it. Now
Kate can't make up her mind whether
to bring him to rehearsals on a leash,
make him stay home — or just let him

gorge himself on chewing gum.

* * »

Maybe you enjoy The Circle, Sun-
day nights on NBC, and maybe you
don't. I wouldn't argue with you,
either way. But before you criticize
it too harshly, just remember this:
One director left the program and had
himself a nervous breakdown. An-
other came charging back to New
York after a spell of working on the
show, swearing that he was going to
resign from the advertising agency
which produces it and do nothing but
rest for the next six months. They
talked him out of resigning — sent him
off for a vacation in Bermuda instead.

RADIO MIRROR

COAST TO COAST »y DAN senseney

Right in the midst of his personal-
appearance engagement at the New
York Strand theater, Guy Lombardo
ran into trouble. His crack piano
player, Fred Vigneau, fell ill and had
to be rushed to the hospital. There
were only a few hours in which to
get a substitute, so Guy sent out a
hurry call to all the band bookers
and other musicians he could think
of. The first pianist who showed up
got the job. No wonder. He was the
son of the man who gave the Lom-
bardos their first music lessons when
they were boys in London, Ontario.

* * *

Fred Waring's new five-times-a-
week program for Chesterfield ciga-
rettes, which starts June 19, is the
result of radio's strangest audition.
Nobody in the band except Fred knew
that an audition was going on. The
Pennsylvanians were rehearsing in
their Manhattan headquarters for a
short personal-appearance tour, and
the sponsors simply dropped in at the
rehearsal hall one afternoon and
listened. Fred figured the band would
be more lively and spontaneous if
nobody knew anything important was

in the wind.

* * *

Bandleader Vincent Lopez has a
new and very praiseworthy hobby —
testing the effects of swing music

Johnny Green, maestro of the
Johnny Presents show and his
lovely wife, Betty Furness.

upon mentally deranged people. The
curative effects of music on mental
disorder have already been investi-
gated, but Lopez claims that the music
used has always been too slow, and
that the strong, fast, rhythmic beat
of swing is just what is needed to
break through the inertia of many

mental patients.

* * *

Four years ago, Radio Mirror pub-
lished a story about Irving Gross, a

hopeless cripple who had found in
radio the happiness that his physical
infirmity had denied him. Irving had
made radio into a hobby, listening
to all the programs, writing to the
stars, collecting their autographs, and
often having the supreme pleasure of
meeting them when they came to his
tenement home. Radio, and the con-
tacts it brought him, were all Irving
had in the world. In that story, we
gave readers of Radio Mirror his
address — 189 East Second Street, New
York City — and asked them to write
to him.

Now we have heard from Irving
again. He is still unable to walk; he
is still at the same address; radio and
its people are still the greatest inter-
est in his life. But two years ago,
when he was out of his rooms, some-
one broke in and stole his most
priceless possession — a collection of
about two thousand autographed pic-
tures of radio, stage, and screen stars.
It had taken him twelve years to
make this collection, and now it's
gone.

He wrote to Radio Mirror and asked
us to remind our readers, stars and
ordinary folks alike, of him. "Now
that the World's Fair is open," he
wrote, "I would be grateful if you
would ask all your readers to write
or visit me, if they come to town. It

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Name

Address_
City

State_

WHAT'S NEW (CONTINUED)

would help immensely to break the
monotony of my otherwise dull life."
And Radio Mirror is happy to comply

with his request.

* * *

SAN JOSE, Calif.— I knew I was
starting something when I asked if
Bernard C. Barth of KOBH, Rapid
City, S. D., was the youngest an-
nouncer in the country. Here's an-
other candidate for the honor — Robert
Franklin, of KQW, San Jose. Robert
isn't nineteen yet, and has already
been in radio for more than a year,
having worked for station KJBS and
KFRC, both in San Francisco. My
thanks to Mrs. Eddie Calder for tell-
ing me about him.

BECAUSE one of New York's most
successful programs goes on when
all respectable people are supposed to
be in bed, it looks as if approximately
one-fourth of Manhattan's great pop-
ulation are dirty stay-ups. Gene
King's Jamboree over Station WEVD
is designed for people who are just
beginning to feel wide awake about
midnight — the time it goes on the air.

Gene broadcasts for four solid
hours, giving a one-man show. He
plays records, but only those requested
by listeners. He talks to himself and
to stooges — mysterious, whimsical
creatures known as the Fiend, the
Goblin, the Ghoul and the Zombie.
Actually, they are his technical as-
sistants who, quite by accident, are
very expert hecklers.

Gene's audience, one of the largest
assembled by any Manhattan station,
includes bartenders and bar -fre-
quenters, nurses and internes, milk-
men and cab drivers, newspaper men
and newspaper men's wives — and
lots of people who just hate bed. Gene
announces birthdays, anniversaries
and weddings for listeners. Hospitals
call him if they need a blood-donor,
and the police department has him
issue storm warnings when necessary.
Suicides confide in him. He has one
letter from a chap who said he in-
tended to commit suicide. Night after
night Gene tried to dissuade him.
Finally, a package arrived at WEVD.
The enclosed note explained that he
was sending this gift to show his ap-
preciation for Gene's efforts, but he
was going to kill himself anyway.
That night, he did.

Gene graduated from Ohio State in
1934. A year later he returned from
a European trip and got a job on
WEVD. Now he's the station's chief
announcer and biggest attraction —
big enough for such big-time band
leaders as Artie Shaw, Tommy
Dorsey, Sammy Kaye, Larry Clinton
and Fats Waller to pay him wee-hour

visits to be interviewed.

* * *

CINCINNATI— One of radio's most
widely informed sportscasters is Dick
Bray of WSAI, and no wonder, be-
cause he's been an outstanding college
athlete, a professional player, and a
referee. And he loves sports better
than anything in the world. He is
also the only man broadcasting sports
events who is an official Big Ten
referee, a position which he held long
before he entered radio four years
ago.

Dick was born in Cincinnati in 1903,
and received his education in Cincin^
nati primary schools and at Withrow
High School, where he played basket-

ball, football and baseball. He played
football at Xavier University as well.
Then came professional baseball in
the old Salley League — a career
which he was forced to cut short be-
cause of a game leg, the result of a
high school football injury.

Dick was still in love with ath-
letics, though, so if he couldn't play
he turned to refereeing football and
basketball, which kept him busy until
1935, when he decided to supplement
that work by broadcasting. When he
applied for a job at WKRC, Colum-
bia's station in Cincinnati, the mana-
ger told him to go see a baseball game
first. Dick explained that he didn't
have to, and was put to work at once.
He's been on the air ever since. To
his present station, WSAI, he is a
great asset, because time salesmen
never have any difficulty in finding a
sponsor for a Bray broadcast, whether
it's a description of a game, a series
of interviews with sports fans, a
fifteen-minute round-up of the day's
sport news, or whatnot.

He's an energetic worker, always
convinced that he could be better
than he is. Soon after he first went
on the air he decided he wanted to
know more about the history of base-
ball, and on the air he requested old
books and manuscripts dealing with
the sport. The result was a library
full of baseball books of every size,
shape and description, including thir-
teen of which Dick is very proud,
written in longhand by Ren Mulford,
the man who invented the modern
system of scoring.

Wherever Dick goes, he keeps a
record of his experiences with his
own candid camera. In a mammoth
scrapbook he has hundreds of pic-
tures, taken by himself, of sports
celebrities and famous games. With
his father's assistance, he clips box
scores from newspapers and thus
keeps a running record of every
pitcher in big-time baseball.

A young man, and a quiet young
man at that, Dick is already well on
the way to sports immortality. Last
year a Cincinnati dog-owner named
one of his racing greyhounds after
him, and there's a horse, half-brother
to Discovery, who will soon be talked
about around the Kentucky race
tracks. His owner calls him Dick
Bray.

THE tenants of the swanky Beaux
Arts apartments in New York had
to go through the Martian scare all
over again the other day. Frank
Readick, who plays Smilin' Jack on
the Mutual network, was confined to
his Beaux Arts apartment with a cold,
and rather than try to find an actor
to imitate his voice on the air, the di-
rector of the program decided- to
broadcast from Frank's living room.

That was all right, but nobody had
told the neighbors — and it happened
that this particular script called for a
sound-effects man's field day, with
shots, screams, airplane noises, and
sounds of a fist fight. Before the
broadcast was over somebody had
telephoned the police, and a squad
car came down the street, its siren
screaming.

Said one tenant: "I didn't mind the
gunfire so much. But when I distinct-
ly heard an airplane zooming around,
I decided it was time to call for help."

RADIO MIRROR

MOON RIVER FOR RELAXATION

WHEN it has been dark for many
hours, and the nation's children
have long been in bed, and when
America is so deep in the quiet of
night that the sun is setting even half-
way across the Pacific; out over the
tide-shrunken Atlantic seaboard,
across the deep green Mississippi
Valley and westward to the dew-
pearled jagged Rockies, a gentle voice
says softly, "Moon River, a lazy stream
of dreams where vain desires forget
themselves in the loveliness of sleep.
Moon River, enchanted white ribbon
twined in the hair of night, where
nothing is but sleep . . ."

It's one of America's best-loved
radio programs, Moon River, heard
over Cincinnati's WLW at half an
hour after midnight, Eastern time,
every night in the week.

From the instant the deVore Sisters
hum the first strains of "Caprice
Viennois" and Charles Woods, the
narrator, begins his initial poem,
Moon River never stops flowing. When
the voices are quiet, the organ, with
Lee Irwin at the console surges
forward.

WLW inaugurated Moon River
nearly ten years ago. At first the pro-
gram was conceived as a mere half-
hour of organ music, but later it was
decided to add the reading of a few
poems — romantic, simple poems in
tune with the quiet restfulness of the
organ.

Four years ago, the deVore Sisters
came from Indianapolis to join the

The lovely DeVore Sisters of
WLW's "Moon River" program.

WLW staff and be featured on the
early-evening Vocal Varieties pro-
gram. As an experiment, they were
added to Moon River — and they've
been on it, lending their three small,
perfectly blended voices, ever since.

THEY really are sisters — Ruth,
blonde; Marjorie, brunette; and
Billie, the youngest, a red-head — and
all three of them trim and beautiful.
Born and raised in Indianapolis, they
got their radio start there, where they
acquired a commercial program only
three days after they auditioned. They
were all in school at the time, study-

ing art, music and dramatics, and they
thought they might be able to defray
some of their school expenses with
what they earned on the air. A year
later they were still singing, not as
students, but as stars.

As sweet in life as they are on the
night air, when one of the deVores
has a birthday, she sends her mother
a bouquet of red roses, as many buds
as there are years since her birth.

Although their voices seem to have
the unique quality of filling the night
air without disturbing it, the deVores
would be the last to take credit for
the success of Moon River. Few voices
are as familiar to the nation as is
Charles Woods'. It has often been said
that his deep-voiced, conversational
readings have changed as many
American lives as the acts of Con-
gress. And it would be hard to say
how many hearts Lee Irwin's organ
music has comforted — it might sound
like the 1930 census figure.

After half an hour of peaceful
music and poetry, Moon River comes
to an end as quietly as it began. For
one of the well-loved things about
this program is that it makes no at-
tempt to "sell" itself with ballyhoo
or high-pressure excitement. It's for
people who want to relax and let the
cares of the day slip away from them;
perhaps for young lovers who find
that it says all the things they can't
find words for. That's its purpose, and
it fulfills it beautifully.

\M0UWL—1

make it blossom
in Your Skin!

THIS LOVELY NEW YORK BRIDE SAYS:

1 wouldn't know where to turn for a complexion
soap if I didn't have Camay! For no other soap I've ever
tried has quite the same fragrance. And its creamy
lather always seems to freshen up my skin!

New York, N. Y.
April 20, 1939

EVERY GIRL has possibilities
for charm ... a chance to
win romance! Don't miss
yours! Listen to Mrs. Frye's ad-
vice. "Your skin has a natural
loveliness," she says, "so help
bring it out with Camay!"
She knows that Camay's
searching cleansing is so ca-
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You'll like Camay— for your
complexion, and to make your
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too! Wouldn't you like to help

(Signed) VIRGINIA FRYI
(Mrs. John H. Frye, Jr.)

keep back and shoulders as
soft and smooth as your face?
Then get three cakes of inex-
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you'll see why gentle Camay
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THE SOAP OF BEAUTIFUL WOMEN

juty, 1939

High Summer Rates
for Writers

of True

Following our regular policy we are discontinuing true story
manuscript contests during the summer months. A great new true
story contest will begin on September 1st, 1939. But, in the mean-
time, we are still in the market for true stories for straight purchase,
and in order to secure them are going to renew our sensational
offer of last summer which worked so greatly to the financial
advantage of many writers of true stories.

We will continue to pay for regu-
lar acceptable material our regular
rate, which averages about 2c per
word, but, in addition, during the
summer months we gladly will pay
writers of true stories the special
rates of 3c per word for better-than-
average true stories and 4c per word
for exceptionally good true stories
submitted for straight purchase.

In comparing these special sum-
mer rates with the average rate of
2c per word, a few moments' figuring
will show you what this offer can
mean to you financially — literally
making $2 grow where $1 grew for-
merly.

Under this offer the Editorial Staff
of True Story are the sole judges
as to the quality of stories submitted.
But rest assured that if you send in

IMPORTANT

Submit stories direct. Do not deal
through intermediaries.

If you do not already have one send
for a copy of free booklet entitled
"Facts You Should Know Before Writ-
ing True Stories." Use the coupon pro-
vided for that purpose.

In sending true stories, be sure, in
each case, to enclose first-class return
postage in the same container with
manuscript. We gladly return manu-
scripts when postage is supplied, but we
cannot do so otherwise. Failure to en-
close return first-class postage means
that after a reasonable time the manu-
script if not accepted for publication
will be destroyed.

a story of extra quality you will re-
ceive the corresponding extra rate.
This is in no sense a contest — simply
a straight offer to purchase true
stories, with a handsome bonus for
extra quality.

Here is your opportunity. The
time is limited to the months of June,
July and August, 1939. So strike
while the iron is hot. Start today the
story of an episode in your life or the
life of a friend or acquaintance that
you feel has the necessary heart in-
terest to warrant the extraordinarily
high special rates we are offering.
Send it in when finished, and if it
really has the extra quality we seek
the extra sized check will be forth-
coming with our sincere congratula-
tions. Be sure your manuscript is
post-marked not later than mid-
night, August 31, 1939.

MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS, INC.

Oept. K. P. O. Box 629,

Grand Central Station,

New York, N. Y.

TRUE STORY, Dept. K RM-7

P. O. Box 629, Grand Central Station
New York. N. Y.

Please send me my free copy of your
booklet entitled "Facts You Should Know
Before Writing True Stories."

(Print plainly.

Give name of state in full)

WHAT DO YOU
WANT TO SAY?

FIRST PRIZE

ANOTHER ORCHID FOR RADIO

ABOUT two years ago I spent some
time in a remote section of the
1 Virginia mountains and became
quite friendly with one family there.
Although these were good people they
spoke a language that was almost en-
tirely their own, due to their isolation
from the outside world. In fact, it was
some time before I could understand
their conversation perfectly.

When I returned home I decided to
send them a small radio.

I happened to be passing there a
few months ago and decided to call
on my old friends. I was surprised
to find that they were highly informed
on world events and that their English
was almost as good as mine.

I offer this merely as an example of
what radio has done for some people
who were never afforded educational
advantages.

Hollis E. Smith,

Vinton, Va.

SECOND PRIZE

WHY GILD THE LILY?

I wonder if there are not others
who feel as I do about "background"
music and sound effects during a
dramatic production.

For instance, on a train or plane,
the simulated wheels-on-track or
motor noise drowns out the voices and
I find myself tied up in knots as I
strain to follow the thread of the
drama. Likewise, in the case of "back-
ground" music, while it is meant to
enhance the mood of the moment, it
actually distracts and irritates. A
tender scene between lovers, spoken
in the romantically low tones appro-
priate to the occasion, is too often
blurred to indistinctness by the music.

A few bars of music between scenes
or snatches of dialogue, yes; this puts
one in the mood for what is to follow,
but please, let us have one thing at
a time!

Mrs. Frank Upton,

Chesham, N. H.

THIRD PRIZE

LEARN THRIFT VIA RADIO

My radio is the thriftiest piece of
furniture in my home. It gives me
advance notices of the local sales so
I can shop timely, and from the con-
sumer programs I have learned to
shop wisely. With few exceptions,
most of the cooking recipes I have
tried are economical. And of course
by the way of entertainment — it pro-
vides the best for just a turn of a
button.

Surely my radio has saved me a lot
of time and money, besides teaching
me how to "housekeep" intelligently.
Mrs. Nevins Cummings,

Cromwell, Conn.

RADIO MIRROR

FOURTH PRIZE
SO, YOU DON'T LIKE DOTTY?

The Don Ameche hour used to be
the family hour in our home. In the
winter time, with plates of pop corn,
or in the summer time, with cold
drinks, we settled down for an hour's
good entertainment. One program we
all enjoyed.

But now? We try to* rise from our
chairs to shut it off but can't for the
goo of Don Ameche announcing
"Dotty" with drip, drips of sweetness.
You could drink a cup of Chase and
Sanborn coffee during the program
and never need a drop of sugar.

From Charlie it might, be funny, but
from a man we had grown to admire
— uhhhhh! It is too much.

Can't something be done about it?
The Green Family Robinson,
Elmwood, Nebraska

FIFTH PRIZE
THE SERVANT PROBLEM IS SOLVED!

I wonder if any one besides the
housewife realizes how radio has
changed the servant problem?

In the old days you hired an im-
migrant girl fresh from Ellis Island.
Teaching her to broil a steak properly
was a long and tedious job. Her
English being limited, she often mis-
construed directions and the results
could be as tragic as they sometimes
were comical. They eventually made
good and faithful servants. But I still
prefer the present experienced maid.
The brogue may roll off her tongue
thick enough to slice, but she doesn't
need constant rehearsing to take her
part before a gas range. Betty Crocker
is the patron saint of her kitchen and

THIS IS YOUR PAGE!

YOUR LETTERS OF OPINION WIN

PRIZES

First Prize $10.00

Second Prize $ 5.00

Five Prizes of $ 1.00

Address your letter to the Editor,
RADIO MIRROR, 122 East 42nd
Street, New York, N. Y., and mail it
not later than June 26th, 1939. All
submissions become the property of
the magazine.

Heinz has taught her many tricks
with tomato soup.

She doesn't get her Jack Benny and
Benny Goodman mixed but she can
and does mix a salad that makes us
lick the platter clean. Radio has not
only made her lot a much happier one,
it has taught her many invaluable
tricks of her trade.

Mrs. Helene A. Saum,

Yankton, S. Dak.

SIXTH PRIZE
THE MAGIC KEY GIVES US PADEREWSKI

The Magic Key — The magic tear
that springs in tribute to the Great
Paderewski in recognition of his

courage, dignity and honor. What
vitality and youth in those strong flex-
ible fingers! What vitality and youth
in his mature interpretations of age-
less musical masterpieces!

Thank God that here in America
we still have the freedom, the truth
and the justice to recognize the high-
est and best in art and man, and to
acknowledge it with respect, warm
hearts and admiration for genius, edu-
cation and true culture.

Miss Edith L. Koerner,

Patchogue, New York

SEVENTH PRIZE

BERNARR MACFADDEN, HEALTH
CRUSADER

Not only did the April issue of
Radio Mirror carry some most in-
teresting articles and inside informa-
tion on the goings-on in radio, but
it also carried a short announcement
that may mean new health and re-
gained spirits for many people now
suffering from tuberculosis. Mr. Ber-
narr Macfadden, whom I have always
admired for his crusade for better liv-
ing and health, has made this chance
possible. He plans to select one case
of tuberculosis from each state east
of the Mississippi and north of the
Ohio river. Those selected will be
treated free by the most modern
methods in healing not only the
physical but also the mental ills that
go hand in hand in this ravaging
disease. Let us hope that other people
like Mr. Macfadden will try to make
this world a better and healthier place
for everyone to live in.

J. Croughwell,
New York City, N. Y.

FOR TODAY'S CHARMING SENTIM ENTAL VOGUE ...

SUMMER SHADES

Fashion's command this summer— "Look fragile . . . pretty-pretty
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So Pond's brings you these four exquisite summer powder shades:

thrilling EVENINGS:

Rose Dawn and Rose Brunette in
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with soft pastels, and for unforget-
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ROSE DAWN — brings a delicate
glow to fair skin.

ROSE BRUNETTE— a richer tone (for
blondes and brunettes).

Copyright, 1939, Pond's Extract Company

Under SUMMER SUN

A brazenly brown skin won't
help you make the most of
the "pretty" mode— so keep
your tan light and feminine,
too! And flatter it with
Pond's Sunlight Shades.
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SUNLIGHT (LIGHT)— forthecreamy
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SUNLIGHT (DARK)— for deeper tan.

SUMMER SHADES

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Rose Brunette Sunlight (Dark)

Try them today. 10?, 20^, 5 5ff. Or send for free
samples of all four Summer Shades. Pond's, Dept.
8RM-PG, Clinton, Conn.

july, 1939

10

■ "Tony and Alice are about to separate . . . Tony and Alice fight like a couple of wildcats ... It

can't last ..It won't last " That's the way the talk has gone. But it's been hearsay only. At

all times Tony and Alice have kept their own counsel, turned a deaf ear to gossip until recently.
Then Tony talked, and eagerly, as if he was glad to put things straight. He told the whole story.

RADIO MIRROR

THE DARING MARRIAGE GAMBLE
of ALICE FAYE and TONY MARTIN

A HONEYMOON house, white
with green shutters, with a
lovely little garden in the
back, away from pedestrians' gaze, a
charming house, full of memories,
is for rent. For almost two years
its walls have held a marriage
which the bride described to an
editor on her wedding day this way:
"I don't know how long it will last.
Unless a great many very smart
people are wrong about our chances
of making a go of it, you'd better
get any story about us in print right
away, while we're still together."

She was simply stating a fact
when she said that. For never did
a marriage have more dire predic-
tions made about it, from the very
start, than that of Alice Faye and
Tony Martin.

People said:

"Tony and Alice are about to
separate. ..."

"Tony and Alice fight like a couple
of wildcats. . . ."

"It can't last It won't last "

That's the way the talk has gone.
But it's been hearsay and hearsay
only. At all times, whatever their
private troubles, Tony and Alice
have kept their own counsel, turned
a deaf ear to gossip.

Until the other day. Then Tony
talked, and eagerly, as if he was
glad to put things straight. He told
me the truth about the marriage
gamble of which that ominous "For
Rent" sign on their honeymoon
house is a symbol. He told me, at
last, the whole story.

"Of course Alice and I fight," he
said, to begin with. "What she does
is of the utmost importance to me
and what I do is equally important
to her. I hope!

"One quarrel, almost the worst
we ever had, started over a white
dinner dress Alice wore. I didn't
like it. But Hollywood would have
had to have a dictophone in our
bedroom to know about that row —

or any other row. Certainly, con-
sidering people's interest in our
affairs, we wouldn't be stupid
enough to let go in public — what-
ever the provocation.

"But," Tony went on, "just to get
the record straight, notwithstanding
all our quarrels — those we've had
and those we've been said to have
— Alice and I are closer today than
ever before. If we're not quite so
much the impetuous lovers, we're
more loving friends.

"I didn't know Alice when I mar-
ried her. I only loved her. And if at
first it was thrilling and exciting to
be man and wife, it's other things
now, deeper things really, and
things I miss even more when I'm
away from her — as I am now."

Yes, at last Tony could tell the
story of a love that grew stronger
through unhappiness, of a marriage
that took shape in the private hell
that the bride and groom endured.
(Continued on page 56)

By ADELE WHITELY FLETCHER

july, 1939

11

Radio's Aunt Jenny brings you a great love
story, the gripping drama of one woman's
fight against every wife's most dangerous
rival —

In all the months I've been
tellin' stories on the Columbia
network, there's been a few I've
specially liked, because they
seemed to teach a lesson I was
sure a lot of folks needed. What
happened to Matthew and Jane
Tolliver is one of those stories.
You see, Jane had to fight the
same enemy many a woman
comes up against — her husband's
love for a ghost. That is, you
might as well call it a ghost — it's
just that hard to fight. But sup-
pose I let you read the story, just
as Matthew told it to me. I hope
you don't find yourself in it, but
if you do — well, maybe you'll
find somethin' to help you in it
too. ■ Aunt Jenny

I MET Rosemary during the first
vacation I had ever taken with-
out my folks. We had known
each other just about a week when
I took her out for a ride one evening.
It was one of those romantic sort of
nights with the stars all out and the
moonlight making everything sil-
very. I drove the car quite a way
out in the country until we came to
the end of a road at the top of a
hill. It was just kind of natural for
us to park the car and stroll along
the road out under the stars.

Somehow, I felt that I'd been
waiting for Rosemary all my life.
She was my dream girl and that
night in her white filmy dress she
looked like an angel. Somehow,
without her saying a word, I knew

12

she wanted me to kiss her. There
aren't many men, I guess, who ever
had a sweeter kiss than that. It was
just as though you'd kissed the soft,
velvety petals of a lovely flower.

Rosemary made me feel strong.
And I never had thought of my
strength before. I had had no need
of strength. My father, a success-
ful man, and my mother, having me
for her first consideration, had or-
dered my life for me. They had
chosen my school and my college,
planned my holidays, and subtly
fostered my engagement to the girl
they wanted me to marry.

Rosemary's voice came against my
ear. "Matthew. That's a funny
name. I will call you Matt."

"Matthew suited me well enough,"
I told her huskily, "before I met
you. It's a stodgy name, Matthew.
And I've been stodgy too. I was
that good Tolliver boy. I got fine
marks in school. I've been a credit
to my parents. I did everything
people expected of me, scarcely
knowing what I wanted to do my-
self. Because I had to meet you,
Rosemary, my darling, to discover
myself."

She drew towards me. She
touched my eyelids and my fingers,
one by one. My arms tightened
about her greedily. I wondered
how, even in my new strength, I
could let her go long enough to re-
turn home and straighten out many
things so I might come back free,
to stay.

"How," she asked, "could I do the

things for you that you say? How,
Matt? I'm only Rosemary Judson,
the daughter of a man who keeps
a little general store at Bedford
Crossing. And we've only known
each other a week."

I drew her close to me.

"Listen, listen, Rosemary," I told
her, "and remember what I'm say-
ing until I come back. I love you.
And I may be stark mad, but I
think it was a miracle brought me
here for my holiday — so I could
meet you. Why, now I can't even
imagine life without you.

"I'm coming back, but I've got to
go home and tell my parents about
you — and Jane — "

"Are you engaged to Jane?" Her
voice was so soft I guessed at her
words really. And I wanted to lie,
to put her off, but I told her about
Jane as fairly and quickly as I could,
to shorten the pain for both of us.
I wanted no lie standing between us.

"But I'll tell them I'm going to
marry you," I finished. "I'll come
back, Rosemary, darling."

"Matt . . ." she sighed. ."Oh, I

hope you will. But . . ."

* * *

Driving home the next day I
thought of Rosemary constantly.
She hadn't come down to see me off.
I had asked her not to. I didn't
want our farewells to be the casual
thing good taste would demand with
the hotel porch rocking chair bri-
gade looking on. Better by far not
to see her again, to go away re-
membering her in the starlight.

RADIO MIRROR

Heard originally as "The Story of Mat-
thew Tolliver's First Love," this poignant
romance was one of Aunt Jenny's broad-
casts, on CBS every Monday through
Friday, sponsored by the makers of Spry.

Once on my way I stopped to tele-
phone her. But I bought a package
of cigarettes instead. If she wasn't
alone when my call came her an-
swers necessarily would be cool and
guarded. More than once I attempted
a wire. But little words on yellow
paper proved to have so little to do
with the tender and tumultuous
things I was feeling that one tele-
gram blank followed another into
wastebaskets.

I REACHED home to look upon
I long familiar things and faces and
find them strange. It was I who had
changed, of course. I had gone
away on my vacation two weeks be-
fore a boy. I had come home a man.
It isn't, after all, the years them-
selves that bring us maturity; it is
what happens to us in the years.

I waited until coffee had been
served after dinner to tell my
mother and father about Rosemary.
They were abstracted but polite at
first when I talked about the pretty
girl I had met. But before I told
them I loved her I had their entire
attention. Some excitement in my
voice warned them of what was
coming. My father's eyes grew cold-
ly disapproving. My mother's eyes
turned frightened.

"I love Rosemary," I announced,
"more than I dreamed anyone ever
loved. I'm sorry if I sound extrav-
agant. But that's just how it is."

My father cleared his throat.
'Such experiences — er — come to
(Continued on page 58)

July, 1939

!l !

13

YOU couldn't have felt the way I did that night.
Not unless you knew Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey.
It was Tommy's last night at the famous Terrace
room in the Hotel New Yorker. Jimmy was replacing
him. A couple of publicity men decided they'd make
a great thing out of it. But it all made me feel a
little sad.

I guess what got me was seeing them standing there
together on the bandstand with their arms around each
other as the flash bulbs went off near their faces. It
was twelve midnight and Tommy was turning the
baton over to Jimmy.

When he gave Jimmy The Dorsey boys have to take

that final, affection- music seriously — they come

ate, brotherly hug the from a musical family: Mary,

crowd hit a high F of Tommy, Jimmy, and Dorsey Sr.

glee, they shouted,
clapped and whis-
tled.

Tommy said, "Good
luck, Lad." He's al-
ways called Jimmy,
Lad. And Jimmy
said, "Thanks, Mac"
— that's what he calls
Tommy — and then he
gave the orchestra
the downbeat.

Jimmy's boys sure
sailed into the swing
pretty that night. It
was gorgeous, and the
prettier they played
the worse I felt. I'm
a good friend of
Jimmy's and I knew
how he was feeling
too, in spite of all the
back slapping and
well wishes.

The fact is, that
regardless of how
Tommy and Jimmy
feel about each other,
and in spite of that

RADIO MIRROR

The Amazing True Story of the
Dorsey Brothers1 Never-Ending Battle

B><\

By JACK SHER

night's general hilarity, Jimmy Dorsey has been taking
a terrific beating in the band business because he
happens to be Tommy Dorsey's brother.

I'm not blaming Tommy. It isn't his fault. It isn't
anybody's fault, but it does seem a shame that a great
band like Jimmy Dorsey's can't get the breaks it
deserves.

The reason Jimmy can't get the breaks is simple.
Tommy Dorsey happened to become nationally famous
first. How that came about I'll get to later, but right
now I want to show- you some of the obstacles Jimmy

is up against.

First off, Jimmy's
band ought to get a
sponsored radio pro-
gram. Sponsors listen
to the band, they say it
is wonderful. Jimmy's
hopes go as high as a
plane on an altitude
flight and then the
sponsors invariably
turn him down.

Why? Tommy Dor-
sey has a radio com-
mercial. He sells ciga-
rettes, lots of them.
Sponsors are afraid of
hiring Jimmy because
they feel that the name
Dorsey is already iden-
tified with cigarettes.
Two Dorseys selling a
product, whether it's
cigarettes or soap,
would confuse people
listening in.

But that's by no
means the only
"brother trouble"
Jimmy has. Tommy
Dorsey's name means
more than Jimmy's to
people who book bands
(Continued on page 63)

JULY, 1939

Jimmy
Dorsey

*\ot

•tffc

You who listened heard only a radio

I SUPPOSE no girl ever set a higher
standard, in her mind, than I did
for the man I would some day meet,
love, and marry. Physically, I had no
very clear picture of him. But men-
tally and spiritually, I knew that he
would be many things — thoughtful of
others, and particularly of me; strong
yet gentle; with a quiet humor we
could share together; honorable and
quick to sense honor or the lack of it
in others. . . . Oh, I knew the kind of
man I could love.

But love doesn't follow the course we
plan for it — it goes its own wilful way,
and drags us along. I didn't fall in love
with the man I pictured in my mind,
but with Grant Lodge. He was com-
pletely impossible, and I knew it. He
took no thought for anyone, least of all
me; he was neither strong nor gentle;
he has a sense of humor, but at least
once I wished he hadn't; and as for
honor — well, he has his own code, and
I guess he's the only one who under-
stands it. Fantastic, bizarre, unpre-
dictable he was — and still is — and I
don't think I'll ever stop loving him.
I was a secretary in a big radio sta-
tion when I met Grant. Even the way
he came to us was extraordinary. The
program director had happened to tune
in a little country station, and there
was Grant, doing a variety show all by

16

scandal — but for me, Grant Lodge's secretary, it was a magic key to ecstasy

■ All the tension of the
last weeks rose up in me
and brought my hand
crashing across his face.

himself — a show that was so clever, so
vital and fresh that the program direc-
tor fell all over himself tracking Grant
down and signing him up to a contract.
Our station gave him a few actors and
a small orchestra to work with, put
him on in the afternoon — and im-
mediately the mail began to pour in.
After that, of course, his show had to
be moved to an evening hour, and some
of the network stations carried it.

Grant Lodge called his program
Personal Notions. It broke all radio
rules, and broke them successfully.
"Variety" was certainly what it was —
a hodge-podge of comedy, drama, and
sheer inspired nonsense. No one ever
knew what was coming next, although
Grant always had it all carefully
planned out in advance. He insisted
on writing, directing, acting in and
bossing completely his own program.
That was the only way he would con-
sent to sign a contract with the studio
at all. He was a regular dynamo of
energy and talent — even his enemies,
and within a week or so he had plenty
— had to admit that.

PERSONAL NOTIONS was such a
success that it was only a matter of
time until some sponsor would come
along and grab it, and probably put it
on the network. But meanwhile, it was
my boss, Mr. Newton who had the job
of trying to keep Grant Lodge living
up to the stations rules of what to put
on the air and what not to put on it —
and every time Lodge was asked to
change even a comma of his script he
screamed with rage.

Nearly every week there was
trouble. Mr. Newton always sighed
when the familiar bundle of manu-
script, backed in blue paper, showed
up on his desk.

"Here's our headache again," he
would mutter. Then he would read the
manuscript, pulling nervously at his
clipped white moustache, and finally
he'd ask me to get Grant Lodge on the
wire. A long telephone conversation
would follow, with Mr. Newton's voice
going along in a controlled sort of way,
though I knew, he was seething inside,
and Grant Lodge shouting so angrily at
the other end of the wire that I could
hear the receiver squeaking as Mr.
Newton held it to his ear.

Usually, after arguments that kept
everyone on the verge of a nervous
breakdown, Mr. Newton won out; but
finally, on the afternoon of a broad-
cast itself, the inevitable deadlock ar-
rived. For two days Lodge had been
insisting that he'd broadcast a sketch
he'd written, holding the Supreme
Court of the United States up to

17

1 I

&^

^

•syfc

■ You who listened heard only a radio

stanJa,-b,t for me. Grant Ladae's secretary, it was a m.gic key ^ ecriasy

I SUPPOSE no girl ever set a higher
standard, in her mind, than I did
for the man I would some day meet,
love, and marry. Physically, I had no
very clear picture of him. But men-
tally and spiritually, I knew that he
would be many things — thoughtful of
others, and particularly of me; strong
yet gentle; with a quiet humor we
could share together; honorable and
quick to sense honor or the lack of it
in others. . . . Oh, I knew the kind of
man I could love.

But love doesn't follow the course we
plan for it — it goes its own wilful way,
and drags us along. I didn't fall in love
with the man I pictured in my mind,
but with Grant Lodge. He was com-
pletely impossible, and I knew it. He
took no thought for anyone, least of all
me; he was neither strong nor gentle;
he has a sense of humor, but at least
once I wished he hadn't; and as for
honor — well, he has his own code, and
I guess he's the only one who under-
stands it. Fantastic, bizarre, unpre-
dictable he was — and still is — and I
don't think I'll ever stop loving him.

I was a secretary in a big radio sta-
tion when I met Grant. Even the way
he came to us was extraordinary. The
program director had happened to tune
in a little country station, and there
was Grant, doing a variety show all by
16

■ All the tension of the

last weeks rose up in me

l and brought my hand

crashing across his face.

himself— a show that was so clever, so
vital and fresh that the program direc-
tor fell all over himself tracking Grant
down and signing him up to a contract.
Our station gave him a few actors and
a small orchestra to work with, put
him on in the afternoon— and im-
mediately the mail began to pour in.
After that, of course, his show had to
be moved to an evening hour, and some
of the network stations carried it.

Grant Lodge called his program
Personal Notions. It broke all radio
rules, and broke them successfully.
"Variety" was certainly what it was —
a hodge-podge of comedy, drama, and
sheer inspired nonsense. No one ever
knew what was coming next, although
Grant always had it all carefully
planned out in advance. He insisted
on writing, directing, acting in and
bossing completely his own program.
That was the only way he would con-
sent to sign a contract with the studio
at all. He was a regular dynamo of
energy and talent — even his enemies,
and within a week or so he had plenty
— had to admit that.

PERSONAL NOTIONS was such a
success that it was only a matter of
time until some sponsor would come
along and grab it, and probably put it
on the network. But meanwhile, it was
my boss, Mr. Newton who had the job
of trying to keep Grant Lodge living
up to the stations rules of what to put
on the air and what not to put on it — ■
and every time Lodge was asked to
change even a comma of his script he
screamed with rage.

Nearly every week there was
trouble. Mr. Newton always sighed
when the familiar bundle of manu-
script, backed in blue paper, showed
up on his desk.

"Here's our headache again," he
would mutter. Then he would read the
manuscript, pulling nervously at his
clipped white moustache, and finally
he'd ask me to get Grant Lodge on the
wire. A long telephone conversation
would follow, with Mr. Newton's voice
going along in a controlled sort of way,
though I knew, he was seething inside,
and Grant Lodge shouting so angrily at
the other end of the wire that I could
hear the receiver squeaking as Mr.
Newton held it to his ear.

Usually, after arguments that kept
everyone on the verge of a nervous
breakdown, Mr. Newton won out; but
finally, on the afternoon of a broad-
cast itself, the inevitable deadlock ar-
rived. For two days Lodge had been
insisting that he'd broadcast a sketch
he'd written, holding the Supreme
Court of the United States up to
17

"There was nothing kind or thoughtful about him, very little that was even

ridicule. Mr. Newton had argued
with him endlessly, and finally
Lodge even refused to interrupt his
rehearsal and come to the telephone.

"Marjorie," Mr. Newton said to
me, "I'm going to be a coward. If
I go down to the studio now and see
Lodge, I'm so mad I'll probably fire
him — and we can't afford to fire him.
He's too good, with all his tantrums.
So will you go, instead, and see if
you can't get him to rewrite that
Supreme Court sketch so it's fit to
go on the air?"

"But I hardly know him," I
pointed out. "I've only seen him a
couple of times."

"I'd say that was an advantage,"
he replied. "The less you know him,
the easier he is to deal with. Any-
way, see what you can do."

WELL, I thought as I went out to
the elevators and pushed the
button for a car, Grant Lodge may
be a genius, but he sounds more like
a badly spoiled little boy to me. In
the few minutes I waited there in
the hall, I tried to think what to say
to him. Suddenly, the solution
clicked into my mind. I rushed back
to the office, rummaged in the
wastebasket for the discarded news-
paper I'd read that morning. Yes,
here it was. I tucked it under my
arm and caught the next elevator.

In the big studio several floors be-
low, they were rehearsing the whole
program, just as it would go on the
air.

Lodge didn't look so terrible, I
thought. He was a tall, raw-boned,
loosely put together young man,
with a long, pale face and intense
black eyes. His mouth was broad
and sensitive. As he talked into the
microphone one hand was always
busy, tugging at the lobe of an ear,
burrowing its way through his black
hair, clenching itself into a fist.

His Supreme Court sketch was
screamingly funny, I had to admit,
particularly when you heard Grant
mimicking the voices of nine aged
men. But it simply couldn't go on
the air that way. You can't afford,
in radio, to ridicule institutions
people believe in — and Grant's
satire was cruel, vicious.

At last the rehearsal was over. I
went up on the stage and stood
quietly near Grant while he issued
some last-minute instructions in a
low-pitched, clipped voice. Then I
tapped him on the arm. "I'm Miss
Williams," I said. "From Mr. New-
ton's office."

His eyebrows shot up, then down,
and he fixed me with a stare from
those black eyes.

18

"You can turn right around and
go back to Newton," he declared,
"and tell him I'm not going to
change that sketch." One hand be-
gan to beat into the palm of the
other. "If he thinks I'm going to let
a lot of cowardly old grandmas
mess up one of the funniest scripts
I've ever written — " He broke off.
"You heard it! I saw you just now,
sitting out there. You couldn't help
laughing at it. Why, that script's
beautiful — it's so funny it sings! It
— And you want me to throw it
out!"

"Of course it's funny," I said
calmly, interrupting him. "But I
know a way to keep it just as funny,
and avoid all this silly fuss. Here,
read this." I thrust the newspaper
at him, folded to the story I wanted
him to see — a review of the movie
version of a -best-selling non-fiction
book, which told how Hollywood
had simply made up a story to go
with the title, and changed what
had been a serious study of an im-
portant national problem into a
rollicking farce-comedy.

He read it through, and then
looked up in bewilderment. "I don't
see what this has to do with the
program," he said.

"Then you aren't as clever as
you're supposed to be. Isn't there a
book out now about the Supreme
Court?"

"Why— yes, I think so."

WELL then — all you have to do
is explain that your sketch is
that book, as Hollywood would film
it. It's always fair enough to kid
Hollywood — nobody will mind
about that. And all the rest of the
script can stay as it is."

He threw the newspaper into the
air with a wild whoop. "Wonder-
ful! A double-barreled joke! You're
a genius, Miss Wilson — and they al-
ways told me pretty girls didn't
have any brains!"

"We'll leave my looks out of it,"
I said coldly. "And the name is Wil-
liams."

"I don't care if it's Schmaltz!
You're still a genius!" He threw his
arms around me and kissed me on
the lips.

I tore myself away, boiling with
anger. "You do that again," I
threatened, "and I'll—"

I stopped — because he wasn't
even looking at me. He'd grabbed
his script and was running through
it furiously. "Go away, go away,"
he mumbled. "I've got to make that
change before broadcast time. Run
along. You can send a boy down
for the revised script in an hour."

A more unpleasant, disgustingly
self-centered young man, I thought
as I made my way out of the studio,
I'd never met. My lips were still
tingling from his kiss. I wished I
could wipe the sensation away.

I made up my mind that the next
time there was any difficulty over a
script, Mr. Newton could fix it up
with the conceited pig himself.

I DIDN'T have time to put that res-
I olution into effect, though. With
startling suddenness, negotiations
that had been going on for several
weeks came to a head, and it was
announced that Grant Lodge's Per-
sonal Notions had been sold to a
sponsor.

"That's the best news I've heard
in weeks," Mr. Newton said. "From
now on the sponsor will have the
headache of handling Lodge and his
scripts."

Later that day I picked up the
telephone and heard a voice I recog-
nized at once — low-pitched, ner-
vous, quick. "Miss Williams?" it
said. "You've heard the news?
Well, how'd you like to go to work
for me?"

I gasped. "Work — for you? But
Mr. Lodge, I have a job."

"Sure, I know. But I'll pay you
twice whatever you're getting. I'll
need somebody to help me out on
scripts."

"But I couldn't possibly—"
He went on as if I hadn't said
anything at all. "I'm down at the
studio now. I'll come up and we'll
talk about it."

I hung up, feeling as if a tornado
had just swept through my life.
Then I turned around, with the ap-
prehensive sensation that someone
was watching me. I was right — Mr.
Newton was standing in the open
door of his office.

"Well," he said, "it sounds as if
the genius were trying to hire my
secretary away. Right?"

"I don't understand it all," I said.
"He just called up and offered me a
job. Of course I won't accept—"

"Hmm," Mr. Newton caressed his
chin thoughtfully. "I don't know.
Might be a good idea. I'd hate to lose
you, but — You know what Lodge
did? He wouldn't sign with the
sponsor until they put a clause in
the contract guaranteeing not to in-
terfere with the show in any way.
He's bound to get them into some
sort of trouble. I'd feel a lot easier
in my mind if you were there, sort
of keeping an eye on things."

In the end, it was all arranged as
simply as that. I felt as if things
were being taken out of my hands

RADIO MIRROR

admirable. But I loved him."

entirely, as if I were nothing but a
piece of property that was being
shifted around to suit a lot of other
people. And I didn't like it very
well. But on the other hand — there
was the money.

And — but just then I wouldn't ad-
mit this, even to myself — I knew
that Working with Grant Lodge
would be an unforgettable experi-
ence. Nerve-wracking it would be,
tempestuous, sometimes unbearable
— but never dull.

No. I found that out soon enough
— never dull.

He never gave you the slightest
clue to what he was going to do
next. I might not hear from him for
two days, and if I called up and
tried to arrange to do some work,
he'd snarl and tell me not to bother
him. Two hours later, he'd be apt to
telephone and demand my presence
at once, at a session that would last
until we were both haggard.

After three weeks of working
with him, I didn't have the least
idea whether I liked him or hated
him. I respected him for his ability,
but I disliked him for his arrogance
and conceit — even though, so often,
I had to admit he had something to
be conceited about.

He didn't seem to realize I was a
woman, most of the time. He in-
sisted on doing all his writing at his
apartment, and whenever I went
there he treated me almost as if I'd
been another man. He'd be wearing
his pajamas and dressing gown, un-
shaven, his hair uncombed; he'd let
me light my own cigarettes and
would never make a move to help
me on with my coat when I left.
Yet, somehow, he seemed to de-
pend upon me. He'd look to me for
approval of what he thought was a
particularly good line he'd written,
and if I wasn't enthusiastic he'd tell
me I was a fool — then work over it
again and again until I agreed with
him that it was right. Once or twice
we clashed over something I was
convinced should not be broadcast,
but I managed to smooth such places
over.

ONE day, at rehearsal, Mr. New-
ton dropped in and sat down
beside me in the studio. "Just
thought I'd see how things were
going," he whispered. "Everything
all right?"

"As much all right as they ever
can be with Grant," I said grimly.

He chuckled a little, and lit a
cigarette, although the rules forbade
it. "You're a wonder, Marjorie. I
never thought you'd be able to stick
with him even this long."

I know now that the heart can't al-
ways follow the path you've chosen
for it— and least of all in radio.

I don't know what made me say
it. "He's not so bad, really," I re-
marked defensively.

He glanced at me keenly. "Not
falling in love with him, are you?"

I started, and looked at him to
see if he was serious. "Of course
not! What an idea!" And I really
thought I was telling the truth.

"Oh well," he said, "you're a
young and pretty girl, and he's a
good-looking young fellow — in a
wild sort of way."

It was impossible to be irritated
very long at Mr. Newton — he was
too sweet and grandfatherly. I
laughed, and said, "Mr. Newton,
you're too romantic. Just look at
him, and then tell me — how could
I fall in love with him? He's — he's
just not the loving kind."

Grant choosing that exact mo-
ment to burst out in a torrent of
abuse against a luckless actor, Mr.
Newton looked at me with amused
agreement in his eyes.

Then, one night only a week or

so later, the chain of events started
that was to change both of our lives
with such dramatic swiftness.

I'd gone to bed early, worn out
from a day spent in preparing the
final draft of the next day's show,
and had just dropped off to sleep
when I was awakened by the shrill,
persistent buzzing of my apartment
doorbell. Sleepily I dragged on a
negligee and stumbled to the door.

It was Grant. He burst into the
room talking as he came. "I just
went out for a walk and all of a
sudden I got a wonderful idea!
Wonderful! It'll put Personal No-
tions on the front pages. Where's
your typewriter? — we've got to get
right to work!"

"Wait a minute," I said suspi-
ciously. "What kind of an idea?"

His black eyes snapping with ex-
citement, he said, "It's wonderful,
I tell you! We're going to have a
surprise guest on our next show —
and do you know who? The Presi-
dent's wife!" (Cont. on page 75)

july, 1939

19

HH

RM

f*ow.s

•"'•"••"w^

* **vo»f

"SCHOOL TEACHER"

THE "school teacher" of Informa-
tion Please is Clifton Fadiman
— bland, innocent-looking, with
mild blue eyes, an unabridged dic-
tionary for a brain, and an ability to
turn wisecracks that makes his ex-
perts quiver in their fashionable
boots. He doesn't have to think up
the questions he asks on each week's
program, but he probably could,
without trying very hard.

"Kip" Fadiman — the nickname
comes from an attack of hiccups he
had shortly after he was born, and
which lasted a week, during which
he apparently said nothing but "kip-
kip-kip" — is a modern merchant of
brain-power, with a special interest
in books and literature. He was
born in Brooklyn thirty-four years
ago, and began earning part of the
Fadiman family living when he was
old enough to run errands. In high
school he and an elder brother ed-
ited, published and distributed a
newspaper. In Columbia University
he tutored less brilliant students,
waited on table, worked in the col-
lege library, sold magazine sub-
scriptions, wrote book reviews and
book advertisements. He even
translated two books by the Ger-
man author Nietzsche into English
— and graduated with honors.

After college he had a fling at
teaching school, in the Ethical Cul-
ture School of New York City — and
then joined the publishing firm of
Simon & Schuster as a manuscript
reader and talent scout. Later he
became Simon & Schuster's editor-
in-chief, and at present he is one
of their literary consultants.

Being editor of a big publishing
house would have satisfied anyone
less energetic than Kip, but he
branched out into reviewing books
for The New Yorker magazine and
lecturing on literature to women's
clubs all over the country. Last
year his mileage on these lecture
tours was between 30,000 and 40,-
000 — he didn't keep exact count.
Maybe you heard him in 1933, when
he was on the air for twenty-six
weeks, reviewing books. And mean-
time he was writing articles for sev-
eral national magazines.

When Dan Golenpaul, who
thought up the idea for Information
Please, needed a master of cere-
monies he picked Fadiman partly
for his wide knowledge of many
subjects, but mostly for his quick —
and sometimes cutting — wit. The
knowledge falls down sometimes —
for instance, a few weeks ago a
smart reporter in one of the towns
Fadiman lectured in met him at the
train and fired a list of questions at

Everybody says, "Information Please!" about those

RADIO MIRROR

This is what you d see at a
typical Information Please broad-
cast. At the table at the left
are seated Oscar Levant, John
Kieran, guest H. V. Kaltenborn,
and F. P. Adams. Right, Clifton
Fadiman and Dan Golenpaul,
the originator of the program.

'"&*

**

II

■

By NORTON RUSSELL

im, just to see if he was really an

xpert. Kip flunked outright on

ost of the queries. One of them,

'What are the seven wonders of

he Ancient World?" has been sug-

ested frequently for use on Infor-

ation Please, and rejected because

veryone thought it was too easy.

adiman knew only five of the seven

onders.

Kip is married, and lives just off
ifth Avenue on Ninety-fifth Street
ith his wife and one small son.
owntown, he has an office and a
ecretary, where he does all his
ork — for his Information Please
uties are still only part of his ac-
ivities. To write his book reviews,
e reads an average of two dozen fat
volumes a week, and writes about
hem. He is editing a book called
"Living Philosophies," to be pub-
lished soon. It is rumored, but not
confirmed, that he is a story scout
for one of the big moving picture
companies. And he is writing a
book about — cheeses.

Yes, he loves cheese — a fact re-
vealed for the first time by his friend
John Kieran, in a magazine article
Kieran recently wrote about him.
Cheese is his ruling passion and his
obby, and his forthcoming book is

h,

to be the last word on the subject.
He has already divided all known
cheeses into thirty general types,
subdivided into 700 or so different
varieties. In preparation for the
book, he is busily tasting all 700
varieties at different ages and tem-
peratures, and indexing his findings.

His position as one of New York's
most widely read book reviewers
gives him a good deal of power,
which he is careful not to abuse. He
and Alexander Woollcott are two
people who can send a book's sales
skyrocketing by giving it a word of
praise, since they are both looked
up to as critics by people who pride
themselves on their sophistication.
Kip has never been accused of "log-
rolling," though — praising a friend's
book simply because he liked the
author. Neither does he show any
favoritism toward books published
by the firm for which he works as a
literary consultant.

He played a typically Fadiman-
ish joke on New York movie critics
a few weeks ago. He called several
of them up when he knew they
wouldn't be in their offices, and left
a message for them to call him back.
Every critic gleefully jumped to the
conclusion that he was about to be
asked to appear on Information
Please, and lost no time in grabbing
the telephone. Innocently, Kip told

them, "There's a picture playing
now I think you ought to be sure to
see. It's called 'Forty Little Moth-
ers,' and it's at the Theater."

As a matter of fact, few New York
newspaper columnists or critics are
ever invited to go on Information
Please any longer, unless they're na-
tionally known. Some went on in
the early weeks of the show, but
such hard feelings immediately
sprang up among those who weren't
invited that a blanket no-critic rule
had to be laid down.

KNOW-IT-ALL

Until John Kieran began answer-
ing questions on Information Please,
his radio experience was limited to
one brief talk about golf. It was not
a success — a Scotch friend of his
rebuked him the next day by saying
sourly, "Gowf is something that
mustna be talked aboot."

But when Dan Golenpaul was
hunting experts for the program,
someone told him the sports editor
of the New York Times knew so
much about practically everything
that he was amazing. This wasn't
an exaggeration — Kieran does know
so much he's amazing. His special-
ties are sports (naturally), Latin,
Shakespeare, and birds, but he's no
dope when it comes to history, other
(Continued on page 65)

Question Experts — the Four Musketeers of Information Pleas*

tLY, 1939

■so we answer

21'

■ Begin the first auth-

orized life story of

Walter Winchell— a

shirt-sleeved crusad-

er, and Broadway's
No. 1. Family Man

By
MILDRED LUBER

THE Imperial Theater, on 116th Street near Lenox
Avenue, didn't live up to its name. It was musty
and old, the carpets in its aisles were frayed from
the scuffling of many shoes, its orchestra consisted of
one piano whose ancestor must have been a tin can,
and everyone in the neighborhood knew by heart
exactly what its four faded backdrops looked like.

But to me, a little brat all fussed up with pigtails
and brightly colored ribbons tied tightly around my
head, the Imperial was paradise, no less. For one of
its vaudeville acts, as announced by a sign in the front,
was "The Three Little Boys with the Big Voices" —
whose names were Walter Winchell, George Jessel and
Eddie Cantor. And I had a great crush on Walter
Winchell.

At the time, he was eleven years old.
I'm no longer in love with him, but most of that
early admiration is still with me, after more than
twenty-five years of friendship. Walter knows every-
body, but almost nobody knows him. It's a mark of
distinction, around Times Square and along Fifty-
22

Second Street, to be able to say that "Winchell and I
are just like that," holding up two tightly-pressed-
together fingers — except that usually it isn't true. I'm
proud then, that not long ago, when I asked Walter
for an interview, explaining I was going to write a
story about him, he answered, "Sit down and write
your own story — you know me so well."

That's one reason it's a pleasure and a privilege to
write this story. Another is that this is the life-story
of an American — a story which proves that Democracy
and Americanism can work. To look at Walter Winchell
when I first knew him, you wouldn't have said he stood
much of a chance to make anything very spectacular
of himself. Immigrant parents, barely the beginnings
of an education, poverty — and not much on the credit
side beyond a good personality and lots of energy:
that summed up the eleven-year-old Winchell. Yet
today, he's famous and wealthy; more important, he's
a man with the ability and the willingness to fight for
the American ideals which made it possible for him to
get where he is. A modern crusader, Walter is — a

RADIO MIRROR

crusader in shirt sleeves, with a typewriter instead of
a lance.

It's good to know a man like that. Better today
than ever before.

I do know things about Walter Winchell that have
never been told until now — things Walter, who is as
reticent about himself as he is frank about other peo-
ple, would never tell, and other people don't know.
Perhaps, in those long-ago days of the Imperial
Theater, some intuition warned me that he would some
day be famous, and unknowingly I stored up scenes
and incidents in my memory, and kept in touch with
him after our lives had apparently parted. Perhaps —
and I think this is nearer the truth — Walter was even
then such a figure of glamour and excitement to me
that I just couldn't help remembering everything I
knew about him.

WEST 116th Street, and its surrounding neighbor-
hood in Harlem, was a tough sort of place in those
early days of Walter's life. Today, its residents are
mostly colored; then, they were "foreigners" — immi-
grants, Russian, Jewish, Irish, getting their first taste
of this bustling new America they had heard about
from over the sea; confused, bewildered, alien, and yet
somehow intoxicated by this new air of freedom.

Walter was born there, in Harlem, on April 7, 1897.
His father, who spelled his name Winchel (the story
of how Walter added the extra I must come later on),
was a dealer in silks, but not a very successful one.
His mother, Jennie Bakst before her marriage, was a
beautiful, stately woman, with raven-black hair and
soulful blue eyes — one of the most charming and intel-
ligent women I have ever known.

They had come, these two, from Russia, to build their
family and their home in the great United States. How
they would have smiled, unbelievingly, as they stepped
on Manhattan Island for the first time, if anyone had
told them their first son would become known in every
corner of this vast land, would enrich its speech with
words of his own manufacture, would even fight for its
ideals with all the vital energy at his command!

"Winchell says. . . ." "I listened to Winchell last
night. . . ." "Winchell had it two weeks ago. . . ."
"If we could only get Winchell to give us a boost. . . ."
"Winchell . . . Winchell . . . Winchell "

But Jacob Winchel's boy, Walter, left school — P. S.
184 on 116th Street — at the end of the sixth grade. He
had to. There wasn't any more time for the luxury of
studying. The Winchels had another son by this time,
Algernon (only it was safer to call him Algie) and it
was time for Walter to begin earning some money.

All the things that Walter Winchell's own children
have — education, toys, care, balanced diet, supervision
— all these are things that Walter did without. As a
matter of sober fact, he never had a pair of roller
skates on in his life, nor did he ever ride a bicycle.
He probably didn't feel deprived — few enough of the

JTOLY, 1939

■ A rare picture of Walter in Gus Edwards' Song Re-
vue— Edwards at the piano, Walter just above him,
George Jessel on the rug and Georgie Price, right.

Cvlver

■ As a second-rate song and dance man, his ambition to
play the Palace in New York was never realized. It
wasn't until he was a columnist that they engaged him.

kids around P.S. 184 possessed such
things. We little girls played a
game called "Potzie." Maybe you
called it "Hop-scotch" when you
were a kid, if you didn't live in New
York. The boys' favorite game went
by the name of "Pussy-cat." It was
a sort of game the feminine mind
doesn't comprehend very well, and
I can't even now pretend to tell you
its object. All I know was that it
involved putting a whittled-down
slab of wood on the pavement or in
the gutter, sending it spinning down
the street with a tremendous whack
from a broomstick, and then run-
ning and shouting like mad.

IT was a boisterous game, but it
was mild compared to the fierce
warfare that constantly went on be-
tween the boys on this block and the
boys on the next. A boy grew up
early in that neighborhood, grew
strong and wiry and tough. He had
to. The law of tooth and claw ruled
there in Harlem, just as surely as
it did in any jungle.

Walter says now that he left
school because he was such a dunce.
As a matter of fact, he was an honor
student, as a copy of his school
paper, "The Echo," reveals. I hap-
pened to see a copy of it a few days
ago at a meeting of the 184 Asso-
ciation, a newly formed club, de-
signed to shelter old P.S. 184 teach-

ers and make their last years com-
fortable. Walter is one of its mem-
bers, and so am I.

We — the Luber family — moved
into the neighborhood about the
time Walter left school, and our first
contact with him was through his
mother, that fine and lovely lady.
It was with her Algie and I used
to go on Saturday afternoons to the
Imperial Theater, where five cop-
pers admitted two kids, to watch
Walter.

There he was dressed in blue
serge knickers pulled far down be-
low his knees, his hair cut "Buster
Brown style," and with a collar
fashioned after that worn by the
same comic-strip character, who
was as famous then as Blondie and
Baby Dumpling are now. He sang
"Sunbonnet Sue" to a little girl in
a buckram bonnet and gingham
dress — with his small arm tight
around her slim waist, he rocked
to and fro on the stage, very roman-
tic. For Walter Winchell was a very
handsome boy — blond, slim, with
finely chiseled features. And, since
boys in that part of town grow up
fast emotionally as well as physic-
ally, he already was learning how
to make a feminine heart thump
adoringly. Not that he wasted any
effort on such an infant as I was.

It hurt Jennie Winchell that he
had to leave school, but she found

The author, Mildred Luber, greets her childhood
friend, Walter Winchell, on his return from Florida.

24

consolation those Saturday after-
noons, watching him on the stage,
waving back when he caught sight
of her over the footlights and smiled
at her for approval. She guided and
encouraged him at a time when most
parents in the neighborhood would
rather have had their children
hawking newspapers on the streets
than working in one of those de-
praved places, theaters. Today, Wal-
ter knows that what he has accom-
plished in the world, what he has
made of himself, is due in large
part to his mother. In fact, though
he seldom mentions them, his
mother and his wife are two domi-
nating influences in Walter's life.
At heart, he's a family man.

Soon Walter had struck up a
friendship with two other bright
young lads who had stage ambitions,
and they formed a trio. George Jes-
sel was nine years old then — an-
other P.S. 184 boy, but not for long.
I think he went to school, unwill-
ingly, for about eight months after
he moved to 116th Street. Then he
quit. He knew enough. Eddie Can-
tor the third member, was older
than the other two — thirteen. He
also had more education, managing
to reach the seventh grade before
he left, by request.

W 'ALTER and George were
novices compared to Eddie. Al-
ready he had determined to make
the stage his life-work. He was a
talented mimic, and was used of tener
at the theater, under varying names,
than the other two boys. George
and Eddie had good singing voices,
a department at which Walter had
to take a back seat. But Walter's
good looks made up for any musi-
cal deficiencies. He was unquestion-
ably the Don Juan of the trio. That
is one of my clearest memories of
Walter — his real handsomeness and
his acute interest in the opposite
sex. He always seemed to think he
was in love with some girl.

Things were going along fairly
well, with frequent dates at the Im-
perial for one, two, or all three of
the boys, when the Gerry Society —
which was the law — stepped in. It
decreed that the boys, because of
their age, couldn't perform on the
stage. That was a blow. Then it de-
veloped that for some reason it was
perfectly all right for them to per-
form from the orchestra pit. To this
day, no one has ever been able to
explain the distinction, but it was
the salvation of Walter and George.
While Eddie went farther afield, to
a theater in Brooklyn, they sang
duets from the pit with Jack
Weiner, to the accompaniment of
colored -slides thrown on the screen
above them. (Continued on page 51)

RADIO MIRROR

ARE MY CHAPERONES

■ And handsome ones too! But
there's another side to my
story — for I have one of the
oddest jobs a girl ever had

By BEA WAIN

IT'S almost time again. In a few hours
I'll say goodbye to my comfortable little
four room apartment, my very nice hus-
band and my friends, grab one small suitcase
and start out once more on the most hectic
experience a woman ever faced. I'll be
gone more than a month, a bus will be
my home, a fast moving, bouncing, dusty
home, and seventeen men will be my chaper-
ones. I'll be in a different place nearly
every day: small towns, big cities, made-
over barns, night clubs, college campuses.

What's this all about? I'm the singer
with Larry Clinton's band and I'm about to
start out on a succession of one night stands
— as they're called in the band business.
That means we're going on tour, to pay per-
sonal visits to all the dance places we can
squeeze in, never staying more than one or
two nights before moving on to the next
stop.

That's the way all big bands operate.
First we stay in a big city for several
months, playing on the radio as many times
a week as possible. Then we swing out
across these United (Continued on page 68)

■ Bea Wain, who sings with Larry Clinton's
orchestra, is one of the highest paid and
most famous of girl vocalists. But she
earns every cent and here she tells why.

j#^J

^>*.

Please see the following pages for a vivid picture story of a band on tour

P H QTQ *
lvflJ|R<£R

mm

I

in

Ml

■ Waiting for the bus: trumpet-
er Harry Williford, saxophonist
Ben Wi 1 1 iams and M rs. Wi 1 1 iams.

ON the preceding page, Bea Wain told you
in words what being "on the road" with a
dance band is like. Now, in pictures, join
Hal Kemp's orchestra on its most recent tour of
one night stands.

Like most bands, Hal Kemp's travels in a big
bus, but in addition, he has a special truck, loaded
with instruments and luggage, trundling along
ahead of the bus all the time. The truck is neces-
sary, because one of the boys in the band takes
along portable dark room equipment, Hal is never
without his portable phonograph and a supply of
records, and a sun lamp has to go along to pep
the boys up after a three-hundred-mile hop.

All sorts of things are likely to happen on tour.
For instance, there's a hardware merchant in
York, Pa., who gives a party for the gang every
time they play his city. The party's held right in
the store itself, and everyone in the band revels
in playing with the stock of games and gadgets.

During the spring the Kemp band plays at
many college proms, and it can usually count on

u

■,.^J

Photo by Otto Hess

■ Bob Allen helps load the truck
that travels ahead of the bus,
carrying instruments and bags.

<?

■ Between shows, trumpet soloist Mickey
Bloom relaxes under the sun lamp that
goes along on tour. Left, Jack LeMaire
and Kenneth LeBahn while away time in
the bus with a game of Chinese checkers.

RADIO MIRROR

I

I

*te

a party at one of the fraternity houses before or
after the dance. Out of the ordinary, though, was
the request the band received at Washington and
Lee University — to dress up in Colonial costumes
to harmonize with the theme of the dance.

Sometimes the band stays overnight in a town
after playing at a dance; but frequently it piles
right back into the bus and sets out for the next
stop, the boys getting what sleep they can.

Mrs. Kemp, the former Martha Stephenson,
always tours with the band, and other musicians'
wives can come along if they want to. To most
of them, though, touring is an old story, and they
either make only part of the trip with their hus-
bands, or meet them somewhere along the route.
Singer Judy Starr, who was still with the Kemp
band at the time these pictures were taken, is
married to Jack Shirra, the Kemp bass violinist.

Their weekly broadcast on CBS, Time to Shine,
doesn't keep the Kemp band from touring. If
they're close enough, they come back to New
York; otherwise, they broadcast on the road.

^\

■ Hal always takes his portable
phonograph along — to be used
when there's a minute of rest.

O

Bob Allen and Hal in the
fancy dress the band donned at
Washington and Lee University.

I

Photos by Mel Adams

■ Mrs. Kemp, the former Martha Stephen-
son, always tours with the band. Above, at
the hardware store party in York, Pa.
Right, Judy Starr and husband Jack Shirra
take it easy during an intermission.

July, 1939

■ Chief Manny, with his mother and father, in-
spects his huge birthday cake, decorated with
a jail scene. Below, he says goodbye to Capt.
Vallance of the Beverly Hills Police as he sets
out in the patrol wagon. Sitting on the steps
are Sandra and Ronnie Burns ana Joan Benny.

■ Even parents were in
Western clothes — Joan
Blondell helps young
Norman Scott Powell
eat his ice cream soda.

The Edward G. Robinsons celebrate
their son's sixth birthday with a —

THERE are two kinds of parties Hollywood really
loves — costume affairs and kid parties. The gala
picnic given by Edward G. Robinson of the CBS
Big Town program for his son Manny's sixth birth-
day combined the best features of both — and was
a huge success. No sissy party this, but a real
Western shebang, with everybody dressed fit to
kill in cowboy and cowgirl suits. Even the in-
vitations entered into the spirit of the thing —
they were subpoenas, summoning the guests to ap-
pear at "Chief Manny's Higginsville Jail." At the
"Jail" which was Manny's home — they were loaded
into a real Black Maria and driven to the "Ranch"
a mile up the canyon in Beverly Hills.

M%£0:fe

,-!-^3fcfc,

CHICF MANNyS

HiGCrtnsoju.e

©ANCH-.

■ Nothing tastes as good as hot dogs, particularly
if you're wearing a sombrero and a bandanna — at
least, that's what Peter (Melvyn) Douglas' grin
seems to say. Above, Manny and Wesley Ruggles, Jr.

JAMBOR

■ Jest a-settin' on the old buckboard wagon an' thinkin' —
Joe E. Brown's daughter Kathryn, Richard Arlen Jr., and
Gary Crosby, who seems to be doing a hand-stand. Right,
Gary, oldest of Bing's four boys, proves by his interest
in the Shetland pony that he's a chip off the old block.

A choral group like this one
of Kay Thompson's on Tune-
Up Time gets at least $14 a
singer for 15-minute shows,
up to $20 for hour programs,
half as much again for re-
peat broadcasts, and $4 an
hour rehearsal pay. A solo-
ist like Barry Wood, left be-
low, or Joan Edwards, oppo-
site, is paid at least $40 for
15 minutes, $70 for an hour.

DO RADIO PERFORMERS REALLY EARN?

UNTIL the American Federation
of Radio Artists threatened a
general strike of all radio actors,
singers and announcers, no one
could have answered this question.
Now that the strike's been averted
and an agreement reached, there's
a minimum union wage scale for all
performers on network sponsored
programs. It works like this. An
actress like Alice Frost (left) can't
be paid less than $15 for working
on a fifteen-minute broadcast, $25
for one lasting 30 minutes, and $35
for an hour show — no matter how

much time she's actually at the
mike. She gets about half as much
again if the show has a repeat
broadcast, and $6 an hour rehearsal
pay. Thus, an actor on a daytime
serial, if he works in every instal-
ment, can make as much as $105 a
week — plus another $50 if there are
re-broadcasts. All figures quoted
are minimum rates — stars like Alice
and others shown here may, because
of their popularity, earn much more.
And bit players who only work
occasionally find that $15 doesn't
go very far.

RADIO MIRBOB

L.

3>

■ Nothing mattered any longer. She had lost
Michael, life had no meaning, unless — but did
she dare try Dr. Orbo's dangerous experiment?

The Story Thus Far:

WFHAT was Kitty Kelly's real
identity? All she knew was that
she wakened one morning, with her
memory completely gone, in the
stuffy, third-class cabin of a ship
bound for America. Her only com-
panion was a grim-faced old woman
named Mrs. Megram, who told her
that her name was Kitty Kelly, that
she was a poor Irish girl on her way
to New York, and that she had been
ill. Not one word of this, Kitty
learned a year later, was true — for
Mrs. Megram was murdered, leaving
behind her a note mentioning Kitty's
"rightful place in the world." And
Grant Thursday, whom Kitty met on
a winter skiing party, insisted that
he had known her before, in Swit-
zerland.

There was only one reason, really,
for Kitty's eagerness to learn her
real name. For months, Michael
Conway, a young lawyer, had been
begging her to marry him, but she
had refused, not daring to say yes
until she knew more about her past.
Now Michael was becoming bored
and restless, drifting away to rich,
glamorous Isabel Andrews. One
night, pleading work, he broke an
engagement with her, and she
yielded to Grant Thursday's pleas
and went out with him instead. At
the restaurant, they saw Michael, in-

toxicated and with Isabel. After-
wards, turning to Grant as her only
friend, Kitty agreed to visit a
psychiatrist he recommended to her,
Dr. Weyman; and Dr. Weyman in-
troduced her to Dr. Orbo, "a man
who knows more about amnesia
than anyone else in the world."

But Dr. Orbo, when he saw Kitty,
said that they had met before —
more than a year ago, in Dublin,
when he had performed an experi-
ment in artificial amnesia upon her,
deliberately causing her to lose her
memory.

Part Two

DR. ORBO did not say anything
for a few minutes. He stood
there, looking at her with an
inscrutable smile. Then at last he
made a beckoning motion of his
hand.

"Will you come around to this
chair, Miss Kelly, please?" he said.

There was something sinister
about his voice, something Kitty did
not like. Yet she felt drawn to the
man. He reached out one hand,
touched her chin, tilted it back,
speaking half to her, half to Dr.
Weyman.

"Who are you, Miss Kelly? That
is a curious question, a very curious
question. I wish I could answer it
completely. But unfortunately I

know very little about you. Very
. . . little. . . ."

"You speak in riddles, Dr. Orbo!"
Dr. Weyman broke in.

"Not in the least, Dr. Weyman.
As a matter of fact, I have come
halfway across the globe to search
for this girl. If you will consult
the medical journal again, you will
remember that my article closed
with the words 'Unfortunately it
was necessary to abandon the ex-
periment because of Miss K.'s sud-
den disappearance.' When I saw
Miss Kelly for the last time, she was
in full possession of her faculties.
But in her bloodstream were two
milliters of the most complex and
dangerous of my compounds. That
compound should have worn off in
two weeks at the most."

"You mean — she disappeared from
you with the seeds of amnesia at
work in her?" cried Dr. Weyman.

"Exactly." For a moment Kitty
fancied she saw a gleam of satisfac-
tion in Dr. Orbo's eyes. Then they
turned upon her with almost animal
gentleness.

"And so, my dear Miss Kelly, you
must tell me quickly — what have
you been doing? Whatever became
of you?"

"I — I don't know, doctor. I know
only that I woke up on a ship bound
for America . . . and . . . and that
an old woman named Mrs. Megram

For the first time, in dramatic fiction form, you can read the complete
story of the CBS serial that has thrilled listeners from coast to coast

32

RADIO MIRROR

■ Faster. She watched them, her eyes
dazzled by the whirling motion, Dr.
Orbo's low humming voice in her ear.

V

was with me. She told me I was
an orphan girl from Dublin — and
then she left me. I — I never heard
from her again, until two days ago,
when they told me she'd been mur-
dered!"

"So — Mrs. Megram is dead!" A
muscle quivered in Dr. Orbo's ex-
pressionless face.

"Yes — did you — know her, Dr.
Orbo?"

Dr. Orbo bit his lip.

"A — little." His eyes momen-
tarily brilliant, grew cold again. "As
a matter of fact, Miss Kelly, I be-
lieve I paid your passage and Mrs.
Megram' s over on that boat to
America. You see, you earned that
money yourself — working for me.
If you will pardon me- — you were
my human guinea pig. That same
Mrs. Megram, of whom you speak,
originally brought you to my lab-
oratory."

"Mrs. Megram!" Kitty frowned.
"You mean — she knew me in Dub-
lin?"

"Certainly. Some university stu-
dent had told her about my experi-
ments in artificially induced am-
nesia. You were a poor girl from
the St. Elizabeth's Orphanage, who
wished to go to America, and she
proposed you as a subject of the
experiments I was making, so you
could earn your passage money.
You were quite willing. But Mrs.
Megram did not play fair with either
of us. She must have collected the
three pounds I paid you each week,
and when she had enough money to
pay her passage as well as yours,
taken ship with you — never realiz-
ing that I was right in the midst
of a most unusual experiment."

He paused, studying her upturned
face, as though she were some kind
of scientific specimen. Kitty drew
herself away a little from his touch.

"Is that — all you know about me,
Dr. Orbo?" she asked.

"Absolutely all." He looked her
straight in the eyes. "Except — that
I am eager to continue my experi-
ments— perhaps restore your mind."

"You're sure I was nothing but an
orphan from St. Elizabeth's?"

"Of course." He smiled. "You
told me with your own lips — the day
before I began my experiments in
Dublin."

"I see."

Kitty turned away, still haunted
by a feeling of doubt. Perhaps it
was egotism, vanity, she thought.
But that skiing at New Hampshire.
Grant Thursday's positive assurances
that he had seen her at St. Moritz.
How did they fit in with this strange
doctor's story? As though sensing
her thoughts, Dr. Weyman spoke.

"Miss Kelly doesn't seem like an
orphanage type, Dr. Orbo," he be-
34

gan. "Look at her hands, her fea- herself after all. Grant had been
tures, her beauty. . . ." right, she thought, as she hurried

Dr. Orbo shrugged. back to the store in the golden noon-

"I once saw a beautiful flower day sunshine. After all these months
that had pushed its way up through of false clues, Grant had turned her
the city streets," he said. "But if into the right path. And yet, even
Miss Kelly is not convinced that I the prospect of knowing who she
am telling the truth, she can find it was, seemed empty without Michael,
out for herself in a short time — Michael! Her high heels tapped out
provided she undergoes my experi- his name on the crowded sidewalk,
ments. I have already worked out Michael. If only he would call,
an antidote for her condition. We make one little gesture, she would
can start tomorrow, if she wishes." take him back. It did not matter

"Why, of course, Dr. Orbo!" Dr. what he had done.
Weyman's voice was delighted. "You "Please, Michael, darling" — she
can use my office, too, if you wish, whispered to herself — "please. I
What do you say to that, Miss Kelly? don't care about last night. It was
Dr. Orbo is going to attempt to re- nothing, nothing at all. You forgot
store your memory. Can you come yourself, that's all . . . Michael,
back tomorrow — say at four?" please . . ."

"Yes, doctor. . . ." Then suddenly, as she turned the

Obediently she nodded her head, corner to Marks' main entrance, her

received her instructions. But in- heart gave a thump of joy. Michael

wardly her heart misgave her. Who was going through the revolving

was this man, Dr. Orbo? And could door.

she trust his story? Was she really She hurried after him, calling his
nothing but an orphan girl with name. The noonday crowds were
illusions of grandeur? Was this the heavy, and she lost sight momen-
end? Or was there something wrong tarily of his tall figure in the gray

tweed coat, the shabby slouch hat.

But it did not matter now. Michael's

PRETTY KITTY KELLY very presence at Marks was enough .

He never came here except to see
SponToLbsys Z°kne^n Bcbs "nd her. He had come to apologize for

last night.

Buffeted by the hurrying women,
intent on bargains, she entered the
high-ceilinged store, her face aglow

Kitty Kelly ARLINE BLACKBURN with happiness. For a few moments,

she stood there on tiptoe, looking

Michael Conway for nim_ Yes— there he was— just

CLAYTON COLLYER beyond the Information Desk— his

Bunny Wilson HELEN CHOAT clean-cut profile turning toward the

escalator — about to ride up to the
Slim ARTELLS DICKSON second floor.

■ * /- j UAUI,B. cu.tu "Michael!" she launched herself

Inspector Grady. .HOWARD SMITH through the crowd after him. Then

©rant Thursday . . JOHN PICKARD her voice died in her throat. For

going up in the escalator at his side
Dr. Orbo LOUIS HECTOR was Isabel Andrews.

Isabel Andrews LUCILLE WALL She wa* beautifully dressed-in

a wine-colored velvet suit laden
„ „ . , „ , „ , with red fox, and a pert little hat

Radio script by Frank Dahm ... , . . . ,, . .... .

Fictionization by Lucille Fletcher With a shiny bird's Wing tilted OVer

one eye. And her hand, in its wine-

^ — — colored kid glove was resting lightly

— but firmly — on Michael's arm.

and secret about it all — something From the floor below, Kitty could

she could flee from, as though for see her laughing and chatting, her

her life? white teeth gleaming in a smile.

She needed Michael so. Michael How shiny she was, how gleaming

would know. Michael was hard and and clean. Even down here, down

practical. Oh, if she could only below, she could see Michael's eyes

see him for a moment, lay her head light up with admiration at her

on his shoulder, talk to him again, splendor, at the way she stood there,

But Michael . . . Michael was gone, so tall and handsome, gliding in the

She pulled herself together, and escalator like a queen,

held out her hand to Dr. Orbo in a " They must have met — by special

brave gesture. arrangement. They were going

"Goodbye, Dr. Orbo. I'll be back shopping together — here in Marks.

at four tomorrow." It did not matter to Michael any

* * * more that she, Kitty, worked in

So she was on the brink of finding {Continued on page 70)

RADIO MIRROR

■ Right, Meliza Korjus, the
singing star of "The Great
Waltz." chats with Master
of Ceremonies, Robert
Young on one of her fre-
quent appearances on the
Good News of 1939 show.

■ Below right, is Dick Pow-
ell as happy in his new pro-
gram as he seems in this
picture with Parkyalcarkus?
Below, Vivien "Scarlett
O'Hara" Leigh, who may be
on the air before long.

<*

HOLLYWOOD

RADIO WHISPERS

By GEORGE FISHER

■ Listen to George Fisher's broad-
casts every Saturday night over Mutual

MGM

HOLLYWOOD is whispering that
Dick Powell, who took over
the Al Jolson show recently,
is mighty unhappy over his connec-
tion with the program. Dick is little
more than a stooge, and is forced
into the background by Tiny Ruff-
ner, Parkyakarkus and Martha
Raye. May I suggest that Dick be
more than a mere straight man, for
it's no news that he has a real flair
for comedy. It's my personal opinion
that all the Dick Powell show needs
is Dick Powell!

July, 1939

In a few weeks David O. Selznick
will have lined up a dozen guest ap-
pearances for his new star, Vivien
Leigh. David is presenting his
"Scarlett" to radio audiences to
prove to them that her Southern
accent is now the real McCoy.

Incidentally, columnists have been
getting in sly digs at Vivien, in their
accounts of her private life. It is
not believed to be generally known
that Miss Leigh is the mother of a
six-year-old daughter, but what
these columnists don't know is that
Vivien is not trying to hide the fact
that she has a daughter. In fact, I
learned confidentially that Vivien is

making arrangements to bring the
child, Suzanne Leigh Holman, from
England to be with her during the
remainder of her stay in Hollywood.

Here's a laugh for you. Bing Cros-
by was requested to judge a beauty
contest at the University of Ala-
bama. Because he couldn't take time
out to go to Alabama, the college
sent him pictures of the contestants.
Bing finally chose a picture of a
blonde girl, and said he picked her
because she looked like she could
cook a good meal!

{Continued on page 86)

35

THE CASE OF THE

■ A thrilling rendezvous
with her favorite movie
and radio star leads Miss
Bell to a perilous adven-
ture— and to a new use
of an ordinary lunchbox

The Story Thus Far:

WILLIAM C. FOLEY, one of
Hollywood's most brilliant law-
yers, hired me as his secretary because
he liked my voice, and I discovered
later that one of the secrets of his suc-
cess was that he had an uncanny ability
for judging people from their voices.
On my very first day as his employee,
I was plunged into a maelstrom of in-
trigue and mystery. To begin with, I
had been hired to replace his former
secretary, who had been injured by a
hit-and-run-driver — as I discovered
when a private detective pushed his
way into the office, saying that he was
investigating her case. Later that day
I took notes for an agreement between
one of Mr. Foley's clients, Frank Padg-
ham, and two men named Carter
Wright and Woodley Page. I was to
type the agreement and deliver it that
night to a Beverly Hills address.

On my way to the house, that night,
I was almost run down by a speeding
car — and it didn't look like an accident,
either. When I arrived, the house
seemed deserted, but upstairs I found
Bruce Eaton, the radio and movie star,
bound and gagged in a closet. I set him
free, and under pretense of getting a
drink, he slipped out Of the house,
leaving me alone. As I started to fol-
low him, I picked up a safe-deposit key from the floor
— and then, through an open door at the end of the
hall, I saw a dead man slumped over a desk!

While I stood gaping, every light in the house went
out, and I hurried downstairs. At the front door I met
Mr. Padgham, and told him what I'd seen. While he

36

>?MAa

investigated, I went to a nearby drug store and called
Bruce Eaton's agent, leaving a message for him to call
at the office the next day. Padgham was gone when I
returned, but Mr. Foley was there, and after instructing
me to tell the drug clerk to call the police and report
the murder, he took me home. But when we looked

By Erie Stanley
GARDNER

Author of "The Case of the Velvet Claws"
"The Case of the Howling Dog," etc.

l'8flUL3HT

w\x 1

■ I ran to a door in the partition, jerked it
open. The banker raised his gun and shouted in
a shaky voice, "Stop where you are, both of you."

in my brief case for the agreement, it was empty!

Morning brought the news that the dead man was
Carter Wright, chauffeur to Charles Temmler, who
owned the house. Mrs. Temmler herself called on Mr.
Foley soon after, with a strange proposition. She
wanted to retain him to recover the contents of a

July, 1939

safety-deposit box in a bank at Las
Almiras, a little country town near Los
Angeles. She claimed that the key to
the box had been stolen by Carter
Wright before his murder, that the box
belonged to her husband, and that she
had to get its contents before her hus-
band returned from a business trip and
discovered the key had been stolen.
Mr. Foley, of course, said he couldn't
help her and sent her away.

I knew that the key in my possession
was the one to the Las Almiras box —
but, until I'd seen Bruce Eaton, I didn't
want to tell Mr. Foley about it. Eaton
called during the morning and made
an appointment to meet me. I as-
sumed he wanted to get the key away
from me — but when I met him I dis-
covered that he didn't even recognize
it. What he really wanted from me
was his stickpin.

Part IV.

(PICKED up this key on the floor
right after you'd left," I told him,
"and when you said that you'd lost
something, I naturally supposed this
was what it was. I know nothing about
your stickpin."

He pulled the car into a parking
place at the curb, took the key from
me and turned it over in his fingers,
looking at it from all sides. "There's
a number stamped on it," he said, in-
dicating the numeral 5, "but no name
of any bank. Do you have any idea
where this lock box is located?"
"Yes," I said, "I have."
"Where?"

"I don't think I have the right to
tell you."
He frowned.

"You see," I went on, "I fibbed to
you. I'm Claire Bell. I work for Mr.
Foley. This morning . . . well, any-
way, something happened which makes
me think that key fits a certain lock
box. I should have told Mr. Foley
about it, but I didn't because of what
you said over the telephone."

Gravely he handed the key back to
me, slipped the car in gear, and said,
"All right, let's eat."

He drove me to a little restaurant, a place I'd never
known existed, where we had wonderful food and an
atmosphere of delightful privacy. All during the meal,
I could see that he was studying me, and I managed to
get over some of my tongue- (Continued on page 78)

37

THE CASE OF THE

»T4A*LJA

■ A thrilling rendezvous
with her favorite movie
and radio star leads Miss
Bell to a perilous adven-
ture— and to a new use
of an ordinary lunchbox

The Story Thus Far:

WILLIAM C. FOLEY, one of
Hollywood's most brilliant law-
yers hired me as his secretary because
he liked my voice, and I discovered
later that one of the secrets of his suc-
cess was that he had an uncanny ability
for judging people from their voices.
On my very first day as his employee,
I was plunged into a maelstrom of in-
trigue and mystery. To begin with, I
had been hired to replace his former
secretary, who had been injured by a
hit-and-run-driver— as I discovered
when a private detective pushed his

way into the office, saying that he was

investigating her case. Later that day

I took notes for an agreement between

one of Mr. Foley's clients, Frank Padg-

ham, and two men named Carter

Wright and Woodley Page. I was to

type the agreement and deliver it that

night to a Beverly Hills address.
On my way to the house, that night,

I was almost run down by a speeding

car — and it didn't look like an accident,

either. When I arrived, the house

seemed deserted, but upstairs I found

Bruce Eaton, the radio and movie star,

bound and gagged in a closet. I set him

free, and under pretense of getting a

drink, he slipped out of the house,

leaving me alone. As I started to fol-
low him, I picked up a safe-deposit key from the floor investigated, I went to a nea.-.
—and then, through an open door at the end of the Bruce Eaton's agent, leaving a message for him l^ ]

8MUL IHT

K

While I stood gaping, every light in the house went returned, but Mr. Foley was there, and after ^""t

out, and I hurried downstairs. At the front door I met me to tell the drug clerk to call the police and reP

Mr. Padgham, and told him what I'd seen. While he the murder, he took me home. But when we loo*
36 rmio mW"

■ I ran to a door in the partition, jerked it
open. The banker raised his gun and shouted in
a shaky voice, "Stop where you are, both of you.

m™j b"ef case for the agreement, it was empty!

Morning brought the news that the dead man was

garter Wright, chauffeur to Charles Temmler, who

wned the house. Mrs. Temmler herself called on Mr.

*f ,soon after, with a strange proposition. She

nted to retain him to recover the contents of a

"l*. 1939

Author of "The Cose of the Velvet Clows"
"The Cose of the Howling Dog," ete.

safety-deposit box in a bank at Las
Almiras, a little country town near Los
Angeles. She claimed that the key to
the box had been stolen by Carter
Wright before his murder, that the box
belonged to her husband, and that she
had to get its contents before her hus-
band returned from a business trip and
discovered the key had been stolen.
Mr. Foley, of course, said he couldn't
help her and sent her away.

I knew that the key in my possession
was the one to the Las Almiras box —
but, until I'd seen Bruce Eaton, I didn't
want to tell Mr. Foley about it. Eaton
called during the morning and made
an appointment to meet me. I as-
sumed he wanted to get the key away
from me — but when I met him I dis-
covered that he didn't even recognize
it. What he really wanted from me
was his stickpin.

Part IV.

I PICKED up this key on the floor
right after you'd left," I told him,
"and when you said that you'd lost
something, I naturally supposed this
was what it was. I know nothing about
your stickpin."

He pulled the car into a parking
place at the curb, took the key from
me and turned it over in his fingers,
looking at it from all sides. "There's
a number stamped on it," he said, in-
dicating the numeral 5, "but no name
of any bank. Do you have any idea
where this lock box is located?"
"Yes," I said, "I have."
"Where?"

"I don't think I have the right to
tell you."
He frowned.

"You see," I went on, "I fibbed to
you. I'm Claire Bell. I work for Mr.
Foley. This morning . . . well, any-
way, something happened which makes
me think that key fits a certain lock
box. I should have told Mr. Foley
about it, but I didn't because of what
you said over the telephone."

Gravely he handed the key back to
me, slipped the car in gear, and said,
"All right, let's eat."

He drove me to a little restaurant, a place I d never
known existed, where we had wonderful food and an
atmosphere of delightful privacy. All during the meal,
I could see that he was studying me, and I managed to
some of my tongue- (Continued on page 78)

37

get over :

■ Would you kill the woman you
loved to hurry the inevitable
tragic end? Read the intensely
dramatic story radio dared
broadcast before you reply

WITH PAUL MUNI AND JOSEPHINE HUTCHINSON PLAYING THE LEADING ROLES, "BRIDGE OP MERCY" WAS
PRESENTED OVER CBS BY THE SCREEN ACTORS GUILD, SPONSORED BY THE GULP OIL CORPORATION

THE whole story came out in that crowded court-
room. The twelve silent men in the jury box, the
impassive judge, the watchful lawyers, the white-
faced prisoner, the whispering spectators — they had it
served up to them piecemeal, a bit from this witness,
a bit from that, until it was all there, every tragic
implication complete.

And yet, surely, not quite complete. Judging from
what happened afterward, there must have been some-

thing missing — some detail that was still hidden from
the world, known only to one man, to John Carson,
on trial for the murder of his wife, Mary.

This was the story, as they told it in the courtroom.

They might have been any couple, John and
Mary Carson. Young, childless, very much in love
— or seemingly so, at any rate. John was a book-
keeper for Greenleaf and Sons, the sort of young
fellow you see every noon-hour in the financial

38

RADIO MIRROR

district of any big city: lean and broad-shouldered,
alert, ambitious, a little dismayed at the destiny that
kept him bent over a desk in a tall office building,
juggling figures that were so great they made those in
his own bank-account seem laughable by comparison.

Mary sensed this dismay, soon after they were mar-
ried, and it was largely her doing that John began
working in the kitchen nights, after the supper dishes
were cleared away, spreading books and charts out on
the big table, poring over them until the hands of the
cheap alarm clock stood at midnight.

Mary would wait up for him, saying nothing, bent
over a dress she was making, looking up now and then
at his silent, absorbed figure. She had deep, luminous
eyes, all the more startling because they were set in a
face that was a trifle too pale, a trifle too small and
thin. All her soul was in those eyes as she looked up
at John, all her admiration and pride in him. Once
he turned and caught her looking at him like that, and
a lump came into his throat at the love he saw there.

John was popular at his office, and before his mar-
riage he'd run around with the other young fellows —
bowling at nights, playing badminton at a gymnasium

■ A shadow passed across Mary's eyes.
"Darling," she said, "you won't do
anything foolish — try to follow me?"

I I

JULY, 1939

39

■ Would you kill the woman you
loved to hurry the inevitable
tragic end? Read the intensely
dramatic story radio dared
broadcast before you reply

WITH PAUL MUH, AND JOSEPHINE HUTCH.NSOH PLAYING THE LEADING ROLES. "BRIDGE OF MERCY" WAS
PRESENTED OVER C.S « THE SCREEN ACTORS GU.LD. SPONSORED .Y THE GULF OIL CORPORATE

district of any big city: lean and broad-shouldered
aiert ambitious, a little dismayed at the destiny that
kept' him bent over a desk in a tall office building
juggling figures that were so great they made those in
'tis own bank-account seem laughable by comparison.

Mary sensed this dismay, soon after they were mar-
ried, and it was largely her doing that John began
working in the kitchen nights, after the supper dishes
were cleared away, spreading books and charts out on
the big table, poring over them until the hands of the
cheap alarm clock stood at midnight.

Mary would wait up for him, saying nothing, bent
over a dress she was making, looking up now and then
at his silent, absorbed figure. She had deep, luminous
eyes, all the more startling because they were set in a
face that was a trifle too pale, a trifle too small and
thin. All her soul was in those eyes as she looked up
at John, all her admiration and pride in him. Once
he turned and caught her looking at him like that, and
a lump came into his throat at the love he saw there.

John was popular at his office, and before his mar-
riage he'd run around with the other young fellows

bowling at nights, playing badminton at a gymnasium

■ A shadow passed across Mary's eyes.
"Darling," she said, "you won't do
anything foolish — try to follow me?"

THE whole story came out in that crowded court-
room The twelve silent men in the jury box, the
impassive judge, the watchful lawyers, the white-
faced prisoner, the whispering spectators— they had it
served up to them piecemeal, a bit from this witness,
a bit from that, until it was all there, every tragic
implication complete.

And yet, surely, not quite complete. Judging from
what happened afterward, there must have been some-

Illustration by Joseph Teior

thing missing— some detail that was still hidden from
the world, known only to one man, to John Carson,
on trial for the murder of his wife, Mary.

This was the story, as they told it in the courtroom.

They might have been any couple, John and
Mary Carson. Young, childless, very much in love
—or seemingly so, at any rate. John was a book-
keeper for Greenleaf and Sons, the sort of young
fellow you see every noon-hour in the financial

on Saturdays. Now he was too busy,
and outside of office hours about the
only time he saw his old cronies was
when one of them would drop in to
have dinner with him and Mary.

George Derwent was there one eve-
ning, but he left early. "You know
how it is," he said apologetically, "the
gang's waiting for me — going to do
some bowling."

Mary must have thought she saw a
wistful look in John's eyes, because
she said quickly, "Don't you want to
go too, John?"

HE put his arm around her and
grinned. "Nope. ' No time for
that sort of thing."

"You see, George," Mary said de-
fensively, "John's doing some special
work at home now, and — "

"Don't you get enough of that in
the office?" George asked with a
laugh.

"Oh well, it's not exactly work,"
John said. "More of a hobby, I guess.
You know how some fellows play
golf. . . ."

Those deep eyes of Mary's flashed
indignantly. "It is not a hobby!" she
said. "It's much more than that!"-

John, still deprecating, said, "Well,
it sounds sort of foolish, I guess. But
I'm taking a correspondence course."

"It's a home course in engineer-
ing," Mary added.

"Engineering!" George said, com-
pletely nonplused.

"Sure." John waved one hand
vaguely. "You know — dams, power
projects, bridges. . . . A — a path to
the moon, and beyond— just name
your order, and I'll build it!"

His tone invited George to laugh,
and George took the cue.

"All the same," John said when

George had left, "I sort of wish we
hadn't told him about the course.
They'll never quit kidding me."

"Darling!" Mary scolded him. "Don't
be self-conscious about ambition! It's
what makes great men different from
other men!"

John, beginning to lay out his books
on the kitchen table, laughed. "Great
men! One bookkeeper telling another
bookkeeper he's going to build
bridges — "

"And you will, too!" She was look-
ing up at him, and yet her eyes seemed
to be fixed somewhere beyond him.
"You'll build a big bridge . . . maybe
not to the moon . . . but a short cut
for people who work hard all day
long — for tired people — people who
want to do things, get places — "

There was something about her in-
tent, absorbed gaze, and her strange
words, that frightened him a little.

The next year, though, John for-
got his correspondence course, and
the books began gathering dust in one
corner of the hall closet. That was the
summer Mary went to a doctor. It
had been such a little pain at first, she
hadn't paid any attention to it. But it
grew. It grew.

There was Mary's first doctor, and
then another one. And x-ray pic-
tures. And an operation.

But the pain stayed, and went on
growing, after the operation.

The doctor had to tell John the
truth at last.

Your wife is suffering from a form
of malignant growth known as sar-
coma," he said. "The operation came
too late — the condition was too far
gone to be checked."

John said, as if he were forcing the
words out of his heart: "But isn't
there anything we can do? — Another
operation — a specialist?"

"I'm sorry — there's nothing anyone
can do. Except wait."

"But Doctor — the pain — She's in
such terrible pain, all the time — "

"I'm leaving you a prescription for
some capsules to be given as directed.
They will help."

At first, of course, they did help.
But as week followed week, the ef-
fects of each capsule wore off faster
and faster, they had to be taken at

Presenting the broadcast stars
of "Bridge of Mercy" — Paul
Muni and Josephine Hutchinson
who created the dramatic roles
of John and Mary Carson on CBS.

40

shorter intervals, the pain was greater
between times.

The doctor said she might live for
months — depending upon the progress
of the disease and her ability to with-
stand pain.

Coming into the room one night,
after the doctor had gone, John took
Mary's hand, trying to lie to her —
saying with his lips words both of
them knew were not true. "The doc-
tor says you're doing fine — in a little
while now, the worst will be over,
and — "

Mary smiled sleepily. "I know," she
agreed, "and soon I'll have no more
pain . . ." Her eyes closed.

"Mary!" John cried. "What's the
matter?" A horrible premonition
drew his eyes to the bedside table.
The box of capsules — it had been full
this morning. Now it was nearly
empty.

It was instinct that sent him run-
ning to the telephone, calling franti-
cally to the hospital.

Unwittingly, she was dragged back
to life. The white-suited ambulance
surgeon, laboring over the quiet form
on the bed, had no time to spare for
the haggard man who paced the liv-
ing room floor.

Toward dawn, he left. Mary was
conscious now, and her husband was
with her.

"Oh, darling, why did you let them
bring me back?"

"I was a coward."

"I'm such a burden to you . . . And
this pain . . . John!"

"What, Mary?"

"John, I've got to know! How long?
How long did the doctor say?"

It was too late now for pretenses,
he knew. "A month — two months — "

"As long as that?" she said weari-
ly. "John — you said that — some day,
when you build your bridge — I'd be
the first to cross it. Remember?"

"Yes," he said, "I remember."

"I need that bridge — now! Will
you build it for me?"

"Build you a bridge?" he said in
bewilderment. "I don't — Mary!"

"I'd cross it so gladly," she pleaded.
"And I'll wait for you — on the other
side. Please — a short cut."

YOU don't know what you're asking
of me!"

She nodded, wisely. "I do know.
But darling, it would be so easy, so
quick, if you would only stay with me
and see that I — I got safely across.
Tomorrow, we'll need more capsules
— if you'd only help me — "

"No, no! I can't — I love you — " But
in the midst of what he was saying he
saw the pain creep back upon her,
tearing and clawing, and he fell silent.
"You're right," he said at last, "you
can't wait too long."

That was the story they told in the
courtroom. They told, too, how on
the day before Mary Carson's death
John was nervous and distracted in
the office, seeming to forget where he
was or what he was doing. The
corner druggist told how John had
come in that evening, to buy a pack-
age of cigarettes, some toothpaste —
and, as if in afterthought, a renewal
of Dr. Morton's prescription. Other
people told of meeting him on his way
home, calling him by name, receiving
no answer.

All these bits of the story they told,
but one bit they left for imagination to
fill: the half hour that passed after
John went into his wife's bedroom and
closed the door behind him.

(.Continued on page 67)

RADIO MIRROR

Miss Eugenia Falkenburg of California is a typical American girl in her zest
for living. She rides... swims... plays excellent golf. And she ranks among the
first ten women tennis players in her state.

a

I get a lot of fun out of life,
and part of it is Letting up —
Lighting up a Camel"

EUGENIA FALKENBURG
OF CALIFORNIA

Miss Eugenia Falkenburg is typical of the active younger
women who find unfailing pleasure in smoking Camels. "That
Camel mildness is something very special. And each Camel tastes
as good as the last," she says, "full of ripe flavor and delicate taste!
With Camels, I feel as though I'm not— well, you know— just smok-
ing. To me, 'Let up — light up a Camel' means— um-m-m, here's
smoking pleasure at its best!" There's no reason why you should
miss the fun of smoking Camels. So change to Camels yourself
—for a new sense of well-being and new cigarette enjoyment.

Costlier Tobaccos — Camels are a matchless blend of finer,
MORE EXPENSIVE TOBACCOS— Turkish and Domestic.
Smoke 6 packs of Camels and find out why they are
THE LARGEST-SELLING CIGARETTE in America

FOR SMOKING PLEASURE
AT ITS BEST

CAMEL...

me ciGARerre of

COSTLieR TOBACCOS

^.11 tfceu al

ty always be as liappjj?

Will he always look at her with adoration
in his eye . . . devotion in his heart? Or will he
gradually grow indifferent as so many hus-
bands do . . . kissing her as a duty, if at all?
The answer lies almost entirely with her . . .

You may have it

There is nothing so hard to live with as a case
of halitosis (bad breath). And because of mod-
ern habits, everyone probably offends at some
time or other, without knowing it. That's the
insidious thing about halitosis.

Don't let this offensive condition chill your
romance. Don't let it frighten away your friends.
Don't take chances. Protect yourself.

There has always been one safe product espe-
cially fitted to correct halitosis pleasantly and
promptly. Its name is Listerine Antiseptic, the
most delightful refreshing mouth wash you can
use. When you rinse your mouth with Listerine

here is what happens.

Four Benefits

1. Fermentation of tiny food particles (a major
cause of breath odors) Is quickly halted.

2. Decaying matter is swept from large areas
on mouth, gum, and tooth surfaces.

3. Millions of bacteria capable of causing odors
are destroyed outright.

4. The breath itself — indeed, the entire mouth
— Is freshened and sweetened.

Don't Offend Others

When you want such freshening and deodorizing
effect without danger, avoid questionable imi-
tations. Use only Listerine Antiseptic. Rinse
the mouth with it every morning and every
night, and between times before business and
social engagements, so that you do not offend.
Lambert Pharmacal Co., St. Louis, Mo.

FOR HALITOSIS (Bad Breath) USE LISTERINE

P. S.-IF YOU HAVE ANY EVIDENCE OF DANDRUFF USE LISTERINE • ITS RESULTS ARE AMAZINGI

CHOICE dance-spot plumb of the
summer season goes to promising
Glenn Miller. The lad gets the
Glen Island Casino engagement with
MBS and CBS wires. Miller edged
out Bert Lown for the spot that in
former years cradled the Dorsey
Brothers, Casa Loma, Ozzie Nelson,
and Larry Clinton.

Larry Clinton grabs another com-
mercial spot on NBC starting July 3
at 7:30 p.m., EST.

* * *

Horace Heidt scrapped the title
"Brigadiers" after he lost his radio
commercial and now calls his group
"Musical Knights."

* * *

Will Bob Crosby experience the
same woes that stymied Benny Good-
man when stellar musicians left the
King of Swing to form their own
orchestras? Rumor row insists Bob
Zurke leaves the Bobcats this month.

* * *

Those fourteen, handsomely turned
out gentlemen who strolled so proud-

JULY, 1939

It's a cockeyed house-
hold Skinnay Ennis and
John Scott Trotter run.
Above, left to right,
Skinnay, Johnny, their
cook, and guest
Claude Thornhi 1 1.
Right, CBS Song-
stress, Doris Rhodes.

ly up and down Fifth Avenue on
Easter Sunday in New York were the
members of Gray Gordon's orchestra.
The band was organized on Easter
five years ago. Since then, promenad-
ing on this holiday, has become a
ritual. However, it was not until ten
months ago that the band achieved
any sort of recognition.
* * *

When Enric Madriguera reopens the
swank Pierre Hotel roof in New York
on May 4, his sweet music, paced by
the fetching theme "Adios" won't be
the only attraction for the diners.
The lofty rooftop affords an excellent
view of The World's Fair.

All the bandsmen and vocalists
have suddenly gone patriotic warbling
"God Bless America" which Kate
Smith introduced. ... A new record
firm should be on the market soon,
guided by Eli Oberstein, formerly of
Victor, and will wax 35 and 75 cent
platters . . . Henry Busse has a brand
new band. His former group have
organized cooperatively . . . Keep
your ears tuned to 19-year-old Ber-
nice Byres, Harry James' warbler.
She used to sing with Emil Coleman
. . . Fats Waller and Duke Ellington
are touring Europe . . . Joe Marsala
has enlarged his orchestra from seven
(Continued on page 74)

43

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<

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5

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0.

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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Blue: Peerless Trio

NBC-Red: Organ Recital

8:30

NBC-Blue: Tone Pictures

NBC-Red: Four Showmen

8:45

NBC-Red: Animal News

9:00

8:00 CBS: From the Organ Loft
8:00 NBC-Blue: White Rabbit Line
8:00 NBC-Red: Turn Back the Clock

9:15

NBC-Red: Tom Teriss

9:30

CBS: Aubade for Strings

NBC-Red: Melody Moments

10:00

CBS: Church of the Air
NBC-Blue: String Quartet
NBC-Red: Highlights of the Bible

10:30

CBS: Wings Over Jordan

NBC-Blue: Russian Melodies

NBC-Red: Music and Youth

11:00

CBS-News and Rhythm

NBC: News

NBC-Blue: Alice Remsen

11:15

NBC-Blue: Neighbor Nell

NBC-Red: Vernon Crane's Story Book

11:30

CBS: MAJOR BOWES FAMILY

NBC-Blue: Southernaires

12:00 Noon

NBC-Blue: RADIO CITY MUSIC

HALL
NBC-Red: Music for Moderns

12:30 P.M.

CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle
NBC-Red: University of Chicago
Round Table

1:00

CBS:

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9:00

9:30
9:30

Church of the Air

1:30

NBC-Red Sunday Drivers

2:00

CBS: Americans All

NBC-Blue: Magic Key of RCA

NBC-Red: Sunday Dinner at Aunt

Fanny's
2:30

CBS: Words Without Music
NBC-Red: Ranger's Serenade

2:45

NBC-Red: Kidoodlers

3:00

CBS: CBS Symphony

3:30

NBC-Blue: Festival of Music

NBC-Red: Name the Place

4:00

NBC-Blue: National Vespers

4:15

NBC- Red: Hendrick W. Van Loon

4:30

NBC-Red: The World is Yours

5:30

CBS: BEN BERNIE

NBC-Blue: Joseph Henry Jackson

NBC-Red: The Spelling Bee

5:45

NBC-Blue: Ray Perkins

6:00

CBS: SILVER THEATER

NBC-Red: Catholic Hour

6:30

CBS: Gateway to Hollywood

NBC-Red: Grouch Club

7:00

CBS: People's Platform

NBC-Red: JACK BENNY

7:30

CBS: Screen Guild
NBC-Blue: Radio Guild
NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon

8:00

CBS: Dance Hour

NBC-Blue: NBC Symphony

NBC-Red: DON AMECHE. EDGAR
BERGEN

9:00

CBS: FORD SYMPHONY (Ends
May 28)

NBC-Blue: HOLLYWOOD PLAY-
HOUSE

NBC-Red: Manhattan Merry-Go-
Round

9:30

NBC-Blue: Walter Winchell

NBC-Red: American Album of
Familiar Music

9:45

NBC-Blue: Irene Rich

10:00

CBS: Knickerbocker Playhouse

NBC-Red: The Circle

MBS: Goodwill Hour

10:30

CBS: H. V. Kaltenborn

NBC-Blue: Cheerio

11:00

CBS: Dance Orchestra

10:00lNBC: Dance Orchestra

SUNDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

I Charlie goes over the day's script with Bergen and Dorothy
Tune-In Bulletin for May 28, June 4, 11, 18 and 25!

MAY 28: Howard Barlow and the CBS
Symphony Orchestra play the world
premiere of two prize-winning piano con-
certos, CBS at 3:00. . . . Helen Hayes stars
in the Silver Theater, CBS at 6:00. . .« .
Alec Templeton is guest on the Ford Hour,
CBS at 9:00. . . . Second broadcast of a
new dramatic show, Knickerbocker Play-
house, on CBS at 10:00.

June 4: A new program — News and
Rhythm, on CBS at 11:00 this morning,
with a rebroadcast reaching the coast at
10:30 A.M. ... On CBS at 9:00, your
last chance this season to hear the Ford
Hour — Igor Gorin is the guest star.

June II: This is the last day the King
and Queen of England will spend in the
U.S. . . . On CBS, you can listen to the
International Polo matches.

June 18: Again the CBS microphones
are on hand to report the polo matches.

June 25: Your last chance to hear Jack
Benny, NBC-Red at 7:00. ... Ben Bernie,
CBS at 5:30, does his last show of the
season today too. . . . Likewise the Musical
Steelmakers, Mutual at 6:00.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Chase and
Sanborn Show, on NBC's Red network from
8:00 to 9:00, Eastern Daylight Time.

In spite of the fine work of Don Ameche,
Dorothy Lamour, Donald Dickson, and
Robert Armbruster's orchestra, this is
Charlie McCarthy's program, so we might
as well face the fact. You can't be around
the red-headed little imp without falling
under his spell — principally because Edgar
Bergen, his boss, never allows him to "go
dead." At rehearsal, at odd moments
when Bergen's attention is apparently
elsewhere, Charlie is always alive —
whispering in Bergen's ear, laughing
at someone else's jokes, or talking to

someone in the audience.

The Chase and Sanborn show is pre-
pared in separate units, and never is per-
formed all the way through, from begin-
ning to end, until the actual broadcast.
Edgar Bergen has a business office in
Hollywood, and there he writes Charlie's
lines. Don Ameche gets his dramatic
script a few days before the broadcast
and looks it over — but if it suits the guest
star for the week, it's usually okay with
Don. Because he's so versatile, selection
of the guest spot is usually done more with
the guest star in mind than him.

There's a rehearsal Saturday night, and
another about noon on Sunday, so Pro-
ducer Cat Kuhl can get the different units
timed. Bergen's valet always attends both
rehearsals, beaming with delight at the
privilege, because tickets to the perform-
ance are at such a premium he could never
see it otherwise. The valet is one of the
few people ever allowed to touch Charlie —
Bergen and his secretary, Mary Hanrahan,
are the other two.

At the broadcast, in NBC's Studio A in
Hollywood, Charlie sits on a high leather-
and-chromium chair, built on rollers. He
heckles Ameche during Don's opening talk,
before the program goes on the air, and
when the orchestra tunes up often turns
and yells, "If you don't know how to play,
now's a fine time to learn." But the high
point of unbroadcast McCarthy wit came
when Claudette Colbert was on the pro-
gram. Charlie was talking to her, at re-
hearsal, when Bergen noticed that one of
the tacks which hold his pants to the
wooden body needed adjusting. He turned
Charlie over his knee to fix the costume,
and Charlie, frightfully embarrassed, whis-
pered, "My God, Bergen, not in front of
Claudette."

SAY HELLO TO . . .

H. V. KALTENBORN— the dean of radio news analysts,
heard on his own program, sponsored by Pure Oil, on CBS
tonight at 10:30 — a citizen of the world, a student of
international affairs — never reads from a script, but
talks directly from scribbled notes — came to nation-
wide prominence during last Fall's European crisis.

INSIDE

44

RADIO MIRROR

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6:00
6:00
6:00

8:00
8:00
8:00

9:00
9:00
9:00

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

8:30

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade

9:00

CBS. Richard Maxwell

NBC: News

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15

CBS Manhattan Mother

9:30

CBS. Girl Interne

NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

NBC-Red : Central City

10:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

NBC-Blue: Jane Arden

NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00

CBS: It Happened in Hollywood

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15 I

CBS: Scattergood Baines

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life ,

12:00 Noon

CBS: Mary Margaret McBride
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street
12:15 P.M.

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills
12:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought
12:45

CBS: Our Ga! Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over
1:30

CBS: Road of Life
NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
1:45

CBS: This Day is Ours
2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob
2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter
2:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches
3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin
3:15

Ma Perkins

Pepper Young's Family
The Guiding Light

NBC-Red

3:30

N BC-Red

3:45

NBC-Red

4:00

NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

5:00

NBC-Red: Midstream

5:30

NBC-Blue: Don Winslow

5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00

CBS: News

6:15

CBS: Howie Wing

6:30

CBS: Bob Trout

6:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy

NBC-Blue: Orphans of Divorce

7:15

CBS: Lum and Abner

7:30

CBS: EDDIE CANTOR

MBS: The Lone Ranger

8:00

CBS: Cavalcade of America

NBC-Red: AL PEARCE

8:30

CBS: Howard and Shelton

NBC-Red: Voice of Firestone

9:00

CBS: LUX THEATER

10:00

CBS: Guy Lombardo

NBC-Blue: True or False

NBC-Red The Contented Hour

MONDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

The Amos 'n' Andy staff — Bill Hay, Amos, Madaline Lee, Andy.

Tune-In Bulletin for May

MAY 29: Gray Gordon and his Tic Toe
Rhythm open tonight at Enna Jettick
Park, Auburn, New York — on NBC.

June 5: Aunt Caroline Ellis, a new dra-
matic serial, opens today on NBC — but
the time hadn't been set when Inside
Radio went to press. . . . On NBC-Red,
tonight at 9:00, Phil Spitalny's girl orches-
tra and Dorothy Thompson do their last
program before taking a summer holiday.

June 12: Eddie Cantor's last program of
the season — CBS at 7:30.

June 19: Fred Waring and his gang
start their new five-times-a-week program
on NBC-Red tonight — Monday through
Friday at 7:00.

June 26: For its usual fine dramatic pro-
gram, don't forget the Lux Theater tonight
at 9:00 on CBS.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Amos V Andy,
on CBS from 7:00 to 7:15, Eastern Day-
light Time, with a rebroadcast that reaches
the mid-west at 9:00 Standard Time, the
mountain area at 8:00 Standard Time,
and the Pacific Coast at 7:00 Standard
Time, sponsored by Campbell's Soup.

In startling contrast to the three-ring
circus of modern radio, here's a program
that's written, produced and acted in
by two men — and two men only. The
only other voice ever heard in an Amos
'n' Andy episode is that of Madaline Lee,
who plays Genevieve Blue, Andy's secre-
tary, on irregular occasions. Bill Hay, of
course, makes the opening and closing
announcements, but he never takes part
in the actual story. Gaylord Carter, the
organist, isn't even in the studio with
Amos V Andy during the broadcast, but
in Studio Four on another floor of the
CBS Building.

While broadcasting, Amos V Andy work

29. June 5. 12, 19 and 26!

at a small table on the far side of a
room about 24 by 15 feet, decorated in
gray with green drapes, and ta|k into a
microphone suspended between .them.
Bill Hay, with a microphone of his own,
is in a corner nearer the engineers booth.
Madaline Lee, when she's on the show,
also works at her own microphone.

Freeman Gosden (Amos) and Charles
Correll (Andy) start writing just after
lunch, in a practical-appearing business
office near their homes. There Gosden
walks the floor as he discusses the evening's
episode with Correll, who does the typing
because he once took a course in it and
thus can do it faster. Presently, as they
talk, the lines begin to sound right, and
Correll starts putting them down. The
dialogue is usually written in about two
hours.

Unless Miss Blue is in the script, the
boys don't bother with rehearsal, and
they aren't required to have their script
okayed by the network before broad-
casting, so they just stroll over to the
studio a few minutes before three o'clock,
when they go on the air. No further
preparation is needed, after having
worked together so long — their network
debut was made on August 19, 1929. The
characters they have played in the Amos
'n' Andy programs now number about 125,
and any one of them may come to life
again tomorrow to compete for the pub-
lic's favor with The Kingfish, Henry Van
Porter, Brother Crawford, Lightnin', and
all the other well-loved people of Amos
V Andy's Harlem. No matter who the
characters are, Correll and Gosden sup-
ply the voices.

The bound volumes of their collected
scripts (the only copies in existence)
make a pile no pole vaulter could clear.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

VIVIAN SMOLEN— who plays Margie in the CBS serial,
Doc Barclay's Daughters, this afternoon at 2:00 — is a na-
tive New Yorker — started her career as an actress at the
age of 13 — has never acted for any other medium but
radio — her greatest hobby is music — she likes all kinds
from swing to symphony — plays piano but hates to practice.

Complete ' '' ■ ■ ■ '

july. 1939

45

Q

3«tu

5li=

12:30
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7:00
7:00
7:00

7:30
7:30
7:30

8:00
8:00
8:00

Eastern Daylight Time

J 3:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn
ui 8:15

. NBC-Red: Hi Boys
U 8:30

NBC-Red: Do You Remember?
9:00
8:00 NBC: News

9:05
8:05 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15
8:15 CBS: Manhattan Mother

9:30
8:30 CBS: Girl Interne

9:45
8:45 CBS: Bachelor's Children
8:45 NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00
9:00 CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC-Red: Central City

10:15
9:15 CBS: Myrt and Marge
9:15 NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
9:15 NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30
9:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Blue: Smilin' Ed McConnell
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45
9:45 CBS: Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah
9:45 NBC-Red: Woman in White
11:00
10:00 CBS: Mary Lee Taylor
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15
10:15 CBS: Scattergood Baines
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

10:30 CBS: Big Sister

10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45
10:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
10:45 NBC-Blue: Getting the Most out of

Life
10:45 NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon
11:00 NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

12:15 P.M.
11:15 CBS: Her Honor. Nancy James
11:15 NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30
11:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
11:30 NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour

12:45
11:45 CBS: Our Gal Sunday

1:00
12:00 CBS: The Goldbergs

1:15
12:15 CBS: Life Can be Geautiful
12:15 NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News

1:30

12:30 CBS: Road of Life
12:30 NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

1:45

12:45 CBS: This Day is Ours
2:00

1:00 CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
1:00 NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

2:15

1:15 CBS: Dr. Susan
1:15 NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30

1:30 CBS: Your Family and Mine
1:30 NBC-Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

NBC-Red:
3:00

NBC-Red:
3:15

NBC-Red:
3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
3:45
2:45 NBC-Blue:
2:45 NBC-Red:

4:00

3:00 NBC-Blu

3:00 NBC-Red:

4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas
4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade
4:45

NBC-Red: Girl Alone
5:00

NBC-Red: Midstream
5:30

NBC-Blue: Don Winslow
5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie
6:00

CBS: News
6:15

CBS: Howie Wing
6:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas
7:00

6:00 CBS: Amos 'n' Andy
6:00 NBC-Blue: Easy Aces

7:15

6:15 CBS: Jimmie Fidler
6:15 NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen
6:15 NBC-Red: Vocal Varieties
7:30

CBS: HELEN MENKEN
8:00
7:00 CBS: BIG TOWN
7:00 NBC-Blue: The Inside Story
7:00 NBC-Red: Johnny Presents

8:30
7:30 CBS: DICK POWELL
7:30 NBC-Blue: INFORMATION PLEASE
7:30 NBC-Red: For Men Only

9:00
8:00 CBS: We, the People
8:00 NBC-Blue: Melody and Madness
8:00 NBC-Red: Battle of the Sexes

9:30
8:30 CBS: Benny Goodman
8:30 NBC-Blue: MARY AND BOB
8:30 NBC-Red: FIBBER McGEE

10:00
9:00 CBS. Hal Kemp
9:00 NBC-Blue: If I Had the Chance
9:00 NBC-Red: Bob Hope
10:30
CBS: H. V. Kaltenborn

Churches

Hymns of All
Mary Marlin
Ma Perkins

Ted Malone

The Guiding Light

Club Matinee
Backstage Wife

TUESDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

Producer Cecil Underwood, Molly, writer Don Quinn, and Fibber.
Tune-In Bulletin for May 30, June 6, 13, 20 and 27!

MAY 30: Memorial Day, and a holiday
. . . One of the year's big sports
events — the Indianapolis Speedway auto-
mobile race, on NBC and CBS. ... At 6:00
this afternoon, King George speaks on all
networks from the British Columbia lunch-
eon, Victoria, B. C.

June 6: Les Brown's orchestra opens at
Enna Jettick Park — listen over NBC.

June 13: Helen Menken stars in another
episode of Second Husband on CBS at
7:30.

June 20: They say swing is on the down-
grade— but you won't think so if you listen
to the applause Benny Goodman gets on
his CBS program, tonight at 9:30.

June 27: Listen on NBC-Blue at 9:30
to a dramatic true story, told by Mary and
Bob for True Story Magazine.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Fibber McGee
and Molly, on NBC's Red network from
9:30 to 10:00, Eastern Daylight Time,
sponsored by Johnson's Wax.

Here's a program that's run on schedule,
like a train. It's probably one of the best
organized broadcasts on the networks.
First and foremost among the rules that
are always followed is this: after the Tues-
day broadcast, every one connected with
the program must take a two-day rest —
and when Fibber says rest, he means rest.
Nothing is done about the following Tues-
day's show until Friday morning. Then Jim
and Marian Jordan, better known as Fib-
ber McGee and Molly, get together with
writer Don 0uinn and agency producer
Cecil Underwood to talk the next script
into shape. They work in a business office
— always — because they're convinced that
the business-like and efficient atmosphere
helps them to get the work done in two
hours.

By Saturday morning, Quinn has the
first draft of the script ready, and Fibber

reads it, after which 0ui"n goes ahead
to write the final, working script. He does
this Sunday night, working all night and
finishing Monday morning. Monday morn-
ing the cast — except the musical portion
of it — gathers at the NBC Hollywood
studios and rehearses for two hours, after
which Ouinn makes any changes that
have been decided on. Tuesday morning
the whole cast, including Billy Mills' or-
chestra, Donald Novis and the Four Notes,
rehearse about four times, concluding
with a complete run-through about three
o'clock. At five-thirty, Pacific time, they
go on the air. And this program of prepa-
ration never varies by much more than
an hour from week to week.

One thing you'd notice right away about
the Fibber and Molly program is the ab-
sence of flashy and super-informal clothes
on its cast. Conservatism is the keynote
— maybe because Fibber and Molly
haven't been in Hollywood very long. The
whole atmosphere of their broadcast is
simple, friendly, homey — in fact, it justi-
fies that often-misused phrase, "One big
happy family."

Introducing you to the supporting cast —
Bill Thompson is the creator of Nick De
Populas, Horatio K. Boomer, the Old
Timer, and many other dialect characters.
Six-foot Harlow Wilcox is the announcer.
Harold Peary, of the big voice and husky
laugh, does characters in the comedy
skits not taken care of by Thompson.
And Isabel Randolph plays Horatio K.
Boomer's heart-interest, Mrs. Uppington.
She joined the McGees about a year ago
and immediately became a hit.

Now that Molly's back on the show, the
Jordans and their two children have moved
to their ranch in San Fernando Valley,
right next door to those of their old Chi-
cago friends, Don Ameche and Norris
(Abner) Goff.

46

SAY HELLO TO . . .

PATSY KELLY — Bob Hope's stooge on the Pepsodent pro-
gram, NBC-Red at 10:00 tonight — you've seen her many a
time on the screen, particularly in comedies with the
late Thelma Todd — started her career as a dancer in
New York — Ruby Keeler brought her to Frank Fay's atten-
tion and he put her in a vaudeville show — then she was
in musical comedy before moving to Hollywood — isn't
much different off-stage than she is on, always apt to
break into a fit of clowning — she'll buy anything that
looks like a bargain — her father was a member of the
Royal Irish Constabulary — and she was born in Brooklyn.

(For Wednesday's Highlights, please turn page) radio mirror

My "fair" friend told me . .

"Say — Isn't this a gorgeous day for sight-
seeing!" the woman from Arizona called
from her trailer window . . . "Not for
me!" I grumbled. "I just ran over to
tell you that I can't tramp around any
Fair Grounds with you today. My last
day, too — and so many things yet to

see!" . . . She asked a sympathetic ques-
tion, and before I knew it I was telling
her my troubles and ranting about the
woes of womankind. "My dear," she
smiled, "you come right in here. I've
got just what you need!"

So in I went — and thank heaven I did.
Otherwise, I might never have learned
about Modess. And to my way of think-
ing, that's one of the most important
things I learned during my visit to the
Fair.

^V^iCTO^s

Modess

My, but she was a grand person! She

said she used to suffer from chafing
at "certain times" herself . . . until she
discovered Modess. "You see," she
said, "there are two types of napkins
— fluff-type and layer-type. Modess is
fluff-type." Then she cut a Modess
pad in two so that I could see the
fluffy, downy-soft filler.

"And Modess is safer, too . . . as well as
softer," she said. Then guess what she
did ! She got a glass of water, took the
moisture-resistant backing out of a
Modess pad . . . and dropped water on
it! Yes, actually. And not one drop
went through! "My goodness," I said,
"I never knew that before — and it's
certainly something worth knowing."

Well— she just insisted on giving me some Modess. 4nd that
was what saved my last day at the Fair. We walked miles . . .
how I did appreciate the comfort and safety of Modess!

Next day, before we left, I went to the store to buy my
trailer-friend a new package of Modess . . . and was I sur-
prised and pleased! I found that this soft, "fluff-type" napkin
cost no more than those layer-type pads I'd been in the
habit of buying!

Get in the habit of saying "Modess" !

(IF YOU PREFER A NARROWER, SLIGHTLY SMALLER PAD, ASK FOR MODESS JUNIOR)

JULY, 1939 47

Eastern Daylight Time

III

K

8:00 A.M.

E

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

a

hi

2<H

i/i

u

8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

8:30

<

>

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade

a

in

NBC-Red: Do You Remember?

z

9:00

<

V)

8:00

CBS: Richard Maxwell

9:05

o

8:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15

lb

8:15

CBS: Manhattan Mother

3

<
a.

9:30

8:30

CBS: Girl Interne

8:30

NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

8:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

8:45

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh
10:00

12:00

8:00

9:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly

8:00

9:00

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

8:00

9:00

NBC-Red: Central City
10:15

12:15

8:15

9:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

8:15

9:15

NBC-Blue: Jane Arden

8:15

9:15

NBC-Red: John's Other Wife
10:30

12:30

8:30

9:30

CBS: Hilltop House

8:30

9:30

NBC-Blue: Doc Schneider's Texans

8:30

9:30

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill
10:45

1:15

8:45

9:45

CBS: Stepmother

1:15

8:45

9:45

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

8:45

9:45

NBC-Red: Woman in White
11:00

7:00

9:00

10:00

CBS: It Happened in Hollywood

9:00

10:00

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

9:00

10:00

NBC-Red: David Harum
11:15

1:00

9:15

10:15

CBS: Scattergood Baines

9:15

10:15

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

9:15

10:15

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones
11:30

10:00

9:30

10:30

CBS: Big Sister

9:30

10:30

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

9:30

10:30

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown
11:45

10:15

9:45

10:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

10:45

NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of
Life

9:45

10:45

NBC-Red: Road of Life
12:00 Noon

1:30

10:00

11:00

CBS: Mary Margaret McBride

8:00

10:00

11:00

NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street
12:15 P.M.

8:15

10:15

11:15

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James

8:15

10:15

11:15

NBC-Red: The O'Neills
12:30

8:30

10:30

11:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent

8:30

10:30

11:30

NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
12:45

8:45

10:45

11:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

9:00

11:00

12:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

9:15

11:15

12:15

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful

11:15

12:15

NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News

9:15

11:15

12:15

NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over
1:30

9:30

11:30

12:30

CBS: Road of Life

9:30

11:30

12:30

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
1:45

11:45

12:45

CBS: This Day is Ours
2:00

12:00

1:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters

10:00

12:00

1:00

NBC-Red: Betty and Bob
2:15

1:15

12:15

1:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

10:15

12:15

1:15

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter
2:30

12:30

1:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine

10:30

12:30

1:30

NBC-Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

10:45

12:45

1:45

NBC-Red: Betty Crocker

3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

11:00

1:00

2:00

3:15

11:15

1:15

2:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

11:30

1:30

2:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45

NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

11:45

1:45

2:45

4:00

12:00

2:00

3:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

12:00

2:00

3:00

NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
4:15

12:15

2:15

3:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas
4:30

12:30

2:30

3:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade
4:45

12:45

2:45

3:45

NBC-Red: Girl Alone
5:00

1:00

3:00

4:00

NBC-Red: Midstream
5:30

1:30

3:30

4:30

NBC-Blue: Don Winslow
5:45

4:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie
6:00

2:00

4:00

5:00

CBS: News
6:15

4:15

4:15

5:15

CBS: Howie Wing
6:30

2:30

4:30

5:30

CBS: Bob Trout
6:45

5:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas
7:00

7:00

9:00

6:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy

3:00

5:00

6:00

NBC-Blue: Easy Aces

7:15

CBS: Lum and Abner

7:15

5:15

6:15

3:15

5:15

6:15

NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen
7:30

6:30

5:30

6:30

CBS: Ask-lt-Basket

7:30

6:30

6:30

MBS: The Lone Ranger
8:00

8:00

6:00

7:00

CBS: Gang Busters

6:00

7:00

NBC-Red: ONE MAN'S FAMILY
8:30

7:30

6:30

7:30

CBS: CHESTERFIELD PROGRAM

4:30

6:30

7:30

NBC-Blue: Hobby Lobby

7:30

6:30

7:30

NBC-Red: Tommy Dorsey
9:00

5:00

7:00

8:00

CBS: TEXACO STAR THEATER

8:00

7:00

8:00

NBC-Red: TOWN HALL TONIGHT
10:00

6:00

8:00

9:00

CBS: 99 Men and a Girl

6:00

8:00

9:00

NBC-Red: KAY KYSER'S COLLEGE
10-30

8:30

9:30

CBS: Edgar A. Guest

WEDNESDAYS HIGHLIGHTS

Vocalists Baker and Langford, and Texaco's director Bacher.
Tune-In Bulletin for May 31, June 7, 14, and 21!

MAY 31: Three distinguished gentlemen
are celebrating birthdays today —
Fred Allen, Don Ameche and Ben Bernie.
. . . Kay Kyser's musical quiz program
on NBC-Red tonight at 10:00 comes from
Catalina Island, where Kay's doing a
dance date.

June 7: The King and Queen of England
arrive in the United States today — you'll
hear the ceremonies during the morning
on all networks.

June 14: June must be the month for
famous people to have birthdays — today
is Major Bowes'.

June 21: A tuneful musical comedy is
It Happened in Hollywood, on CBS at
I 1 :00 this morning.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Texaco Star
Theater, on CBS from 9:00 to 10:00, East-
ern Daylight Time — a cavalcade of en-
tertainment, a big and cosmopolitan show
that in itself is a course in radio produc-
tion. An awfully big chunk of work goes
into every short Wednesday-night hour of
the Star Theater.

Bright and early on Thursday morning,
before the echoes of the previous night's
program have ceased humming in the
ears of the people who heard it, the next
show is under way with a musical confer-
ence in the living room of Bill Bacher's
Beverly Hills home. Bacher is the dynamic
radio director who in earlier days made a
success of Show Boat and Hollywood
Hotel; now his personality blends all the
elements of the Star Theater into a
smoothly running unit.

At the music conference are orchestra
conductor David Broekman, his arrangers,
and soloists Frances Langford and Kenny
Baker. Together they select next Wednes-
day's music, and Broekman runs over the
numbers on Bacher's piano for Frances'
and Kenny's benefit. Then permission to

use the music has to be obtained through
CBS' New York office.

Thursday night the wheels of activity
speed up as the comedy writers and come-
dians get together. The writers are Hal
Block, Leo Townsend, Bob Ross and Ros-
well Rogers, with Harry Kronman as the
"over-all" writer who combines the various
spots the others turn out. Besides them,
this conference is attended by Ken Mur-
ray, Bacher, Ned Sparks, Jimmy Welling-
ton and Louis A. Witten, vice-president
of the advertising agency which presents
the show. Witten's job is to watch the
written material and see that no contro-
versial or offensive topics creep into it.

On Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Mon-
day, there are conferences, writing ses-
sions, and music rehearsals galore, quite
literally ranging all over Greater Los
Angeles, from Bacher's home to Louis Wit-
ten's office, to meetings at the Brown
Derby, Sardi's, Victor Hugo's and the
stages of the two CBS theaters, the Vine
Street and the Music Box.

Rehearsal goes on all day Tuesday, in
both the Vine Street and Music Box thea-
ters, from nine in the morning until mid-
night. Then there's a brief respite for a
light supper, and the crowd all goes to
Louis Witten's office for the all-important
"cutting session," which frequently lasts
until three in the morning. This is the time
that the show is subjected to a micro-
scopic examination, and everything is bal-
anced, tightened, and cut when necessary.
After a few hours of sleep, the cast shows
up at the Vine Street Theater at eleven
next morning, for more rehearsal. And
this rehearsal goes on until four o'clock,
only an hour before the program hits
the air.

All that work, by so many people, just
so you may have an hour of amusement!
If you aren't impressed, you should be.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

MARTHA MEARS — the feminine half of the romantic team
on It Happened in Hollywood, heard at 11:00 this morn-
ing, and every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning,
on CBS — she's blue-eyed, a singer by profession, and mak-
ing her acting debut on this program — though she sings
on it too — got her start on St. Louis stations after gradu-
ating from the University of Missouri — Gus Edwards hap-
pened to hear her, signed her to a contract, brought her to
New York — a personal appearance tour took her to Holly-
wood, where she was singing at the Cafe Lamaze when
chosen for this sprightly musical-comedy program.

48

(For Thursday's Highlights, please turn page)

RADIO MIRROR

TO BLUE-EYED

L^

STARRING IN THE BROADWAY SUCCESS

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enclose 100 to help cover mailing costs.

Street-

City.

-State-

JULY, 1939

49

a

12:30
1:30

1:15
1:15

1:00

8:15
8:15

9:30
9:30
9:30

10:00

1:15
10:15

10:30

10:45

11:00

11:15

11:30

11:45

12:00
12:00

12:15

12:30
12:30

12:45

1:00

1:30

1:45

2:00
4:15
2:30

8:00
8:00
8:00

8:15
8:15
8:15

8:30
8:30
8:30

8:45
8:45
8:45

9:00
9:00
9:00

9:15
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9:30
9:30
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10:15
10:15

10:30
10:30
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11:15
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12:00
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12:15
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1:00

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1:30

1:45

2:00
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2:15

2:30
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4:00
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7:00
3:00

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6:00
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9:00
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5:15
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6:00
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7:00
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8:00
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50

Eas'ern Daylight Time

J 8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn
</> 8:15
. NBC-Red: Hi Boys
u 8:30

NBC-Red: Do You Remember?
9:00
8:00 NBC: News

9:05
8:05 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15
8:15 CBS: Manhattan Mother

9:30
8:30 CBS: Girl Interne
8:30 NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45
8:45 CBS: Bachelor's Children
8:45 NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00
9:00 CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC-Red: Central City

10:15
9:15 CBS: Myrt and Marge
9:15 NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
9:15 NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30
9:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Blue: Smilin' Ed McConnell
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10-45
9:45 CBS: Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah
9:45 NBC-Red: Woman in White
11:00
10:00 CBS: Mary Lee Taylor
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15
10:15 CBS: Scattergood Baines
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30
10:30 CBS: Big Sister

10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45
10:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
10:45 NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
10:45 NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon
11:00 NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

12:15 P.M.
11:15 CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
11:15 NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30
11:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
11:30 NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
11:30 NBC-Red: Time for Thought
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

12:15 CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
12:15 NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News

1:30

12:30 CBS: Road of Life
12:30 NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
12:30 NBC-Red: Words and Music

1:45
l2:45 CBS: This Day is Ours

2:00
1:00 CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
1:00 NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

2:15
1:15 CBS: Dr. Susan
1:15 NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30
1:30 CBS: Your Family and Mine
1:30 NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

2:45
1:45 NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches

3:00
2:00 NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

3:15
2:15 NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

3:30
2:30 NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45
2:45 NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

4:00
3:00 NBC-Blue: Sunbrite Smile Parade
3:00 NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

4:15
3:15 NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30
3:30 NBC-Blue Rhythm Auction
3:30 NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45
3:45 NBC-Red: Girl Alone

5:00
4:00 NBC-Red: Midstream

5:30
4:30 NBC-Blue: Don Winslow

5:45
4:45 CBS: March of Games
4:45 NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00
5:00 CBS: News

6:15
5:15 CBS: Howie Wing

6:30
5:30 CBS: Bob Trout

6:45
5:45 NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00
6:00 CBS: Amos 'n' Andy
6:00 NBC-Blue: Easy Aces

7:15
6:15 NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen
6:15 NBC-Red: Vocal Varieties

7:30
6:30 CBS: Joe E. Brown

8:00
7:00 CBS: KATE SMITH HOUR
7:00 NBC-Red: RUDY VALLEE

9:00
8:00 CBS: MAJOR BOWES
8:00 NBC-Red: GOOD NEWS OF 1939

10:00
9:00 CBS Walter O'Keefe
9:00 NBC-Red: KRAFT MUSIC HALL

THURSDAYS HIGHLIGHTS

Andre Kostelanetz rehearses his 45-piece Tune-Up Time Band.

Tune-In Bulletin for June 1, 8, 15 and 22!

JUNE I: For sports fans, NBC tonight
■^ broadcasts the Max-Baer-Lou Nova
fight from the Yankee Stadium.

June 8: President and Mrs. Roosevelt
greet the King and Queen of England
today in Washington — and all the net-
works will be there to listen in. . . . Ted
Husing describes the National Open Golf
Championship matches at the Philadelphia
Country Club this afternoon — on CBS.

June 15: King George makes his last
radio address on this continent today,
from Halifax, Nova Scotia, at 12:30 P. M.,
on all networks . . . and there'll be
another broadcast tonight at 6:00 when
the royal couple leave for England.

June 22: There's a new serial you're
likely to enjoy, on NBC-Red at 5:00 this
afternoon, Eastern time — it's called Mid-
stream.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Tune-Up Time,
on CBS from 10:00 to 10:45, Eastern Day-
light Time, sponsored by Ethyl Gasoline.

Two of radio's most original minds help
make Tune-Up Time a delightful program.
They belong to Andre Kostelanetz and
Walter O'Keefe — Andre for the music,
Walter for the comedy. Maybe we should
add two more minds to that pair — Joe
Quillan and Izzie Elinson, Walter's gag-
writers — but the comedy has such a defi-
nitely O'Keefe flavor it's safe to give him
most of the credit.

There's no orchestra director quite like
Andre Kostelanetz. Because he knows so
much about the science of sound, he
spends about half his rehearsal time in
the control room, listening while his first
violinist conducts the orchestra, and or-
dering microphones to be shifted around,
a foot this way, a foot that. For one
week's program, he rehearses only five
hours — doesn't have to rehearse any longer
because the orchestra is so well trained.

He's always thinking up new musical ef-
fects. One, which he says isn't original
with him but was new to Your Studio
Snooper, is a device for making a good
piano sound cheap and tinny. Try it your-
self some time — place a light metal chain
across the strings of a grand piano, and
then play it. You'll think you're in a
waterfront saloon.

Walter O'Keefe created the character
of Kaktus Kostelanetz, bad man of the
West. He simply wrote some lines for
Andre into the comedy sketch one day,
and Andre read them in his very funny
Russian accent, which is genuine. Now
Kaktus is on every program, and Andre
loves his new job of being a comedian.
He's a very shy, modest little man, and
when he reads his lines beams and blushes
behind his twinkling spectacles like a
high school boy reciting "Curfew Shall
Not Ring Tonight."

The acting company for Walter's com-
edy spots consists of Jack O'Keefe, his
younger brother; Paul Stewart, who does
the dead-pan, flat-voiced dialogues with
Walter; Teddy Bergman, who does dia-
lects; and Mary Kelly, who takes rowdy
or tough feminine parts. Other actors
are called in when they're needed, but
these four are more or less permanent.

Kay Thompson, leader of the Rhythm
Singers, usually appears at rehearsal
wearing a colored bandanna handker-
chief over her blonde hair — because
she's just had it washed and will have it
dressed before the program that night.
One member of the Rhythm Singers is Mar-
ian Thompson, Kay's sister — making Tune-
Up Time quite a family affair, with Walter
O'Keefe's brother also present.

In the middle of the stage, right beside
the conductor's stand, all during rehearsal,
sits Kostelanetz' secretary, timing every
musical number.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

FULTON LEWIS. JR. — the Washington news commentator
who is heard over the Mutual network tonight at 7:00,
Eastern time — he's the man who won a single-handed
campaign to get the press gallery of the House thrown
open to radio reporters as well as their writing brethren
— he himself is a former newspaperman — born in the
District of Columbia — was the reporter who started the
investigation of air-mail contract irregularities early in
President Roosevelt's administration — in the last election
he predicted Roosevelt would win in all states except
Maine and Vermont — is married, with two children.

(For Friday's Highlights, please turn page)

RADIO MIRROR

His Life Is News!

(Continued from page 24)

I remember one Saturday matinee,
Walter, alone, was singing "I Dream
of You in the Gloaming." On the
screen was a picture showing a calf-
eyed doodle with a high collar, lean-
ing on a fence and gazing across a
meadow. His loved one hung in a
sunburst medallion in the corner.
Sighs and titters from the love-struck
couples in the rear of the house punc-
tuated the sentimental song.

Then the inexperienced man in the
projection-booth (it was late in the
afternoon, and the regular operator
was out to supper) disarranged the
slides, and instead of the amorous
youth whom Walter was so earnestly
trying to portray in song, there ap-
peared a street kid on his haunches
peering through a knothole at a ball
game. Cat-calls, whistles, and general
bedlam broke loose, while the pianist
banged away feverishly, with plenty
of trills, hoping to attract the atten-
tion of the projectionist; and Walter
nearly tore his tonsils trying to make
himself heard. The flat-nosed, cauli-
flower-eared theater bouncer finally
had to stalk out on the stage to quiet
the hullabaloo.

Incidently, although he will not ap-
pear in this story again, that pianist
was Phil Baker — who has made some-
thing of a name for himself since
then, too.

THE boys, particularly George and
Walter, began having sweetheart-
trouble about this time. There was
nothing boyish about their reactions
to life, remember — all that had been
knocked out of them by environment.
The trouble was, they always seemed
to get stuck on the same girl. Eddie
was more content. Then, and later, he
dreamed of nobody but his school
sweetheart, Ida Tobias.

Two years of intermittent activity in
the Imperial — and then George,
Walter, and Eddie all got jobs in an
all-children's act called "The Song
Revue" conceived and produced by
Gus Edwards. Others in the show
were Lila Lee, Eddie Buzzell, and
Georgie Price.

Walter and George both fell in love
with the same girl again, while they
were in "The Song Revue." Her name
was Irene, and she must have been an
accomplished flirt, even at that early
age, because she kept them both
dangling. Finally, in desperation,
Walter retailed the first bit of Win-
chell gossip — and the only one he has
ever known wasn't true when he told
it. He informed Gus Edwards that
George was hanging around Irene.
The trick worked. From then on,
George was kept out of the running,
and the field was open for Walter.

It's my sad duty, however, to report
that Walter did not last very long as
a member of the troupe. For he was
sprouting into an early adolescence
which was accompanied by fuzz on
the cheeks and a voice that was louder
than it was good. Even the genial
Mr. Edwards had to admit, before
long, that a fog-horn voice was out of
place in a kiddie show.

Luckily, the transition from boy to
man didn't last long. Another few
months, and "Mrs. Winchell's boy
Walter" was ready to start out as a
vaudeville performer, on his own.

The next six years of Walter Win-
chell's life would be impossible today.
(Continued on page 53)

JULY, 1939

HOW TO LAUGH AT

^noopers

SNOOPERS live in every neighborhood. They just love to snoop and snoop!
And my, how their tongues do waggle and waggle — if they eye your wash-
line and see tattle-tale gray!

WW

?7f

WHAT TO DO? Listen to this: Tattle-tale gray means left-over dirt. It
means your soap is so weak-kneed it doesn't wash clean. So run to the
grocer's as fast as you can and change to the soap that gets out ALL the
dirt. Change to Fels-Naptha Soap!

'«>-

THEN TURN ON THE SMILES and grin all over— every time you catch a
snooper peeking at your wash. For Fels-Naptha's richer golden soap and
dirt-loosening naptha whisk out tattle-tale gray like magic. They get clothes
so dewy- fresh and white you'll be proud to have everybody snoop at them!

1939, FELS a CO.

BANISH

TATTLE-TALE GRAY''
WITH FELSNAPTHA SOAP!

TUNE IN! HOBBY LOBBY every Wednesday night. See local paper for time and station.

51

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Eastern Daylight Time

.■ 8:00 A.M.

■ NBC- Red: Gene and Glenn
u> 8:15

. NBC-Red: Hi Boys
u 9:00

8:00 CBS: Richard Maxwell
8:00 NBC: News

9:05
8:05 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15
8:15 CBS: Manhattan Mother

9:30
8:30 CBS: Girl Interne
8:30 NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45
8:45 CBS: Bachelor's Children
8:45 NBC-Red: Edward MacHu3h

10:00
8:00 CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC-Red: Central City

10:15
9:15 CBS: Myrt and Marge
9:15 NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
9:15 NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30
9:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45
9:45 CBS. Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah
9:45 NBC-Red: Woman in White
11:00
10:00 CBS: It Happened in Hollywood
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15
10:15 CBS: Scattergood Baines
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30
10:30 CBS: Big Sister

10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45
10:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
10:45 NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
10:45 NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon
11:00 CBS: Mary Margaret McBride
11:00 NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

12:15 P.M.
11:15 CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
11:15 NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30
11:30 CBS: Romances of Helen Trent
11:30 NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
11:30 NBC-Red: Time for Thought
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

12:15 CBS: Life Can be Beautiful
12:15 NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
12:15 NBC-Red: Let's Talk It Over

1:30

12:30 CBS: Road of Life
12:30 NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
12:30 NBC-Red: Words and Music '

1:45
.2:45 CBS: This Day is Ours

2:00
1:00 CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
1:00 NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

2:15
1:15 CBS: Dr. Susan
1:15 NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30
1:30 CBS: Your Family and Mine
1:30 NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

2:45
1:45 NBC-Red: Betty Crocker

3:00
2:00 NBC-Red: Mary Marlin
3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

NBC-Red
3:45

NBC-Red
4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
4:15

Stella Dallas

FRIDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

3:00
3:00

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Pepper Young's Family
The Guiding Light

NBC-Red:

4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

5:00

NBC-Red: Midstream

5:30

NBC-Blue: Don Winslow

5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00

CBS: News

6:15

CBS: Howie Wing

6:30

CBS: Bob Trout

6:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy

7:15

CBS: Lum and Abner

NBC-Red: Jimmie Fidler

7:30

MBS: The Lone Ranger

8:00

CBS: FIRST NIGHTER

MBS: Guess Where

NBC-Red: Cities Service Concert

8:30

CBS: BURNS AND ALLEN

9:00

CBS: CAMPBELL PLAYHOUSE

NBC-Blue: Plantation Party

NBC-Red: Waltz Time

9:30

NBC-Red: Death Valley Days

10:00

CBS: Grand Central Station

NBC-Red: Lady Esther Serenade

10:30

CBS Bob Ripley

D Guess Where's cast — Hulick, Booth and Cantor — study the globe.
Tune-In Bulletin for May 26, June 2. 9, 16 and 23!

MAY 26: At the Randall's Island Sta-
dium in New York City, the I. C. 4 A.
(Intercollegiate Amateur Athletic Associa-
tion of America) is holding its annual na-
tional track meet, and NBC describes it
to you.

June 2: Eddy Duchin's orchestra opens
tonight at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in
New York, with broadcasts over Mutual.

June 9: Ted Husing describes some more
of the National Open golf matches, this
afternoon on CBS.

June 16: That popular serial, Your Fam-
ily and Mine, is on CBS now — at 2:30 in
the afternoon, Eastern Daylight Time.

June 23: Horace Heidt's band returns
tonight to its old stamping grounds, the
Biltmore Hotel — you'll hear it on CBS.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Guess Where,
on the Mutual network, from 8:00 to 8:30,
Eastern Daylight Time, sponsored by Philip
Morris Cigarettes.

As you can see from its title, this is a
quiz program, but it's a different kind of
quiz program. To answer its questions all
you have to know is your geography.

Budd Hulick, once of the Colonel Stoop-
nagle and Budd team, now a radio per-
former on his own, is the master of cere-
monies, who asks the questions. Shirley
Booth and Charles Cantor play Mr. and
Mrs. Stowaway, who are cast in little skits
which contain clues to the city or country
where they are supposed to be. At the
climax of the skit a member of the audi-
ence is asked to name the location. If
he succeeds, he gets a cash prize of ten
dollars. If he fails, the skit goes on, add-
ing another clue, and he gets nine dollars
for the correct answer. If he needs still
one more clue, he only gets eight. If he
still fails, he gets five dollars anyway. No
matter what happens, he gets a package
of the sponsor's cigarettes.

Guess Where is broadcast from Mutual's
playhouse on the roof of the New Amster-
day Theater in New York — an intimate lit-
tle theater where, in the days of Ziegfeld's
glory, some of the world's most famous
entertainers used to play in the Ziegfeld
Midnight Frolics. Now it is considered
an acoustically perfect studio for broad-
casting— so good that other networks rent
it from Mutual and use it for their own
programs.

The show is carefully rehearsed, which
makes it unique among quiz programs. On
Friday morning, the cast and orchestra
go over their skits and musical numbers,
and at one o'clock they hold a preview,
with an audience, just as if it were a regu-
lar broadcast. Tickets to the preview are
given away free to any one who writes to
the Mutual Broadcasting Company, and
in the few weeks the show has been on the
air a group of about two hundred people
have formed the habit of coming regu-
larly, every Friday — almost like a club.
In fact, when Charles O'Connor, the an-
nouncer, steps out to make his curtain-
talk, his greeting is "Hello, Club mem-
bers." The only difference between the
preview and the night show is that no cash
prizes are awarded — only packages of
cigarettes.

Although you aren't told so on the air,
the orchestra-leader for Guess Where is
Johnny Green, who also directs a larger
band for the Johnny Presents programs on
the other two networks. Johnny the Page-
Boy is present, too. Shirley Booth, who
plays Mrs. Stowaway, has a leading role
in Katharine Hepburn's stage play, "The
Philadelphia Story," and has to scoot like
blazes every Friday night to get to the
theater in time for the curtain. Charlie
Cantor you've heard of before — he's a
member of Fred Allen's Mighty Allen Art
Players.

52

SAY HELLO TO . . .

MARY MASON — who, as sixteen-year-old Nancy Chandler,
causes plenty of excitement in the CBS serial, The
Life and Love of Dr. Susan, on the air at 2:15 this
afternoon — she comes from California, where she played
in moving pictures until the lure of New York became
so great that she just packed up her clothes and came
East — was in summer stock for a while, then landed a
part in a Broadway show — just now, besides her radio
work, she has a leading role in the Broadway comedy
hit, "The Primrose Path" — playing the daughter of
another well known radio actress, Betty Garde.

( For Saturday's Highlights, please turn page) bamo mirror

(Continued from page 51)
With a talented and pretty girl as
his partner, he toured the country,
singing, hoofing, wise-cracking. The
reason that couldn't be done today is
just this: It wasn't a very good act,
and the second-rate vaudeville house
has about gone out of existence.

It was always Walter's ambition, as
it was the ambition of every vaude-
ville trouper, to play the Palace in
New York. He'd have done his act
there for nothing, just to give the
booking agents a chance to see it,
but the Palace wouldn't even have
him as a gift. Many years later he
did play the Palace, but not as an
actor. He was a writer then, and the
salary he got was the highest ever
paid any newspaper man by a vaude-
ville theater. . . .

For six years, though, Walter stuck
to the stage, and finally worked him-
self up to the point where he was
earning from seventy-five to a hun-
dred dollars a week — the weeks that
he worked. His act was called
"Spooneyville" then, I remember.

He knew, though, that he wasn't a
top-notch performer and probably
never would be — he had an engaging
personality, he could put across a
joke, he was nimble on his feet; but
his voice, even now that it had settled
down into a serviceable tenor was
nothing to make Al Jolson lose any
sleep at nights. And even more im-
portant, he didn't really care for the
stage. Oh, it was all right — it was a
way to earn that all-important living.
But it wasn't what Walter Winchell
wanted to do for the rest of his life.

WHAT did he want to do for the
rest of his life? He didn't know.

So, in a way, it was a relief when,
shortly after bis twentieth birthday,
he enlisted in the Navy. There's noth-
ing very remarkable about those war-
time months, except one thing — con-
sidering his later career. His duties,
serving under Rear Admiral Marbury
Johnson in New York, were the car-
rying of confidential Naval messages.

The war was over, and still Walter
didn't know what his future was to be.
Following the path of least resistance,
he returned to vaudeville — still as
Walter Winchel. The change in his
name, oddly enough, seems to mark a
change in his fortunes as well. In
Chicago, in 1919, a theater electrician
mistook a flourish for a letter, and
added the second I to Walter's name
as he spelled it out in lights on the
marquee. Walter liked the looks of
the new name, and decided to keep
it — and it was only a month or so after
this that something important hap-
pened.

Walter was playing Washington,
D.C. — and President Wilson was in the
audience. Something clicked in
Walter's brain. Instead of sticking to
the act, the way he played it night
after night, he injected a spontaneous,
ad lib comment. I can't tell you what
he said. I wasn't there, and Walter
has forgotten. But President Wilson
threw back his head and laughed.

If he'd really liked the stage, that
incident would probably have ce-
mented him to the life of a vaudeville
trouper forever. Instead, it gave him
the push he needed to tear him loose.

He could do things with his head!
He didn't have to rely on his voice or
his dancing feet! He could — why, he
could probably write!

He knew no one who wrote for a
living, no one who could help him to
(Continued on page 55)

JULY, 1939

"It's all very queer, Mrs. Koala. I thought your baby was going to be the hardest
worker in your family— hitching up trees like a house a-fire to gather bark for din-
ner. And now all he does is sit and whimper! What ails him?"

"H'm-m. So he's chafed and all over prickly heat . . .Yes, scuffing up and down tree
trunks all day in this weather must have its seamy side. Dear— dear— we ought to
fix it some way, so a fellow can earn his daily bark!"

"But how simple I ... Johnson's Baby Powder, of course! Come out of your mother's
pocket, pal, and buck up! That soft, smooth, downy powder will cool you off and
take you a-sailing over all life's rough spots!"

"I knew you'd like it! Johnson's is made
of extra-fine talc — and no orris-root,
either. And it's such an inexpensive way
to keep a baby cheered up!"

JOHNSON'S
BABY POWDER

Johnson 86 Johnson, New Brunswick, N. J.

53

Eastern Daylight Time

£
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a

<

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<
i-

"as

(A

bi

u

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• 1

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Blue: Cloutier's Orch.
Red: Gene and Glenn

Blue: Dick Leibert
Red: Hi Boys

-Red: Musical Tete-a-tete

-Blue: Jack and Loretta

: News

Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB
Red: Texas Robertson

NBC-
NBC

8:15

NBC-
NBC-

8:30

NBC-

8:45

NBC-

9:00

NBC

9:05

NBC-
NBC-

9:15

CBS: Eton Boys

NBC-Red: Cloutier's Orch.

9:25

CBS: News

9:45

NBC-Red: The Crackerjacks

10:00

CBS: Hill Billy Champions
NBC-Blue: Ranch Boys
NBC-Red: The Wise Man

10:15

NBC-Blue: Amanda Snow

NBC-Red: No School Today

10:30

NBC-Blue: Barry McKinley

NBC-Red: Florence Hale

10:45

NBC-Blue: The Child Grows Up

NBC-Red: Armchair Quartet

11:00

CBS: Symphony Concert
NBC-Blue: Music Internationale
NBC-Red: Music Styled for You

11:30

NBC-Blue: Our Barn

NBC-Red: Federated Music Clubs

12:00 Noon

NBC-Blue: Education Forum

12:30 P.M.
CBS: Let's Pretend
NBC-Blue: Farm Bureau
NBC-Red: Call to Youth

1:15

NBC-Red: Calling Stamp Collectors

1:30

NBC-Blue: Little Variety Show

NBC- Red: Campus Notes

2:00

CBS: Men Against Death
NBC-Blue: Seeger Ellis
NBC-Red: Kinney Orch.

2:30

NBC-Red: Matinee in Rhythm

3:00

NBC-Red: Golden Melodies

3:30

NBC-Blue: Al Roth Orch.

NBC-Red: KSTP Presents

4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

NBC-Red: Southwestern Stars

5:00

NBC-Blue: Erskine Hawkins Orch.

NBC-Red: Youth Meets Government

5:30

CBS:

What Price America?

5:45

NBC-Red: Three Cheers

6:00

CBS: News

NBC-Red: Kaltenmeyer Kinder-
garten

6:05

CBS: Dance Orchestra

NBC-Blue: El Chico Revue

6:30

CBS: All Hands on Deck

NBC-Blue: Renfrew of the Mounted

7:00

CBS: Americans at Work
NBC-Blue: Message of Israel
NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

7:30

CBS: County Seat

NBC-Blue: Uncle Jim's Question Bee

NBC-Red: Lives of Great Men

8:00

CBS: JOHNNY PRESENTS

NBC-Red: Tommy Riggs

8:30

CBS: PROFESSOR QUIZ

NBC-Red: Avalon Time

9:00

CBS: Phil Baker

NBC-Blue: National Barn Dance

NBC-Red: Vox Pop

9:30

CBS: Saturday Night Serenade

NBC- Red: Hall of Fun

10:00

CBS: YOUR HIT PARADE

NBC-Red: Arch Oboler's Plays

10:30

NBC-Red: Dance Music

smi'.^Mn' ^r/imT

Saturday Night Serenade's stars — Haenschen, Eastman, Perry.
Tune-In Bulletin for May 27. June 3, 10, 17 and 24!

MAY 27: Two programs say goodby for
the summer — Kate Smith's commen-
tating quarter-hour at noon on CBS, and
Tommy Riggs' Quaker Party, on NBC-Red
tonight at 8:00. . . . It's the last day of
the I. C. 4 A. track meet on NBC. . . .
Bernie Cummings and his orchestra open
at the Cavalier Hotel, Virginia Beach —
listen on NBC.

June 3: Horse-racing this afternoon —
4:15 on CBS, the Belmont Stakes. . . .
Henry Busse's orchestra opens at the Cava-
lier Hotel — still with an NBC wire.

June 10: Last day of the National Open
golf tournament, Ted Husing announcing
on CBS. . . . Charlie Barnet and his or-
chestra open at the Hi-ho Casino, Brook-
lyn, playing over Mutual.

June 17: Hal Kemp's orchestra starts a
two-night engagement at the Cavalier
Hotel — enough to squeeze in an NBC
broadcast or two. . . . This afternoon
CBS gives us another track meet — the
annual Princeton Invitation Meet.

June 24: The busy Mr. Husing announces
the Professional Golfers Association tour-
nament, on CBS. . . . Harry Owens and
his orchestra go into the Broadmoor Hotel,
Colorado Springs, broadcasting on CBS.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Saturday
Night Serenade, on CBS from 9:30 to
10:00, Eastern Daylight Time, sponsored
by Pet Milk.

One of radio's long-run programs, the
Saturday Night Serenade has been on the
air since October 3, 1936, without chang-
ing either its sponsor, its cast, or its theme
song — an untitled original composed by
its orchestra director, Gus Haenschen.

It's not one of the big, glamorous pro-
grams— doesn't try to be. In radio trade
slang, it is known as a "mother spot," and
the music you hear on it is called "bread-
and-butter music," which means that it's

good, solid, substantial melody, intended
to please, never to startle.

On every single program since the se-
ries started, Mary Eastman has sung a
lullaby — new or old, but always a lullaby
— and she and Bill Perry have sung a
sentimental duet. The sponsors long ago
worked out the formula to appeal to
mothers, and they see no reason for chang-
ing. Every month the executives of the
company which cans Pet Milk come to
New York, select all the music, and com-
pletely map out every program for the
coming four weeks. Then they go back
to their factory in the Mid-West. That
they know their radio business is amply
proved by the long-continued success of
the program.

The Serenade comes from the stage of
CBS Playhouse No. I — the same house
tenanted the night before by Andre Kos-
telanetz and Walter O'Keefe. In back
of the singers and orchestra is a huge sign
telling how many pairs of triplets are be-
ing fed Pet Milk — it's one of the company's
policies to see that all triplets born in this
country get Pet. But lately so many trip-
lets have been born that the sign has to
be changed every couple of weeks. Right
now it lists 92 sets.

The choral group on the program — six
girls and eight men — is led by Emil Cote,
a French-Canadian who used to work in a
Detroit automobile factory. As a hobby,
he organized choruses, but they were so
good the hobby became his profession.

The person you'd never expect to find
on this program of quiet, melodic music is
Carl Kress, the guitar player in the band.
He owns the Onyx Club, which, you may
remember, was the cradle of "The Music
Goes 'Round and 'Round," and has since
become a top-ranking swing establishment.
He never hears any swing on the Saturday
Night Serenade.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

BOB TROUT — the jovial announcer on the Professor Quiz
program, CBS at 8:30 tonight — and crack special events
man for the Columbia network for the past six years —
born on a farm in Wake County, N. C, thirty-one years
ago — made his radio debut when he was twenty-three
over WJSV in Washington, D. C. — became well known as
President Roosevelt's announcer — now his other duties
keep him from the Presidential assignment most of the
time — has his own commentating program on CBS four
days a week — likes to cook and specializes in South-
ern dishes — hopes some day to own a radio station.

54

RADIO MIRROR

(Continued from page 53)
write for a living. But he had a
hunch. He bought a second-hand
typewriter and picked out a one-sheet
newspaper called "Newsense" — the
first Winchell word-coinage.

Tacked up on the call-boards of
dingy, drafty vaudeville theaters, the
little typewritten sheet soon became
something for traveling players to
look forward to. Performers learned
that in it they could find news about
friends who were hundreds of miles
away — or perhaps an item of news
they themselves had given Walter a
week before.

CACH embryonic edition of "New-
*- sense" was better than the one
before. Walter slaved over every
issue, loving the work, even though
it didn't bring him a cent of money.
He learned two important things in
those days. First that the ingredient
in his blood which had always puzzled
him was undoubtedly printer's ink.
Second, that brickbats are more lively
than bouquets.

By 1922 you could hear the death-
rattle in vaudeville's throat, if you had
sharp ears — and no one has ever ac-
cused Walter Winchell of being hard
of hearing. During a long-drawn-out
period when, as a vaudeville artist, he
had called on booker after booker
who gave him chilly welcomes, he
paid a visit, as editor of "Newsense,"
to the editor of the "Vaudeville News,"
a house-organ for the Keith-Albee
circuit.

The editor of "Newsense" asked the
editor of the "Vaudeville News" for
a job. And the latter, having seen and
been amused by "Newsense," actually
hired him!

"I can pay you twenty-five dollars a
week," said the editor.

Twenty-five a week! — to a man who
earned four times that amount (when
he earned anything). Walter didn't
bat an eye.

"That'll be fine," he said. "When
do I start?"

Next month — the amazing story of
how an ex-vaudeville performer revo-
lutionized American journalism . . .
Walter Winchell's romance . . . and
the truth about the daily life of a
really colorful and unique personality.

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Honeymoon House For Rent

(Continued from page 11)

For Tony was in New York when
I talked to him, making a personal
appearance which needed the com-
bined efforts of a great many police
to control the crowds at the stage
door and a great many ticket takers
to handle the admissions flowing into
the box office, assuring a handsome
profit over Tony's handsome salary.

Tony was happy again. The months
of hell were over. Tony and Alice
could smile, they could talk to each
other long distance and laugh, at each
other, the world, the phone bill. Tony
bad proved what every man who has
a bride at his side must prove, that
he is a success in his own eyes and
in hers.

He hadn't been able to prove that
before. Not while he was in Holly-
wood. Hollywood didn't give Tony
the shining kind of success it gave
Alice. He was popular on the Burns
and Allen radio show. And in a suc-
cession of second-rate pictures he ac-
quitted himself with romantic com-
petence. But he was discouraged
never to have an opportunity to con-
tribute his efforts to a picture that
might stand for something. And he
was hurt that many who pretended to
be his friends were quick to say,
"Tony's a nice enough chap. But he's
not in Alice's class. It's only a matter
of time until the break between
them."

DISCUSSING all this, he said, "It
^ got me down. Took my confidence
away. I reached the place where I
hated the night I went on the air. I
couldn't stand before the mike and
sing a song without wondering why
in God's name they bothered to have
me there and pay me what they did,
when, I was convinced, a fifty dollar
a week man would do just as good a
job."

And, as a matter of fact, Tony and
Alice themselves had had doubts,
right from the beginning, about their
marriage. All the head shaking and
gloomy prophecies finally got in at
them, as it was intended they should.
Both were considered better box of-
fice if they remained single, And the
one thousand, two hundred and fifty
news correspondents from all over the
globe who are stationed in Hollywood
and who find themselves in daily
need of stories were quick to pick up
the scent of disapproval which this
romance occasioned and to raise the
cry. If you've never lived through
anything half as insidious as this —
and you likely never have — try it
some time.

I think Tony and Alice survived
only because life for both of them
has been a school of stern reality.
Neither had led sheltered lives. Both
were poor. They'd had to fight to
make their ways. Consequently they
came not to expect too much of men
and women — and to learn how to hide
their hurt when a thrust goes home.

Thus, when she said at her wed-
ding breakfast, "I don't know how
long our marriage will last," Alice
spoke defiantly, the way the Irish will
when they're hurt and more than a
little frightened.

Tony heard her in silence. And
when she had finished he slipped his
hand through her arm and talked
easily of a trip to New York she
would be making alone within the

56

next week or two, trying to forestall
the rumors that trip soon enough
precipitated.

They've reacted differently to cen-
turies of persecution, the Irish and the
Jews. The Irish are aggressive and
ready to fight. The Jews are more
patiently and quietly on their guard.

Hollywood's like other moneyed
suburbs. Its citizens, relieved of prac-
tical considerations, vie with one an-
other as witty and exciting gossips.
The favorite game there is that of
hunter and quarry. Perpetually Hol-
lywood is on the chase of someone.

Following the Tony Martins' much
discussed and much criticized mar-
riage it was natural they should be-
come the quarry. Discussion and
conjecture regarding what they did
and what they didn't do became the
sport of the town. And, indirectly, the
talk of the world. For Hollywood
gossip soon becomes the basis for
newspaper and magazine stories.

After a time, as Alice became in-
creasingly important, there were those
unwilling to gossip at her expense for
fear of seeming jealous. There were
those who didn't know when they
might need her favor. And there
were others, undoubtedly, who quit
out of growing respect for her hard
won achievement.

Tony, however, without the sanc-
tuary of such success, wasn't let off.

"He's not in her class," the talk
went. "Their marriage hasn't a
chance. Won't be long now. I happen
to know!"

I've often wondered if Tony and
Alice knew that one of the worst of-
fenders in this respect was the wife
of an executive who, fancying Tony
as a romantic escort on nights her
husband was busy, was piqued when
he was persistently firm in discourag-
ing her overtures.

Such a state of affairs would be
enough to wreck a marriage that
started out far more propitiously than
Tony's and Alice's. But in their case
it had the opposite effect.

Through it all Tony had Alice be-
side him. Long nights, he tells me,
they lay awake talking, downing the
strange fears which beset human be-
ings at such times, reaching surely
for each other's hand, making plans,
discarding them for better.

SOMETHING had to be done. They
both knew that. Their love, so
precious to them both, was threaten-
ing to destroy itself. But, though they
were determined to stand together
and fight, they didn't know what to
do.

It was Tony's agent, finally, who
solved the problem.

"Get out of Hollywood," he told
Tony. "It's your only chance. Don't
you care what it costs you! Go on a
personal appearance tour! Find out
for yourself where you stand with the
public! I, for one, am sold you'll wind
up with more confidence in yourself
than you ever had before."

It cost Tony exactly ten thousand
dollars to free himself. He had to
leave Twentieth Century-Fox and the
Burns and Allen program. But it has
proved the wisest money he ever
spent.

Theaters where he has appeared
want him for return engagements. It
looks as if he could keep going round

RADIO MIRROR

the twenty-six week circuit indefi-
nitely. Two motion picture companies,
impressed by the Standing Room
Only signs which theaters have had
to get out and dust of? when banners
with his name have flown from their
marques, have offered him contracts.
And in radio, as this story goes to
press, a sponsor was negotiating for
Tony's services to sing and direct an
important summer show.

So far, you see, the gamble has
been a success. Tony, away from
Alice, has found that he, too, is im-
portant in the entertainment world —
that he can stand on his own feet and
be a big success.

He doesn't know when he will re-
turn to Hollywood, or, if he does go
back for some special movie role or
a series of broadcasts, how long he
will stay. Alice, of course, must re-
main there. But it is with hope in
their hearts and minds that they go
on with their gamble, believing the
only way they can insure their future
together is to put an end to their
previous pattern of living — the pat-
tern of living which got them both
down.

And since, for a while, they must
continue to gamble, the lovely Bever-
ly Hills house in which they took such
pride has been put on the market, for
rent. It's a large place, not at all the
sort of house in which a woman
would choose to live alone. Too, I
imagine, Alice would rather not live
in it, without Tony.

EVEN now, by appointment, stran-
gers with speculative eyes are con-
sidering it. The big living room which
Tony and Alice furnished around the
grand piano . . . the upstairs front
room with the big double bed which
they shared with blissful neglect of
new-fangled notions . . . the kitchen
where they cooked bacon and eggs
when the servants were out, prefer-
ring this to strutting their stuff at the
restaurants that are jammed on
Thursday evenings with radio and
screen celebrities.

"Honeymoon House For Rent." It
has a sinister ring. Yet its real mean-
ing is hopeful. Only a fool would
predict that Tony and Alice will live
happily forever after, that the most
difficult years of their married life
are behind them. It's impossible to
tell anything about two such intense
individuals five minutes beforehand.
But this far one can go: their mar-
riage has a sounder basis today than
it ever had before. They've suffered
and fought to preserve it, and the
things for which we suffer and fight
have a way of becoming increasingly
dear.

As Tony said: "When adversity
comes your love grows up to meet it,
I guess, if it's great enough. And if
it isn't, it's just too bad . . ."

Separated now while Tony sings his
way back to confidence and happiness,
he and Alice talk to each other every
night on the telephone. In modern
fashion, they divide the cost. When-
ever it's possible, they plan to fly to
some half-way city and spend the
week-end together — and those week-
ends will be the sweeter because
they must be planned for and hoped
for so long before they occur.

I think it is appropriate that their
honeymoon house is for rent. Their
honeymoon unquestionably is over.
Not so their marriage. In fact it may
very well be that their marriage has
truly just begun.
July, 1939

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57

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young men," he granted. "And I
don't doubt you will relegate it to its
proper place — the way countless sen-
sible men have done before you and
will continue to do after you."

"Your father doesn't mean to be
harsh," my mother told me "but he
doesn't want you to make a mistake
that will ruin your life . . . "

"If you could see her!" I tried to
make my mother understand.

"I'M sure she's very pretty," she said.

' But Matthew — you're young and
innocent, even if you are a man. This
kind of — of love — you feel for Rose-
mary is sudden, and most romantic.

"The love Jane gives you and that
you give Jane is built on understand-
ing and faith. It will bring you com-
fort and happiness that will endure."

"I can't marry Jane," I said. "It
wouldn't be fair to her."

"Now, yes," she interrupted.

I shook my head. "It always will
be."

"Can you tell Jane that?" Her voice
grew colder. "She's in the garden.
I just heard the gate click. I asked
her to come. She doesn't know you're
home. I wanted to surprise her."

I was almost glad to go to Jane.
She was an old and dear friend. I
hated to hurt her. But at her hands I
expected more understanding. I re-
gretted I had mentioned Rosemary to
my parents. By their ugly thoughts
and suspicions they had marred the
beauty we had found together.

Jane came towards me in a little

58

Phantom Desire

- ■ (Continued from page 13)

rush and her eyes were shining.

"Matthew dear, what a surprise."

"Hello there!" I tried not to sound
cold or formal.

"You're worried," she said, quick to
sense a difference. "You — you haven't
even kissed me."

I put my arms around her shoulders.
Jane was tall and straight and proud,
one of those clean and brushed look-
ing girls. "I'm not worried exactly.
It's just that I've been thinking.','

"So have I," she told me. "And you
know, Matthew, I'm almost glad you
went away. Otherwise I might never
have realized ..."

It seemed too good to be true. She
also had discovered our engagement
was a mistake.

But when we reached the swing
she explained what she meant and it
was very different.

"I've been having very solemn
thoughts. I warn you," she laughed.
"I've been thinking what it means to
get married. How it isn't just a social
affair, with presents and a new house.
But how it is the beginning of a new
life we'll share, you and I . . . "

"Jane," I interrupted, "Jane,
wait ..."

"No," she said, "I want you to know
the thoughts I had. All of them.
Marriage means sharing. And there's
no real sharing if thoughts aren't
shared too.

"Oh Matthew, I do love you. I'm
glad I won't be Jane Simmons any
more. Just to be your wife, and to
love you always ..."

I couldn't tell her then. There were
weeks before our marriage. Not all
the moments in them would be like
this. We would have little disagree-
ments, little indifferent spells, and I
planned to use one of these for my
wedge. It would be easier that way.

But the weeks that followed were
otherwise than I had anticipated. Jane
and I had practically no time alone.
There were preparations and there
were parties. And through it all I
played the part of a prospective bride-
groom, feeling like a dog, and waiting
for the opportunity to put an end to it.

Several times I began to tell Jane
what had happened to me but my
phrasing was unfortunate, I'm afraid,
for always she misunderstood and
gave my words a meaning that made
it too difficult to stop her.

MY parents never mentioned Rose-
mary again. And I didn't either. I
wouldn't expose her to the attitude
they had shown in her direction. And
they, undoubtedly, were glad enough
to go along on the assumption that it
had been the light attachment they
had thought it.

My father was as generous as he al-
ways had been and always would be
to a son who was obedient. The check
he gave me, which I put away so I
might return it when the time came,
was lavish. And he made every pro-
vision for me to take hold and pro-
gress in his factory.

Not an hour passed that I didn't
think of Rosemary. I could see her in

RADIO MIRROR

her father's store . . . making little
pilgrimages to our hillside . . .
swimming in the pool at the hotel — as
she had been when I first saw her —
her grave face smiling under her
white cap. I remembered the flutter
of her fingertips against my cheeks.
I remembered the sweetness of her
kiss. Again the magic of that starlight
night and the magic of her loveliness
sent the blood beating in my brain
when I needed all my faculties about
me . . . that I might arrange things so
I could get back to her.

At last I could wait no longer to
tell Jane. It was the morning of our
wedding day. Having been loathe to
hurt her and something of a coward
I was, I knew, about to hurt her far
more than if I had spoken before.

I found her in the garden.

MATTHEW," she called, "the groom
isn't supposed to see his bride on
their wedding-day until they meet at
the altar. But I think that's nonsense
too. I'm glad you came."

"Jane," I blurted, "what do you sup-
pose would happen if we didn't go
through with it? If all the people who
have been invited were cheated of
their show?"

"I don't know." She looked mysti-
fied. "Are you — afraid of the big
wedding? I'll run away with you to
a justice of the peace, if you are."

"I don't mind the show, I guess!" I
prayed for enough courage to bear
down and see it through.

"Afterwards," she said softly "it
will be nice to remember, of course.
Only grooms never do remember their
weddings. I tell you what, so you will
remember, I'll give you a sprig of this
rosemary ..."

"Rosemary!" I snatched that name
from her lips.

"Yes, rosemary. You can wear -it in
your buttonhole. Rosemary's for re-
membrance, didn't you know . . .
Matthew! Matthew! What is it?"

"I can't," I told her and I felt
broken inside. "I can't do it, Jane."

"You . . . you can't marry me,
Matthew?"

"It would be wrong," I insisted. "It
would be a horrible mistake. I
couldn't make you happy, Jane ..."

"You couldn't make me happy?"
she sounded relieved. "Why Matthew,
you're all I want!"

"But if you knew it was a mistake,
Jane." Now I was like a terrier who
has caught his game and won't let go.

I scarcely heard her. "If ... if you
didn't want to, Matthew ... I'd under-
stand. I'd let you go."

"But you'd get over it!" I wouldn't
look at her. I didn't want to see her
eyes. "You're beautiful and so good.
Your life wouldn't be spoiled."

"My life? There wouldn't be any life
left." I was conscious that her hands
moved, up to her throat, as if she
would iron away that choke that had
strangled her words. Then she spoke
louder. "If you're going ... go quickly.
Go quickly, please, Matthew . . . now!"

Then I saw her eyes and the pain
that was in them wiped out every-
thing else, even for that moment my
image of Rosemary.

"Jane, don't!" I begged her. "Please
don't! I didn't mean it. I've got
buck fever, I guess. All grooms get
it. All grooms get it, Jane. Please
forgive me."

She came into my arms. And now
she wasn't proud. She was hurt and
numb, and it was my fault.

"Hold me tight,"
"Don't let me go!"

she asked me.

Years passed and they were long.
I worked ten, twelve, and fourteen
hours a day. The factory prospered as
it never had before. My father was
approving and my mother was proud.
Jane wore a fine coat and worried
about my health. Our two children
went to the best private school.

At least one hundred times I got it
all straightened out in my head. Rose-
mary belonged to my youth. She was
a pretty dream to remember grate-
fully, nothing more. I was, I told my-
self, among the fortunate men of the
world. I had a charming wife, a
lovely home, two fine healthy chil-
dren, a prospering factory. No sane
man could ask for more.

Sometimes I would think I had put
the interlude with Rosemary behind
me, finally and successfully. Until the
pink cosmose in Jane's garden re-
minded me of her mouth. Or the air
of a summer night had the soft texture
another night had known so long ago.
Then it would be back again, that old
feeling, in an engulfing wave. And I
would have bitter thoughts when my
shaving mirror showed gray hair at
my temples and be afraid I was going
to die without ever having lived.

AT such times I doubtless was more
abstracted with Jane and the
children too. One night she taxed me
about this.

"Matthew," she said, "put your
book down, please. I want to talk to
you about . . . the children and I need
something from you, Matthew."

"What!" I tried to joke — there was
such import in her voice. "Is that

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59

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check I gave you last week gone so
soon?"

But she wouldn't be put off. She
at last had found her courage to bring
things into the light, whatever the
consequences.

"You've given us too many checks,"
she said gently, "and too little else.
At first I thought I must not interfere
with your absorption in your business.
I reasoned I had been wrong when I
thought you wanted to be a writer
more than anything else — that you
really were a business man at heart,
like your father. Now I know I was
wrong. You really hate that factory,
for all the success your slaving has
brought it, don't you? It's been an
escape ..."

" IANE!" I was horrified. "What has
■* happened to make you feel . . ."

"Nothing! Nothing has happened!"
And the bitterness in her usually calm
voice frightened me. "That's just the
trouble, Matthew. One day follows
another. At the end of it we're a
little older. Empty days and empty
years . . .

"The children feel it too. At night
they rush to meet you and you kiss
them dutifully and turn away — just
the same as you kiss me and turn
away . . ."

"I'm not demonstrative, you know,"
I protested.

She shook her head hopelessly.
"Let's not parry words. Let's be
honest now, while we still have
time. Let's change whatever it is
that's wrong, Matthew — whatever it
costs one or both of us.

"Tell me, why can't I reach you . . .
why?" Her voice broke. "Tell me,
of what were you dreaming just now

60

when you were pretending to read
that book?"

"A silly dream!" I laughed, rather
effectively I thought.

"It wasn't so silly though," Jane
insisted quietly, "for it brought a look
to your face I've yearned to bring
there. Who was it you were thinking
about? Tell me, please Matthew."

"You're being ridiculous!" I in-
sisted. "All right, have it ... it was
a puppy love affair. Just youth and
moonlight. I thought I'd forgotten."

She shook her head. "But you never
have. I know. Was her name, by
chance, Rosemary?"

"How did you know?" I demanded,
entirely off guard now.

"You've called her in your sleep. So
many times. I want you to go find
her, Matthew. And if she lives up to
your dream and she's free and you
live up to her dream too — I'll, I'll set
you free."

"Jane!" I said, "You must be crazy!"

"I don't think so," she answered
quietly. "I don't want to lose you,
Matthew. But I'd rather have nothing
and know I had nothing than keep on
as I have been going — afraid — and
pretending to myself all the time that
things were different.

"It is Rosemary you want, isn't it
honestly?"

"I've always wanted her." I admit-
ted slowly. "But. Jane . . ."

She stood up and moved towards
the door. "Go to her tomorrow. For
her sake and your sake — and mine.
If you don't mind I won't get up for
breakfast. I — I haven't been sleeping
well lately. Goodbye."

Bedford Crossing was so very much
the same that I forgot the years that
had run through the glass. The same

cars were parked along the tree-
arched street. Salvia grew in the
same little stone-rimmed gardens. The
same penny candy lay under the glass
case. Chocolate babies. Orange marsh-
mallow bananas. Licorice shoe laces.

I forgot my graying temples and the
slight paunch that was beginning to
show at my waist. I tried to think of
home but Jane and the children had
no reality. And had Rosemary come
in wearing the same white organdy
frock I wouldn't have been surprised.

I was restless with the excitement
that had been increasing within me
ever since I had left home. I actually
had difficulty controlling my voice
when I spoke to the old man who ran
the store.

"I haven't been to Bedford Cross-
ing for years," I said. "But it looks
just the same."

He nodded.

"Didn't you have a daughter?" I
asked.

"Two daughters," he agreed, "and
a son."

"Is Rosemary still here?" It seemed
an eternity before he answered.

"Rosemary? Sure enough. I'm ex-
pecting her any minute."

IMPATIENTLY I walked over to the
' door.

"There's nobody coming now," I
said, "but a middle-aged woman and
a child."

The old man peered over my shoul-
der. "That's Rosemary! Guess she's
put on a lot of weight since you seen
her. Always stuffing."

I tried to say "That couldn't be
Rosemary," but I made only a
strangled sound.

"Look at her, will you?" her father

RADIO IVTIRROB

went on. "Can't stop eating long
enough to walk down the street. Kid's
just like her, only sickly. Husband
went off and left them."

They were closer now. "Luly," the
middle-aged woman said, "quit drag-
ging on me, walk up, can't you?" And
it was a querulous voice I never had
heard before.

"Here's an old friend come to see
you," her father called.

The lining hung from her coat. She
peered at me near-sightedly.

j WAS passing through Bedford
• Crossing," I managed to get the
words out somehow. "And I thought
I'd stop to say hello."

"Face is kind of familiar," she
agreed.

"My name's Tolliver," I explained.
"Matthew Tolliver. It's been a long
time since we met. I don't expect . . ."

"Well my lands!" Her pudgy hands,
unwashed, with their garish red nail
polish chipped and peeling, reached
for my coat lapels. "I wouldn't of
known you. Imagine you coming to
see me. And me looking a sight. I
got up late this morning and didn't
have a minute to fix myself. I'd have
dolled up if I'd known."

"That's quite all right," I said, step-
ping backwards. I didn't want her
hands on me. "I can only stay a min-
ute."

"You look prosperous," she offered.
"Guess you've done pretty well for
yourself."

"Better than I knew," I told her
soberly.

"What? Oh well, you're lucky. I
often thought about you. .You kept
saying you were coming back, but
you never did. All the fellers that

stayed at the hotel gave the village
girls a line like that."

I had to get out of the place. "Good-
bye," I said, "I must go . . ."

"Land sakes," her voice trailed out
of the door after me. "Why rush . . ."

I went to the hotel. I had to be able
to close a door and be alone. I had to
convince myself the woman I had left
in that store was Rosemary. I had to
face the fact that it was because of
her I had withheld myself from my
wife and. my children.

I threw myself on the bed. I felt
ill and heartsick. It grew dark outside
the windows and I must have slept,
because when I looked again the
sky was streaked with the cold gray
of dawn.

Another day passed the same way.
Then I checked out and started for
home. I had to go slowly. My move-
ments were uncertain, the way they
were after I ran a high fever when I
had pneumonia. Mentally I felt as if
I had recovered from a severe fever
too. I was able to think clearly at last,
something I hadn't done for years.

I remember there was a big bowl
of white gladioli on our hall table
when I let myself in. And I heard
Jane talking to someone in the living-
room. I recognized the voice as Jim's.
He was a lawyer and our friend.

Jane told him: "I'm afraid there's
no doubt about it, Jim, there must be
a divorce. And since it's going to be
a painful operation I'd like to get it
over quickly. Please."

It was Jim who saw me first. "Mat-
thew!" he said. "You've come just in
time. Jane's been trying to tell me
some nonsense about a divorce and
. . . Well, I guess the best thing I can
do is leave you two alone."

"I don't blame you for insisting
upon a divorce," I told Jane when we
were alone. "And I'll — I'll make it
as easy as possible. It will be best for
me to go away again, I suppose. But
before I leave I have to tell you . . ."

"What, Matthew?" Her voice was
strained.

"I have to tell you," I continued,
"that I've wasted years. That I've been
too much of a fool to know what I
had. That I've been so blind, Jane, I
couldn't even see your beauty or your
sweet, dear dignity."

"I don't understand," she said. "It
isn't necessary, Matthew, for you to
make pretty speeches, to — to ease
things."

"I'm not making pretty speeches,"
I told her. "I'm trying to tell you I
love you . . ."

CAY it again!" Her voice lifted.
J "I love you," I repeated. "More
than I've known. More, no doubt, than
you'll ever know."

She came towards me. And as my
arms closed about her I knew peace

"Matthew, Matthew!" She was half
crying. "Why didn't you say you loved
me the very instant you came in?
We've wasted minutes . . ."

"You're tied to a fool for life!" I
warned.

"That's so short a time when you're
happy," she told me. As if I didn't
know that now.

Coining in future issues of Radio
Mirror — more in this series of real
life stories told by radio's Aunt Jenny
— warm, human dramas about people
everybody knows and problems that
are part of everyone's life.

ycwt&st of &sud&6 — C^itcn yW

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61

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WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?

Jean Rouveral is Betty of One Man's Family.

LABORATORIES
PATERSON, N. J.

IF you are numbered among the
army of interested listeners to the
serial, One Man's Family, heard
every Wednesday at 8:00 o'clock on
the NBC Red network, you will be
familiar with Jean Rouveral, who
plays Betty Carter on the program.

Jean was born in St. Louis, Mis-
souri. At the age of eight, she made
her stage debut, appearing with Leo
Carrillo in the play, "Magnolia."

Taking time out for her schooling
and dramatic study, Miss Rouveral
returned to the stage when she was
seventeen, to play in "Growing Pains."
Later she was signed by Paramount,
and played ingenue leads until she
gave up pictures to go to college. Soon
after she appeared in "Private Worlds"
and in a series of films and stage
plays.

Miss Rouveral is a former school

mate of Page Gilman, who plays the

role of Jack on the program. Both

she and Gilman attended Stanford,

which is Jack's fictional alma mater

in the serial.

* * *

Mrs. L. N. Otterbein, Canton, Ohio —

Here are short biographies on the
three personalities you requested:

Virginia Clark, who plays Virginia
Clark in The Romance of Helen Trent
was born in Peoria, Illinois, October
29. When she was three, she and her
family moved to Little Rock, Arkan-
sas. She attended the Rightsell Gram-
mar School, Lockhart's Private School
and the First Methodist Church
School. Miss Clark left Little Rock to
go to the University of Alabama,
where she majored in dramatics. She
made her debut on a small station in
1931 and was an instant success;
weighs 125 pounds, has brown eyes
and is five feet four and one half.

Joan Blaine, who plays the lead role
in Valiant Lady was born in Fort
Dodge, Iowa, April 22. She attended
the Northwestern University, where
she studied law, and Columbia Uni-
versity, New York City, mainly on

scholarships she won. She made her
radio debut at Medford Hillside, Bos-
ton, in 1930 and came to the Columbia
Broadcasting System in 1931 with
David Ross. Joan weighs 115 pounds,
is five feet six inches and has dark
brown hair and eyes.

Anne Seymour, star of The Life of
Mary Marlin was born in New York
on September 11, 1909. She had her
first radio audition at WLW, Cincin-
nati and spent several months there.
Then moved to Chicago to take leads
in Grand Hotel drama series. Likes
athletics, particularly horseback rid-
ing . . . drives a high power roadster
... is five feet seven inches tall,
weighs 135 pounds and has brown
hair and eyes.

FAN CLUB SECTION

If you're interested in joining an
Artie Shaw Fan Club, drop a line to
Lester E. Balcom, 294 Summer Street,
Maiden, Mass. He'll be glad to send
you details.

A fan club has recently been or-
ganized for Florence George. Get in
touch with Betty Church, Pres., R.F.D.
No. 1, Box 96, Saylesville, R. I., for
further information.

The Glenn Miller Fan Club is making
a drive for members. Anyone wishing
to join should write to Miss Anna
Flynn, 22 Fisher Street, Natick, Mass.

I have no record of an Annette King
Fan Club. If one has been organized,
I'll be happy to hear from our readers.

For details regarding an Enoch Light
Fan Club, get in touch with Joseph
Wright of 47 Sheffield Avenue, Buf-
falo, New York.

We've been requested to make the
following announcement: "The Club's
name is Fred Waring Fanatics. Mem-
bers receive membership card, photo-
graph of the Pennsylvanians, and a
club paper called "Fraternity Whis-
pers" on a bi-monthly basis. Dues are
fifty cents a year (seventy-five cents
in foreign countries.) If you're inter-
ested, write to Ruth Stanford of 508
18th Street, Union City, N. J.

62

RADIO MIRROR

Brothers — and Enemies

into night spots. Tommy gets first
choice of any place he wants to play
and Jimmy has to tag along behind
him. If Tommy draws big crowds,
Jimmy suffers by comparison. It isn't
fair, because Tommy, getting first
choice, can go into a place at the
height of the season when business
is best.

FOR example, last summer Tommy
hit a famous country club in August,
which happens to be the best month
to draw crowds. Tommy packed the
place every night. Jimmy, coming
into the same place in October, didn't
do as well. It was the end of the
season, and Benny Goodman playing
in his underwear couldn't have done
any better. Nevertheless, people said
Jimmy's band wasn't as good as Tom-
my's.

That's bad, but what is even worse
for Jimmy is to have Tommy do bad
business in a dance place or theater.
If Tommy doesn't draw well the
managers won't even hire Jimmy!
"If Tommy can't get the business,"
they moan, "think how bad Jimmy
will be." You can't beat that.

Jimmy has to work three times as
hard for the money he gets as Tommy
does, and he doesn't get nearly as
much. Tommy, because he has a radio
commercial, can hang around New
York if he wants to. He just picks
himself out a nice hotel spot like the
Pennsylvania Roof and settles down.
He not only gets a bigger name every
time he does a radio commercial, but

(Continued from page 15)

he also gets a six-time-a-week radio
wire out of the hotel.

You probably wonder how Tommy
feels knowing that his success stands
in the way of his brother's future. He
isn't any too happy about it, but
there isn't anything he can do about
it, either. The music business is the
most keenly competitive in the world.
If he boosts Jimmy, he may find
himself being "Jimmy Dorsey's broth-
er, Tommy." He's too smart a business
man to do that.

Then, too, there has always been a
rivalry between the two brothers.
They've fought each other all their
lives. It has been a natural, healthy,
brotherly fight, and Tommy can't help
feel just a little bit proud of the fact
that his older brother has never quite
gained the fame he has.

Jimmy and Tommy were fated to
be musicians. There was a Dorsey
band before they were born. It was
led by Tom Dorsey, Sr., who could
play any instrument invented. He
played music almost constantly and
when he wasn't playing it, he was
teaching it.

When they were old enough to sit
up, Tommy and Jimmy were given a
music sheet instead of a picture maga-
zine. When they were old enough to
be slinging a baseball around in the
backyard of their home in Shenan-
doah, Pennsylvania, they were, in-
stead, slamming music around on a
pair of saxophones. They could sight
read at nine, at eleven, they might not
have known who won the French and

Indian war but they knew what an
embrochure was and they knew chord
construction and harmony.

Like most kids, they tried to outdo
each other. In spite of their father's
efforts to make them a team, they
were individualists before they were
out of knee pants. Pretty soon the
Dorsey kids could play just about
every instrument, but Jimmy was
sticking closest to the clarinet and
sax, while Tommy couldn't be torn
away from the trombone.

Jimmy, a year and a half older
than Tom, got the first job in a band
called the Scranton Sirens. He wasn't
in the band twenty-four hours before
he said to the leader, "I got a kid
brother who plays a swell trombone
and you ought to hire him." The
leader didn't want a trombone player,
but Jimmy threatened to quit unless
Tommy was hired.

Tommy got the job, but the leader
soon found out he had made a terrible
mistake. The boys played beautifully
together, but they fought like wild
animals.

THE leader of the Scranton Sirens
' made the mistake of siding in with
Jimmy. He made some crack about
Tommy being a bad influence in the
band. "Listen, you," Jimmy said, "you
can't say that about my brother." He
then laced into the leader and before-
long they were both out of the band.
To 'write what' happened to Jimmy
and Tommy after they left the Scran-
ton Sirens to the time they organized

ART MODEL
TRIUMPHS

over summer-dulled hair-
reveals its glowing beauty
this new way

Miss Alice Anderson

—so gracefully formed, she models daringly
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ruLY, 1939

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63

LOLA LANE

star in

'Four Daughters"

Any famous movie personality knows
that beautiful eyes are one of her greatest
assets. On the screen or off, she'd never
risk a garish, too-made-up look. So of
course she uses Maybelline — the mod-
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"You never see me
without correct
eye make-up!"
Says Lovely LOLA LANE

You can have eyes like stars this same
easy way. A soft blending of Maybelline
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1 Good Housekeeping \

the first Dorsey Brothers band would
be writing a history of modern jazz.
Jimmy always got the jobs, then he
always got Tommy, then together
they always got Trouble. Mama
Dorsey has it summed up about
right. "Sure," she says, "My boys are
such fine friends — its their music
that don't get along."

There isn't a swing musician alive
who can't tell you a story of a Tommy
Dorsey-Jimmy Dorsey fight. They
played in pit orchestras for musicial
comedies and fought so much the per-
formers on the stage almost went
crazy. Managers of night clubs all
over the country would raise their
hands in horror when they heard a
band with Jimmy and Tommy in it
was going to play their club.

Tommy came to New York but
Jimmy was right behind him. They
got a band together and went to work
playing for the Boswell Sisters over
NBC. Connie Boswell won't soon for-
get the first record she made with the
Dorsey Brothers. They started at
eleven at night, and at six in the
morning everybody was too hyster-
ical to make the record. The Dorseys
had fought for seven hours solid be-
cause Tommy didn't like a certain
passage Jimmy was playing, and then
Jimmy didn't like the way Tommy
played.

SOMEHOW, the Dorsey brothers
kept their band together. There
were periods of months when they
didn't talk to each other. The band
caught on like wildfire.

But any musician will tell you why
that band couldn't last. Tommy and
Jimmy are worlds apart. Tommy is
the more dynamic of the two. He's a
natural born leader. He was always
the front for the band, the fellow who
not only played the trombone but led
with the baton as well. He was the
shrewder in business, so he handled
the business end.

All you have to do is look at Tom-
my next to Jimmy to see how differ-
ent they are. Tommy has a lean,
sharp face and piercing blue eyes,
he's nervous and quick in movement
and his tongue is sharp. Jimmy has
a smooth, round face and friendly
blue eyes, he's always ready for a
laugh and is just a little shy.

Off the bandstand, Jimmy and
Tommy were pals. On the bandstand
they became mortal enemies. Tom-
my's sharp tongue and quick temper
got under Jimmy's skin, and Jimmy
tried, the best way he could, to lash
back at his brother.

On Decoration Day, May 30th, the
Dorsey's band was playing the Glen
Island Casino, one of the top dance
spots in the country. Early in the
evening, the band started off ' on a
number fatefully entitled, "I'll Never
Say Never Again, Again." Jimmy
had argued with Tommy before about
the number, because he felt Tommy
had been playing it too fast. Tommy
thought it wasn't fast enough. When
Tommy got up to play his trombone
solo, he lit into it fireman style, play-
ing even twice as fast as usual.

Jimmy put his hands on his hips
and shook his head slowly from side
to side. Tommy lowered his trom-
bone, his face flaming red. "What's
the matter Lad, don't you like it?"
he said.

"No," Jimmy said, "I don't like it."

"You can go to the devil," Tommy
said, and with this he tucked his horn
under his arm and walked off.

64

Jimmy and the boys shrugged their
shoulders. This wasn't the first time
the quick-tempered Tommy had
walked off the stand in the middle of
a number.

The band stayed at the Glen Island
Casino all that summer. Every night
Jimmy expected Tommy back, but he
never did come back.

One day, when the engagement was
almost over, a fellow from another
band came out to see Jimmy and said:
"Mac's organizing another band. He
wants to know if he can come out
and sit in with you just to avoid
legal difficulties until his band for-
mally gets under way?"

"Sure," Jimmy said. That was all.

Next night Tommy came out to
Glen Island. He slipped into the band,
picked up his trombone and began
playing. Jimmy came over after the
number and the boys fell on each
other's shoulders. Tommy said, "You
know how it is, Lad, I want a band of
my own."

"Sure," Jimmy said, "and if you
need any help, just let me know."

"Same goes for you," Tommy said.

But once Tommy's band got under
way, the Dorsey brothers' competitive
spirit became even fiercer.

FOR a while, it looked as if Jimmy
had the jump on Tommy. He had the
seasoned men of the original Dorsey
Brothers band. Tommy had to get
new men and build from the ground
up.

Then Bing Crosby, long a pal of
Jimmy's, asked him to come to the
coast and join the new Crosby com-
mercial. Jimmy took the job. In a
way, it was the wrong move. The
Jimmy Dorsey band was always
secondary to Bing. Not because the
Bouncing Bing wanted it that way,
but because the sponsors were build-
ing Crosby.

Tommy stayed in the East. Any-
one who knows the band business
will tell you that New York is the
best place in the world to build a
band. All the big bands are made in
New York. Swing came in, and
Tommy was right in New York to
grab a coast to coast wire and cash
in on it. Jimmy had just left the
Crosby commercial, and was com-
mitted to six months on the road.
Six months at a crucial time when
swing is breaking can mean a lot.

When Jimmy Dorsey finally arrived
in New York, he was just — "Tom
Dorsey's brother."

Up until the last month, it's been
that way. With Jimmy taking a fear-
ful kicking around. But in the last
month the Jimmy Dorsey band has
been coming along with terrific drive.

The men who have stuck with
Jimmy so long and so faithfully are
at last getting a chance to prove what
they can do over a network wire.

It is once again Dorsey vs. Dorsey,
on almost an equal basis, and those in
the band business know that the two
fighting Irishman are getting a tre-
mendous bang out of trying to top
each other's music.

What the beaming, round-faced
Mama Dorsey said to Papa Dorsey the
night she saw Tommy and Jimmy on
the bandstand with their arms around
each other is turning out to be pro-
phetic:

"Sure, and look at our boys," she
said in her heavy Irish brogue, "it's
proud I am of them. But," she added,
"you'd better get 'em apart before
they go to fightin'."

RADIO MIRROR

branches of literature, and the home
life of the American Indian.

Gray - haired, with an honest,
homely Irish face, and very affable,
Kieran is also a genuinely modest
man. Becoming a radio star hasn't
made his head swell a fraction of an
inch. He first joined the staff of ex-
perts in the early days of the program
simply because he was asked to, and
thought it would be fun. Later, when
Canada Dry decided to sponsor the
show, Golenpaul went to Kieran and
told him the good news, adding, "Of
course, I'll be able to pay you fellows
more money from now on, too."
Kieran shook his head doubtfully. "I
don't care so much about that," he
said, "but I'll tell you what I would
like. Couldn't I get a few more extra
tickets to the broadcast? All my
friends keep asking me for them, and
I never have enough to go around."

KIERAN comes by his wide knowl-
edge naturally. He's been sur-
rounded by books as long as he can
remember. His father was the late
James M. Kieran, president of Hunter
College in New York City. His mother,
a Hunter graduate, was a school
teacher; and John himself taught for
a while in a rural school in Dutchess
County, New York. After that he
went into construction work for two
years, joining the staff of the Times
in 1915. The war interrupted his
newspaper work and he served over-
seas for two years — but it didn't in-
terrupt his reading. He carried a
miniature library along with him.

They're Human, After All

(Continued jrom page 21)

Ever since the war he's been a
working newspaper man — on the
Times, the Tribune, the American,
and then back to the Times in 1927.
He started the first signed daily
column that paper ever had.

About the only type of question you
can be quite sure Kieran won't answer
is one dealing with modern books.
He never reads them — at least not
until they've stopped being best-
sellers, and until everyone else has
read them and he's convinced they're
something extraordinary. He con-
stantly reads and re-reads the classics,
because, he says, "If a book isn't
worth reading over and over, it isn't
worth reading at all."

Kieran married a Times telephone
girl after he returned from the war,
and now they have three children and
live in Riverdale, in the same section
where John used to go walking and
studying bird-life. He goes to his
office — a corner of the Times' big city-
room — every afternoon and besides
keeping close track of everything that
goes into the sports section of the
paper, writes his own column. Shortly
after he began going on the air each
week in Information Please, a crisis
arose in the Times office. People who
were convinced that Kieran knew the
answer to every question under the
sun began telephoning him at his
office. On Wednesdays, the day after
the program, as many as two hundred
calls would come in. So the Times
hired a man with a husky, forbidding
voice to answer his telephone and
keep all questioners away, in order to

give John time to get some work done.
John plays the piano, but not as
well as Oscar Levant. He never took
a music lesson in his life, and teaches
himself to play a piece he likes by
buying a player-piano roll of it, put-
ting it on the player attachment of
his piano, and memorizing the keys
that go down as he plays the roll at
slow speed. For a man with a
memory like his, it's no trick at all.

COLUMNIST-CAMPAIGNER

Ask a New Yorker to identify
Franklin Pierce Adams and the
chances are he'll look at you with a
blank and glassy stare. Ask him to
identify "F. P. A." and he'll exclaim
joyously, "Oh, the columnist!" At
least, that's what would have hap-
pened until just recently. Now that
F.P.A. is on Information Please every
week, and is called Mr. Adams on
the air, his last name is beginning to
have some meaning of its own.

F.P.A. has been a New York institu-
tion ever since 1904, when he started
his first column on the old Evening
Mail. It was called "Always in Good
Humor" then; in 1922, when he moved
to the World, he changed its name to
"The Conning Tower." Right now
"The Conning Tower" is appearing in
the New York Post.

F.P.A. is a columnist, but not the
Winchell kind. In fact, "The Conning
Tower" has never been popular out-
side of New York. Nearly every
paper that has ever had it has tried
to syndicate it, without success. It

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66

is short on gossip, long on a subtle
kind of humor that's funniest to
people who, like F.P.A. himself, are
book-worms and experts on Shake-
speare and operas by Gilbert and
Sullivan.

He loves to carry on campaigns in
his column, too. For instance, he has
crusaded against such annoyances as
dry sweeping and people who won't
put house numbers where they're
visible from the street, but insist on
hiding them behind honeysuckle
bushes or under the eaves. He also
hates people who split infinitives or
mispronounce words.

A lot of famous people owe at least
part of their start to F.P.A. It was
he who first encouraged Dorothy
Parker, George S. Kaufman, Deems
Taylor, Morrie Ryskind and many
others, by publishing their work in
his column. Rube Goldberg, O. O.
Mclntyre, and Grantland Rice were
all his co-workers on the staff of the
Evening Mail when he first came to
New York.

Adams wasn't always a newspaper
man, though. Born in Chicago in 1881,
he grew up there and went for a little
more than a year to the University of
Michigan. He quit college to sell in-
surance, a profession he stuck to for
three years before he landed a job as
a cub reporter on the Chicago Journal.
While he was on the Journal he was
a constant contributor to the column
written in the Tribune by Bert Leston
Taylor, called "A Line of Type or
Two" — a column very much like the
one F.P.A. writes today. His con-
tributions were accepted and pub-
lished so often that they finally led
to his job in New York, on the Mail.

DURING the war, F.P.A. served
overseas, and worked on the Stars
and Stripes, the American Expedi-
tionary Force newspaper which had
Alexander Woollcott as one of its star
reporters. Nowadays, he lives with
his second wife and four children in
Westport, Connecticut, and drives a
battered old car which he stoutly re-
fuses to trade in for a new one.

Adams was a member of the "board
of experts" on the historic first Infor-
mation Please program, last May. He
thinks appearing on it is so much fun
that it would probably take some-
thing pretty disastrous to make him
miss a broadcast now. When Dan
Golenpaul first tried to tell him about
the kind of program he was planning,
Adams couldn't make head or tail of
the scheme. "Look," Golenpaul finally
said, "suppose I ask you a question.
Maybe then you'll get the idea. Who
was the Merchant of Venice?"

"Antonio," said Adams — and sud-
denly brightened. "Ah-hah!" he
chortled in triumph. "You expected
me to say Shylock. Why, I could
play this game all night long. You
ought to make me pay you for the
privilege of being on the show."

BROADWAY GENIUS

The only strictly Broadway per-
sonality, and the nearest to a real
genius, on the Information Please
board of experts is Oscar Levant. He
isn't a newspaper man, like F.P.A.
or Kieran, nor an editor, like Fadi-
man, but a musician to his fingertips
— the cleverest fingertips you ever
heard on piano keys.

Born in Pittsburgh, Oscar was a
musician from his earliest childhood.
He didn't have a great deal of the

kind of education most children get,
but when he was just a boy went
abroad and studied under the famous
composer Schoenberg. Back in the
United States, he was pianist with Ben
Bernie, and went to Hollywood in the
early talkie days to do the back-
ground music for a picture called
"Street Girl" — you may remember it.
Until lately, he's been under contract
to write and arrange music for Selz-
nick International Pictures.

The only instrument he plays is the
piano, but he can play it so well that
he can rip off the most complicated
pieces with no more effort than if
he were playing "Chopsticks." He
composes a lot of music, both popular
and symphonic. "Lady Play Your
Mandolin" was by him, and so are
two recent numbers, "Last Night a
Miracle Happened" and "The Sleeper
Awakes."

GEORGE GERSHWIN was one of
Oscar's intimate friends, and at
the last big Gershwin concert in New
York before the composer's death,
Oscar played the piano score of the
"Concerto in F."

Right now he is conducting the or-
chestra for the huge spectacle-play,
"The American Way," in which
Fredric March is starring. Oscar's
never seen the show, though — he and
his musicians play in a little room
seven floors above the stage, their
music coming to the auditorium over
a public address system. All their
music cues come to them over a com-
plicated set of stop-and-go lights.

Except where music is concerned,
Oscar isn't an "intellectual" like the
others on Information Please. He's
pure Broadway, and along that fabu-
lous street he has a great reputation
as a wit. One of his sayings is apt
to travel from Fortieth Street to
Fifty-second in the space of an after-
noon and end up in Winchell's column
the next morning.

He's the most sloppily dressed of
the four Information Please musket-
eers. Where Fadiman runs to neat,
conservative business suits, F.P.A. to
rough tweeds, and Kieran to a sweater
under his suit coat, Oscar favors a
missing vest, carelessly knotted tie,
and baggy coat and trousers. Often
he doesn't seem to be paying any at-
tention to what is going on around
him in the studio during a broadcast,
and even puts his head down on the
table in front of him for a short nap
— from which he looks up suddenly
to identify a secondary theme in a
seldom-played symphony or concerto.

The other three regulars on the
program are all family men, married
and with children, but Oscar is a
bachelor and lives in a midtown hotel,
near his beloved Times Square. His
best friend wouldn't call him hand-
some, but just the same he is usually
accompanied to the broadcast by a
beautiful girl — and not very often
does he bring the same girl twice.

Oscar is very much of a movie fan,
although because of his work in "The
American Way" he has to do most of
his movie-going at matinees. As you
know if you've listened to the pro-
gram when he was on it — every other
Tuesday, that is — he seldom misses
a question about the movies, although
he usually has to go through a long
mental process to get the answer:
"It played in the Music Hall — Irene
Dunne — a dog — Cary Grant — RKO
produced it — I've got it! — 'The Awful
Truth.' "

RADIO MIRROR

Bridge of Mercy

(Continued from page 40)

"Mary, are you awake?"

"Yes, John."

"Your — your bridge, Mary — "

"You've decided? Oh, I'm so glad."
She was smiling — really smiling, in
relief and happiness. "Only — " A
shadow passed across her eyes.
"Darling — will you be all right?"

"I'll be all right," he assured her.

"You won't do anything foolish?
Try to follow me?"

"No — I won't. I promise."

She wouldn't look at anything but
his face, wouldn't look at his busy
hands as they unwrapped the parcel,
filled a glass with water. She never
did look at anything again but his
face, not until the very end.

In the courtroom, the prosecuting
attorney said, "Gentlemen of the jury,
Mary Carson might have lived for
some time still The defense claims
she wished — against all human in-
stinct— to die. But I say there is not
a scrap of evidence to support that
theory — that this man murdered his
sick and helpless wife, by adminis-
tering to her a lethal dose of sedative
capsules!"

THE attorney for the defense said,
"Gentlemen of the jury, consider
these truths. Mary Carson was so
hopelessly ill, so racked with intoler-
able pain that she attempted suicide.
And if — if, I say! — John Carson, this
loyal and compassionate husband, did
help this poor tortured soul to that
long sleep she so desperately desired,
then it is not you, but a higher Judge,
who has the right to say he was
wrong!"

Through all the arguments, John
Carson sat motionless in his chair,
detached, uninterested, a spectator.
He had refused to testify for himself,
refused to ask for the sympathy and
pity so many would have freely given
him. Even when the jury was out
he sat there, sunk in lethargy — almost,
you would have said, bored.

The jury filed back into the box.

The perfunctory questions: "Gentle-
men of the jury, have you reached a
verdict? . . . Hand it to the Clerk of
the Court, please."

The Clerk began to read, "We, the
jury, find the defendant, John Carson,
not — "

"No!" John shouted, leaping up-
right, incredulity and horror in his
eyes. "You can't free me — I'm guilty!
I did murder my wife!"

Above the excited hum in the
crowded room the judge's gavel
rapped sharply. John's attorney was
plucking at his sleeve, trying to drag
him back into his chair. John shook
him off.

"No! I will talk! Let me tell you
what it means to be tied, hand and
foot, week after week, month after
month, to a dying woman! Long,
dull days in a sickly house — sleepless
nights — the incessant care of a help-
less burden that stands on the thresh-
old of death and refuses to cross!
Refuses, until you eat your soul away
hunting for a means to free yourself!"

He glared wildly at the judge, at
the jury, at his own lawyer, sweeping
the room furiously with his gaze.
"Suicide!" his voice rang out in the
sudden silence. "It wasn't suicide! It
never was suicide! It was murder. It
was murder the first time — I failed
because I was in too much of a hurry

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67

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SELLING TALCUM

— I called the ambulance too soon.
The second time I did not fail! That's
the truth, gentlemen — I gave her the
capsules, deliberately! I killed her!"

It was strange — strange and won-
derful— how little fear he felt when
he walked down the chilly corridor
toward the big door that would so
soon swing open and admit him to —
what? To darkness? To a bridge of
light, with someone waiting for him
at the other end?

The heavily shod feet of the prison
officials clop-clopped beside his own
light steps. Behind him, the prison
chaplain's voice was solemn: "Our
Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed
be Thy Name. . . ."

OF course, John thought, it was so
much harder for everyone else—
the other prisoners in Condemned
Row, the officials, the man who threw
the switch, even the reporters — so
much harder for them than for him.
All he had to do now was put one foot
before the other, let himself be led to-
ward whatever goal had been pre-
pared for him, sit in that massive
ugly chair, wait for them to turn on
the current.

The straps were in place. He looked
about, at the circle of white strained
faces. Something struck him a terrific
blow, and his senses clouded —

"John!" It was Mary's voice.

"Mary — where are you? I can't see
you—"

Her voice was far away, yet all
around him. "Here, John. Don't be
afraid, darling."

Not seeing her, though, he was
afraid — afraid she might not under-
stand. "Mary," he said urgently, "I
had to lie, about you being a burden.
Forgive me — something stronger than
I made me do it!"

"But I made you do it, John. Don't
you know that? You had to die — to be
punished on earth."

"Oh yes," he said, and thought he
nodded in understanding. "Oh yes, I
see that now. Others, seeing me go
free, might kill through hate — might
hide behind the cloak of mercy. . . .
But why can't I see you? You said
you'd wait for me."

"I am waiting, dear. I can't go any
farther now — nor you — it's our pun-
ishment."

He accepted that, too, as if he had
known it must come. He only asked,
"How long, Mary, how long?"

"I don't know," she said, and al-
ready he felt a lightening of the
bonds that held his spirit to the earth.
"Perhaps until we have learned that
pain and suffering must be borne as
a cross is borne ... to the Appointed
Place. . . . I'll be waiting for you,
darling," she said, "at the end of the
bridge."

(Based on the original script, "Qual-
ity of Mercy," first presented on the
Don Lee Network.)

17 Men Are My Chaperones

(Continued from page 25)

States to see everybody in person who
tunes us in. And ladies, there are lots
of people between New York and New
Orleans.

First I wanted to tell you all about
these one night stands because they're
the most exciting thing in this business
of making music. Especially for a wo-
man. It's a thrill — how can it help but
be? — to see America first in the com-
pany of seventeen men. And the
darndest things happen. They're bound
to when you travel two thousand miles
in a few weeks. Then I knew I had to
write this article for all you girls who
think you'd like to sing in an orchestra.

Anything you do has its good and
bad sides, and being a singer in a band
isn't an exception. I don't have to tell
you about the good side of my job. You
know about it already — the excite-
ment and glamour, the thrill of doing
work I like to do, the fun of meeting
lots of interesting people and seeing
lots of interesting places.

I love my job, of course, or I wouldn't
be in it. Naturally, its disadvantages
don't outweigh its advantages — not for
me, anyway. But they might for some
people. They might for you. You
should know about them, at least; take
a peek with me into this very different
world of being on "the road"; and then
it will be easier for you to decide if you
ever get a chance to sing with a band.

A tour is exciting the first time you
make it. After that — well, one tour is
pretty much like another: a lot of hard
work.

Let me take you on a typical tour.

On the road we travel in a huge bus.
It is our home. On these trips it is
every man for himself, so I travel light.
In the bus I wear a sweater and skirt.
I carry three such outfits and a couple
of formal evening dresses. The reason
T travel light, is because in order to get

68

in and out of places fast, I have to
carry my own luggage. The young fel-
low who takes care of the instruments
and the musicians' luggage has enough
on his hands. My wardrobe is complete
in one suitcase.

Here's an average day. I can con-
struct it for you in advance, because I
know about how it will be. Yesterday,
let's say, we left Lexington, Kentucky,
about noon. It was a hot, dusty trip to
Mobile, Alabama. We got into Mobile
about eight o'clock at night. I piled out
of the bus with the other musicians
and dashed for the nearest restaurant.
I gulped a quick meal, and then rushed
to a dressing room in the dance hall
where we were to play. I unpacked my
suitcase, and as usual felt like bawl-
ing when I saw my gowns. Somehow I
managed to get one of them smoothed
out well enough to wear, and putting
on my make-up hurried to the band-
stand to work.

CIX hours later, at three o'clock in
*J the morning, three of the fellows in
the band saw that I arrived at the hotel
safely, where I went to bed dead tired
and slept until noon. Now, in a few
hours, I'll be in the bus again and roll-
ing down the highway towards Bir-
mingham, Alabama.

I have quite a bad cold, but I expect-
ed that before I started. I've never yet
been on a trip when everybody in the
orchestra didn't catch cold. It isn't so
much the change of climate that gives
us colds, it's the drafty theater and
dance hall dressing rooms.

The actual traveling, though, is lots
of fun. There's always new country to
see, and this Southern tour in the
springtime is particularly lovely. We
have good times in the bus, too. We
play cards, sing, tell stories and sleep
— in fact, we do a great deal of sleep -

RADIO MIRROR

ing. We have our standing jokes, too.
One that always strikes me very funny
is this: When the bus driver wants to
make a sharp turn, or swing out in
front of another car, he yells, "How's it
in back?" Nobody thinks of looking
in back of the bus to see; we all just
yell, "Okay in back." Then, a second
or two later, we follow that up with
another yell, "Crash!" One of these
days we're going to get hit, I'm sure,
and then it won't seem so funny.

OUR bus weighs about sixteen tons,
so when we come to a bridge that
has a capacity of less than that we
make all the two-hundred-pound men
in the band get out and walk across.
You ought to hear them moan. When
things get dull we make up quartets
and try to see who can sing the worst
harmony. The bus driver generally
puts a stop to this. But we razz him
plenty too, because he never seems to
know the right roads to take and al-
ways has to ask somebody in the band.

I remember one particularly long
hop we made while we were touring
the New England states. We had to get
to a town in New Hampshire in a
hurry, so we planned to travel all day
without stopping. Just before the bus
pulled out, I sneaked away and
bought a dozen candy bars, two dozen
sandwiches and a basket of fruit.

I waited until about four o'clock in
the afternoon, when all the boys had
reached a proper pitch of starvation,
and then, loading all my stuff on my
arms, I began peddling it up and
down the aisle. The boys set up a
howl of delight and began diving in
their pockets for money. It was a lot
of fun and I made a pretty penny.
Sandwiches sold for fifty cents, fruit
was a quarter and candy bars twenty

cents apiece. They all wailed that I
was profiteering on human misery,
but they really enjoyed the joke' just
as much as I did.

That trip didn't turn out so well,
however, as we ran into blizzards.
Once we were stuck in a farmer's
yard all day long, while trying to
turn around, and almost froze to
death in the bus. This made us be-
hind schedule so instead of sleeping
nights we had to keep driving. We
all took turns keeping the driver
awake. By the time we got back to
Boston, which was our last stop, we
were all literally knocked out. When
we finally got into New York I slept
for two days. My husband, Andre
Baruch, said I didn't even turn over
once during the entire two days.

Playing a different town every
night, you soon find out that every
place has a personality of its own.
Each one is a little different from the
last. Generally, people are very nice
to us, but in a crowd of two thousand,
which is our average draw, there are
bound to be a few who do their best
to make the band's girl singer miser-
able. One of these is the fellow who,
quite drunk, stands as close to the
microphone as he can and blows his
breath in my face. If he can't annoy
me this way, he may begin making in-
sulting remarks. Then, and only then,
I send out my S.O.S.

The boys in our band average
about 185 pounds apiece, and can take
care of any twenty men. One of the
players, a big fellow named Joe is my
personal bodyguard. If a customer
gets impossible to handle, I simply
step away from the microphone and
say, "Joe, how's your wife?" Joe slips
out from behind his instrument and
gently sees that whoever is annoying

me is given a quiet, bum's rush.

Sometimes we have some pretty
ticklish situations, since some of the
mill towns we play in draw very
tough customers.

But there again, there's another
side to the picture. When we play at
college dances it is wonderful. The
college youngsters treat us wonder-
fully well, they invite us to frat
houses for dinner, show us around
the town, and do everything to make
us comfortable. And in most of the
small towns we play in people are
just as nice.

Nice people bring up a particularly
difficult problem. I've yet to play in a
place where at least ten young men
haven't asked me to dance with them.
And I've had to refuse, every time.
Almost always, I've refused when I'd
rather have accepted. But if I dance
with one, I would have to dance with
everyone who asked me, and I
wouldn't have any time left to sing.
That being the case, Larry Clinton
would soon be looking for another
vocalist.

ON a tour, I've figured out that I
sign about a thousand autographs
a night. Now, of course I love to sign
autographs — it natters me to know
that anyone thinks my handwriting
is worth keeping. But it does rub me
the wrong way when, as often hap-
pens, a card is shoved roughly under
my nose and a gruff voice barks,
"Sign here!" Silly to let it bother me,
perhaps, but when your nerves are on
edge from traveling and lack of sleep,
little things do get under your skin.

This may sound funny, but often I
get very lonely. Being one girl among
seventeen men has its drawbacks. The
men generally pal around together in

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70

little groups and have quite a bit of
fun. I have no girl friends to talk to,
and when I'm not in the bus I often
have to spend three or four hours just
sitting by myself in a hotel room. I'm
married, and I miss my husband. On
long trips I often don't see him for a
month and a half.

More than anything else, these one-
night stands are a test of stamina —
mental, spiritual and physical. I'm
just about the healthiest person in
the world, and very strong, but after
fifteen days on the road you'd never
know it. The disheartening thing is
that about this time it begins to tell
on my voice. Very often I feel that
my voice is a disappointment to the
people who hear me — they've heard
me sing so much better over the air.
They don't realize that I've been
climbing on and off a bus, traveling
as much as five hundred miles a day,
and that I'm very tired.

CINGING at home, in New York, the
*^ tears often run down my cheeks
because the meaning of the song
touches me. Out on the road, the tears
sometimes come just the same — but
because I feel so badly about the way
I'm sounding, and I'm worn out and
discouraged.

I don't want to sound like a cry-
baby, or as if I think I'm the only one
who takes bumps on the road. The
boys in the band are often a haggard
looking bunch too. But we all do our
best to keep up the general spirit.
When they see I'm feeling low they
go out of their way to dig up all the
funny stories they know and act as

crazy as they can just to make me
feel better.

I've heard of certain bands that be-
come so exhausted on the road that
they quarrel and fight among each
other. Another girl vocalist once told
me that the orchestra leader she
worked for had to keep walking up
and down the bus on one six-hun-
dred-mile stretch just to keep the
men from getting into a brawl. When
I hear stories like that I realize that
I work with a pretty swell bunch,
because no matter how tired we are,
we all manage to get along swell.

Well, that's life on the road. I've
tried to paint it truthfully, as it really
is, leaving out nothing, in the hope
that what I wrote would be of some
help to the many, many girls who are
seeking a career as a band singer. I
wanted you to realize that you must
take into consideration more than the
mere fact that you may be able to
sing well. You must ask yourselves,
honestly, if you would be able to put
up with the trials and hardships of
one nighters, which are an insepa-
rable part of the business. You must
be sure that you have a good set of
nerves and the spiritual as well as
physical stamina to endure the grind.

If you are sure you can "take it" I'd
be the last person in the world to dis-
courage you. I've had a lot of fun,
and I wouldn't trade jobs with anyone
in the world. But, even so — some-
times I long for a nice, fat commer-
cial program on the air, a little spare
time to spend with a husband, and a
home that doesn't move every twen-
ty-four hours.

Pretty Kitty Kelly

{Continued from page 34)

Marks. Nothing mattered to Michael
any more but Isabel Andrews.

She wanted to walk, she must get
away, out into the air. Somewhere —
it did not matter where — so long as
she was away from here.

"Oh — I say! If it isn't the very
person I've been looking for!"

The voice of Grant Thursday broke
upon her ears. She had almost
stumbled against him, on his way in
through the revolving doors. His
arm, warm and protecting in its
woolly overcoat, was half way
around her shoulder.

"Kitty! How did it come out?
What did the doctor say?"

"The doctor?" She looked at him
for a moment in bewilderment. "Oh
— yes. He said he's going to restore
my memory."

"Weyman is?" His gray eyes were
solicitous.

"No. A man named Dr. Orbo. He
— he remem . . ."

"Not Orbo!" Grant's face changed.
"But good heavens! That's the very
man I've been looking for all week!"

"You know him?"

"I should say I do!" Grant laughed
shortly. "Or rather I don't. Most
elusive chap I've ever met. I haven't
seen him yet. But I've been trying
to do business with him for the last
six months."

"Do business with him! But — he's
a doctor. A brain specialist!"

"As a profession, yes. But on the
side he's a business man. And as
screwy a one as you've ever met. But
it doesn't matter. Tell me what he
said about your memory."

He smiled down upon her from his

height, all tenderness, all interest.
But she had scarcely begun her story
when he took her gently by the arm.

"Come along. We can talk better
outside. I've got my car on 49th
Street, and we can go for a little
spin in the country."

Half curious, half miserable, she
allowed herself to be drawn away.
It did not matter. Bunny would take
care of Miss Dornford, make up some
excuse at the store.

They went out into the bright sun-
shine. Grant chatted gaily, drawing
her out about the doctor, the details
of her visit. He stopped once, to
buy her a bunch of violets from a
street vendor, pinned them on her
coat. Then they were at the car, a
long low shining affair of maroon and
chromium, with a foreign trade-mark
scrawled in silver across the radiator.

"It does a hundred and twenty at
the slightest provocation," Grant an-
nounced, as she slid in, sinking into
the low-slung depths of the leather
cushions.

IN fifteen minutes they were out of
' the city, and gliding along a wide
parkway.

It seemed somehow so natural. As
though she had done it all before.
The car. The comfort. The hand-
some man at her side. Perhaps, per-
haps it was real. Perhaps the man
at her side was . . .

"And so he said you were an or-
phan from Dublin!" Grant chuckled
softly. "Well, Kitty, I'm afraid the
poor old benighted codger is going
to get the surprise of his life, when
he treats you tomorrow, and finds out

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about St. Moritz and you and me."

"Oh, Grant, he won't be able to
bring back my memory in a day!"

"If he brings it back in an hour,
that won't be too soon for me. Kitty
— dearest . . ." He slipped his foot
off the accelerator, let the great car
slow down, as he took her hand into
his own. "Kitty, I might as well tell
you. I can't wait any longer. I love
you. And I want ... so very much
. . . to marry you . . ."

She sat there in silence, lulled into
a kind of peace by the motion of the
car, the beauty of the blue sky.

"Funny thing about me," he went
on, "I've always been a woman-hater.
Never fell for a girl in my life. But
you — you're different. When I saw
you there two years ago, in Switzer-
land, I knew you were the one wo-
man in the world for me. I painted
a picture in my mind, instantane-
ously, of the kind of life we could
have together. You know — books,
firelight, music, travel. I'd take you
to Bali, Kitty — Honolulu — Paris. I'd
take you to places you've never been
before. Show you Oriental temples
— Javanese dancers — the Champs Ely-
sees — Tibetan lamas. I've been every-
where, Kitty. I'm rich. If this deal
with Orbo comes through, I'll be
richer than . . ."

"Orbo!" The name recalled her to
reality. She sat up, and drew away
her hand. "Grant! What is this deal
with Dr. Orbo you're talking about?"

He only smiled at her, and stepped
on the accelerator. The car leaped
forward with a sudden throb.

"It's nothing. Something you
wouldn't be interested in," he said.
"You're a great one for changing the
subject, Miss Kitty Kelly. But mark
my words. I'm coming around to see
you tomorrow night — after Dr. Or-
bo's first treatment — and make you
make up your mind."
* * *

AS far as Dr. Orbo's business af-
'Vairs were concerned, she could
make Grant divulge nothing more. But
the thought of Dr. Orbo's mysterious
outside activities troubled her, and
when she went to Dr. Weyman's of-
fice the following afternoon at four,
she took Bunny along. It made her
feel a little less strange.

Dr. Orbo was alone in the big office.
He greeted them both in his usual
expressionless fashion. To Bunny, he
was polite, but obviously cold and
suspicious. And as soon as Kitty's
blood pressure and heart beat had
been taken, he asked her to leave
the room.

"I will call for you when Miss
Kelly's treatment is over," he told her,
locking the door after her. The aus-
tere office seemed still and sinister
without her, without Dr. Weyman,
without anybody but the huge frame
of Dr. Orbo moving about, darken-
ing the room by slowly pulling down
the blinds. She trembled.

He motioned her to a chair, with
one of his slow, inscrutable smiles.

"I am going to hypnotize you first,
Miss Kelly," he said softly. "There
is nothing to fear. Modern hypnosis
is merely a question of concentration.
You see these two lights opposite
each other on Dr. Weyman's desk?
Yes? Well — in just a moment I am
going to start them revolving. I want
you to stare at them intently. Just
watch the lights. Are you ready?"

The lights began to go round.
Faster. Faster. She watched them, her
eyes dazzled by the whirling motion,

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JULY, 1939

71

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Dr. Orbo's low humming voice in her
ear.

"Watch the lights . . . watch the
lights . . . just a moment more. . . .
Now . . . now. Close your eyes . . .
You're* growing tired . . . very tired
. . . you are sleeping . . . sleep . . .
sleep . . . sleep . . ."

Deeper and deeper, as though he
were descending into the shaft of a
mine, his voice sank down into her
mind. And she was conscious only
of that piercing whine of the discs,
the blur of light and darkness before
her. Then suddenly, out of the con-
fusion, the deep compelling voice
came once more.

"Can you hear me, Kitty?" it asked.
Yes, she could hear it. But there
was something horrible about the
voice now, something cruel and fa-
miliar. "Do you recognize me?" it
said. No. She did not know whose
voice it was, only that it was some-
body she had hated a long time ago.
Then something smooth and thin was
being thrust into her hand. "Here is
a pencil," the humming voice was
saying. "And a pad. Now — write.
Write your name. Your full name.
Kathleen Kelly. Write . . . your . . .
full . . . name . . ."

Then, out of the shrill whine of
her brain, it came. As though she
had suddenly stumbled to a window,
and seen it all. She was sitting in a
great mediaeval hall, surrounded by
knights in shining armor. Firelight
was flickering upon her from a huge
stone fireplace. She was sitting in a
velvet arm-chair, and someone was
thrusting a piece of paper and a
fountain pen into her hand. Some-
one was saying:

"Write! Write your full name. Sign
this. Write . . . Kathleen Kelly."

It was long ago. And yet it was
now. She could feel the anger ris-
ing in her veins, as she leaped from
the velvet chair, and tossed the piece
of paper into the flames. No! No!
So now, she must toss away this pad
and pencil and refuse to sign.

"I won't! I won't sign it! I shan't.
You are thieves, do you hear? Thieves
and wicked men!" Her voice sound-
ed far away and mechanical. "Oh,
I see it all now! I see it all . . ."

"Write." The low humming voice
persisted. "Will you write your name?
I command you, do you hear, you
stubborn little . . ."

"No! No!" Her mechanical voice
rose in a scream. "I've told you that
before, and though you torture me
from now until the Day of Judgment,
I'll never sign it! Never! Never!"
She could feel his voice rising, rising
from the dark part of her mind, his
repulsive face coming closer, his
breath upon her face, but she must
refuse. She must . . . must . . . must.

Then, with a sudden jerk, it was
all over. She was sitting there, in
the afternoon sunlight, with Bunny
shaking her shoulder. And Dr. Orbo
was rubbing his hands, over by the
window.

"A most profitable experiment, Miss
Kelly," he was saying calmly.

AS soon as she and Bunny were
'alone, she realized that she could
remember nothing of what had hap-
pened. As ' though by magic, the
things she had done and said, under
the influence of hypnosis, had been
erased from her memory as effec-
tively as her past. She could recall
only the darkened room, the whirling
lights, the shrill whine of the discs.

"What were you screaming about
in there?" Bunny kept asking her. "I
could hear you screaming like he was
killing you."

But try as she might, she could
remember no unpleasant things that
had occurred, no visions, not even
the memory of his voice. All that
was left of the experience was a
kind of vague horror, a sense of old
memories churning about in the
depths of her mind.

She was weak too. On the walk
to the apartment from the subway,
she could scarcely stand up. When
they finally reached the little flat, she
lay down on the bed, exhausted.

"I don't like the idea of it at all!"
Bunny insisted. "I don't think that
old Frankenstein did you a bit of
good."

"Sure, Bunny — but that's the way
hypnotism always affects people, I
guess," she protested feebly. But* she
was frightened herself. What had Dr.
Orbo done to her during those brief
moments? For ten, fifteen minutes,
she had been completely in his power.
She had lost all sense of herself. To-
morrow, she must do it again. And
the day after that. Supposing, after
a few days, she forgot about this life
completely — entered into an alto-
gether different self? Forgot Bunny,
the store, Mrs. Megram, Michael?

She was too miserable to eat, too
tired even to talk to Bunny. Instead
she lay huddled under an afghan, go-
ing hot and cold by degrees, her head
throbbing with pain. And it was thus
that Grant Thursday found her, when
he called at eight o'clock.

DUT Kitty — dearest — what's come
u over you?" He leaned over the bed,
felt her burning forehead. "Maybe
we ought to get the doctor?"

"No, no!" She sat up, her eyes
feverish, her red-gold hair awry. "I'll
be all right. It's — just my head, that's
all. I need sleep."

"You need fresh air, that's what
you need. A change. Get your mind
off this morbid stuff. What about a
little spin in my car?"

"No, Grant." She looked up into
his anxious face, bent so tenderly
over her. "Thanks just the same.
But I — couldn't. Just — let me alone.
I'll be all right."

"Let me bring you and Bunny in
some dinner then?"

"No, thanks. I couldn't eat a thing.
But — maybe you could take Bunny
out for a bite. She's starved."

"I wouldn't dream of leaving you,
Kitty!" Bunny protested, shaking her
blonde head. But Grant, eager to
please Kitty in any way he could,
seized her hands, and pulled her to
her feet. "Come on, Bunny! I know
the best place for ravioli in the city!"
he promised. "Ravioli up to here!" He
drew a line gaily across his chest,
did a few dance steps, whispered
something in her ear. Bunny giggled.
Then she came over to Kitty's bed,
patted her shoulder.

"We'll be back in half an hour,
darling," she promised. "Grant and
I are going to get you something that
will really cheer you up!" Her eyes
bright with conspiracy, she did a little
step to the closet, put on a saucy
black hat.

"Goodbye now," she called. She
and Grant waved from the doorway.
Then they were gone in a flurry of
whispers and low chuckles.

She was alone at last. How long
it had been since she had really been
alone. The silence soothed her. Per-

RADIO MIRROR

HAS ANY FATHER

THE RIGHT TO

DICTATE?

How long should a parent attempt to
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When should a daughter, for the sake
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Parents often fail to realise that the
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the almost inhuman lengths to which
he went, the mistake that Myra made
in her resentment and how disaster
blighted all their lives. "I Was a Dic-
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every parent of a maturing child should
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nearest news stand, today!

fiue Story

haps if she lay very still she, could
think things through. If only the
pain in her head would cease for a
minute . . .

What was that? Was it her imagi-
nation, or had a key clicked in the
lock of the outside door? Had the
handle turned with a soft stealthy
movement? She sat up, tense, scarce-
ly breathing, listening, as the door
outside was slowly pushed open.

"Bunny?" she called in a thin,
frightened voice. There was no an-
swer. "Grant?" Then, heavy foot-
steps moved across the living-room.
A huge figure stood in the doorway.

Dr. Orbo! '

She held her breath in terror, look-
ing into his eyes, his glittering blue
eyes that were without movement,
without expression of any kind, like
the eyes of a glass doll. Then he
smiled at her, his teeth yellow and
crooked in his wide mouth.

"I have frightened you, Miss
Kelly?"

"Oh — no, doctor. I— I just heard
the — the door open. I — I thought it
was . . . Bunny Wilson. I — were you
— looking for me, doctor?"

"Yes." He did not take his eyes
off her face. There was something
terrible about the fixed expression of
his eyes, something she could not re-
sist. "I have come to take you to
the hospital."

He was mad. She knew that now.
She must fence with him, keep him
waiting there, until Grant and Bunny
returned. She tried to smile.

"Tonight, doctor?"

"Tonight."

OH — but — that's so soon, Dr. Orbo."
If only his eyes would stop
staring at her like that, she could
think. But his eyes held her as though
she were in a vise. She could feel her-
self weakening, losing her grip, sway-
ing a little on the bed. He took a
quick step forward, caught her hands
in his crushing palms, brought his face
down toward her, closer, closer. His
low voice sounded in her ears.

"No . . . Miss Kelly ... no. Don't
look away. Watch me carefully.
Watch me . . . carefully. . . . You are
going to the hospital . . . tonight . . .
tonight ... do you hear . . . look at
me, Miss Kelly. ... No! No! . . . Look
at me. . . . Now . . . get up from the
bed. . . . Walk to the closet. . . . Find
your hat and coat. . . . Put them on
. . . now . . . follow me . . . come!
I command you to come!"

Evil, dark, and yet terribly power-
ful, his voice sank into the depths of
her brain. A giddy feeling enveloped
her for a moment, and when she
struggled out of it, her body was like
some weightless substance, powerless.
It moved, not of her own volition,
but as though driven along by some
force outside herself. She could feel
herself floating toward him, floating
toward the door, past all the familiar
things of the room. She wanted to
clutch them, hold on to a chair or a
table, stop for a minute. But her
body moved on . . . after him . . .

Then, powerful arms seized her,
and she was thrust into an automobile
that sped away into the night.

What strange purpose has Dr. Orbo
in spiriting Kitty away? And what
of Grant Thursday — is the strange
connection between him and Orbo
something that will vitally affect Kit-
ty's life? Follow the tangled thread
of Kitty's adventures to its climax in
next month's Radio Mirror.

How do they do it?

Here's the Hollywood Secret

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Facing the Music

(Continued from page 43)

to fifteen pieces . . . CBS songstress
Doris Rhodes takes credit for the
overwhelming success of "Deep Pur-
ple." It's been her theme song for
months . . . If you see a notice in
town that John Philip Sousa, 3rd, is
coming with his band, don't get con-
fused. The descendent of the great
martial musician is a born rug-cutter.

BANDOM'S BACHELOR BUDDIES

HIGH above Hollywood in a lofty
cottage, built right up against a
hillside, with a commanding view of
the dizzy neon-lighted film capital,
live two young men, one stout and
soulful, the other wafer-thin, wiry,
and wise about women.

Few of the opposite sex penetrate
this three-storied retreat which is the
home of John Scott Trotter, Bing
Crosby's musical mate, and Skinnay
Ennis, who directs the orchestra on
the Bob Hope show. Yet these two
"Hollywood hermits" are bandom's
most eligible bachelors.

As far apart as sweet and swing,
Trotter and Ennis have been roomies
ever since they collectively tickled
the ivories and beat the drums in Hal
Kemp's band as undergraduates at
North Carolina University. Trotter
weighs 260 pounds, Skinnay 100
pounds less. Trotter shuns athletics,
Skinnay is a slave to golf. Trotter's
secret ambition is to play in Carnegie
Hall. Skinnay openly admits his
ultimate goal is day-long loafing.
John drives a conservative black
Buick. Skinnay sports a streamlined
Lincoln Zephyr. Trotter can eat a
two-pound chicken at one sitting.
Skinnay likes to nibble on fried
shrimp. The bigger man is the care-
ful arranger, plotting the budget, see-
ing that things work out smoothly.
The thinner partner shuns budgets
and bankbooks.

Yet these two men of music have
several things in common — their nat-
ural love for music and their aversion
to marriage.

It was only natural that when Fate
placed both of them on the West
Coast that they should share this five-
room, Spanish-designed cottage on
swank Maravilla Drive.

Ever since the eventful night back
in North Carolina that Skinnay Ennis
hurriedly substituted for an ailing
Saxie Dowell to sing the vocals with
the newly formed Hal Kemp's Col-
legians, the nervous, lithe drummer
had been an integral part of the
Kemp organization.

When he nervously chanted the
lyrics in breathless tempo, the un-
orthodox style unconsciously devel-
oped Kemp's creation of staccato
brass.

For twelve years Skinnay would
quietly sideswipe the traps and skip
down to the microphone. His roman-
tic warbling magnetized the dancers.

Then the boy from Salisbury, N. C,
got the baton-bug. He wanted his
own band. Unlike most musicians
who desire to leave their leaders for
wider fields, Skinnay spoke right up
to Hal — and Hal approved.

A trial engagement at the Victor
Hugo Cafe in Hollywood resulted.
Bob Hope sauntered in one night,
liked the band, liked the singer and
was instrumental in getting Skinnay
hired for the Pepsodent show. From

then on Skinnay was in the money.

Big, bountiful John Scott Trotter
faithfully turned out orchestrations
for Hal Kemp all through the latter's
climb to the top.

In 1934 Trotter decided to take a
rest and went to Hollywood. There
he met Johnny Burke, a songwriter
who was instrumental in bringing
him to Bing Crosby's attention, and
when Jimmy Dorsey left the Kraft
Music Hall to go on tour, Bing waved
aside the California candidates for
the job, giving it to Johnny.

Immediately after the Thursday
night program, Trotter leaves for
Palm Springs and can be found from
Friday to Monday, in the Racquet
Club pool, steamroom or Finnish
baths. If he has any arranging work
to do while at the resort, Johnny
orders a portable organ set up beside
the pool.

Johnny's schedule leaves little room
for romance.

On the other hand Skinnay has al-
most too many dates. But one evap-
orates into another like a medley of
hit tunes, and if pressed the morning
after, it's a safe bet the ex-drummer
won't remember if his date was blonde
or brunette.

But there's one woman who has
meant a lot to both bachelors. She's
far from pretty and she doesn't hail
from cafe society. Her name is Pru-
nella and she's darker than the Stein-
way piano in the living room, yet
Skinnay and John are devoted to her.

"She may not be beautiful,"
laughed Skinnay one night when he
entertained Bing and Dixie Crosby,
"but wait till you taste her fried
chicken and hot biscuits!"

When the boys originally came to
Hollywood they lived at a large hotel.
Trotter complained it was too noisy.
Skinnay had trouble ducking the
feminine autograph hunters in the
lobby.

The cottage constructed precari-
ously above Maravilla Drive was the
result. One of these days a pair of
feminine hearts will probably share
this inner, inner sanctum with the
two bachelors, though both men vig-
orously deny it. Prunella, a staunch
champion for nuptial ties, is op-
timistic. She worries about only one
thing:

"Land's sake. Where in de world
will dey put de nursery?"

Ken Alden,
Facing the Music,
RADIO MIRROR,
122 East 42nd Street,
New York City.

I want to know more about

He is my

recommendation for "The Band of
the Month."

NAME

ADDRESS

(Each month Ken Alden will
write a feature piece on "the band
of the month" telling all you want
to know about the favorite maes-
tros. Your vote will help deter-
mine his selection.)

74

RADIO MIRROR

Can They Persuade

Deanna
Durbin

NOT To Marry?

There is no doubt that she is in
love — very much so with young
Vaughn Paul of Universal Studios
and he with her.

So! What about her career? What
about the investment that Universal
already has in her? What about the
scripts that have been written for
her which would be badly damaged
if she married? According to the
oldsters, this is not the time for them
to marry.

But can they persuade Deanna
Durbin not to marry? Behind those
serene and confident eyes of hers,
what goes on? She holds the trump
card. She can dictate terms and she
knows it. What will she do?

The intimate story of Deanna Dur-
bin's first romance appears in Movie
Mirror for July. It is exciting, it is
poignant, it is touching. It's what
every girl wants to know — the unfin-
ished love story of Hollywood's brav-
est Juliet. By all means do not fail
to read it.

In addition to "Can They Persuade
Deanna Durbin Not to Marry?" the
July issue of Movie Mirror, the mag-
azine that brings Hollywood into
your home each month, contains a
wealth of motion picture news, views,
intimate information and gossip that
will delight the hearts of all who
read it — truly a splendid issue — and
only 10c.

movie

MIRROR

Not the Loving Kind

(Continued from page 19)

"The President's — you mean the
President of the United States?"

"Yep. Of course, it won't really be
her, just an actress imitating her.
We'll write a top-notch script for it,
and have her giving the real low-
down on life in the White House —
what she really thinks about the
Rumanian ambassador, and whether
or not the President talks in his
sleep — "

"I think," I said slowly, "I think you
are stark, staring crazy. You can't
fool people like that and expect to
get away with it."

"Oh," he said carelessly, "of course
people listening in will realize it's all
a gag. But after the build-up I'll give
her — great good fortune to have a dis-
tinguished guest in the studio tonight,
and all that sort of stuff — when they
realize it's all a joke, it'll be that
much funnier."

If I hadn't been so tired, perhaps
I could have handled the situation
better. As it was, I lost all my care-
fully guarded tact. "I've never heard
of anything so idiotic in my life!" I
stormed. "You come in here, waking
me up, all excited over a scheme that
would get you in the hottest water
you ever heard of if you went through
with it. It's in the worst possible taste
— for all I know it's against the law!"

I SUPPOSE you think you know
' more about putting on a show than
I do?" he asked, his mouth setting
in a hard line.

"Sometimes I do!" I snapped back.
"Now, for instance!"

"You're like all the rest of them!"
he shouted. "Can't bear to see any-
thing new done on the air. Every
time I get an original idea you start
undermining it, toning it down, mak-
ing it just the same as everything else
in radio! I thought when I hired you
I was getting somebody that would
help me — not an undercover censor!
But this time you're not going to get
away with it — I'm going to do the
stunt anyway!"

"Grant! You're not! You wouldn't
— you'll just be ruining yourself!
Don't you see what would happen?
The President's wife is terribly popu-
lar with a lot of people — -they don't
want to hear her made fun of. And
even those who don't agree with her
politically won't like this sort of thing.
Your sponsor can't afford to make
enemies!"

"You can let me be the judge of
that." He seized his hat furiously and
turned to go — but at the door he
paused, struck by a sudden thought.
"I suppose," he asked nastily, "the
next step is for you to go running to
the network, telling them what I'm
planning to do? After all, they're
your real bosses, aren't they?"

My head jerked back as if he'd
struck me. After that, I knew, even
if it was for his own good, I could
never tell the network or anyone else
about his plans. "No," I said, "you
needn't worry about that. If you want
to kill the show, I won't stop you."

After he'd gone, I looked around
the room. My room, the tiny apart-
ment I had worked so hard to furnish
and make nice. Once, this room and
my job had been my whole life. I had
been so self-sufficient, so sure of my-
self. And now — now nothing mat-

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YOU

.BILE

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drug stores. Stubbornly refuse anything else.

tered, nothing except the sudden dis-
covery that I was in love with a man
who was completely unworthy of love.

There was nothing kind or gentle
about him, nothing thoughtful, very
little that was even admirable. But
I loved him. And, for my own sake,
he must never know.

The next day was a nightmare. A
dozen times I put on my hat and coat,
ready to go down to the studio, watch
rehearsal and try to guide Grant
away from the terrible mistake he
was making. A dozen times I stopped
at the door, went back. He didn't
call me — he didn't want me.

I cooked my own dinner and ate
it in the apartment. Seven o'clock
came — seven-thirty — eight. I snapped
on the radio, tuned it to the proper
station.

I don't know whether or not you
heard that program. I hope not — it
makes me happy whenever I hear of
someone who didn't. For perhaps ten
minutes it went along according to
schedule — then came the interruption.
Grant had staged it cleverly — too
cleverly. A sudden whispered bustle
around the mike, then Grant's voice,
eagerly announcing that a distin-
guished visitor was in the studio, had
just consented to an informal inter-
view— ladies and gentlemen, the wife
of the President of the United States!

Then came a voice that imitated its
famous original so perfectly I would
have sworn it was genuine, talking
easily, graciously, to Grant — and say-
ing the most outrageous things. Criti-
cizing foreign governments — making
malicious fun of Cabinet members and
Senators — even caricaturing the Pres-
ident himself.

Luckily, it didn't last long. Four
minutes, about, and then the program
went on, along the lines that were
already familiar to me. I leaned back
in my chair. Perhaps, after all, it was
not so bad. The sponsor had given
Grant a free hand — and this was cer-
tainly the country of free speech. I
tried to comfort myself with these
thoughts.

The program was nearly over. I
leaned forward to turn the machine
off. My hand paused, just as it
touched the knob. Grant was speak-
ing, saying words that had not been
in the script, saying them in a loud,
positive, angry voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen — it has
come to our attention that we have
unintentionally misled you on this
program. The voice you heard, at-
tributed to the President's wife, was
in reality that of an actress. It never
occurred to us here in the studio that
anyone could possibly take our little
joke seriously — "

A burst of music came up almost
frantically behind his words, drown-

ing the rest of them out. I seized my
hat and coat and ran for the door.

The studio, when I arrived twenty
minutes later, was a scene of chaos.
The audience had been cleared out,
but pages and members of the cast
and orchestra were standing in
corners, looking apprehensive. I saw
several officials of the studio, confer-
ring with each other. From backstage
I heard a jumble of voices. I looked
around wildly, spied Mr. Newton, and
rushed up to him. "What's happened?"
I cried. "What's the trouble?"

He relieved my feelings by smiling,
but it was a worried smile. "He's
kicked over the apple cart this time,"
he told me. "Seems he didn't expect
anyone to take that imitation seriously
— and everybody did. The switch-
board's flooded with calls from people
yelling bloody murder — they want to
get hold of the President's wife and
give her a piece of their mind. And
of course everybody's afraid Washing-
ton will crack down on us — take away
our license, or something."

"You mean — people actually believe
the President's wife said those
things?"

"It was a darn good imitation."

"But I heard Grant tell them it was
a joke."

"By that time everybody was prob-
ably talking so fast they weren't even
listening to the program. ... It would
have been bad enough if everybody
knew the voice was an imitation. As
it is — " He shook his head.

"Where's Grant?" I asked.

"In his dressing room, talking to
reporters and some of our men."

I turned and went back stage. The
door to Grant's dressing room stood
open; I heard his voice, defiant, angry:

"But it was only a joke! How was
I to know everybody listening in
would really think that a woman in
her position would say such things on
the air? Why, the idea's pre-
posterous!"

"Heavens!" I thought. "He's getting
in deeper than ever! The only way he
can save himself now is to apologize!"

I began worming my way through
the closely packed bodies of the men
in the tiny room. At last I was at
Grant's side. "We can prepare that
telegram to Washington now, Mr.
Lodge," I said in a loud voice. I
turned to the others. "I am Mr.
Lodge's secretary. If you will just
excuse us — we have some important
business to attend to — "

It took me some time, but at last I
got them cleared out and shut the
door behind them. I faced Grant.

He looked at me. And he began to
laugh. He threw back his head and
roared. It wasn't real laughter,
though; it began by being forced, and

YOUR FAITH

A nonsectarian, pocket-size magazine packed with interest for those
who recognize the need of some Power higher than themselves to
stabilize their lives and bring encouragement and hope. It is filled
with human interest stories and articles which show the vital experi-
ences people have had with religion. Discussions of creeds and doc-
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answers to prayer, rewarded faith, and rebuilt lives make their own
appeal, and conclusions are left to the reader's individual idea of God
and His dealing with man.

At Your Newsdealer's

A MACFADDEN PUBLICATION

76

RADIO MIRROR

THE VEHR'S

BEST

SELLER

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Mrs. Margaret Simpson, food editor of Radio
Mirror, recommends the "EVERY HOME-
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Mrs. Engle's Cook Book contains over 900 prac-
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Readers Service Bureau, Radio Mirror
205 E. 42nd Street New York City

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then went on until it passed out of his
control and became a rushing torrent
of merriment that he couldn't stop.

Something snapped inside me. All
the tension of the last few weeks, all
the mixed-up emotions I had felt and
tried not to feel, rose up in me and
lifted my right arm and brought my
hand crashing across his face, right
across that wide open, laughing
mouth.

Grant stopped laughing, with a
quick indrawn gasp of breath. His
hand went across his mouth, pressing
tight against it, and above it his black
eyes looked into mine.

"Thanks," he said. "I needed that."

I began to tremble. I reached be-
hind me for a chair, turning my face
away so he wouldn't see the sudden
weakness in it. But his strong hands
were on my shoulders, turning me
back toward him, and his lips were
on mine.

He released me, gently. "It just oc-
curred to me," he said in a wondering
voice, "that I love you. Here I am, in
an awful mess, and all I can think of
is that I love you."

"I know," I said shakily. "Maybe —
maybe we're both crazy. That's all I
can think of, too."

"Funny," he said, still holding me
close. "I never realized how much I
depended on you — needed you — until
you walked in here and cleared that
bunch of wolves out. I've been kid-
ding myself, all this time, into think-
ing you were just a secretary to me.
Somebody to kick around and show
off to. I'm the world's number-one
show-off, you know."

"Yes, darling," I said. "I know."

I NEVER realized that, either, until
I tonight. I ought to have known what
trouble that stunt would cause — I did
know it — but it was my idea and I was
stuck with it. Just because it was my
idea — if anybody else had suggested it
I'd have known right away it was
crazy."

I laid my fingers across his mouth.
He'd been so proud, I hated to see him
humbling himself, even while I knew
it spelt happiness for me.

"Never mind," I said. "Don't apolo-
gize to me. Apologize to the reporters,
and to the President's wife, and get the
network to let you go on the air, right
away, so you can tell the people who
listened in tonight you're sorry. Just
admit you made a mistake, and let it
go at that."

He nodded and stepped backwards,
straightening himself up. "That's the
thing to do," he said. "Let's do it, and
get it over with."

Well, that's about all there is to tell.
The papers played up the story for a
day, and for a while it looked as if
the sponsor would take the program
off the air. But Grant's contrite atti-
tude convinced people he hadn't
meant any harm, and a new excite-
ment came along in the papers, and
people forgot. Then the sponsor de-
cided to keep the show on after all.

Grant and I are married now. And
because a man doesn't change over-
night, he still shows off in front of
me; he still gets ideas and lets him-
self be intoxicated by them. But
whenever that happens I look at him,
and smile a little. He tries to avoid
my eyes, but at last he can hide from
them no longer, and he smiles too.

Even today, you might say that
Grant wasn't the kind of a man a girl
could be happy with. But I — I know
that you'd be wrong.

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The Case of the Hollywood Scandal

(Continued from page 37)

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tied awkwardness and chat with him.

I scarcely believed Bruce Eaton
when he said, "I'm going to quit pic-
tures and radio."

It was a simple announcement, evi-
dently marking a decision which he
had reached after those seconds of
silent deliberation.

"You're quitting!"

He nodded.

"But," I said, "you can't. Why, good
Lord, your public wouldn't let you.
You couldn't afford to, you're right at
the peak of your earning capacity.
You're box office, you're . . . you're
. . . you're everything."

He said, "Only a few actors have it
in themselves to rise superior to mis-
fortune. Very few have what it takes
to fight their way through a slump.
They start drinking, brooding, bum-
ming. Their fortunes change too fast.
Take me, for instance. I was prom-
inent in football. I had a few parts
in a college football picture, doubling
for the star at long range, having
close-ups taken and dressing room
scenes in between halves. Then I
started practicing architecture. It was
a long, hard, uphill struggle. Some
director, looking over old prints,
thought I was the type he needed for
a minor part. He looked me up. . . .
That was five years ago."

DURING the last three years," he
said, "I've drawn a fabulous sal-
ary, in pictures and on the air. My
living expenses have increased ac-
cordingly. They have to. I'm in the
public eye. I can't afford to remain as
I was. My private life must be glam-
orous. I must be photographed in pub-
lic places with other stars. There must
be hints of romance, carefully built up
by the press department of my studio.
I must look the part, act the part,
dress the part. I associate with the
best people everywhere. . . . And
within a few short years I'll prob-
ably be back, poorer than when I
started — not financially, because I'm
taking care of that, but my contacts
will be gone. My friendships will
have evaporated into thin air. I'll re-
tire somewhere to an orange ranch.
People will occasionally point me out
as a curiosity, as 'that man Eaton, who
had sense enough to salt something
away. He used to be quite a star.'
See what I'm getting at? I'll be all
finished while I'm still young."

I knew there was impatience in my
voice. "You've started now," I said.
"You can't beat the game by quitting."

His eyes softened. "I wasn't think-
ing of myself," he said. "I was using
my own case as an illustration. To
be frank, I was thinking of Woodley
Page."

"What about Woodley Page?"

"He's one star in fifty," he said. "A
man who has built up a permanent
public following, a man whom the
audiences like."

"And what have you to do with
Woodley Page?"

"Let's put it the other way," he
said. "What has Woodley Page to do
with me? Woodley Page gave me my
start. Page was the man who per-
suaded the director to look me up,
and now Woodley Page is at the turn-
ing point of his own career. And an
old scandal is about to drag him into
the slime of the public cesspool which
is aired on the front pages of our

78

newspapers every day. People will
read about it with eager avidity.
Every man, woman, and child in the
United States will know of it. There's
a sadistic something which makes the
public delight in tearing down actors
whom it has built up."

"And what has this to do with
you?" I asked.

"I," he said, slowly, "can prevent
it," and then added, after a moment,
"at the cost of my own career. But
my career is probably at its zenith.
Tomorrow, next week, or next month
may start the decline. You know how
it will be — that is, if you know any-
thing about pictures. And the radio
is about the same."

I tried to hold his eyes with mine.
"Yes," I told him, "I know something
about pictures.

"We hear a great deal of talk about
how little good pictures do, how silly
some of the stories are." I said. "The
sophisticated critics make a great show
of looking down on the hokum of the
movies, but the fact remains that
you're filling a crying public need.
All over the country, there are mil-
lions of girls who feel as I do, and
there are young men who feel the
same way, only they haven't the cour-
age to come out and admit it.

"You can't quit pictures, Bruce
Eaton. It would be like killing my
ideals."

"There'll be someone to take my
place," he said, smiling wistfully.

And before I realized what I was
saying, I blurted out, "No one can
ever take your place — not with me,"
and then hid behind the confusion of
my flaming cheeks.

His hand came across the table to
rest on mine.

"Miss Bell," he said, in a voice vi-
brant with sincerity, "I want to thank
you for giving me faith in myself at a
time when I need it — but, I'm afraid
there's no alternative as far as my
career's concerned. It's either Wood-
ley Page's career or mine."

"What can you do?" I asked.

I CAN stand between him and what's
coming," he said. "I can take the
blame."

I took the key of the safety deposit
box from my purse. "Does that," I
asked, holding it between my thumb
and forefinger, "have anything to do
with it?"

He said, thoughtfully, "I think that
may have a great deal to do with it.
It goes back many years, when Wood-
ley Page was a star, and when a
young woman, whose name I won't
mention, was numbered among the
first five at the box office. It was at a
time when Hollywood hadn't ac-
quired the moral stamina it has now.
People were dealing with something
new, and particularly people who
didn't know how to take success.
They couldn't understand the sky-
rocket sweep of surging power which
jerked an actor up from oblivion to
the dizzy heights. This actress became
involved in a situation from which
Woodley Page, who was young, and
romantic, and indiscreet, tried to ex-
tricate her. Letters and messages
changed hands. Woodley Page went
on to success. The actress made sev-
eral attempts to come back and
couldn't do it. She was finally de-
feated, not by others, but by herself.

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She died in obscurity, but those let-
ters remained to her dying day as
her cherished possessions."

"Where are those letters now?" I
asked.

"As nearly as I can find out," he
said, "Charles Temmler obtained pos-
session of those letters and wanted
to sell them. His chauffeur stole them
and approached the studio which has
Woodley Page under contract. The
studio delegated Frank Padgham to
handle the matter. Padgham reached
an agreement with Wright; Foley was
the lawyer who drew that agreement.
Temmler discovered the theft, and
naturally resented it. He employed a
private investigator named Thompson
Garr to steal the letters from Carter
Wright. I found out that Garr was
planning to get possession of the
agreement before Carter Wright had
signed it. He thought there would be
a clue in that agreement to the loca-
tion of the letters. He didn't realize
that Carter Wright was far too smart
for that."

"So what?" I asked, breathlessly.

"So I went to the house to protect
the interests of Woodley Page. I en-
tered the house. Apparently, no one
was home. I started wandering, in-
vestigating. I got as far as the up-
stairs bedroom when someone who
had been hidden behind the door
cracked me on the head. We strug-
gled. I got another crack and lost
consciousness. When I came to, I was
tied, gagged, and in the closet. You
found me there."

I pushed the key across the table-
cloth. "The lock box," I said, "is in
the bank in Las Almiras, and arrange-
ments have been made with the man
in charge of that bank to write into
a blank power of attorney the name
of any person who presents this key."

For a moment, Bruce Eaton didn't
reach for the key. His eyes, instead,
were on my face. "What a fine, true-
blue girl you are," he said, and I didn't
need to be as expert as William C.
Foley to catch a note in his voice
which sent blood surging into my
veins.

IT was hot after we'd swept out of
Los Angeles and started to skim
over the Pomona boulevard. By the
time we turned off the main boule-
vard, the sun, beating down from the
intense blue of a California sky, dried
moisture from our systems as fast as
we could take it in.

"When we get there, I want you to
keep entirely in the background,"
Bruce Eaton said, as we whizzed
down out of low, rolling hills and hit
the straightaway which led to Las
Almiras.

"That's out, definitely," I told him.
"You can't afford to figure in this. I'm
going inside. I'm going to have the
banker put my name on that power
of attorney. You're to wait outside in
the car. If anything goes wrong, you
must be in the clear. You have too
much to lose. After all, you know,
this key came from a house where a
man had been murdered. Lord knows
who dropped it! Carter Wright didn't,
because it wasn't in the room where
his body was found."

"Yes," Bruce Eaton said, "Carter
Wright would have kept the key with
him. Whoever murdered him took the
key — and then found it necessary to
tap me over the head and tie and gag
me. While he was bending over truss-
ing me up, the key slipped out of his
pocket. . . . The police will reason

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See your local newspaper for exact time and station.

80

that out. Whoever murdered Carter
Wright took the key. Therefore, who-
ever has the key murdered Carter
Wright."

"And we have the key," I said.

He interrupted me by sliding the
car to a stop in a wide place in the
road near a group of one-storied,
wooden structures. Just opposite the
front wheel, a curbed cement side-
walk which Las Almiras boasted —
directly in front of The First National
Bank.

Bruce Eaton jumped out from be-
hind the steering wheel and dashed
into the bank.

Las Almiras is a little place in the
midst of an agricultural district. The
city itself consists mostly of two large
stores selling general merchandise, a
restaurant, a gasoline station, garage,
and The First National Bank. As far
as life was concerned, the streets were
virtually devoid of motion. Two or
three parked automobiles, a man
sitting dejectedly on a corner whit-
tling a stick, and a sleeping dog
seemed to constitute the sole evidence
of civic activity.

I reached the screen door of the
bank and pulled it open. The interior,
I saw, was arranged upon the lines
of a conventional bank. The counter
was surmounted by a heavy mesh
screen in which arch-shaped openings
were cut for tellers. The sole teller
was in the vault with Bruce Eaton.

LIE glanced up when he heard the
n screen door slam, and nodded to
me. He was a young man with bulging
brows and thick-lensed spectacles
which distorted his mild, watery blue
eyes. "I'll be with you in just a mo-
ment," he called.

Apparently, he managed the bank
all by himself. I saw a lacquered metal
lunch box and a thermos bottle just
inside the grilled window. Near them
was a package of cigarettes and an
ash tray.

I heard the banker say to Bruce
Eaton, "This young woman isn't with
you, is she?" And Bruce Eaton, look-
ing at me with calm, disinterested
appraisal, said, "No, I've never seen
her before."

That put me in a spot. I couldn't
say anything without undoing all of
the good I'd tried to do. I was furious
to think of how I'd been jockied into
such a position; yet there was nothing
I could do about it.

At any rate, I could keep a lookout,
making certain that Bruce Eaton had
an avenue of escape open if anything
went wrong.

Apparently, the banker hadn't rec-
ognized him. I could see that he was
nearsighted as he bent over the paper
he was filling out. Then Bruce Eaton
handed him a driving license, showed
him a wallet containing a passport. I
realized then that "Bruce Eaton" was
only a stage name. I remembered
having read somewhere that his real
name had been considered far too
unromantic by the studio publicity
department. Of course, his driving
license and passport would be under

EVEN DEBUTANTES CAN FALL IN LOVE!

— And next month RADIO MIRROR prints a story to prove it.
Don't miss this sparkling modern romance, in which Myrna Loy
starred on the air.

RADIO MIRROR

his real name.

The banker inserted a key into the
upper lock on the safety deposit box.
Bruce Eaton inserted the key I had
given him in the lower lock. I gripped
the counter, fascinated, wondering if
the key would work. Had I been right
in assuming. . . .

The key turned and I could hear
the lock click smoothly back. The
banker turned away from Bruce
Eaton. His figure, partially conceal-
ing the interior of the vault as he
came toward me, prevented me from
seeing just what Bruce Eaton was
doing.

"Good afternoon," he said. "I'm
sorry I had to keep you waiting. You
see, I'm all alone here in the bank
afternoons. What was it you wanted?"

I blurted out the first idea which
came to my mind. "I want to cash a
check."

"A check on this bank?" he asked
courteously.

"No," I said, "I'm afraid it will have
to be drawn on my Los Angeles bank."

"How much is the check?"

"I can get along with five dollars,"
I told him, smiling my best smile.
"You see, I left my purse in the rest
room at Pomona. I want to telephone
back about the purse and get enough
gas to carry me on through to San
Diego."

"You have your checkbook with
you?" he asked.

I started to produce it, and then
suddenly realized that it was in my
purse, and my purse was hanging just
below the level of the counter. Hav-
ing made that crack about losing my
purse, I certainly couldn't let him see
it now.

"No," I said, "my checkbook was in
my purse. I'd have to fill in a blank
check."

He blinked owlishly at me through
the thick lenses of his spectacles.

BACK in the vault, I heard Bruce
Eaton slam shut the door of the
safety deposit box, and breathed a
sigh of relief. Everything would be all
right if I could only hold this banker
in conversation for a few more sec-
onds. I pushed my leg against my
purse, clamping it tight against the
counter and then trying to ease it
down to the floor. But the purse was
of smooth leather; it slid out and
dropped with a bang. The banker
looked puzzled. I said, hurriedly, "Of
course, I can put up my wrist watch
as collateral," and started to take it
off. As I partially turned, I looked out
through the plate glass window, and
saw a car slide in close to the curb
and stop. On the upper right-hand
corner of the windshield was a huge
spotlight with a red circle of glass, the
telltale insignia of a police car. There
were five men in it; one of them,
wearing a huge black sombrero,
looked like a sheriff.

They opened the car door, and de-
bouched to the sidewalk.

I tried coughing. It didn't seem to
catch Bruce Eaton's attention. The
(Continued on page 83)

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COMMUNICATIONS BUILDING

NEW YORK WORLD'S FAIR - 1939

as the guest ot

RADIO MIRROR MAGAZINE

T^auLLa

invites you to see

•m Tell
the •

I World Z

A REAL LIFE COMEDY-DRAMA

featuring

PATRICIA MURRAY-fhe Liberty Girl
and a cast of Hollywood Stars

JED PROUTY FRANK ALBERTSON

MAUCH TWINS (Billy and Bobby)

MARILYN KNOWLDEN BETTY ROSS CLARKE

MICHAEL BLAIR ETHELREDA LEOPOLD

CLEM BEVANS BYRON FOLGER

Directed by LYNN SHORES

july, 1939

- -Me vocalist, al-

.M.u^.a's.'ytf'-"^:

vays ^eps her .„,|||^

JF'&s^iu&s.

Yours is a special beauty — but you also have a special problem

IT REALLY requires a lot of
thought and effort to take care
of your looks when you are a
blonde," says dainty Kay Lorraine
of the Hit Parade. "You have to take
continual care of your hair, or it
gets drab and dull. If you use a
shampoo, it must be the right one.
If you use the wrong kind, it can
wreck you. The wrong kind of a
beauty treatment cannot do a bru-
nette so much harm. But it can
utterly destroy a blonde. That is
why I shampoo my hair myself, at
home."

Miss Lorraine, whose lovely con-
tralto voice seems particularly fitted
for radio, is as exquisite as one of
her own songs. She is petite, and
natural in her make-up and in her
manner. Her beautiful blonde hair
is full of lights and lusters, like the
hair of a healthy child, and is ar-
ranged in a smart coiffure.

"What is your secret of hair beau-
ty?" I asked Kay. "Brushing," said
Kay. That was our grandmothers'
formula. "How many strokes a
night?" I asked. "Fifty at least"
said Kay, "And be sure you hold
your head down, brushing upward
from the back and through to the
roots."

"What about shampoos?" "A
blonde should shampoo at least once
a week. If she brushes her fifty
strokes a day, frequent shampoos
will' not make her hair seem dry.
The brushing brings out the natural

82

By
Dr. GRACE GREGORY

oil that keeps the hair live-looking."
Another of radio's favorite
blondes is lovely Linda Lee. She
too has a contralto voice that comes
over the air with exquisite tonal
quality. You may hear her in the
Ripley Show Friday nights. Out-
side of the fact that both are con-
traltos, and both altogether charm-
ing, she and Miss Lorraine have few
other points in common. Linda is
a dark blonde. Her hair is chest-
nut, with golden glints in it. She has
the delicate skin of the true blonde,
and with it all the special beauty
problems that brunettes escape.

RADIO MIRROR

• *

Linda agrees with Kay about the
brushing, although she does not
count her strokes. She just brushes
until her arm aches. She too is
an advocate of the weekly shampoo,
which she takes at home. But dark
blondes do not have to worry about
their hair turning to a drab inter-
mediate color. It is already on the
dark side. All they have to consider
is keeping the glints and high lights.
Miss Lee does this with the old-
fashioned method our grandmothers
found so helpful: lemon juice. She
squeezes the juice of two lemons to
each pint of water and rinses her
hair with it after each shampoo. "It
cuts out all the oil and soap," she
says, "and leaves my hair feeling
clean and refreshed."

I noticed that both these famous
blondes make a fine art of make-up.
The light blonde uses a light eye-
brow pencil; just enough to make
evident her delicately arched brows.
(So many blondes go to one ex-
treme or the other. They are prac-
tically eyebrowless, or they startle
you with obviously artificial dark
eyebrows.) The dark blonde uses a
darker pencil, of course. The same
with lipstick. And both have given
thought to selecting exactly the right
shade of powder. The result is that
you never think of make-up in con-
nection with Miss Lee or Miss Lor-
raine. They simply look natural,
each in her individual way. And
that is the supreme art Of beauty.

RADIO MIRROR

(Continued from page 80)
banker said, "Just a moment, Miss,"
and then pushed his head out through
the arch in the window to stare down
at my purse lying on the floor. "Isn't
that your purse?" he asked.

I called out, sharply, "Bruce, look!
Hurry!"

He was still in the vault, apparently
checking up on a bundle of letters he
was holding in his hand. From where
he was standing, it was impossible to
see the car containing the officers.

"Bruce! Hurry!" I cried.

The banker said suspiciously,
"What's all this? What's all this?"
and jumped back in alarm. I could
see now that he thought it was a
stick-up, with me to hold his atten-
tion at the teller's window while
Bruce Eaton was back in the vault.
His face was white with alarm. His
bleached blue eyes, magnified and
distorted by the" thick lenses of his
spectacles, seemed as large as warped
dinner plates. I saw him fumble at
the handle of a drawer, and knew he
was looking for a gun.

A frantic glance out through the
plate glass window showed me the
officers were starting purposefully
toward the bank. I thought only of
getting Bruce Eaton out of there and
finding some place to hide those let-
ters he had taken from the safety
deposit box. He was alarmed now
and coming toward me,, but still didn't
appreciate the danger of the situation.
The banker was pulling a gun from
the drawer. The officers were round-
ing the corner.

I ran to a door in the partition,
jerked it open. The banker raised his
gun and shouted in a shaky voice,
"Stop where you are, both of you."

I COLLIDED with Bruce Eaton,
' snatched the letters from his hands
and yelled, "Run! Officers!" The
banker pulled the trigger on a re-
volver which he'd dragged from the
drawer, and which looked as large as
a cannon. The reverberating roar of
a report filled the room. When my
ear drums started functioning again,
I could hear the tinkle of falling glass.

The cashier dropped his gun. Evi-
dently the jar of the recoil had jerked
it out of his hand. He half stooped
as though to pick it up, then, appar-
ently overcome by panic, ran through
the door in the partition, half crouch-
ing, screaming, "Help! Police!"

The officers were approaching the
door of the bank. The running banker
burst through the swinging screen
door to collide with them. I heard
someone say, "Stick 'em up," and then
a drawling voice, evidently that of
the sheriff, "Wait a minute. This is
Frank Stout, the cashier here. What's
the trouble, Frank?"

The banker's lunch box was on the
table in front of me. I had to think
fast, and, at that, had no choice in
the matter. I jerked open the cover,
dropped the little bundle of letters
inside, and slammed the cover back
into position. The officers poured
through the screen door into the bank,
and I raised my eyes to confront a
bristling row of artillery.

"The jig's up," the sheriff said.

"Whoever has the key murdered
Carter Wright." If the police jump to
that conclusion, things look bad -for
Claire Bell and Bruce Eaton. But the
surprising climax of this thrilling
mystery story comes in next month's
Radio Mirror — the August issue.

July, 1939

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ON THE AIR!

TUNE IN

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83

< ... ;

I LISTENED in on the conversa-
tion of a couple of "career girls"
a few days ago. They were
young, smartly dressed, with the
alertness of expression that spells
success present and to come, and I
expected of course that they would
be talking shop, comparing notes on
the great field of radio in which one
is a popular singer the other an up
and coming young script writer. In-
stead, they were talking about their
homes and their husbands and their
babies.

"How do you do it?" I asked
them. "Most women think marriage
and motherhood are a full time job,
yet here you are blithely writing
and singing, rehearsing and broad-
casting, as though you had nothing
else to do. Don't babies have to be
fed on schedule these days? Don't
they have to have strained fruit
juices and vegetables?"

"Of course they do," said the
singer.

"Well, then, how do you manage
to stay out of the kitchen long
enough to do your other work? Or

84

take time enough from your careers
to feed your babies on schedule?"

"Oh, that's easy," the script writ-
er answered. "When feeding time
comes we just open a can."

"You see," the singer explained,
"when my baby was ready for
strained foods some of my friends
advised me to. give her canned
strained fruit juices and vegetables.
She's eight months old now and
with the addition of milk she's prac-
tically lived on canned strained
food."

"My baby was brought up on
them, too," the writer took up the
story, "and now that he's nearly four
and needs more solid food he's also
getting that in cans — -chopped vege-
tables and meats that are just right
for his age and his digestive re-
quirements."

"And we keep right on schedule,
too," the singer chimed in. "Why,
I've never once been late for re-

MO MIRROR

a It's a wise mother who
knows the new and better
way of feeding her child

By

Mrs. MARGARET

SIMPSON

hearsal or a broadcast because of
baby's feeding schedule, and she's
never had to wait for a meal be-
cause of my job."

The script writer nodded in
agreement. "But best of all is the
way our babies thrive on these
canned strained and chopped foods,"
she said. "You should see them!"
she added proudly.

I did go to see them, as a matter
of fact, and a happier pair of young-
sters it would be impossible to find.

So much of the health and happi-
ness of babies and young children
depend on the proper meals, served
right on schedule, that these modern
foods are a boon not only to career
mothers but to every mother every-
where who demands the best for her
little one. As one young mother
told me:

"I expected, when my baby was
born, to give up all my outside ac-
tivities for the first few months at
least. I knew that baby's feeding
schedule would necessitate so much
extra work in straining fruit juices
and cooking and sieving cereals and
vegetables that I would have no
time for anything else.

"Then a terrible thing happened.
I found that in spite of my best
efforts I just couldn't keep to the
feeding schedule my doctor ordered.
Meals took so long to prepare that
by the time they were ready it was
long past baby's feeding time and
she was cross with hunger. But
that wasn't the worst. After I'd gone
through all the work of cooking and
sieving and straining, following di-
rections to the letter, my baby
simply refused to eat — and some-
how I couldn't blame her because
her food did seem to lack flavor —
so of course she didn't gain prop-
erly.

"In a panic I went over to see my

RADIO MIRROR

■. :.:r :■

*md;

/

■ The Happy Crosbys — left to right,
Gary, Bing, Dixie holding baby Lind-
say, and the twins, Philip and Dennis.

next door neighbor who has two
little boys and she gave me the best
advice I've ever heard. She sug-
gested that I switch to canned
strained foods. I did. Baby's meals
are ready right on schedule and
she's so crazy about them that she
gobbles up every bite. She's begin-
ning to have canned chopped foods
now, but she's still gaining steadily
and I've never seen a healthier,
happier baby, or one who was so
little trouble."

Aside from the assurance that
feeding schedules can be maintained
without interruption, these modern
canned foods afford another tre-
mendous advantage in that they are
high in a nutritive content. The nu-
tritive qualities of fruits, vegeta-
bles and cereals depend upon a
number of factors: the selection of
highest-quality seeds for planting,
the soil and climatic conditions un-
der which the crops are grown, cul-
tivation during the growing period
and harvesting when — and only
when — they have reached the exact
degree of ripeness at which they
will yield the greatest in nutritive
values and immediate cooking so
that no valuable minerals will be
lost through prolonged exposure of
the "Tresh produce to sun and air.

JULY, 1939

PM

a^d^*

i0fi4»

What a wealth of sentiment and tradi-
tion there is in that phrase . . . Proud
fathers reliving their own youth in the
accomplishments of their children . . .
Devoted fathers striving and planning so
that their little ones may enjoy the best
that life has to offer . . . Wise fathers
creating a foundation of health and
knowledge that will enable their sons and
daughters to cope with the problems that
the coming years will bring ... To these
fathers on whose love and selfless interest
our welfare depends the National Com-
mittee for the Promotion of Father's Day
extends its gratitude and its praise.
Won't you join it in honoring not only
your father but fathers all over the
country by sharing in the nation-wide
celebration of Father's Day on June
18th?

■ A family romp before bedtime — the
proud parents, jack Benny and Mary
Livingstone, with baby Joan Naomi.

Even under the excellent mar-
keting system existing today it is
sometimes impossible to purchase
fresh fruits and vegetables that meet
all these standards, but all such ele-
ments of chance have been elimi-
nated for you by the manufacturers
of canned strained and chopped
foods. Years of painstaking re-
research have enabled them to con-
trol every phase of the preparation
of these fine products. Crops are
grown under ideal conditions and
harvested at the peak of their per-
fection. Immediately after harvest-
ing the fruits, vegetables and grains
are cooked until they are sufficient-
ly soft for any coarse fibres to be re-
moved— and this, by the means of
modern laboratory equipment, is a
much more thorough process than
can be achieved in even the most
up-to-date kitchen — then sealed
into cans for a final cooking which
ensures that the contents of each
can is cooked evenly throughout.

Considering all the factors that
enter into the preparation of these
modern canned foods you might ex-
pect their cost to be excessive, but
quite the contrary is true. The cost
per can is only a few cents, and you
will find that each can contains suf-
ficient food for two or three meals.

85

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If the 15 miles of kidney tubes and filters
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86

Hollywood Radio Whispers

(Continued from, page 35)

Everyone believes that Rudy Vallee
and Tony Martin are carrying a mad
for each other. It can't be so. Re-
cently, in New York, Rudy had Tony
as dinner guest and they were often
seen out together. Then, too, Rudy
paid Tony a swell compliment with
the line: "A perfect evening is on a
lake, drifting in a boat with a beau-
tiful girl, and one of Tony's records
on the phonograph!"

It was very funny indeed to watch
Bing Crosby and Bob Hope clowning
at a nightclub the other night. Bing
and Bob got up and clowned a
rhumba dance together. Later, Hope
announced that "Miss Crosby had won
a bottle of champagne for her

trouble."

* * *

Spencer Tracy and Pat O'Brien are
Hollywood's rivals for fame as priests
on the screen. They'll carry the feud
to the radio this fall, when both will
appear in opposition plays in the
priestly roles.

Instigated by Amos and Andy, an
impromptu show was staged at the
outdoor grill of the El Mirador Hotel
the other evening with Richard Dix,
Cary Grant, Ruby Keeler, and
Groucho Marx contributing to the
entertainment.

Frances Langford's rendition of
Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" was
so well received on a recent Texaco
Show that she immediately made a
record of it, for Decca.
* * *

Franchot Tone and Burgess Mere-
dith are both up for separate dramatic
programs to replace Bob Hope for the
summer. When the sponsor listened
to the programs, he liked Meredith's
dramatic show better than Tone's, but
frankly remarked that Tone would be
a better draw than Meredith. The
sponsor suggested that they hire Tone
to do Meredith's program. When
Franchot was approached he turned it
down, and the reason, if you please,
is because Franchot and Meredith are
room-mates and Tone would not do

anything to hurt Meredith's chances
for a radio program.

* * *

Fibber McGee and Molly are con-
sidering new film offers. Their first
attempt at pictures was a failure.

* * *

Joan Crawford was supposed to
both sing and ice skate in "Ice Follies,"
but for some reason her songs and
skating scenes were deleted from the
picture after the first preview. To
prove to American audiences that she
CAN sing, Joan recorded four songs
for Victor and, after hearing them, all
I can say is that she is a swell actress!

Robert Young, as newly-elected
Honorary Mayor of Tarzana, has ap-
pointed Virginia Bruce as honorary
Chief of Police. Pinning the "official
badge" on her coat the other night,
Bob declared: "Virginia will prob-
ably have the Tarzana jail filled in

two days!"

* * #

Hollywood is whispering that Louis
Hayward, now working in "The Man
With The Iron Mask," will replace
Charles Boyer on the Woodbury show.
Louis is married to Ida Lupino and
gained prominence for his portrayal
of the "Duke of West Point."

* * *

Frank Morgan, as you know, has
been going around lately without his
mustache — much to the consternation
of news photographers and autograph
hounds. They have failed to recognize
him. Frank cut off the facial adorn-
ments to play his role in the "Wizard
of Oz," but he is now growing a bigger
and better mustache "like a tooth-
brush bristle," says Frank.

* * *

That black eye that Patsy Kelly
has been sporting is not what you
might think. Patsy came by it honest-
ly in a scene on the Fox lot, during
the closing day of shooting "The

Gorilla."

* * *

Matty Malneck's orchestra, current-
ly the swing-sensation of Hollywood
nightlife, is set to replace the orches-
tra on the Pall Mall program.

The publisher of Radio Mirror and Editor in Chief of Macfadden
Publications — Bernarr Macfadden (left) and Fulton Oursler,
broadcasting on the 20th Anniversary of the True Story Magazine.

RADIO MIRROR

*

h

•ir\ ..\omaVe
u« a a\om°ur 9 . -^ nev/

having011 toU e the nooning

**?? ITS'" «* M& Verl^e. *J

It* *-jS3^°'* ,0c £'

A Glorious
Combination

Copyright 1939, Liggett & Myers Tobacco Co.

...the right combination
of the world's hest cigarette tobaccos

Day after day there's added proof that for
more smoking pleasure Chesterfield is America's
choice. When a man or a woman turns to Chest-
erfield, he finds out and she finds out what real
mildness means in a cigarette.

And Chesterfields have a taste and pleasing
aroma that smokers like. They really Satisfy.

WST

*

7.

flllll TEiEWIflOn

A MACFAODIN

PUBLICATION

— *„4

M LIKE LOVE!

Solving that

Kyser - Ginny Simms
tomance Mystery

■

1

■

KTOR'SFOUY

\

e Man's Desperate
*arch for Ecstasy

BY RADIO'S AUNT JENNY

1

w're Invited to a

£

^vision Broadcast

l

SEE PAGE 22

1

■

E REFUSED TO
Y A HUSBAND!

Meet the Year's
t Daring Debutante

4 MYRNA LOY
BROADCAST

J

Show the latej
fashion frocks nov
personally selected
and autographed by
famous movie stars

HERE'S YOUR OPPORTUNITY TO

ARH 123 WEEKLY

and in addition get all YOUR OWN DRESSES FREE!

in this New Kind of Work for Married Women
NO EXPERIENCE NEEDED- NO INVESTMENT

AMBITIOUS women, who want to
*- make extra money, can represent
Fashion Frocks, Inc., one of the world's
leading dressmaking houses, right in your
home community. You can earn up to $23
in a week and all your own dresses Free to
wear as samples, and you need not invest
one penny, and you need no experience.
It is very pleasant dignified work, because

your friends and neighbors and all women
love to look at the latest style dresses.
They will gladly give you their orders be-
cause you not only show them the newest
and most stunning dresses, but you save
them money besides, offering dresses direct
from the great Fashion Frocks factory, at
the lowest factory prices. Mail coupon
below for Free particulars of this offer.

NO CANVASSING REQUIRED

OU can start easily and quickly
x through our special plan that requires
no regular house-to-house canvassing. You
don't have to know style, values or fab-
rics. Fashion Frock way of presentation
enables you to show the entire line effec-
tively to any woman. This dramatic pre-

sentation gets her interest. The smart
styles, gorgeous colors and rich fabrics
thrill her. And the low direct-factory
prices surprise her. You merely write the
orders. That's all you have to do. We do
the delivering and collecting. You will
enjoy this easy, fascinating work.

TURN SPARE HOURS INTO PROFIT

"yOU do not have to work full time stockings. This

unless you want to. Thus you can most amazing

turn your spare hours into profit and, in ever made to

addition, get smart new dresses, fine lin- makes possible

gerie, and luxurious silk hose for yourself ings plus free

in your size, without a penny of cost. You coupon for the

can have the pleasure of always wearing portunity. Or

the most advanced dress styles as they postal will do

come out, as well as lingerie and silk dress size.

ASHION FROCKS Advanced Styles for Fall are the finest in our entire 31 years of dress manufac-
turing history. They are the last-minute styles from Paris, Hollywood, Riviera and other famed
fashion centers, where our stylists rush the newest style trends to us to be made into Fashion Frocks.

Personally Selected and Autographed by Movie Stars

PROMINENT screen actresses have personally selected many Fashion Frock dresses for the coming
season. And they put their stamp of approval on these glamorous dresses by autographing them.
This superior line of dresses is never sold in stores, but by direct factory representatives only. They
are nationally known because nationally advertised. They are endorsed for style and value by Household
Magazine Searchlight, and are approved by fashion editors of leading magazines. This practical, unani-
mous O. K. by these recognized authorities makes Fashion Frocks absolutely authentic in style, supreme
in value and easy to sell.

Fashion Frocks enjoy National Demand

YV7 OMEN everywhere are eager to see the newest Fashion Frock advanced Fall creations which have
V been personally selected and autographed by famous movie stars. This tremendous demand has
forced us to increase the number of our representatives, so this glorious opportunity is open to you. Just
mail coupon for FREE details of this amazing offer.

4WE

'This outstanding offer is open to
'« ambitious women everywhere and
is absolutely Free in every respect. Nothina to pay now or at any time.

FASHION FROCKS, Inc. Dept. AH-200, Cincinnati, O.

(Jus/ mail cwwonf

_ fPL _? uj'_ Information .__ . No Obljkjation

— fashTon frocks, IncT " "m0

Dspt. AH-200
Cincinnati, Ohio

• I am interested in your Free offer. Send me all the details how I can
make up to $23 weekly and get my own dresses without a penny of cost.

Name

Address

City .

. State .

Age Dress Size ■

offer is probably the
employment offer

women, because it
such liberal earn-
dresses. Mail the

marvelous free- op-
write a letter — a

— and give age and

Her striking beach coat arrested his glance
but what kept him looking was her smile!

Your smile is a treasure that's yours alone. Help guard it with Ifiana and Massage!

Hooded robe in terry cloth
with cord belt, multi-colored
stripes on sleeves and hem.

I

Don't neglect "Pink Tooth Brush"— Ipana and massage
promotes firmer gums, brighter smiles!

A BOLDLY STRIPED beach robe can do
. loads for a girl. But where is her charm
without a lovely smile?

For how soon the spell of style is broken
if her smile is dull and dingy. No one can
be more pathetic than the girl who concen-
trates on lovely clothes, and ignores the
warning of "pink tooth brush."

Learn a lesson from her, yourself, but turn
it to good account! Remember, you can't
neglect the modern care of your teeth and
gums, and hope to save your charm.

Never Ignore "Pink Tooth Brush"

If you see that warning tinge of "pink" on
your tooth brush, don't ignore it— see your
dentist at once! It may mean nothing serious.

Very often, he'll tell you that modern soft,
creamy foods are to blame— foods that de-
prive your gums of the vigorous chewing
workouts they need for health.

"More exercise" may be his advice and,
very often, "the helpful stimulation of Ipana
Tooth Paste and massage." For Ipana is de-
signed not only to clean teeth thoroughly
but, with massage, to help the gums as well.
Each time you brush your teeth, massage a
little extra Ipana into your gums. Circula-
tion quickens in the gums . . . lazy gums
awaken, tend to become firmer, healthier.

Get a tube of economical Ipana Tooth
Paste at your druggist's today. Let Ipana and
massage help you to brighter teeth, firmer,
healthier gums— a winning smile!

IPANA TOOTH PASTE

AUGUST, 1939

VACATION
OAY>"

[O stay-at-home week-ends,
no calendat days — if you use
Tampax for sanitary protection. Even in a
modern swim suit there is nothing to "show"
— no line or edge of belt or napkin. Tampax is
worn internally, acting gently as an absorbent and
allowing you to golf, ride, bathe, swim — in
comfort, without chafing, without the forma-
tion of odor!

Perfected by a doctor, Tampax is made of
pure, long-fibered surgical cotton. Firmly cross-
stitched, it cannot come apart and fail in pro-
tection. Each sealed in patented applicator —
neat, quick, dainty. Your hands do not even
touch the Tampax. Quite unlike any other
product, because it flattens out to a thin shape
in use. No disposal difficulties. Comfortable
and efficient, the Tampax way is the civilized
way for women.

At drug stores and notion counters. Average
month's supply, 35(5. Introductory package,
20^. As much as 25% may be saved by pur-
chasing economy
package of 40.

NOW SOIO IN

TWO SUES

BEGULAR

and JUNIOR

Accepted for advertising
by the Journal of the
American Medical Asso-
ciation.

TAMPAX INCORPORATED
New Brunswick, N. J. MWG-89

Please send me in plain wrapper the new trial package
of Tampax. I enclose 10)! (stamps or silver) to cover cost
or mailing. She is checked below:

( ) RBGULAR TAMPAX ( ) JUNIOR TAMPAX

Name __

Address

City

AUGUST, 1939

-State-

VOL. 12 No. 4

Mtmxon

ERNEST V. HEYN
Executive Editor

BELLE LANDESMAN,
ASSISTANT EDITOR

FRED R. SAMMIS
Editor

This Must Be Love Jerry Mason

What's the solution to the Kay Kyser Romance Mystery?
Should We Send Our Men to War? Judy Ashley

Your hearts say NO! And your minds?
Debutantes — You Can Have Them!

A Myrna Loy broadcast tells the truth about heiresses
I Married Outside the Law

A confession of love that was stronger than common sense
I've Found the Perfect Backseat Driver. ... Cornelius Vanderbilt, Jr.

Are you heading for the open road? Then read this
Before Your Very Eyes Jack Sher

You're invited to a television broadcast
Lanny Ross Tells What's Wrong with Women's Dancing

There's plenty wrong and now's the time to fix it
His Life Is News! Mildred Luber

Whose? Walter Winchell's!
Pretty Kitty Kelly Lucille Fletcher

Is love more important than a name and a fortune?
The Case of the Hollywood Scandal Erie Stanley Gardner

Miss Bell rescues an innocent man and loses her heart
Doctor's Folly

Aunt Jenny's Story of a desperate search for ecstasy
Hollywood Radio Whispers George Fisher

Our star eavesdropper reports the latest gossip

10
12
14
18
21
22
26
28
30
36
38
41

What Do You Want to Say? 3

What's New From Coast to Coast 6

Facing the Music 8

Radio's Photo-Mirror

The Curtain Rises on a Magic World 24

Madeleine Carroll 33

Radio's Way to a Perfect Figure 34

Inside Radio — The New Radio Mirror Almanac. 42

Put the Bee on Your Spelling 51

What Do You Want To Know? 56

Your Lipstick — Friend or Enemy? 76

Hot Weather Menus 78

COVER — Myrna Loy by Carlo Gbrrone
(Courtesy of MGM)

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR, published monthly by Macfadden Publications. Inc., Washington and
South Avenues, Dunellen, New Jersey. General Offices: 205 East 42nd Street. New York, N. Y. Editorial and
advertising offices: Chanin Building, 122 East 42nd Street, New York. Bernarr Macfadden, President: Wesley
F. Pape, Secretary: Irene T. Kennedy, Treasurer: Walter Hanlon. Advertising Director. Chicago office: 333
North Michigan Avenue. C. H. Shattuck. Mgr. San Francisco office: 1058 Russ Building. Lee Andrews. Mgr.
Entered as second-class matter September 14. 1933, at the Post Office at Dunellen, New Jersey, under the
Act of March 3, 1879. Price in United States. Canada and Newfoundland $1.00 a year. 10c a copy. In U. S.
Territories, Possessions. Cuba. Mexico, Haiti, Dominican Republic, Spain and Possessions, and Central and
South American countries, excepting British Honduras, British, Dutch and French Guiana. $1.50 a year;
all other countries $2.50 a year. While Manuscripts, Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's
risk, every effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompanied by sufficient 1st class postage,
and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to be sure to retain copies of their contribu-
tions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters for the "What Do You Want to Say?"
department will not be returned, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter contributed.
All submissions become the property of the magazine. (Member of Macfadden Women's Group.)
Copyright. 1939, by the Macfadden Publications, Inc. The contents of this magazine may not be printed,
either wholly or in part, without permission.
Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Company, Dunellen. N. J.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

WHAT DO YOU
WANT TO SAY?

FIRST PRIZE

SHE HEARS WITH HER EYES

HOW would you like to sit in front
of a radio and see the rapt at-
tention of the rest of the family,
when a program comes in that ap-
peals to them, watch the expressions
on their faces — see them laugh and
applaud — and never hear a sound?

I am stone deaf so I cannot hear
the programs, but I get a great kick
out of them anyway. I watch the
family's reactions to a program, ask
them what it is appeals to them most,
and then I hunt up some reference
to it so that I also can feel I've taken
part as one of the audience.

Radio Mirror fills a wonderful need
to a person who cannot hear. It keeps
one a jump ahead of the times. Criti-
cisms and information, little items
about the stars and things connected
with radio are a wonderful enter-
tainment for a deaf person.

How do I hear the radio? By read-
ing Radio Mirror! What the ears
miss, the eyes grasp.

Mrs. Mabel G. Petty,
Paynton, Sask., Canada.

SECOND PRIZE

NEVER A DULL MOMENT

Thanks to radio and our determina-
tion to exploit all its features, we are
one happy young couple with a little
baby who are adequately entertained
on a limited budget.

If you have a baby, you will know
that it puts quite a strain on the
budget to have a "baby tender" in for
many evenings. Instead we have built
up a group of favorite programs, and
from time to time we make "new dis-
coveries." For the quiz and question
programs we have our own private
competition, and it's heaps of fun.
Every morning I turn eagerly to the
newspaper radio column and check
the entertainment for our heavy date,
and believe me, there is never a dull
moment in our household!

Mrs. A. M. Hoffman,

San Francisco, Calif.

THIRD PRIZE

GOD BLESS AMERICA!

"God Bless America, Land That I
Love!" — what glorious words. It gives
us a thrill every Thursday to hear the
rich voice of Kate Smith sing this
stirring song which was especially
written for her by Irving Berlin.

Folks who enjoy every freedom
such as we do, are bound to forget
and take things too much for granted.

The Kate Smith hour does more
than its bit in making us truly
America-conscious, and with deepest
reverence we join Kate in singing
"God Bless America, My Home, Sweet
Home!"

Carolyn Blanchard,

San Diego, Calif.
(Continued on page 4)

aucust, 1939

More women use Mum
than any other deodorant

MORE WIVES— because Mum
is always so easy to use.

MORE SCREEN STARS— for they MORE BUSINESS GIRLS -they know
must always have charm. Mum doesn't harm fabrics.

MORE NURSES— on duty or off,
they want safe, sure care!

MORE SCHOOL GIRLS-tO pre

vent odor quickly, safely.

Be attractive! Be popular!
Make sure of your charm, with MUM

RICH GIRL, poor girl— every girl should
- remember this: You can't be attrac-
tive to others unless you're always fresh
and sweet— nice to be near!

It's so easy to offend unknowingly—
to think your bath can make you safe.
But no bath— however perfect— can pre-
vent underarm odor. A bath removes
only perspiration that is fast. Mum pre-
vents underarm odor— works in advance
to keep you sweet. Hours after your bath
has faded, Mum keeps you fresh.

You'll like Mum! For Mum is speedy,
safe, utterly dependable in guarding your
daintiness and charm!

MUM SAVES TIMEI 30 seconds to smooth
in Mum under this arm— under that—

and you're through, all ready to go!
MUM SAVES CLOTHES! The seals of the
American Institute of Laundering and
of Good Housekeeping Bureau tell you
Mum is harmless to fabrics. And even
after underarm shaving Mum doesn't ir-
ritate your skin.

MUM SAVES CHARM! Without stopping
perspiration, Mum stops the objection-
able odor. Get Mum at any drugstore
today and join the millions of lovely
women who have found Mum a "must"
for popularity and charm.

SANITARY NAPKINS NEED MUM!

Avoid embarrassing odors from this source, too.
Mum is gentle, safe . . . fastidious women every-
where make a habit of Mum this second way.

Mum

takes the odor
out of perspiration

High Summer Rates

for Writers

of True Stories

Following our regular policy we are discontinuing true story
manuscript contests during the summer months. A great new true
story contest will begin on September 1st, 1939. But, in the mean-
time, we are still in the market for true stories for straight purchase,
and in order to secure them are going to renew our sensational offer
of last summer which worked so greatly to the financial advantage
of many writers of true stories.

We will continue to pay for regu-
lar acceptable material our regular
rate, which averages about 2c per
word, but, in addition, during the
summer months we gladly will pay
writers of true stories the special
rates of 3c per word for better-than-
average true stories and 4c per word
for exceptionally good true stories
submitted for straight purchase.

In comparing these special sum-
mer rates with the average rate of
2c per word, a few moments' figuring
will show you what this offer can
mean to you financially — literally
making $2 grow where $1 grew
formerly-

Under this offer the Editorial Staff
of True Story are the sole judges
as to the quality of stories submitted.
But rest assured that if you send in

IMPORTANT

Submit stories direct. Do not deal
through intermediaries.

If you do not already have one send
for a copy of free booklet entitled
"Facts You Should Know Before Writ-
ing True Stories." Use the coupon
provided for that purpose.

In sending true stories, be sure, in
each case, to enclose first-class return
postage in the same container with
manuscript. We gladly return manu-
scripts when postage is supplied, but we
cannot do so otherwise. Failure to
enclose return first-class postage means
that after a reasonable time the manu-
script if not accepted for publication
will be destroyed.

a story of extra quality you will re-
ceive the corresponding extra rate.
This is in no sense a contest — simply
a straight offer to purchase true
stories, with a handsome bonus for
extra quality.

Here is your opportunity. The
time is limited to the months of
June, July and August, 1939. So strike
while the iron is hot. Start today the
story of an episode in your life or the
life of a friend or acquaintance that
you feel has the necessary heart in-
terest to warrant the extraordinarily
high special rates we are offering.
Send it in when finished, and if it
really has the extra quality we seek
the extra sized check will be forth-
coming with our sincere congratula-
tions. Be sure your manuscript is
post-marked not later than mid-
night, August 31, 1939.

MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS. INC.

Dept. K, P. O. Box 629.

Grand Central Station,

New York, N. Y.

r — — — -

TRUE STORY. Dept. K ™s

P. O. Box 629, Grand Central Station
New York. N. Y.

Please send me my free copy of your
booklet entitled "Facts You Should Know
Before Writing True Stories."

Name

Street.

I
I

I Town State

(Print plainly. Give name of state in full)

What Do You Want
to Say?

(Continued from page 3)

FOURTH PRIZE
GET YOUR DICTIONARIES OUT. FOLKS!

I am becoming allergic to Bing
Crosby as an M.C.!

Whether it is his script writer, or
the receiving of an honorary degree
from his "alma mater" in Spokane,
which was the cause of the change in
his style, I do not know, but I have
noticed that now instead of his former
spontaneous style of announcing, he
appears to have "swallowed the dic-
tionary and choked on the cover."

Don't misunderstand me — I do not
feel that it is necessary for him to
use language as "earthy" as Bob's, but
I have heard it said that while
eschewing mediocrity of expression
through platitudinous phraseology, it
behooves one to beware of ponder-
osity and to be mindful that pedantry,
being indicatory of an inherent mag-
alomania, frustrates its own aim and
results merely in obnubilation.

S. Beatrice Norman,

Montreal, Canada.

FIFTH PRIZE
"TOWN MEETING" RINGS THE BELL

During the recent tense situation
in Europe, the reams of propaganda
that filled columns of news type and
blared from loudspeakers made it al-
most impossible to think in coherent
manner causes and result of what
actually did happen.

I, therefore, want to express my
sincere thanks to the producers of
Town Meeting of the Air for setting
me to rights on "Can Europe Avoid
War?" The compact questions that
did not allow too much to be said,
and the clear, concise thinking of the
speakers, who put forth their opinions,
was a tonic to those of us who knew
not what to think.

This was the first time I had lis-
tened to the Town Meeting, but if
such sound logic continues, it won't
be the last.

Dorothy Panfil,
Milwaukee. Wise.
(Continued on page 77)

THIS IS YOUR PAGE!

YOUR LETTERS OF OPINION WIN

PRIZES

First Prize $10.00

Second Prize $ 5.00

Five Prizes of $ 1 .00

Address your letter to the Editor,
RADIO MIRROR, 122 East 42nd
Street, New York, N. Y., and mail it
not later than July 26th, 1939. All
submissions become the property of
the magazine.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIKBOF

I AM one of those women who. as the
saying is 'missed the boat' . . . women
who dream of a husband, a home, and
children — and never get them.

There is never a morning as I start out
for work but that I wish I could remain at
home to look after a family. There is
never a twilight but that my loneliness
comes out of the dusk to sadden me as I
open the door of my empty flat.

It wasn't always like this. Men used to
find me attractive. Two wanted to marry
me. Then some unexplainable change
took place in me. I met new men of course,
but somehow their interest was only
momentary. I could not fathom the rea-
son for their indifference then, nor can
I now. To this day I do not know what
is wrong with me. I wish to heaven I did.
It's no fun being thirty— and alone."

"Is anyone immune?"

An unusual case, you say?
Nothing of the sort.
Countless women and
men are probably in ex-
actly the same situation
right now — and ignorant of the reason for it.
After all, nothing repels others and kills a
romance so quickly as halitosis (bad breath) .
The insidious thing about this offensive
condition is that you yourself seldom real-
ize when you have it. At this very moment
you may be guilty.

"Why risk offending?"

But why risk offending
when halitosis usually
yields so readily and quick-
ly to Listerine Antiseptic?
You simply rinse the

mouth or gargle with it every night and
morning, and between times before social
or business engagements.

Listerine Antiseptic freshens and invig-
orates the entire mouth;
halts fermentation of tiny
food particles, a major
cause of breath odors, then
gets rid of the odors them-
selves. Your breath be-
comes sweeter, fresher,
more agreeable to others.

"It's my passport to popularity"

If you want people to like you, if you want
to get along in business, use Listerine night
and morning and between times when you
want to be sure you're at your best. This
wonderful antiseptic and deodorant may he
the passport to popularity that you lack.
Lambert Pharmacal Co., St. Louis, Mo.

august, 1939

NONSPI
CREAM '

Because of an entirely
new ingredient never be-
fore used in a deodorant!

Whether you prefer cream deodor-
ants for steady use, or for those occa-
sions when a liquid is inconvenient,
you will welcome Nonspi Cream
for its outstanding advantages:

1. Checks both perspiration and odor
—from 1 to 3 days.

2. Feels and looks like velvety vanish-
ing cream. Goes on easily—dries almost
instantly. Not greasy.

3. May be used directly after shaving.

4* Has a reaction approximating that
of the normal skin — so cannot injure
either skin or clothing.

5. Works on new principle— "adsorbs"
odors.

Be one of the first to take advantage
of this wonderful new discovery of
science! Get a generous jar of Nonspi
Cream — today. 5(M at drug or de-
partment stores. Also in liquid form

WHAT'S NEW FROM

One of the reasons for the continued popu-
larity of Big Town is Claire Trevor. Above,
dining with her husband, Clark Andrews.

THERE'S something important on
the cover of Radio Mirror this
month — something besides the pic-
ture of Myrna Loy, that is. Maybe you
didn't notice it at first glance, but to
the words "Radio Mirror" have been
added two more — "and Television."
That means that from now on Radio
Mirror will cover the new field of tele-
vision as well. Whenever there's any
news about television, you'll find it in
this magazine — pictures and stories
about the stars who will grow up with
this exciting new medium of entertain-
ment, trips backstage like the one on
page 22 of this issue, and all the other
things you will want to know about a
glamorous baby that is growing by
leaps and bounds. This doesn't mean
that we'll neglect sound radio — in fact,
for a long time to come we'll print
much less about television than we do
about radio, for the simple reason that
everyone has a radio set and few peo-
ple, as yet, have television sets. But
if your curiosity about television just
won't let you alone — Radio Mirror

will try to satisfy it every month.

* * *

It's an open secret in Hollywood
that the reason Basil Rathbone left
The Circle program, Sunday nights on
NBC, was that Groucho Marx, by his
frequent off-script remarks, kept Basil
on the hot-spot of nervousness. Basil
just couldn't handle a barrage of gags
that weren't in the script and never
had been — they threw him off his
stride and made him lose his place in
his own script and leave out lines he
should have said. So he politely asked
for his freedom from the program. A
week later he showed up on the Kraft
Music Hall, where Bob Burns and
Bing Crosby proceeded to ad lib so
freely that poor Basil once more got
mixed up and read the same line twice
before he found his place again. To —

need I add? — Bing's and Bob's ex-
treme hilarity.

* * *

If the Circle goes off the air for the
summer, the airline people are going
to be sorry. Since the program went
on the air, Lawrence Tibbett has flown
from New York to Hollywood every
Friday that he was on the show, and
back again on Monday, with the re-
sult that by the end of June he'll have
flown through the air with the great-
est of ease some 50,000 miles, or more

than two times around the earth.

* * *

One of those friendly rivalries goes
on between Hal Kemp and Skinnay
Ennis. Skinnay, you know, banged
drums in Hal's band for twelve years
before he got his own orchestra. Play-
ing on the Bob Hope show on NBC
at ten o'clock Tuesday nights, for a
few weeks this spring he was on the
air at the same hour as Hal's Time
to Shine program on CBS. Last fall,
just after Skinnay's program made its
debut and before Hal's went off the
air for the winter, Hal graciously
wired Skinnay, "My Time is Your
Time." And this spring, before Skin-
nay left the air, he wired Hal: "You'll
Get Along Without Me Very Well!"

* * *

The average monthly number of
proposals received by Michael Raf-
fetto, who plays Paul in One Man's
Family, is about one hundred. But
now that writer Carlton Morse has
Paul talking about getting married in
the script, Michael, who is a bachelor
in good standing, gets about twice as
many proposals. The proposers most
frequently use the argument that
they're wealthy, and can support
Michael in the style to which he's
accustomed, and he won't have to do
a lick of work.

(Continued on page 77)

RADIO AND TELEVISION IVUBROB

COAST TO

% A #HEN listeners to one of sta-
\f\f tionWLW'smusicalprograms
^ » sit back in their chairs, giving
all their attention to the symphony
or chamber-music coming over their
loudspeakers, they can be sure that
the studio's musical commentator is
doing exactly the same thing.

Michael Hinn, although he's been
on the staff of Cincinnati's WLW only
since the first of the year, is already
its musical expert, with a large fol-
lowing among those who enjoy sym-
phonic programs. On the Mutual
network, he's been heard in the
WLW program, The Nation's School
of the Air, where he did the commen-
taries on the I Like Music hour every
•Friday — a job which he will resume
next fall when the School of the Air
begins broadcasting again. Locally,
he's on WSAI'S Music You Want
When You Want It, and various
symphonic programs broadcast over
both stations.

Michael is a tall, blond, neat chap,
twenty-eight years old and with a
quiet, sincere voice. He really loves
music, and gives it his rapt attention
between commentaries. Born in
Virginia, Minnesota, he went to the
University of Wisconsin at Madison,

COAST BY DAN SENSENEY

MUSICAL EXPERT

Michael Hinn helps make WLW's
musical programs enjoyable.

where he worked his way through
with such jobs as waiting on table,
mowing lawns, and firing furnaces.
Since his early teens he'd wanted to
be an actor, and he took the leading
roles in several of the University

dramatic club plays.

Once out of college, he wanted to
head for Broadway, but the chance
to act came closer home — over WHA,
in Madison. There he took more and
more important air roles, until fi-
nally, at the end of the year, he went
to a bigger station in St. Paul. Then
he moved to Grand Forks, North Da-
kota, where he was a station man-
ager, and from there^ to WWNC,
Asheville, North Carolina. He likes
Asheville because it was here he got
his first chance, outside of college,
to act on a stage, in the Asheville
Summer Theater.

WHEN Michael Hinn isn't on the
air, he's in it. His chief outdoor
recreation is flying, and his greatest
ambition is to own a plane. Every
weekend he makes an airplane trip
— to Asheville, or to some other part
of North Carolina, where his father,
a construction engineer, is just now
busy building bridges.

Coast-to-coast listeners are bound
to hear Michael now and then during
the summer, talking about the music
on programs which are fed to the
Mutual network by WLW or its sister
station, WSAI.

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THE SOAP OF BEAUTIFUL WOMEN

■ Left, congratulations, Eddy
Duchin! You scored a victory for
"sweet" music by winning first
place In Radio Mirror's 1939
popularity poll. Above, Nan
Wynn, Hal Kemp's new soloist
on his Time to Shine program
over CBS, on Tuesday nights.

EDDY DUCHIN, whose long, strong
fingers switched from filling pre-
scriptions in a Massachusetts drug
store to tinkling the ivories, bringing
their owner fame and fortune, won
first place in the 1939 Facing the Music
popularity poll of Radio Mirror mag-
azine.

The contest, which found hundreds
of readers balloting for over seventy-
five different orchestras, began on
July 7, 1938, and scored a triumphant
victory for "sweet" music, when the
ex-pharmacist out-distanced Benny
Goodman, last year's winner, by a siz-
able margin.

Out of the first ten bands in the
voting, seven are classified as sweet
bands.

Three bands broke into the first ten
this year — Artie Shaw, who came
from obscurity to the top brackets of
swingdom in less than a year and al-
most saw his meteoric rise cut short

8

by the shadow of Death — Freddie
Martin, who has too long been neg-
lected by admirers of smooth music —

LJjERE are the final standings of the
leading contenders:

1939
Eddy Duchin
Benny Goodman
Horace Heidt
Sammy Kaye
Guy Lombardo
Kay Kyser
Tommy Dorsey
Art Shaw
Freddie Martin
Rudy Vallee

1938
Benny Goodman
Guy Lombardo
Eddy Duchin
Horace Heidt
Sammy Kaye
Tommy Dorsey
Shep Fields
Kay Kyser
Jan Garber
Casa Loma

and Rudy Vallee, backed by a loyal
bunch of rooters.

A trio of bands that loomed large
in public favor with Radio Mirror
readers a year ago, faded away. Shep
Fields finished seventh in 1938. This
year he polled fewer than a dozen
votes. Jan Garber copped ninth place
in the first poll, finished at the tail-
end in the second annual balloting.
Casa Loma was rated the tenth most
popular band in 1938, but couldn't
get in the money in 1939.

Note must be taken that eight of
the winners are blessed with regular
coast-to-coast commercial programs.
Only Kaye and Martin are sponsorless.

How will they stack up in 1940?
Will the tried-and-true veterans be
able to stem the tide of newcomers?
Time will tell. But keep your ears
tuned to such potential champions as
Glenn Miller, Charlie Barnet, Gray
Gordon, Van (Continued on page 72)

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9

■ Presenting the strange case of the Kay Kyser-
Ginny Simms romance — a love mystery that has
even their friends baffled. Can you solve it?

■ Kay says, "If it's
not Ginny, it certainly
is no other woman!"

H

OW good a detective are you?
When a woman says 'No,"
does she mean "Yes?" "When
one of America's most famous and
popular bandleaders is seen every-
where and anytime with his girl
vocalist, do you put two and two
together and get an answer? When
said bandleader begins consulting
said vocalist about the color of his
band's uniform, do you list it as
more evidence?

In other words, given the evi-
dence, can you find the solution of
what a mystery writer would cer-
tainly call "The Strange Case of
the Kay Kyser- Ginny Simms Ro-
mance?"

It is such an exciting, intriguing
mystery, we'd better give you the
clues right away so you can work
out your own solution to this baf-
fling tangle. A tangle which irri-
tates half the music world — the half
that can't bear not to know what's
going on; and delights the other
half — the half which gets pleasure
in seeing two people having such a
swell time out of life.

Clue No. 1 comes from one of
their own song sheets: "This Must
Be Love Because They Look So
Swell."

And by "they," we mean the
principals in this Strange Case.

The first principal has lovely,
lustrous chestnut hair framing a
heart-like face, made still more ap-
pealing and excitingly alluring by
huge, shining violet-blue eyes. It
has, what's more, as neat and trim
a pair of ankles as ever swayed be-
fore a microphone. Ankles which
add that final touch to a slim, grace-
ful figure. Complete, delectable
femininity.

The second principal is just about
the highest paid of all the country's
orchestra leaders — and, therefore, I
guess, close to the most successful.
A faintly serious young man who is
romantic not because he is dark and
handsome but because he has a

By JERRY MASON

gentle southern drawl, a rare touch
for comedy, a crazy kick-up-your-
heels-and-enjoy-life attitude that
matches so subtly the clear quiet
of those violet-blue eyes.

Have you the case well in hand,
love sleuths?

Then let's go back a bit. Detec-
tives and writers of exciting ro-
mance stories always do. Some-
where there is the solution to this
puzzle. You now have the princi-
pals. Next comes the yet-to-be-
solved problem itself.

The question is: What goes on
here between Kay Kyser and his
beautiful vocalist, Ginny Simms?
And something certainly goes on.
Or why would the rumors spread
every day? Those interesting ru-
mors which say —

"Kay and Ginny are secretly
married," "Kay never goes any
place unless Ginny is with him,"
"They've been in love ever since
1933," "If they're not married now,
it certainly won't be long."

Why, as a matter of record, would
Kay say —

"If it isn't Ginny, it is certainly
no other woman!" And why would
Ginny say ". . . I'd much rather be
with Kay than anyone else"?

Then, right in the next breath,
they say, with white-hot insistence,
"Married? No!"

Now, now — wait a minute. Be-
fore you make up your mind and
pronounce our two principals man
and wife, or even say to yourself
"Sure, they're in love," listen to the
story we have to tell.

IT was October, 1933. The late
I afternoon sun was shooting red-
gold rays through the streets of
Santa Monica. No one noticed the
slim figure carrying a music case,
hurrying as she neared the entrance
of an office building. Pretty faces
are no novelty in California.

As she stepped off the elevator,
she sighed a little, clutched her

music case more tightly, and opened
the door with the gold lettering:
"Earl Bailey — Manager of Kay
Kyser."

She looked around the small
office. Mr. Bailey, who had ar-
ranged the appointment, wasn't
there. But sitting close to a piano
was a quiet-looking young man —
sandy-haired and wearing glasses.
She walked over to him:

"Pardon me — but I was to meet
Mr. Bailey and Mr. Kyser here. Do
you happen to know where they
are?"

The young man stood up and
smiled. "I'm Kay Kyser — and I
guess you're Virginia Simms."

She breathed another little sigh
— of relief, this time — and nodded.

"Well, Miss Simms, I'll be glad to
listen to you sing. Mr. Bailey
thought you had promise. Go ahead
— sing me a song. I'll tell you what
I think."

The girl, looking like a college
freshman, sat down at the piano.
She ran her long, tapering fingers
over the keys once — gently. Then

■ Ginny says, "I'd
much rather be with
Kay than anyone else."

she began to sing. As she sang, all
the freshness and sincerity of her
young voice filled the room. If she
had looked around, she'd have seen
the man who had greeted her sitting
there with a half-smile on his lips.
He murmured to himself as she
soared up to a high note and held
it. But the girl didn't turn around.
She had closed her eyes. Her song
was coming from her heart. Her
mind had, without will, gone back
to the years which had passed and
finally brought her to this.

She could see now the hot, baked
plains of Texas near San Antonio
where she was born. She could re-
member those baby years with
nothing but the Texas sun and the
carefree days and weeks and months
of growing up. Then there was the
great excitement of moving to Cali-
fornia, and the trip to their new
home in (Continued on page 54)

11

u&

>oeafc

Dorothy Thompson, famous journalist
the women of America to answer the

By JUDY ASHLEY

WOULD you send the man you love to war?
Your instinctive answer — every woman's an-
swer— is probably a quick "No!" For there's no
longer anything fine about war. Everyone knows it
for what it is — a cruel, muddled, futile business, with
nothing but defeat at the end of it for victor as well as
vanquished.

Yet the time when we can avoid war by realizing its
futility seems to have passed. More and more, the
world is drifting toward another conflict; more and
more the people of America are wondering if they will
be able to avoid being drawn into a fight they do not
want.

I wish the problem were simple enough so that I
could say, "No. Let the rest of the world tear itself to
bits. The United States should stay out of it, and if it
doesn't stay out, no one I love will go to war with my
consent and blessing. I will do all in my power to keep
my husband, my brother, my son from entering any
war except one caused by actual invasion of this
country."

I wish the problem were that simple. But because
I feared it was not, I went to Dorothy Thompson for
her views on it. Not only because she is a foremost
student of world affairs, a journalist and radio com-
mentator who is an acknowledged authority in her
field, but because she is a woman, a wife and a mother.
To a woman's hatred of war, she could add the expert's
knowledge. I knew she would talk about war not only
with her heart, but with her head as well. I hoped she
could answer for me and for the readers of Radio
Mirror, the question that every day is growing more
pressing: How can we find peace?

We talked in the quiet restfulness of Miss Thomp-
son's drawing room, high above New York's Central
Park. War seemed very remote there, and it was hard
to realize that the gray-haired, young-faced, trimly
dressed woman across from me was the same who
only a few weeks before had made headlines all over
the nation by bursting into open, derisive laughter at
a Nazi rally. She said:

"Peace has always, unfortunately, been maintained
in the world on somebody's terms — on the terms of
one nation or some group of nations. Wars don't hap-
pen when power is out of balance. A nation, if it is
convinced that its power, combined with that of its
allies, is measurably weaker than the power of its
opponents, won't declare war or provoke it. That's
only common sense. Would a group of three men, for
instance, deliberately go out to pick a fight with a
group of ten men? Certainly not. The three men

0&z #tm Tfcum;

modern world's most vital question

Illustration by John J. Floherty, Jr.

would try to get more help on their side, or they
would try to cut down the number of their opponents.
Or they would give in.

AT PRESENT, the only nations that think they have
anything to gain from war are Germany, Italy
and Japan," Miss Thompson continued.

"A very good way of getting Hitler to start a
European war tomorrow is to convince him that he
will win it. If he is promised by the American Congress
that we will certainly stay out of it, he is more likely
to try it. For he might figure that with Japan and
Italy, his forces would balance and perhaps exceed
the strength of France and England and whatever
allies they could bring in with them. He would think
that perhaps he could win that war — and there's a
good chance he'd be right. But as long as he is afraid
that the United States would step in, he's more likely
to proceed with caution.

"I don't say that it's impossible for a country to
stay neutral in the midst of a war. The United States
could remain neutral. Holland was neutral all through
the World War. But in order to stay neutral, you've
got to be willing to take it on the chin, again and
again. You have to take a kicking around, and say
nothing, just as Holland did in the World War. War
in Europe, with the United States neutral, would mean
a long series of 'international incidents' — our ships
torpedoed on the high seas, our citizens abroad exposed
to danger, our property confiscated or destroyed. Hol-
land went all through that in the World War, and still
refused to take sides. If the United States would go
through it, it could remain neutral too. But I am afraid
the United States would not take those indignities very
long. I do believe that eventually, inevitably, it would
be drawn into any war involving the leading nations
and fought on two oceans.

"That is why talk of 'isolation' and 'minding our
own business' is both dangerous and futile. There is
no such thing as isolation in the world! The notion
that we could bottle up all our ships in case of war,
and relinquish all our trade, is simply silly. And it is
our business, just as much as it is any other country's,
to keep the world free of terror and despotism. I hate
war, and I'm under no illusions — another war, even if
the side on which we happened to be fighting won,
wouldn't prove anything or settle anything. The only
way to assure lasting peace and decency between
nations is by a real world organization with police
powers.

"A sovereign state is the (Continued on page 66)

YOU CAN HAVE THEM!

FASHIONABLE finishing schools,
a debut in some gilded ballroom
with all the town's eligible bach-
elors on the guest-list; the Junior
League teas, cocktail parties, dinner,
the theater, the Rainbow Room af-
terwards, "a marriage has been ar-
ranged." . . . Everything done for
her, the well-worn path mapped out
in advance, made easy by wealth
and tradition — easy, and somewhat
dull. That's the story of every so-
ciety debutante.

Every one? Well, yes, of nearly
every one — but not of Pamela
Bruce, who, like her Irish great-
grandfather, was a fighter and a
free spirit, hating the shackles of
"You must" and "You must not" —
counting love and life both useless
without freedom.

Glamour Girl No. 1, the papers
called her— Pamela Bruce, the fabu-
lously wealthy, the stunningly beau-
tiful, the supremely photogenic, the
incredibly wilful. In a word, the
debutante of the year. And — though
this was never printed, only whis-
pered— the girl who had committed
the terrible social mistake of wait-
ing three years past the usual age
before making her formal debut.
She must be eccentric, too.

"And," said Pamela wildly to her
mother and father, "I don't care if
I never make my debut. I don't
want one."

"Pamela," said Mrs. Bruce, with-
out losing her temper. Mrs. Bruce
never lost her temper; it was one
of her rules of life. "Pamela, we
will not argue about it. For three
years I've let you talk me into put-
ting it off. This time I am deter-
mined."

The shaded lights of the vast Bruce
library struck fiery glints from Pam's
red hair. "I see," she remarked. "In
other words — one more year and
I'll be practically an old maid."

Her father put his whole family
philosophy into a few words: "Now,
Pam, think what this means to your
mother '

"Think what it means to me!
Look, Mother" — she whirled to face
them both — -"all these traditions —

14

MYRNA LOY CREATED THE ROLE OF PAMELA WHEN THIS STORY, BY GROVER

the whole social set-up — I suppose
they're important for people who
want them. But I don't. I want
something else out of life — freedom!
The freedom that comes with not
being tied down to a famous family
and a famous fortune. Debutantes!
You can have them! I'd like — -I'd like
to take a crack at being just me!"
Marshall Bruce's mouth, trained
to shut itself tightly on its owner's

inner thoughts, relaxed a little.

"And you think money stands in
the way of this freedom you're
after?"

"I know it does," Pam said pas-
sionately. "Oh, please, Mother —
forget this debut business. Let me
just go out on my own, and hunt for
a job. Not as Pamela Bruce, but
as" - — she hesitated, groping for a
name — "as Paula Barton, a girl no-

■ She refused to buy a
husband! Read the radio
story that starred Myrna
Loy as the year's most
daring debutante, who
caused a society scandal

JONES AND TRUE BOARDMAN, WAS BROADCAST ON CBS' SILVER THEATER SHOW

body ever heard of before. And
then leave me alone. If I starve —
that's up to me. But — "

"Pamela," said her mother, in
her let's-have-no-more-of-this-non-
sense tone of voice, "you're being
romantic and absurd. Now, we'll
have the party here on the nine-
teenth. I've already selected the
orchestra, the decorations and your
dress. It's going to be white, and very

long, sweeping the floor, in fact — "
Pamela's slim body, so tense and
vibrant a moment before, suddenly
drooped in exhaustion and weari-
ness. "You've got this all so per-
fectly in hand, Mother," she said.
"I'm sure you don't need me. Good
night." The door closed behind her.

The Bruce coming-out party took
place, as scheduled, on the nine-

She was the debutante of the year,
fabulously wealthy, stunningly beau-
tiful — and also incredibly wilful.

Illustration by J. HENRY

teenth of the month. It turned out
to be not only the most elaborate
party of the season, but the biggest
social scandal.

Because right in the middle of it,
at half past eleven to be exact, its
guest of honor, the debutante her-
self, walked out on the guests.

"I couldn't help it, Dad," Pamela
confessed the next morning. Locked
into her room, she wouldn't even see
her mother. "I meant to go through
with it — but I'd been standing there
for what seemed like years, shaking
hands with people I didn't know
and didn't want to know — my feet
hurt and my arm hurt — and I just
got so sick and tired of the whole
silly business that — that I had to
get out. And so I did. And today
I'm leaving this house."

"Your mother's very upset,"
Marshall Bruce said, but he couldn't
hide the smile of pride in his eyes.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I guess
it'll be better if I don't see her right

15

YOU CAN HAVE THEM!

FASHIONABLE finishing schools,
a debut in some gilded ballroom
with all the town's eligible bach-
elors on the guest-list; the Junior
League teas, cocktail parties, dinner,
the theater, the Rainbow Room af-
terwards, "a marriage has been ar-
ranged." . . . Everything done for
her, the well-worn path mapped out
in advance, made easy by wealth
and tradition— easy, and somewhat
dull. That's the story of every so-
ciety debutante.

Every one? Well, yes, of nearly
every one — but not of Pamela
Bruce, who, like her Irish great-
grandfather, was a fighter and a
free spirit, hating the shackles of
"You must" and "You must not" —
counting love and life both useless
without freedom.

Glamour Girl No. 1, the papers
called her — Pamela Bruce, the fabu-
lously wealthy, the stunningly beau-
tiful, the supremely photogenic, the
incredibly wilful. In a word, the
debutante of the year. And— though
this was never printed, only whis-
pered— the girl who had committed
the terrible social mistake of wait-
ing three years past the usual age
before making her formal debut.
She must be eccentric, too.

"And," said Pamela wildly to her
mother and father, "I don't care if
I never make my debut. I don't
want one."

"Pamela," said Mrs. Bruce, with-
out losing her temper. Mrs. Bruce
never lost her temper; it was one
of her rules of life. "Pamela, we
will not argue about it. For three
years I've let you talk me into put-
ting it off. This time I am deter-
mined."

The shaded lights of the vast Bruce
library struck fiery glints from Pam's
red hair. "I see," she remarked. "In
other words — one more year and
I'll be practically an old maid."

Her father put his whole family
philosophy into a few words: "Now.
Pam, think what this means to your
moUn'i

"Think what it means to me!
Look, Mother" — she whirled to face
them both— "all these traditions—
14

MYRNA LOY CREATED THE ROLE OF PAMELA WHEN THIS STORY, BY GROVE"

the whole social set-up — I suppose
they're important for people who
want them. But I don't. I want
something else out of life — freedom!
The freedom that comes with not
being tied down to a famous family
and a famous fortune. Debutantes!
You can have them! I'd like— I'd like
to take a crack at being just me!"
Marshall Bruce's mouth, trained
to shut itself tightly on its owner's

inner thoughts, relaxed a little.

"And you think money stands 1
the way of this freedom youre
after?"

"I know it does," Pam said pas-
sionately. "Oh, please, Mother--
forget this debut business. Let ,n
just go out on my own, and hunt
a job. Not as Pamela Bruce, ^
as" — she hesitated, groping to
name— "as Paula Barton, a gm

JONES AND TRUE BOARDMAN. WAS BROADCAST ON CBS' SILVER THEATER SHOW

body ever heard of before. And
then leave me alone. If I starve —
that's up to me. But — "

"Pamela," said her mother, in
her let's-have-no-more-of-this-non-
sense tone of voice, "you're being
romantic and absurd. Now, we'll
have the party here on the nine-
teenth. I've already selected the
orchestra, the decorations and your
dress. It's going to be white, and very

long, sweeping the floor, in fact-
Pamela's slim body, so tense and
vibrant a moment before, suddenly
drooped in exhaustion and weari-
ness. "You've got this all so per-
fectly in hand, Mother," she said.
"I'm sure you don't need me Good
night " The door closed behind her.

The Bruce coming-out party took
place, as scheduled, on the nine-

She was the debutante of the year,
fabulously wealthy, stunningly beau-
tiful — and also incredibly wilful,
by J. HENRY

teenth of the month. It turned out
to be not only the most elaborate
party of the season, but the biggest
social scandal.

Because right in the middle of it,
at half past eleven to be exact, its
guest of honor, the debutante her-
self, walked out on the guests.

"I couldn't help it, Dad," Pamela
confessed the next morning. Locked
into her room, she wouldn't even see
her mother. "I meant to go through
with it— but I'd been standing there
for what seemed like years, shaking
hands with people I didn't know
and didn't want to know — my feet
hurt and my arm hurt — and I just
got so sick and tired of the whole
silly business that— that I had to
get out. And so I did. And today
I'm leaving this house."

"Your mother's very upset,"
Marshall Bruce said, but he couldn't
hide the smile of pride in his eyes.

"1 know, and I'm sorry. I guess
it'll be better if I don't see her right
15

Once Too Much Money Kept Her From What She Wanted, But Now-

away. You understand, don't you, Dad? I want to be
independent, and really live! Get myself a job — "

"Yes," her father said, nodding. "I understand per-
fectly. And, Pam — " His deep-set eyes twinkled. "I
say, go to it!"

MARTINE'S STORE — Ladies' Ready-to-wear— was
no great shakes. It was a barn of a building just
off Union Square, and not one of Pam's former ac-
quaintances would have thought of going there to
buy clothes. But the salary was fourteen dollars a
week — just about enough to live on, with care. And
she didn't much want to see any of her former
acquaintances.

Every morning at a quarter to nine she stood in line
at the time-clock, slipped the card marked Paula
Barton into the machine, and pulled the lever. Every
night at six, after hours of taking cheap dresses off
hangers and putting them back on, helping perspiring
fat ladies in substantial prints and praying that the
seams wouldn't burst, keeping a weather eye open to
distinguish between prospective customers and those
who were "just looking" — every night she went back
to her furnished bedroom with aching feet and tired
body. Only this time it was a joyous ache, a free and
glorious tiredness.

But, early in her second week, she had her first
really difficult customer, and went down to defeat.
The customer, a pear-shaped woman with unconvinc-
ing blonde hair and angry protruding eyes like blue
China Easter eggs, tried on dress after dress, complain-
ing bitterly all the time. Not until she had made a
selection of her own was she satisfied — and even then
she had to have Pam's approval as well.

"Don't you agree that this looks much better on me
than that blue atrocity you tried to sell me?" she
asked, twisting back and forth in front of the mirror.

Pam hedged. "I'm glad you like it, Madam."

"Young woman, I asked you a question. Do you still
like the blue dress better?"

"Well," Pam said frankly, "I do think the blue
is in better taste. Horizontal stripes are all wrong for
your figure."

After that, things got bad, with the woman flushing
a mottled pink and screeching like a peacock, drown-
ing out Pam's apologies and explanations. Tall young
Mr. Adams, the floorwalker for the section, soon an-
swered her cries. "This stupid salesgirl of yours has
dared to insult me," she babbled. "She said this dress
— the only decent one you have in stock — was in bad
taste!"

The floorwalker's lean face was solemn. "Would you
like another salesgirl?" he inquired.

"Certainly not! I want this one fired. She said my
figure was — "

"Please, Mr. Adams," Pam begged, "she misunder-
stood. I didn't mean to insult her!"

"You needn't lie, young woman. I've seen your kind
before."

"If she told you that dress was in bad taste," the
floorwalker said abruptly, "she was right. It looks
like a tent on you. And our salesgirls are here to help
the customers, Madam, not to be shouted at. If you don't
like the service here, you'd better go some place else."

"Mr. Adams!" said an authoritative voice from be-
hind them. Somebody in the crowd that had collected
whispered in awe: "Mr. Martine! The boss!"

"Well," said Eddie Adams, ex-floorwalker, to Paula
Barton, ex-salesgirl, an hour later, "so there's a good
job gone."

"Two good jobs," said Pam.

"And I was in the money, too," mourned Eddie, over
his automat sandwich. "Two hundred and eighty-six
16

dollars and forty-five cents. That's what I had in the
bank. Another month would have made it three
hundred."

"I'm sorry," Pam said. "But another store is bound
to need a floorwalker."

Eddie glared at her. "A floorwalker! Say — you
don't think I'd take a job like that again, do you?
Do I look like a floorwalker?"

She had to admit, looking at him across the slab of
imitation marble, that he didn't. A thin, nervous face,
flat-cheeked, square- jawed; a sensitive mouth; blue-
gray eyes that were curiously innocent and defenseless,
for all his wise way of talking. He went on:

"I took that job because I had to. Chemistry — that's
my job. Had two years of petroleum engineering at
Columbia Extension, but when Dad had to quit work,
I gave it up. Dad's a chemist too — a good one. And if
the two of us only had a laboratory of our own, to
work it out, we've got a way to absorb carbon monox-
ide fumes from automobile exhausts — it's been tried
before, but our method is really practical — "

He broke off, eyeing her suspiciously. "Why should
I be telling you all this?" he inquired of himself.

"But I think it's swell, Mr. Adams."

"Nix — call me Eddie. People that've been fired to-
gether ought to use first names. What's yours?"

"—Paula."

"Okay. Hurry and finish eating and we'll start look-
ing for jobs."

Pamela was looking in her purse for another nickel.
He stopped her, sternly. "This lunch is on me. How
many more nickels you want?"

"Just one," she said meekly. "I want some ice
cream on my pie."

He snatched the proffered money back. "No you
don't. That pie's got cheese on it, hasn't it? That's
enough."

She looked up at him, startled. After a barely per-
ceptible pause she said: "I see. Apparently you're an
expert on practical economics as well as chemistry."

"You mean I'm tight?" he said without rancour.
"Sure I am. I've got to be — and so-ve you. Here! Let
me see your purse."

BEFORE she could stop him, he had snatched it and
was methodically going through its contents. "Two
dollars and eighty-seven cents," he announced. "And
no job. When's your rent paid to?"

"That's none of your business."

"Can't be long, anyway," he shrugged her temper
off. "That settles it. You're coming home with me.
We've got a back bedroom we can't rent because the
window won't open. You can sleep there."

Afterwards, Pam was never quite sure how she
came to be part of the Adams household. She cer-
tainly hadn't intended to — well, not really intended
to. Yet in a week, there she was, living in the back
room, having her meals with the family, calling Mr.
and Mrs. Adams "Dad" and "Mother."

The relationship went farther than mere words, too.
As much as Eddie, she soon found herself worrying
over Dad's health — over the long half -illness that had
sapped his strength so he could no longer hold down
a job; and over the dubious, confusing reports that
were all the doctor gave about him. With Eddie, she
longed for a laboratory of his own, where he and his
father could work out their process for eliminating
carbon monoxide fumes. A far-off, rosy dream, that
seemed, for most of Eddie's savings were gone in the
weeks that passed before either of them found another
job.

Then things were better, with Eddie working in an
oil refinery in Jersey, and Pam in a Times Square hat

Pam sank down wearily on the steps of the
shouldered brownstone walk-up where the Adamses

shop. At least, there was enough to pay for food and
rent and the doctor's frequent visits. Winter faded into
spring and spring into summer, and suddenly it was
July.

July the fifth. It should have been just another
hot summer day, but to Pam, sinking down on the
steps of the high-shouldered brownstone walk-up
where the Adamses lived, it was a little more than
that. It was her birthday. Of course, Eddie didn't
know — she hadn't told him because he'd be sure to
want to buy her something, and he couldn't afford it.
But ... it would be nice . . . rather ... if he did know.

THE life of the crowded street flowed past her as she
sat there on the front steps. The long climb up three
flights to the apartment loomed before her like Mt.
Everest. She was tired — and because she was tired,
and it was her birthday, and in a way a mile-stone,
she found herself thinking thoughts that she had
resolutely barred from her mind. Eddie. Darling. If
she could only say that to him — if he would only let
her. But Eddie's mind was not on her. It was too firmly
set on a bank-account. She smiled, wryly. Funny.
Once the possession of money had kept her from what
she wanted. Now it was its lack.

All at once, Eddie was standing beside her, grinning
down into her upturned face, one hand dangling a
little paper-wrapped box before her eyes.

"Hey! Wake up — and happy birthday!"

"Eddie! You didn't! How — how did
you know?"

"You let it slip, once, and forgot. Go
on, open it!"

It was a slim little bracelet, gold set
with garnets. "Not rubies, or diamonds,
like you ought to have," Eddie said.
"But it's real, anyhow. Fake jewelry
doesn't go with you."

And after dinner, Eddie insisted, they
were going out to celebrate. "I don't
care if it costs five bucks," he said.
"We're going to split the town wide
open!"

Perhaps they didn't quite do that, but
they went to a Broadway show, sitting
high up in gallery seats, and afterwards
they took the bus and then a ferry to
the Palisades, where they rode on the
roller-coasters and merry-go-rounds.

IT was afterwards, as they walked
through the dark, deserted streets
from the bus stop to the apartment, that
the spell broke. All the laughter was
gone now. Eddie was silent, trudging
along with his hands in his pockets his
eyes on the sidewalk.

"Eddie," she said timidly, "what's the
matter? You just — sort of froze up —
all of a sudden."

"No thin'," he said, with an irritated
shake of his head.

"Is it — is it because I spent so much
money?"

"Don't be a dope." He whirled on her.
"Do you think I'd care if you spent a
million — if I had it? You think I'm
tight. Sure I am — I've got to be. Being
tight's the one outside chance I've got
to win — the one — " He broke off, hope-
lessly. "Let's not talk about it."

He was looking at the sidewalk once
more, so he did not see the brooding
pity in her face.

"Let's do talk about it, Eddie," she said quietly.
"For what? Where will it get us?" He was savage
now. "There's nothing I can say that you haven't
guessed. I've got so much bottled up inside me I could
talk until doomsday and still not tell you anything
you don't know."

"But suppose — suppose I want to hear it anyway?"
"Suppose you do. What does it all add up to? We
love each other. So that's great. But we can't afford
to get married. All I can offer you — all that's left
over after I've taken care of the folks — is a little
furnished room somewhere. And you — " his voice
tightened, and he turned away his head — "you deserve
a lot more than that."

This, she thought, wasn't the way she had expected
to hear a man say he loved her. No pretty speeches,
no moonlight. Only tense, bitter words, spoken late at
night on a grimy New York street. But not the less
sweet, for all that. One hand rose and pressed itself
against her cheek in involuntary, secret delight. He
did love her, and that was the important thing. Surely,
beside that, his anger and pride about money couldn't
matter much — she would soothe them, wipe them
away as if they had never been there.

"I won't mind, darling," she said. "I'll still be work-
ing, remember. We'll make out somehow, and take
care of the folks too."

"And there's another (Continued on page 70)

17

high-
lived.

Now I can tell it — the story of my secret life with a rat
idol I loved so much that I became his unacknowledged wife

a MONG all my memories — along
/\ with the days of fear and
/ \ heartache — I still have that
one day of happiness. I'll always
have that to look back on: the brief
twenty-four hours of my wedding
day.

Blindingly hot, it was. The sun
seemed to have actual weight as it
struck you, yet the desert air was so
light and heady that you didn't have
any feeling of oppression. In the
judge's little office, where we stood
before a plain flat-topped desk for an
altar, there was even a little breeze.
The flat leaves of a palm-tree
scraped together, outside the win-
dow, with a dry sort of noise.

I looked up at Greg's face, as we
waited for the judge to begin, and
smiled. In a few minutes now, he'd
be my husband. The world
wouldn't know it; once this day was
over neither of us could acknowl-
edge the other, perhaps for months.
But at the moment, that didn't mat-
ter. Greg — handsome, talented, so-
serious Greg — would be my hus-
band; I would know it, and that
would be enough.

And then, almost before I had
time to realize it, the ceremony was
over. Just a few words, mumbled
by the white-haired judge whose
name I didn't even know: "Do you,
Thomas Boerland, now take Kath-
arine Moore to be your lawful wed-
ded wife? ... Do you, Katharine
Moore, now take Thomas Boerland
to be your lawful wedded hus-
band? . . ."

Of course, I had known Greg
would use his real name, not the one
he had taken when he first became
a professional singer — but just the
same, it fell with a slight shock on
my ears. As if, somehow, I were
not marrying him at all, but an-
other man.

Then Greg was slipping the plain
little gold ring on my finger, fum-
bling a little, endearingly, in his
nervousness; taking me in his arms,
kissing me on the lips. We were
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Boerland —
18

Almost before I could realize
it, the ceremony was over — we
were Mr. and Mrs. Greg Dean.

f\

which didn't mean a thing to any-
one except us. That we were also
Mr. and Mrs. Gregory Dean didn't
mean a great deal, either — now. But
some day it would, my heart sang
— some day it would.

"That's his wife," people would
some day whisper when we went
into the stage door of a broadcast-
ing studio or a concert hall. "They
were married when he was still al-
most unknown, and kept it secret
for a while because they didn't want
to spoil his chances in the movies.
It was just after he got his contract
with Imperial." And magazine
writers would come to me — some
day — and I'd tell them the story of
our wedding and how it happened —
how I'd met Greg in a Hollywood
radio studio, while he was singing
on a local program, and I was just
breaking into the business as an
actress, taking small parts in dra-
matic shows, reading commercials —
doing anything they'd hire me to
do. How we started going around
together, and how almost from the
first I knew I loved him.

THERE was one thing I wouldn't
tell them, though, because it still
hurt me, just a little, to think about
it. I didn't blame Greg — I knew
that one disastrous experience with
marriage, when he was little more
than a boy, must have made him
wary. I knew, too, that a young
man with his way to make in the
entertainment business travels fast-
er if he travels alone. But I wouldn't
tell these people in the future that
the secret marriage had been my
idea — my solution for what had
seemed an unsolvable dilemma. I
wouldn't tell them that marriage,
even a secret marriage, hadn't oc-
curred to Greg until I suggested it.
I understood, but they might not. It
was the secret Greg and I would
share in that far-off, beautiful day
when fame should have come to
him, and we could stand together
before the whole world, just as we
had stood together at the flat-topped
desk in the judge's office.

If I had known that day was never
to come! . . .

We said goodby to the judge, and
went down the stone stairway, with
its golden-oak hand rail, and out

19

Now I con tell it— the story of my secret life with a radio
idol I loved so much that I became his unacknowledged wife

i.

iMONG all my memories — along
TV with the days of fear and
f\ heartache — I still have that
one day of happiness. I'll always
have that to look back on: the brief
twenty-four hours of my wedding
day.

Blindingly hot, it was. The sun
seemed to have actual weight as it
struck you, yet the desert air was so
light and heady that you didn't have
any feeling of oppression. In the
judge's little office, where we stood
before a plain flat-topped desk for an
altar, there was even a little breeze.
The flat leaves of a palm-tree
scraped together, outside the win-
dow, with a dry sort of noise.

I looked up at Greg's face, as we
waited for the judge to begin, and
smiled. In a few minutes now, he'd
be my husband. The world
wouldn't know it; once this day was
over neither of us could acknowl-
edge the other, perhaps for months.
But at the moment, that didn't mat-
ter. Greg — handsome, talented, so-
serious Greg — would be my hus-
band; 1 would know it, and that
would be enough.

And then, almost before I had
time to realize it, the ceremony was
over. Just a few words, mumbled
by the white-haired judge whose
name I didn't even know: "Do you,
Thomas Boerland, now take Kath-
arine Moore to be your lawful wed-
ded wife? ... Do you, Katharine
Moore, now take Thomas Boerland
to be your lawful wedded hus-
band? . . ."

Of course, I had known Greg
would use his real name, not the one
he had taken when he first became
a professional singer — but just the
same, it fell with a slight shock on
my ears. As if, somehow, I were
not marrying him at all, but an-
other man.

Then Greg was slipping the plain
little gold ring on my finger, fum-
bling a little, endearingly, in his
nervousness; taking me in his arms,
kissing me on the lips. We were
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Boerland—
18

which didn't mean a thing to any-
one except us. That we were also
Mr. and Mrs. Gregory Dean didn't
mean a great deal, either — now. But
some day it would, my heart sang
— some day it would.

"That's his wife," people would
some day whisper when we went
into the stage door of a broadcast-
ing studio or a concert hall. "They
were married when he was still al-
most unknown, and kept it secret
for a while because they didn't want
to spoil his chances in the movies.
It was just after he got his contract
with Imperial." And magazine
writers would come to me — some
day — and I'd tell them the story of
our wedding and how it happened —
how I'd met Greg in a Hollywood
radio studio, while he was singing
on a local program, and I was just
breaking into the business as an
actress, taking small parts in dra-
matic shows, reading commercials —
doing anything they'd hire me to
do. How we started going around
together, and how almost from the
first I knew I loved him.

THERE was one thing I wouldn't
tell them, though, because it still
hurt me, just a little, to think about
it. I didn't blame Greg— I knew
that one disastrous experience with
marriage, when he was little more
than a boy, must have made him
wary. I knew, too, that a young
man with his way to make in the
entertainment business travels fast-
er if he travels alone. But I wouldn't
tell these people in the future that
the secret marriage had been my
idea — my solution for what had
seemed an unsolvable dilemma. I
wouldn't tell them that marriage,
even a secret marriage, hadn't oc-
curred to Greg until I suggested it.
I understood, but they might not. It
was the secret Greg and I would
share in that far-off, beautiful day
when fame should have come to
him, and we could stand together
before the whole world, just as we
had stood together at the flat-topped
desk in the judge's office.

If I had known that day was never
to come! ...

We said goodby to the judge, and
went down the stone stairway, with
its golden-oak hand rail, and out
19

of the court house into the bright,
dusty street. All around the little
town was desert, a waste of sand,
cactus, Joshua trees, with only the
narrow ribbon of concrete connect-
ing us with Hollywood, which we
had left that morning. Now it was
late afternoon. Greg's dark-blue
sports roadster, its gleaming sur-
face a little dulled with the dust of
our journey, stood at the curb.

"Well," Greg said uncertainly,
"where now?"

FOR we didn't have much time for
a honeymoon. The whole escapade
had been undertaken, necessarily,
on the spur of the moment. Greg
was busy on the Imperial lot, acting
in his first picture, and we both had
radio shows, so once we had made
up our minds to get married, the
next problem had been when. We
hadn't dared stay in California for
the ceremony, for fear the news
would get out, and the trip across
the state line to Nevada took almost
a day. But, the night before, Greg
had called up with the good news
that his shooting schedule on the lot

was giving him two whole days off,
while neither of us had a broadcast
for the same length of time — so we'd
hastily made plans, packed a few
clothes — and here we were!

I tried to think back over the road
we had traveled that morning, to
remember if we had passed any
places that looked pleasant enough
to spend the night in, but without
much success. In every direction
there was nothing but desert.

"Maybe we ought to drive straight
back to Hollywood," I suggested, but
without really meaning it.

"Oh, no," Greg said seriously.
"That wouldn't be very safe. We
might be seen if we went somewhere
there — I mean — "

We looked away from each other,
both of us blushing.

At last we simply got in the car
and drove back toward the west. The
sun glared straight into our eyes,
and all at once depression settled on
me. I felt hot and dusty. The wed-
ding was over, so abruptly; we
didn't know where we were going;
and we felt constrained and em-
barrassed. And I wondered, for the

I turned away from him, hating to let him read the anguish
in my face — even though soon I would have to confide in him.

20

first time, if we had done right in
marrying so secretly and furtively.
Perhaps it would have been better
to wait —

The sun sank, and the clear, pale
desert twilight came, while we
whizzed along the road. Seven
o'clock, eight o'clock —

Greg looked at me doubtfully.
"We're getting to Lone Rock. Would
you like to stop there? It's not such
a bad place."

I nodded, and soon we were driv-
ing down the main street of the
town. There seemed to be only one
hotel, and it wasn't very inviting.
Then, at the edge of town, I caught
sight of a neat little auto camp, tiny
bungalows grouped about a graveled
court. Greg wrinkled his nose when
I suggested taking a look at it.

"An auto camp!" he said. "For a
honeymoon?"

Nevertheless, he stopped, and
when we had inspected the bunga-
low they showed us, he had to admit
it was better than a hotel, with its
clean floors, bright curtains at the
windows, and adjoining shower.

The camp attendant went away
and closed the door behind him.
Greg looked at me, then away, lit
a cigarette and strolled to the win-
dow. "We'd better go somewhere
and eat," he said vaguely.

Then, suddenly, he crushed the
cigarette out, turned swiftly, and
took me in his arms.

"Darling!" he whispered against
my hair.

All my momentary depression
faded away, and I gave myself to
his embrace, gladly. I felt, once
more, secure and safe in his love,
and I said to myself that I had only
been suffering from the nervousness
of any young bride.

Yet that same feeling, a sort of
submerged sense of disaster piling
up around me, was to come again,
and again, and much too often. I
had never believed in premonitions ;
I can't entirely believe in them even
now, but the fact remains that from
the very beginning I knew there was
something wrong about our mar-
riage, something I could not — or
would not — analyze.

It was still with me two weeks
later, when I had to take my wed-
ding ring out of my purse and look
at it, to convince myself that our
elopement hadn't been all a dream.
Nothing was changed. I still lived
in my little one-room apartment,
on the Los Angeles side of Holly-
wood; I still went to the broadcast-
ing studio almost every day; I still
saw Greg there frequently, and
sometimes went out with him to
dinner. But we both realized we
couldn't be seen together too often.
Hollywood (Continued on page 62)

WHEN I am on the road radio
is my boon companion,
trustworthy guide, respected
counselor and ever jolly entertainer.
At last I've found the perfect back-
seat driver — one that never talks
back, argues about the right road to
take, or criticizes the way I shift
gears.

Radio plays an important part of
my life when I am home, or in
residence at any spot for a period.
But there the rounds of daily calls,
business and social visits, movies
and theaters prevent me from being
with it as much as I like. Traveling,
however, particularly by trailer, it
is the most important factor in my
daily rounds.

As I usually start shortly after
daylight I leave my trailer bedside
radio on when I go to sleep. The
soft strains of the early morning
music awaken me not too abruptly.
I do my morning stretching exer-
cises to the rhythm of the gymnastic
leaders. Cooking breakfast, the
weather reports are being flashed
in and aid me in planning the route
for the day. At approximately the
same time, of course the news re-
ports keep me informed of world

I'VE FOUND THE PERFECT

mm

affairs and take the place of the
daily newspaper which is then rare-
ly available. I usually spend eight
or nine hours a day driving, quite
often alone. At intervals I turn on
the car-radio and get news, music,
lectures, whatever my mood re-
quires, or whatever I feel I need
to supplement my thoughts. In-
cidentally I find myself paying at-
tention to the cooking recipes and
household hints — something which
I wouldn't think of doing at home.
Over a charcoal fire in the evening
I frequently try out with some suc-
cess new ways of preparing a dish
I've just listened to. The advice on
cleaning is particularly useful in
the trailer for there are so many
different things to keep in condition.
And I often waft myself to sleep at
night listening to Stokowski or
Damrosch or the lighter music of

■■■■ m

Rudy Vallee, Ben Bernie or Wayne
King. The late evening news is a
source of great satisfaction, for al-
though I'm usually able to pick up
newspapers enroute, the daily stint
of driving and the evening's chores
often tire my eyes so much I feel
little like reading.

Yearly I travel about 50,000 miles
by airplane, boat, train, car and
lately largely by trailer. When I'm
working on some particular story
I naturally have to go to my des-
tination by the quickest possible
route. There is no latitude for
deviations. But much of the time I
am engaged in making surveys and
studies of particular countries and
sections thereof. Here is where my
radio is of great aid. When I'm
planning my day's trip if I find the
weather is particularly bad in one
section, I (Continued on page 60)

■ The famous fugitive from Fifth Avenue salutes man's best
companion on the open road — his radio set, which never
talks back, disagrees, or finds fault, and even saves lives

By CORNELIUS YANDERBILT, JR.

21

I

■

#/v

Lillian Eggers, New York model,
stumbled info her television job.

I

During rehearsals, performers
wear sun glasses, but for the
actual performance they must
come off. Here's Fred Waring
doing his master of ceremonies'
job before the powerful rays
of the great television lights.

.V*

LIGHT the set!"
"Places everybody!"
■ The three heavy television
cameras moved noiselessly into
position. The pretty girl announcer
stood under the glaring lights mov-
ing nervously. The Fred Waring
choral singers, just to her right,
scrambled to get into position.

"Quiet!" A voice boomed through
the studio.

It was echoed by assistants, and
everyone on the set held his breath
and kept his eyes glued on the
nervous girl announcer.

High in a dark room, just above
the television studio sets, the di-
rector watched the girl's image on
a series of three screens directly in
front of him. Then he began giving
instructions to the three television

By JACK
S H E R

cameramen below, speaking his
commands through a public address
system. It was almost eight o'clock.
Everything was ready.

"All right, let's go!"

The girl announcer opened her
mouth and at the same instant peo-
ple sitting in front of their tele-
vision sets within a fifty-mile radius
of the Empire State building, saw
and heard the girl on the screen.
The first official television program
was under way.

As soon as the girl was through
speaking those in front of their
television sets saw the entire Fred
Waring Company, sixty in all, sud-
denly flash on their screen. The
boys and girls kept things moving
briskly, doing ten minutes of sing-
ing, dancing and comedy. Then, as

■ A miracle becomes a daily oc-
currence— and here is your free
pass to the first backstage tour
of a regular television broadcast

the Waring gang wound up with a
spectacular finale, the scene shifted
and the title of a play, "The Un-
expected," appeared on the screen.
As the title faded away, those
watching their screens were looking
at a stage setting similar to one you
might see on a Broadway stage.
The actors, Earl Larrimore, Marjorie
Clarke and David More, took their
parts well, in this amusing one-act
comedy drama. As soon as it was
over, there was a breather for those
in the studio, but on the screen ap-
peared the face of Lowell Thomas,
as television gave its audience the
first movie made especially for tele-
vision, called "Teletopics." As soon
as it was over, the action centered
in the studio again, with Marcy
Wescott, Broadway musical comedy

star, singing popular tunes of the
day. Dick Rodgers, famous com-
poser, accompanied her at the piano.
After Marcy, the girl television
announcer came on and announced
that the next scenes would be tele-
vised from the World's Fair, and
suddenly, the beaming face of Ed
Herlihy, NBC's inquiring reporter,
came on the screen. He was in front
of a big building on the Fair
grounds, and beside him were sev-
eral people who were picked at ran-
dom to answer his questions and be
televised. He kept the questions
popping at a lively rate and most of
the people interviewed showed up
well on the screen. It was one of
the highlights of the program. As
soon as it was over, three excellent
jugglers were televised from the

studio. Then, the star of the show,
Donald Duck, in a full-length car-
toon, wound up the show.

Yes, after all the talk, promises
and build-up, television is here as a
regular, reliable entertainment me-
dium— ready to take its place along
with radio and the movies.

So now, Let's Go to a Rehearsal:

The modern, air-cooled television
studio at NBC is like a Hollywood
sound stage in miniature. Here,
actors and actresses scurry around
the brilliantly lit sets in make-up;
cameramen, berets and all, "dolly"
and "Pan" and "truck" to get the
shots the director wants. Sets are
pulled up and down in a twinkling
as assistant directors shout out
instructions.

Being in (Continued on page 58)

23

Wi^jfwm

%

THE CURTAIN

** £

tt5S^

■ In Its excitement, color and bi
an NBC television studio is like
Hollywood sound stage. Left, reh<
als go on while stagehands set
scenery. Note the batteries of bi
lights, the wall being moved into
tion, and the microphone at the
of its long pole, or "boom." In the
picture at left below, the stage is
set and the scene is being televised

^ ■■!*&

, SAN FRANCISCO

Three cameras are used
alternately, to giv*
more variety to shows!!

LOS ANGELES

--" Stes-<*

■ *l>

EA*

i -&aa

c^

■ Left, the director's room, where the
action in the studio is watched on
three screens, one for each camera.
During rehearsal, the director talks
to the actors over a microphone and
public-address system — he never sees
them in the flesh, as the studio is
on the floor below. Television re-
quires a big technical crew — four men
in this room besides the director,
who is second from the right. Inset,
it has often been said that blondes
can't be televised, but this picture
of Jean Muir, taken directly from a
television screen, proves once and
for all that they can. The girl an-
nouncer on NBC's first regular sight
broadcast was also a decided blonde.

IRISES O

m

■ Right, one of NBC's programs pre-
sents an actual staged prizefight:
sporting events will undoubtedly be
frequent attractions in sight-sound
radio. The Philco portable transmit-
ter, below right, is even now touring
the country, picking up outdoor hap-
penings. Some outdoor scenes may
be filmed, developed at once, and
put on the air as moving pictures.

MILWAUKEE

>j

BOSTOr

\ CH£NECTADV-LBAr

NEW VOW

PHILADELPHIA.
CAMDEN ;

■•'"*•:■. -*^rV

IOWA CITy

CHICAGO

•V

M I

I KANSAS city

In Florida, the portable
television camera catches
a golfer as he tees off.

y>y

Above, a map of the United States
shows you where television programs
may be seen, to the best of our re-
er's knowledge, either now or by
the end of 1939. At each c'rfy marked
an experimental station is already in
operation, or the construction of one
has been licensed. No licenses for
rcial stations have been given,
as yet, but if you live within fifty

les of any of these cities, a tele-
vision receiver in "your home will be
able to receive the programs sent
Right, Fred Waring and his
orchestra supplied television with its
first regularly scheduled variety show,
'nset, NBC's new television inquiring
reporter, former announcer Ed Herlihy.

RASPS
P H OW*
lvf%«$R

bA

SB

m

i

m

m

i

; mi^m

*m

«

TAIN

■ In its excitement, color and bustle
an NBC television studio is |||<e '
Hollywood sound stage. Left, rehears-
als go on while stagehands set the
scenery. Note the batteries of bright
lights, the wall being moved into posi.
tion, and the microphone at the end
of its long pole, or "boom." In the
picture at left below, the stage is
set and the scene is being televised.

SAN FRANCISCO

ire« comeius on used :
ternately, to giy
ore variety to shows?]

LOS ANGELES

RISES ON A

■ Right, one of NBC's programs pre-
jents an actual staged prizefight:
sporting events will undoubtedly be
frequent attractions in sight-sound
radio. The Phileo portable transmit-
ter, below right, is even now touring
the country, picking up outdoor hap-
penings. Some outdoor scenes may
be filmed, developed at once, and
put on the air as moving pictures.

,

,)SCH£NECTApy*

wumukeeM

y newvor*;

Y PHILADELPHIA.

' CAMPENJ

lOVMCITy

CHICAGO

y

3kansas cnry

ALBANY!

In Florida, the portable
television camera catches
a golfer as he tees off.

y>*

■ Left, the director's room, where the
action in the studio is watched on
three screens, one for each camera.
During rehearsal, the director talks
to the actors over a microphone and
public-address system — he never sees
them in the flesh, as the studio is
on the floor below. Television re-
quires a big technical crew— four men
in this room besides the director,
who is second from the right. Inset,
it has often been said that blondes
can't be televised, but this picture
of Jean Muir, taken directly from a
television screen, proves once an
for all that they can. The girl an-
nouncer on NBC's first regular signr
broadcast was also a decided blonde.

■ Above, a map of the United States
•hows you where television programs
•nay be seen, to the best of our re-
Porter's knowledge, either now or by
n» end of 1939. At each city marked
•> experimental station is already in
operation, or the construction of one
tlas been licensed. No licenses for
com|nercici! stations have been given,
•yet, but if you live within fifty
"I'les of cuy of these cities, a tele-
vision receiver in 'your home will be
J- ■ to receive the programs sent
it. Fred Waring and his

out. Ri
orchest,-
""trecM
'Met, K
reports

■pplied television with its

;rly scheduled variety show.

-•'s new television inquiring

tier announcer Ed Herlihy.

RAWQS
PHOtO-
M*RR0R

**f

' /

LANNY ROSS TELLS

"r*r \

|

1

W

t DON'T

**_

HU,i

\ i

•

■
i

X y J

DON'T

■ Kay Lorraine and Lanny show
the phoney-elegant way NOT
to hold your partner's hand.

■ If you want your partner to
enjoy that dance, don't keep
up a constant flow of chatter.

DON'T

■ Some men may like to have you
dance as close as this, but,
says Lanny, most of them don't.

■ Fishnet dresses are pretty
but a man doesn't think so
when they catch on his studs.

■ Picture hats are pretty too,
but Lanny swears they're a
menace on the dance-floor.

■ How to make yourself unpop-
ular— wave hellos to other men
over your escort's shoulder.

DON'T I DON'T

■ Too many girls hinder in-
stead of help their partners.
Left, Kay is leaning on Lanny 's
chest; right, she's hanging on
to his arm, making him carry
her around. Above, the Hit
Parade couple demonstrate an-
another bad way to hold hands.

WOMEN, you are wonderful!
No matter how mad we men
may get at you, you're still
wonderful. Even if you are always
late, even if you do wear the
darndest hats, and even if you can't
learn that fifty dollars will only buy
fifty dollars' worth of clothes.

But — and I'll bet I've got the en-
tire male population to back me up
— there's one time and place you're
not nearly so perfect as you think.
It's time you were told. We've been
too polite and too scared until now
to speak up. I'm still scared, but
here goes anyway. . . .

No matter what you may think,
lots of times it's you, the woman,
who is responsible for these slips
and stumbles that make dancing a
punishment instead of a paradise.
When that happens, do you blame
yourself? Never. You blame the
unlucky male whose arms are
around you and whose toes are
under yours.

Yet the chances are, every time
you dance you are liable uncon-
sciously to commit at least one of
these faults I'm going to tell you
about and which can so easily make
you and your partner wish you'd
gone to a movie instead.

Remember, it's not just me talk-
ing to you — it's every man who ever
had a French heel come down hard
on his instep and was then glared
at by his graceful feminine partner
who was undoubtedly saying to
herself, "If only men would learn
how to dance!"

Yes, the chances are fifty-fifty it
was just as much your fault as it
was his.

For instance:

Take the girl who ti?'es to lead.
I don't think I know a single man
who won't gripe about this to other
men — when he's sure he's not being
overheard, of course! Maybe the
girl does dance so well that she
could lead better than the man. But
she'll be a more popular girl if she
forgets that (Continued on page 61)

■ The perfect dance posture — as
posed by Lanny Ross and Kay
Lorraine, singing stars of the
CBS Saturday night Hit Parade.

■

^

\ 1

If

■

AUGUST, 1939

Photos by John Shvts, CBS.

MfrsthL

Broadway Oracle, family man, re-
cluse, night life king — read the
truth about that amazing bundle
of contrasts — Walter Winchell

By MILDRED LUBER

The story thus far:

AMERICA'S most famous reporter was born on April
/\ 7, 1897, on West 116th Street in Harlem, New
York City — the son of an immigrant couple who spelled
their name Winchel. He grew up there, in that rather
tough neighborhood, and when he was still just a boy
began singing in the Imperial Theater, the corner
nickelodeon, with Eddie Cantor and George Jessel. His
boyish good looks, combined with a fair singing voice
and an ability to dance, led him directly to professional
vaudeville as he grew up, and except for an interval
during the war when he was in the U. S. Navy, he was
on the stage until 1922. Then he changed professions
entirely, taking a twenty-five-dollar-a-week job on
the "Vaudeville News," a house-organ for the Keith-
Albee vaudeville circuit.

Part II

FROM the retired vaudeville performer who was
working for twenty-five dollars a week on the
"Vaudeville News" to today's Walter Winchell is a
long jump. Not in years, necessarily. Measured that
way, it's only a decade and a half, more or less. But
in his way of living, in his bank-account, and most
important, in his attitudes toward the world and
toward himself, the Walter of 1939 has jumped so far
that he's a different man entirely.

Today he is a strange mixture of recluse and bon-
vivant; of family man and night-owl; of the historian
of trivialities and the serious crusader. With, you must
remember, the recluse, the family man, and the cru-
sader uppermost at all times. He has a town apart-
ment and a country home, neither of which is" often
entered by his acquaintances — he has few friends, in
the intimate meaning of the word. He has a wife and
two children, all of whom he adores. The key to that
adoration, and its proof, lie in his constantly growing
interest in governmental and international affairs.

In the old days, just after he'd first become a re-
porter, he didn't know much about what went on in
Paris, Berlin, London, Washington; and cared less. The
Broadway and cafe-society scene was what sincerely
interested him. His column of jokes called "Merciless
Truths," and another column of racy trade gossip called

28

"Broadway Hearsay," which he began writing soon
after he joined the "Vaudeville News" accurately de-
fined the boundaries of his enthusiasms.

Other men give their girls flowers or boxes of candy.
The Walter of today might do that too. But when he
was courting June Aster, his first present to her was
a free full-page advertisement in the "Vaudeville
News" for the dancing team of Hill and Aster, of which
she was a part. The gift is significant: it hints at two
things — that Walter couldn't afford flowers or candy
then, and that to his Broadwayish way of thinking, a
free ad was a pretty fine present after all. June must
have thought so too. At any rate, a year after the ad
appeared, she became Mrs. Walter Winchell.

In the last few years, success has been achieved,
and Walter has had time to grow — to find out what
really interests him, and what is really worth fighting
for. But in those early days, he had to concentrate, as
so many of us must, on earning a living. Getting

;

It took Hyman Fink to get this
rare shot of Walter, Mrs. Win-
chell and their daughter, Walda.

ahead. Finding tools with which to work, and learning
to use them.

Four years on the "Vaudeville News" were his ap-
prenticeship. It wasn't an easy apprenticeship, either.
Much good shoe-leather was worn out on the daily
rounds — along Forty-second Street, up Broadway to
Forty-third, east and west of Broadway, up to Forty-
fourth, east and west. . . . There were so many agents'
and brokers' offices to be visited, each with its crumb
of news to be carefully picked up, pocketed, carried
away, made into a paragraph or a sentence. He didn't
know it, but he was laying the foundation of that vast
acquaintance which was to go on giving him news
items for the next fifteen years.

WALTER finally became a columnist for a real New
York newspaper but not because there was any
tremendous demand for his talents as a writer. He
did have a rare talent, however, for which Fulton

Oursler, supervising editor of the New York Graphic,
was willing to pay — a higher price, incidentally, than
he had anticipated. Oursler hired him as a tipster, for
it was evident that Winchell had more inside dope on
Broadway's glamorous figures than anyone else in
town. Oursler wanted Winchell to bring all his hot
news tips to the city desk as leads for front page
stories. Winchell agreed to go to work for the Graphic
but he expected payment — not in more money but in
the right to have his own column, under his own name.
Oursler capitulated. It would be worth a column if he
could just get those tips.

Walter might never have stopped working for the
Vaudeville News and begun being a journalistic force
if it hadn't been for Norman Frescott, then star of a
very successful vaudeville act and until recently known
to you as the Frescott who was master of ceremonies
on the popular program, Uncle Jim's Question Bee.
Wouldn't Winchell, Frescott (Continued on page 74)

29

/&/$>^

Broadway Oracle, family man, re-
cluse, night life king — read the
truth about that amaxing bundle
of contrasts — Walter Winched

It took Hyman Fink to get this
rare shot of Walter, Mrs. Win-
chell and their daughter, Walda.

By MILDRED LUBER

The story thus jar:

AMERICA'S most famous reporter was born on April
l 7, 1897, on West 116th Street in Harlem, New
York City — the son of an immigrant couple who spelled
their name Winchel. He grew up there, in that rather
tough neighborhood, and when he was still just a boy
began singing in the Imperial Theater, the corner
nickelodeon, with Eddie Cantor and George Jessel. His
boyish good looks, combined with a fair singing voice
and an ability to dance, led him directly to professional
vaudeville as he grew up, and except for an interval
during the war when he was in the U. S. Navy, he was
on the stage until 1922. Then he changed professions
entirely, taking a twenty-five-dollar-a-week job on
the "Vaudeville News," a house-organ for the Keith-
Albee vaudeville circuit.

Part II

FROM the retired vaudeville performer who was
working for twenty-five dollars a week on the
"Vaudeville News" to today's Walter Winchell is a
long jump. Not in years, necessarily. Measured that
way, it's only a decade and a half, more or less But
in his way of living, in his bank-account, and most
Important, in his attitudes toward the world and
toward himself, the Waller of 1939 has jumped so far
mat he s a different man entirely.

Today he is a strange mixture of recluse and bon-
wvant; oj family man and night-owl; of the historian
of trivialities and the serious crusader. With you must
remember, the recluse, the family man, and the cru-
sader uppermost at all times. He has a town apart-
ment and a country home, neither of which is often
entered by his acquaintances-he has few friends in

1111 ™te .Meaning of the word. He has a wife ^

two children, all of whom he adores. Tte toy to tha1
:';"•""»>. and Us proof, lie in his constantly^ owhvg
Interest in governmental and international affairs
In the old days, just after he'd first become-,'
Porter, he didn't know much about what we^ 1
Pa. IS Berlin, London, Washington; and , ^aredTeSs The
Broadway and cafe-society scene was «,w e

interested him. His column of okeTcalld .MnCe';ely
Truth," and another column of rac"^^^
28

Broadway Hearsay," which he began writing soon
after he joined the "Vaudeville News" accurately de-
fined the boundaries of his enthusiasms.

Other men give their girls flowers or boxes of candy.
The Walter of today might do that too. But when he
was courting June Aster, his first present to her was
a free full-page advertisement in the "Vaudeville
News" for the dancing team of Hill and Aster, of which
she was a part. The gift is significant: it hints at two
things— that Walter couldn't afford flowers or candy
then, and that to his Broadwayish way of thinking, a
tree ad was a pretty fine present after all. June must
have thought so too. At any rate, a year after the ad
appeared, she became Mrs. Walter Winchell.

in the last few years, success has been achieved,
and Walter has had time to grow— to find out what
really interests him, and what is really worth fighting
tor. But in those early days, he had to concentrate, as
so many of us must, on earning a living. Getting

ahead. Finding tools with which to work, and learning
to use them.

Four years on the "Vaudeville News" were his ap-
prenticeship. It wasn't an easy apprenticeship, either.
Much good shoe-leather was worn out on the daily
rounds— along Forty- second Street, up Broadway to
porty-third, east and west of Broadway, up to Forty-
fourth, east and west. . . . There were so many agents'
and brokers' offices to be visited, each with its crumb
°f news to be carefully picked up, pocketed, carried
away, made into a paragraph or a sentence. He didn't
k"ow it, but he was laying the foundation of that vast
acquaintance which was to go on giving him news
'terns for the next fifteen years.

\A/ALTER finally became a columnist for a real New
"" York newspaper but not because there was any
'remendous demand for his talents as a writer. He
a'a have a rare talent, however, for which Fulton

Oursler, supervising editor of the New York Graphic,
was willing to pay— a higher price, incidentally, than
he had anticipated. Oursler hired him as a tipster, fur
it was evident that Winchell had more inside dope on
Broadway's glamorous figures than anyone else In
town. Oursler wanted Winchell to bring all his hot
news tips to the city desk as leads for front page
stories. Winchell agreed to go to work for the Graphic
but he expected payment — not in more money but in
the right to have his own column, under his own name.
Oursler capitulated. It would be worth a column if he
could just get those tips.

Walter might never have stopped working for the
Vaudeville News and begun being a journalistic force
if it hadn't been for Norman Frescott, then Btaj
very successful vaudeville act and until recently known
to you as the Frescott who was master of ceremonies
on the popular program, Uncle Jim's Question Bee.
Wouldn't Winchell, Frescott (Continued on page 74)

29

■ Such blessed relief to learn finally the truth
about her past and yet — should Kitty accept her
lawful birthright and lose the man of her heart?

The whine was coming
closer. It was filling her
ears. What was happening?

-

The story thus far:

WHAT was Kitty Kelly's real
identity? All she knew was
that she had wakened one morning
in a third-class cabin of a ship
bound for America. Her memory
was gone, and her grim-faced com-
panion, Mrs. Megram, told her she
was a poor Irish girl, just recover-
ing from a grave illness. But there
was more to the story, she learned
a year later, when Mrs. Megram
was murdered, leaving behind her
a note speaking mysteriously of
Kitty's "rightful place in the world."
Meanwhile, she had fallen in love
with Michael Conway, a young
lawyer, but she refused to marry
him until the mystery of her past
had been cleared up. Michael, grow-
ing restless under the uncertainty of
his position with Kitty, one night
broke a dinner engagement with
her on the excuse of business. Dis-
appointed, she yielded to the pleas
of Grant Thursday, a rich playboy,
and went to dinner with him, where
she saw Michael, intoxicated, with
Isabel Andrews, the wealthy daugh-
ter of the man Michael had said he
was dining with. Believing that her
only chance of getting Michael back
lay in regaining her memory, Kitty
agreed to see a psychiatrist, Dr.
Orbo — and discovered when she met
him that he was the man who had
originally caused her to lose her
memory, back in Ireland.

Yet she did not entirely trust the
sinister-looking Orbo, although he
made an appointment to see her
next day and begin treating her to
restore her memory. She trusted
him still less after the treatment,
when he hypnotized her and at-
tempted to make her write her
name, Kathleen Kelly. Some in-

A fictionization by Lucille

stinct, even through the fog of
hypnosis, warned her not to do so.
That night, dispirited, she stayed
alone in the apartment, her room-
mate, Bunny, and Grant Thursday
going out together; and while they
were gone Orbo came in, saying he
was going to take her to a hospital.
She tried to resist, but his hypnotic
power drained all strength away
from her, and the last thing she re-
membered was being put into
an automobile which sped away
through the night.

Part III

WHEN she came to herself, she
was lying on a tumbled bed
in a small dark room. The
shades were pulled down. A single
lamp burned on a wash-stand near-
by, casting weird shadows. Outside
she could hear the wind and rain
beating against the window-pane,
the low rumble of distant thunder.

Where was she? A hospital? For
a moment her cloudy mind recalled
Dr. Orbo's words. "I have come to
take you to a hospital," he had said.
Was this it? Perhaps — perhaps he
had been playing fair and square.

Then, as her brain cleared, she
sat up and looked about her. If this
was a hospital, it was the strangest
one she had ever seen. The lamp
was an old-fashioned kerosene one.
The walls were stained and yellow.
Even the linen on the bed was
soiled, the gray blanket torn and
gritty.

And it was all so terribly still.

There was not a footstep to be
heard here, no distant human
sounds at all. She pushed back the
covers and stood up. She was still
completely dressed, except for her
shoes. Her stocking feet padding
softly over the bare floor, she ran to
the window, and looked out.

It was raining wildly, but by star-
ing hard, she made out at last that
there were woods all around, deep,
thick woods. There were no lights
visible, not even the headlights of a
car. Nothing but trees and dark-
ness and rain.

How had she come here? She
passed her hand over her eyes, try-
ing to think. But she could re-
member nothing of a journey —
nothing except Dr. Orbo's glittering
eyes leading her on. Had they come
by train or car or boat? And what
had happened? Why had he
brought her here? Why had he left

"Kitty!" His voice broke
in a sob of relief. "My
darling — I've found you!"

Photos by Pinchot

her in this wretched room alone?

She gave a little sob of terror.
She must escape — and quickly. He
might return at any moment. She
ran to the door, yanked vainly at
the knob. The door was locked.

He had trapped her here — like a
creature in a cage. But for what
reason? What had she done? Who
was he, this madman, who could
erase one's memory, and bring it
back again? And what did he want
of her? Oh, it did not matter. She
must get away. She must beat at
the door, lean out the window,
scream with all the power in her
body. Someone, perhaps, would be
passing by.

'-letcher of the dramatic CBS serial by Frank Dahm, sponsored by Wonder Bread

31

Someone might hear her. . . .

She went back to the window,
raised the sash, and screamed with
all her force.

"Help! Help! Murder!" They were
the only words she could think of.

It was no use. She slumped down
to her knees, against the window-
sill, and bowed her head. No one
had heard.

UT someone had heard. Someone
inside the house. Footsteps were
coming down the hall. A key was
turning in the lock. Someone was
entering the room. Dr. Orbo, she
thought. She did not look up, until
a woman's voice sounded in her
ears.

"Okay, dopey," it said. "You can

come now. They're waitin' for you."

The woman in the doorway was

middle-aged, dressed in a crumpled

nurse's uniform.

"Who's waiting for me?" Kitty
did not move. "And where am I?
Who are you? I want to get out of
here!"

The woman grinned.
"Oh you do, do you?" she mocked.
She advanced into the room, still
smiling that knowing smile. Kitty
tried to fend her off. But she was
powerful. In a moment, she had
reached the bed, grabbed Kitty's
arm in a cruel grip and twisted it
back, farther and farther, until
Kitty screamed with pain.
"Okay, dearie! Here we go!"
She dragged Kitty out of the
room, and down a long hall. They
went down a creaking wooden stair-
case, into a long hallway that
smelled of chloroform, into an old-
fashioned huge kitchen.

Two men were sitting before an
oilcloth-covered table, reading pa-
pers by the light of a kerosene
lamp. They looked up as she en-
tered. One of them was Dr. Orbo.
The other was sallow-faced, with
close-set eyes and bristly.black hair.
Dr. Orbo was looking at her with
dark satisfaction.

"Well, Isaac Hamish— " he turned,
smiling to the man beside him.
"This is she — -at last! Are you satis-
fied?"

The other man shrugged.
"Not yet. She is of no use to us
now. You know that. Remember.
My bargain called for something
else. . . ."

"Of course." Dr. Orbo nodded.
"Well, Mr. Hamish, that will not be
difficult. She is weak now. Look.
She can scarcely stand. Mrs. Dag-
gett— assist Miss Kelly to a chair!"
"Come on, dearie!" The woman
jerked her arm. But she would not
sit down. What were they going to
do now? Who was this man,
Hamish? What was his "bargain?"

32

She burst out at them.

"Please, Dr. Orbo! There must be
some mistake! I — I have done noth-
ing. Nothing. My name is Kitty
Kelly. I — I'm a poor orphan girl
from Dublin. Please. I — I'll do any-
thing for you — but please let me go
away."

Dr. Orbo spoke soothingly.

"Of course, Miss Kelly. You are
going home in a little while. There
is no cause for alarm. This is merely
a part of my treatment. What one
might call the Second Stage. Sit
down, my dear. Now — put your
mind at rest. Lie back against
the chair . . . rest . . . rest. Now,
Mrs. Daggett — if you please. Bring
in the revolving light machine."

"Light machine!" Kitty sat up
with a shudder. "Please, Dr. Orbo.
You can't. You can't hypnotize me

Honeymoons Need
Not End! For proof,
we give you Jon Hall
and Frances Langford.
In next month's issue,
read their story for
the secret of lasting
wedded happiness

again! I won't. I won't let you!"

She turned to the sallow man at
Orbo's side. "Mr. Hamish! I — I
promise you. I'll do anything you
say. But please! Dr. Orbo doesn't
understand. I don't want anything.
I'm just Kitty Kelly, a poor girl
from an orphan asylum in Dublin
who . . ."

"Orbo — come and take care of
her," Hamish said. "This sort of
thing disgusts me. I thought you
were going to get it over with at
once."

"So I am!" Dr. Orbo stood up, his
shadow enormous, menacing in the
dimly lit room. His sauve scientific
manner was quite gone now. Piti-
lessly he held her on the chair, forc-
ing her head up, toward the ma-
chine. "Start the lights now, Mrs.

Daggett!" he barked. Mrs. Daggett
obeyed.

Kitty tried to look away, but he
held her firmly, his fingers pressing
into her eye-sockets, forcing open
the lids. He was forcing her to stare
at the lights. But she must not see
them. She must hold herself taut.
Yet the dizziness was coming over
her, the familiar faintness. She was
going down . . , down . . . down . . .

Suddenly in the midst of her
whirling descent, there was the
sharp sound of a bell ringing
through the house. A peremptory
ring. Dr. Orbo's fingers trembled
against her eyes.

"What's that?" he hissed at
Hamish.

"Andrews, I suppose." Hamish
shrugged.

"Andrews!" Dr. Orbo's voice was
hoarse. "What's he coming here for
now?"

"To sign the stock certificate. I

told him to meet me here tonight."

"He's too early!" Dr. Orbo paused.

The bell jangled again. He snapped

at Mrs. Daggett.

"Tell him to wait. Keep him out
of here, until I call you, do you
hear?"

"Sure." Mrs. Daggett disappeared.
Dr. Orbo's fingers pressed up Kitty's
aching eyelids again, more cruelly.
"Now, Miss Kelly . . . once more
. . ." he began. "Once more." But
Kitty would not give in. Andrews!
But it could not be the Mr. Andrews?
Not Isabel Andrews' father? Not
Michael's new boss? What was he
doing here — in this desolate house?
This house of murder?

It did not matter. He was a
stranger — someone outside the cir-
cle. Else they would let him into the
kitchen. She drew in a deep breath,
stiffened, let out a blood-curdling
shriek.

"Help! Help, Mr. Andrews . . ."
Dr. Orbo clapped his hand over her
mouth. But the scream had its effect.
There were quick footsteps down
the hall, then Mr. Andrews' voice
sounded anxiously from the door-
way.

"What's happening here?" she
heard him say. "Why — Miss Kelly!
What are you doing — ? He stepped
into the room, his overcoat over his
arm. She caught a momentary
glimpse of his heavy-set figure, his
white mustache. Then Isaac Hamish
was standing in the middle of the
room, with a revolver in his hand.

"Stay where you are, Andrews!"
he warned. "There is nothing to
see in this room."

"But— Miss Kelly—? What are
you doing to her?" -Mr. Andrews
protested.

"There is no Miss Kelly in here!"
(Continued on page 53)

#v^

&

¥3

■

MAD

N

L L

■^- If all secretaries were as beautiful as Madeleine Carroll, who jots down the minutes for
The Circle, Sunday nights on NBC, mighty few letters would ever get written. This is
Madeleine's first weekly assignment, after a long time of being radio's busiest guest star.

RADIO'S WAY TO A

fc^^a

Wallace and Sunda Love demonstrate exercise ■
number one, for achieving that chiseled chinline. "

m

It's miraculous — but no miracle! You
can have one too by following the or-
ders of this exclusive picture-story

UMMER'S here, and there's no sense in deny-
! ing it. No sense, either, in denying the fact
that you won't enjoy the warm weather un-
less your figure is in trim to look well in those
sheer dresses and revealing bathing suits.

So, to help you out on the job of removing
extra poundage, Radio Mirror asked Wallace,
the Mutual network's Get-Thin-to-Music Man,
and Sunda Love, star of the CBS serial, Step-
mother, to pose for these pictures, graphically
showing how you can reduce in your own home.

For more of these exercises, tune in Wallace's
daily program, broadcast at 11:30 a.m., E.D.S.T.,
over Mutual.

Since he went on the air, Wallace has melted
off at least a million pounds of excess fat from
feminine figures with these exercises. He guar-
antees that if you follow them religiously they'll
flatten your stomach, smooth your hips, chisel
your chinline, clear your complexion, put a glint
in your eye and lend a spring to your walk.

But, says Wallace, it won't be any miracle. The
only miracle will be in getting yourself to do
these exercises EVERY DAY.

Ready to start? ... It is seven o'clock in the
morning. You're sleepy? You want just five min-
utes more of snoozing? (Continued on page 57)

/<^*w

"

p^^jr^n

^Sl^ ■■-:'■

Four, for tummy tires: lie flat on the floor, arms
at your sides and toes pointing down, and . . .

. . . bring your legs up and over into the air
until your toes are touching the floor behind you.

/

"wo, for thighs and limbs: step
high, keeping toes pointed down.

Three, for a romantic waistline:
extend your arms shoulder high . . .

. . then swing continuously from
right to left and back again.

. . . keeping the left leg on the fioor, raise the right
leg straight up. Next, right leg down, left leg up.

Five, tor a modeled torso: flat on the floor again, with
palms flat, raise both legs without crooking your knees . . .

Six, for general well-being: start on all fours, with
your chin well up. Next, kick backward and upward . . .

. . . like a mule. But see to it that your knee is straight
at the end of each kick. Now try it with the other leg.

1

THE CASE OF THE

Conclusion:

BRUCE EATON stepped forward
and said, "I'll take the entire re-
sponsibility for this. This young
woman has nothing to do with it."

The bank cashier said, "Don't let
them fool you. It's a holdup. They
put on the act together, and . . ."

One of the city officers inter-
rupted, "Good Lord, that's Bruce
Eaton, the actor!"

"Actor nothing," the bank cashier
protested. "They tried to hold me
up. That man's no more Bruce Eaton
than I am. He's a stick-up artist.
If they hadn't jerked the gun out of
my hand, I'd have had them. This
man walked into the bank, and
while I was waiting on him, this
woman came in and stood at the
counter. I asked him if she was with
him, and he said he'd never seen
her before. Then when you gentle-
men drove up in your car, she
started yelling at him, and ran
around behind the counter. I figured
she was handing him a gun. I knew
right then it was a stick-up and
yelled at them to stop. She kept
right on coming, and ..."

The sheriff's cold eyes fastened
mine in cynical appraisal. "How
about it?" he asked.

I said, indignantly, "I was simply
trying to get the man's autograph.
You can imagine my surprise! I
dropped in here to try and cash a
check, I noticed someone was back
in the vault with the cashier. Then,
I suddenly realized it was Bruce
Eaton. Do you think I'd pass up an
opportunity like that? Naturally, I
wanted his autograph."

The officers exchanged dubious
glances. I could see that the cash-
ier's excitability, and his hysterical
talk of gun-play, were putting him
in a spot.

Bruce Eaton said, calmly, "Well,
it's been rather an exciting experi-
ence, Miss . . . What's your name?"

"Miss Bell," I said, "Claire Bell."

"It's been quite an experience," he
said, smiling. "I've had autograph
hunters pursue me before, but never
under quite such unusual circum-
stances. Perhaps if you're going my

way, you'd care to accept a lift back
to Los Angeles?"

"I'd be delighted," I told him.

Bruce Eaton calmly started for
the door, cupping his palm under
my elbow.

The city officer said, "Just a min-
ute, please," and then to the cashier,
"What was he doing in the bank?"

"He wanted to get some things out
of a lock-box," the cashier said.

"Did he have the key to the lock-
box?"

"Yes, of course."

The officers exchanged glances.
There was a sudden, significant
tenseness about their attitude.
"What," the city detective asked,
"was the number of the lock-box?"

"Number five," the cashier said.

The sheriff gave a low whistle.
The city detective said, "I'm very
sorry, Mr. Eaton, but we came down
here to investigate that lock-box.
If you had the key to it, perhaps you
know why."

"I'm sure I know nothing what-
ever about your reasons for coming
here," Bruce Eaton said, with
dignity.

"Did you open the box?"

"Yes."

"Do you have the key to it?"

"Yes."

"Let's see it."

"I see no reason for giving it to
you."

There was a harsh note in the

With a dramatic meeting in a lonely country bank. Miss Bell comes to

36

i,

By Erie Stanley
GARDNER

Author of "The Cgse of the Velvet Claws'
"The Case of the Howling Dog," etc.

"You lie!" she screamed, and jerking herself
free, made a sudden wild rush for the door.

detective's voice. "Now listen," he
said, "I'm asking you nice. I want
the key to that box."

The sheriff said, "Wait a minute.
We don't need to bother about the
key. We're more interested in the
contents. What did you take out of
the box, Eaton?"

"Don't answer questions, Mr.
Eaton," I warned. "Sit absolutely
tight. This is outrageous!"

The city officer said, ominously,
"You keep out of this, sister, or
you'll wish you had," and then to
Eaton, "You answer questions, and
cooperate, or we'll search you."

I was hoping frantically that
Bruce Eaton would get the signifi-
cance of my quick wink. He did.

"Go ahead and search me," he said,
"you have sufficient force to do it,
but I won't submit to the indignity
of. answering questions about mat-
ters which are simply none of your
business."

The hardboiled city officers closed
in on Bruce Eaton. They held his
arms, went through his pockets
swiftly. "Here's the key to the lock-
box," one of the officers said.

The -officer in charge nodded to
the bank cashier. "We'll open it
up, and take a look."

As one in a daze, the cashier pro-
duced the bank's key. I heard the
double click of locks opening, and
then the officer exclaimed, "It's
empty. There ain't a thing in here."

The officer looked at me with un-
cordial eyes. "You," he said, "have
taken in a lot of territory in this
thing, sister."

I said, scornfully, "Get a matron
and you can search me."

The officer looked me over. It was
a warm day, and I was wearing light
clothes. "I guess," he said, "you
haven't very much concealed on
you. Take a look in her purse, Bill."

The screen door of the bank
swung open and shut, as Mr. Foley,
looking cool and calmly competent,
entered the bank. "Good afternoon,
gentlemen," he said. "I'm sorry to
disturb your little party, but I think
it's about time for you to get down
to brass tacks and catch the mur-
derers, don't you?"

The city detective was the nearest
to Mr. Foley. He said, "Who in
blazes do you think you are?"

Foley ignored the question. "You
came down to set a trap," he said.
"Because of a little premature gun-
play on the part of an hysterical
bank cashier, you were talked into
springing your trap before you'd
even set it."

The officer said, "You're full of
advice, brother. Suppose you tell
us how it happens you know so
much about it, and we'll just take a
look at your driving license, and any
other means of identification ..."

"I'm not going to argue with you,"
Foley interrupted. "Two people are
coming in this bank. If they find it
full of officers, you're never going
to get anything on them. Unless you
can get some additional evidence,
you can't pin a thing on them. Get
your men scattered about, filling out
deposit slips, standing up at the
windows. Make this look like a busy
bank, and you'll catch your mur-
derer."

The officer seemed dubious.

I looked out through the window,
and saw the detective, who had
called on me in Mr. Foley's office,
and Mrs. Temmler, just getting out
of an automobile.

I knew that seconds were pre-
cious, and had a sudden inspiration.

"All right," I said. "I'll confess
everything, (Continued on page 67)

the end of her mystery— and to the beginning of an unexpected romance

37

THE CASE OF THE

Conclusion:

BRUCE EATON stepped forward
and said, "I'll take the entire re-
sponsibility for this. This young
woman has nothing to do with it."
The bank cashier said, "Don't let
them fool you. It's a holdup. They
put on the act together, and . . ."

One of the city officers inter-
rupted, "Good Lord, that's Bruce
Eaton, the actor!"

"Actor nothing," the bank cashier
protested. "They tried to hold me
up. That man's no more Bruce Eaton
than I am. He's a stick-up artist.
If they hadn't jerked the gun out of
my hand, I'd have had them. This
man walked into the bank, and
while I was waiting on him, this
woman came in and stood at the
counter. I asked him if she was with
him, and he said he'd never seen
her before. Then when you gentle-
men drove up in your car, she
started yelling at him, and ran
around behind the counter. I figured
she was handing him a gun. I knew
right then it was a stick-up and
yelled at them to stop. She kept
right on coming, and ..."

The sheriff's cold eyes fastened
mine in cynical appraisal. "How
about it?" he asked.

I said, indignantly, "I was simply
trying to get the man's autograph.
You can imagine my surprise! I
dropped in here to try and cash a
check, I noticed someone was back
in the vault with the cashier. Then,
I suddenly realized it was Bruce
Eaton. Do you think I'd pass up an
opportunity like that? Naturally, I
wanted his autograph."

The officers exchanged dubious
glances. I could see that the cash-
ier's excitability, and his hysterical
talk of gun-play, were putting him
in a spot.

Bruce Eaton said, calmly, "Well
it's been rather an exciting experi-
ence Miss . . . What's your name?"
Miss Bell," 1 said, "Claire Bell "
It s been quite an experience " he
said smiling. "I've had autograph
hunters pursue me before, but never
under quite such unusual circum-
stances. Perhaps if you're going my

way, you'd care to accept a lift back
to Los Angeles?"

"I'd be delighted," I told him.

Bruce Eaton calmly started for
the door, cupping his palm under
my elbow.

The city officer said, "Just a min-

-™'uP 6aSe'" and then t0 the "shier,

What was he doing in the bank'"

He wanted to get some things out

of a lock-box," the cashier said

box?" haVe the key t0 the lock-

"Yes, of course."

There I^T* exch™&* glances,
mere was a sudden, significant

SwE?£°y theii- -"SK

..at' the c"y detective asked
was the number of the lock-boxr

"Number five," the cashier said.

The sheriff gave a low whistle.
The city detective said, "I'm very
sorry, Mr. Eaton, but we came down
here to investigate that lock-box.
If you had the key to it, perhaps you
know why."

"I'm sure I know nothing what-
ever about your reasons for coming
here," Bruce Eaton said, with
dignity.

"Did you open the box?"

"Yes."

"Do you have the key to it?"

"Yes."

"Let's see it."

"I see no reason for giving it to
you.'

__.. " "Umber of the lock-box?" There was a harsh note in the

■ With a dramatic meetina in » i i

m9 m a ,one|y country bank, Miss Bell comes to

detective's voice. "Now listen," he
said, "I'm asking you nice. I want
the key to that box."

The sheriff said, "Wait a minute.
We don't need to bother about the
key. We're more interested in the
contents. What did you take out of
the box, Eaton?"

"Don't answer questions, Mr.
Eaton," I warned. "Sit absolutely
tight. This is outrageous!"

The city officer said, ominously,
You keep out of this, sister, or
you'll Wish you had," and then to
Eaton, "You answer questions, and
cooperate, or we'll search you."

1 was hoping frantically that
Bruce Eaton would get the signifi-
cance of my quick wink. He did

"Go ahead and search me, he said,
"you have sufficient force to . dc .it.
but I won't submit to theindigmty
of answering questions about ma^

ters which are simply none of your

bUTheeha';dboiled city officers M
in on Bruce Eaton. They held his

the bank cashier. Well ope.
empty There ain't a thing m

, here.

By Erie Stanley
GARDNER

Author of "The Case of the Velvet Claws"
"The Case of fhe Howling Dog." etc.

The officer looked at me with un-
cordial eyes. "You," he said, "have
taken in a lot of territory in this
thing, sister."

I said, scornfully, "Get a mat ion
and you can search me."

The officer looked me over. It was
a warm day, and I was wearing light
clothes. "I guess," he said, "you
haven't t>ery much concealed on
you. Take a look in her purse, Bill."
The screen door of the \>.u\k
swung open and shut, as Mr. Foley,
looking cool and calmly competent,
entered the bank. "Good afternoon,
gentlemen," he said. "I'm sorry to
disturb your little party, but I think
it's about time for you to get down
to brass tacks and catch the mur-
derers, don't you?"

The city detective was the nearest
to Mr. Foley. He said, "Who in
blazes do you think you are?"

Foley ignored the question. "You
came down to set a trap," he said.
"Because of a little premature gun-
play on the part of an hysterical
bank cashier, you were talked into
springing your trap before you'd
even set it."

The officer said, "You're full of
advice, brother. Suppose you tell
us how it happens you know so
much about it, and we'll just take a
look at your driving license, and any
other means of identification . . . "
"I'm not going to argue with you,"
Foley interrupted. "Two people ai e
coming in this bank. If they find it
full of officers, you're never going
to get anything on them. Unless you
can get some additional evidence,
you can't pin a thing on them. Get
your men scattered about, filling out
deposit slips, standing up at the
windows. Make this look like a busy
bank, and you'll catch your mur-
derer."

The officer seemed dubious.
I looked out through the window,
and saw the detective, who had
called on me in Mr. Foley's office,
and Mrs. Temmler, just getting out
of an automobile.

I knew that seconds were pre-
cious and had a sudden inspiration.
"All right," I said. "Ill confess
everything, ( Continued on pape 67 )

— of my quick wink. He did. — unexpected romance

♦ka a +„ the beq nmng ot an unexpw*

the end of her mystery— and to tne o^

"Doctor's Folly" was heard originally
as one of the Aunt Jenny broadcasts, on
CBS every Monday through Friday, spon-
sored by the manufacturers of Spry.

THIS story can be explained in
only one way. For two years
Robert McClean was not himself.
All his life he had lived for his fam-
ily and for his great work as a
physician and surgeon. And there
never was a better man. Then an
operation that meant much to him
went wrong. And on top of that,
when he was upset and in an emo-
tional state, he met Sue Barclay.
For two years, after that, he was
not the same man. You might say
he was insane, with an emotional
insanity, or that he was desperately
groping after something his soul
needed. Something that was in the
palm of his hand all the time.

Robert and Louise McClean got
along after a fashion, during those
two years, while their daughter,
Virginia, was away at college. He
was home very little and she kept
things peaceful and never com-
plained about the change that had
come over him, even though she
turned into a gray ghost of the
proud and spirited woman she had
been.

But when Virginia reached home
things grew worse. From the time
Virginia was born she had been her
father's idol, but now she could do
nothing to please him. Once he had
taken pride in her popularity. Now
he did what he could to check it.
He wove morbid fancies about her

38

*?

V

w

m

absences from home at night, and
flew into a rage with Louise when
she protested against his suspicions.
Of course, all his criticisms rose
from the consciousness of his own
guilt, but he would not admit this
even to himself.

One morning at breakfast his

nagging flared into an open quarrel.
Virginia had come down, happy and
glowing in her youth, anticipating
a golf tournament that afternoon
which she hoped to win.

"I'm counting on having you on
the sidelines, cheering," she told her
father in a voice that fairly sang.

■ An Aunt Jenny story — of a husband and his last desperate search
for ecstasy, though he knew it meant tragedy for those he loved

For a minute her eyes took in Sue Bar-
clay's tinted hair, her cheap mouth.

Robert McClean said sourly, "I've
no time for golf tournaments. You
seem to forget I have a practice to
take care of." He took another sip
of coffee and set the cup down with
a hand that trembled slightly. His
hands had never been quite steady
since the failure of that operation,
two years before.

"And right now," he went on,
"I've something more important
than golf to talk to you about. Vir-
ginia, I don't like the way you're
running around — here, there, every-

where! Night after night you leave
your mother alone. Simply wasting
your time with a lot of irresponsi-
ble, useless people."

She just stood staring at him,
hurt and hopeless.

"Robert, please," Louise inter-
rupted. "You don't know what
you're saying — you can't mean it."

He fixed her with an angry stare.
"I know very well what I'm saying,
and I mean every word of it. What's
more, I want Virginia's promise that
she won't go out again in the eve-

ning until she has my permission."

"But, Dad," she protested, "to-
night I'm going to dinner with Dick
Emerson and his mother and father.
We're celebrating Dick's first big
architectural commission and his
parents' twenty-fifth wedding anni-
versary. . . ."

"You heard what I said," he told
her coldly.

"Mother!" Virginia was frantic.
"Mother! You ask him. . . . It's —
it's so very important tonight!"

Louise McClean somehow man-
aged a smile. "You're in love with
Dick, aren't you, dear?" she asked
gently.

"Terribly!"

"Terribly!" He mocked her scorn-
fully. "Louise, I will not have you
putting such ideas into the child's
head. What does she, at her age,
know about such things? Dick Em-
erson— how does he expect to be an
architect if he spends every night
dancing until three or four o'clock?"

VIRGINIA stepped to her father's
side. "I hate to disobey you,
Dad, but I'm going to that dinner
party tonight. I can't submit to any
more of your unfairness. It's been
much too long now since you've
even tried to see my point of view,
or Mother's."

He rose from the breakfast table.
"Very well. I can't lock you in
your room — particularly since your
mother chooses to let you twist her
around your little finger. But from
now on I shall stay at my club."

"Robert!" Louise called after him.
"What's come over you? You must
be ill!"

He paid no attention, not knowing
how right she was. But he was to
learn how ill he was, to his sorrow,
within the next twelve hours.

He went from his house to his
office, and then to Sue Barclay.
After such scenes, and they were
increasing in intensity and number,
he never could get to her fast
enough. He honestly believed she
was the only person in the world
who understood him. With her, he
found peace. When he had lost that
important operation, for instance,
Louise had told him he must put
that unavoidable failure behind
him, together with all his miraculous
successes, and go on to other suc-
cesses. But Sue had babied him, en-
couraged him to talk about his
failure. And when he had told her
how the very sight of certain surgi-
cal instruments terrified him, she
had silenced him with long kisses.

39

■ An Aunt Jenny story— of a husband and his last desperate search
for ecstasy, though he knew it meant tragedy for those he loved

THIS story can be explained in
only one way. For two years
Robert McClean was not himself.
All his life he had lived for his fam-
ily and for his great work as a
physician and surgeon. And there
never was a better man. Then an
operation that meant much to him
went wrong. And on top of that,
when he was upset and in an emo-
tional state, he met Sue Barclay.
For two years, after that, he was
not the same man. You might say
he was insane, with an emotional
Insanity, or that he was desperately
groping after something his soul
needed. Something that was in the
palm of his hand all the time.

Robert and Louise McClean got
along after a fashion, during those
two years, while their daughter,
Virginia, was away at college. He
was home very little and she kept
things peaceful and never com-
plained about the change that had

come over him, even though she
turned into a gray ghost of the
proud and spirited woman she had

Bui when Virginia reached home

'■' grew worse. From the time

\ u ginia was born she had been her
father's idol, but now she could do
nothing to please him, Once he had
taken pride iii her popularity. Now
he did what he could to check it.
He wove morbid fancies about her

For a minute her eyes took in Sue Bar-
clay's tinted hair, her cheap moutl,.

absences from home at night, and
flew into a rage with Louise when
she protested against his suspicions.
Of course, all his criticisms rose
Horn the consciousness of his own
guilt, but he would not admit this
even to himself.
One morning at breakfast his

nagging flared into an open quar

rel

Virginia had come down, happy and
glowing in her youth, anticipating
a golf tournament that afternoon
which she hoped to win.

"I'm counting on having you °
the sidelines, cheering," she told ne
father in a voice that fairly sang.

Robert McClean said sourly, "I've
no time for golf tournaments. You
seem to forget I have a practice to
take care of." He took another sip
of coffee and set the cup down with
a hand that trembled slightly. His
hands had never been quite steady
since the failure of that operation,
two years before.

"And right now," he went on,
"I've something more important
than golf to talk to you about. Vir-
ginia, I don't like the way you're
running around — here, there, every-

where' Night after night you leave
vour mother alone. Simply wasting
your time with a lot of irresponsi-
ble, useless people."

She just stood staring at him,
hurt and hopeless.

"Robert, please," Louise inter-
rupted. "You don't know what
you're saying-you can't mean it.

He fixed her with an angry stare.
"I know very well what I'm saying
and I mean every word of it. What s
more I want Virginia's promise that
Sta won't go out again in the eve-

ning until she has my permission.''
"But, Dad," she protested, "to-
night I'm going to dinner with Dick
Emerson and his mother and father.
Were celebrating Dick's first big
architectural commission and his
parents' twenty-fifth wedding anni-
versary. . . ."

"You heard what I said,"' he told
her coldly.

"Mother!" Virginia was frantic
"Mother! You ask him. . . . It's
it's so very important tonight!"

Louise McClean somehow man
aged a smile. "You're in love with
Dick, aren't you, dear?" she asked
gently.

"Terribly!"

"Terriblyt" He mocked her scorn-
fully. "Louise, I will not have you
putting such ideas into the child's
head. What does she, al hei
know about such things-' I lit
erson — how does he expect to be an
architect if he spends every night
dancing until three or four o'clock?"

VIRGINIA stepped to her tatl
side. "I hate to disobey you,
Dad, but I'm going to that dinnea
party tonight. I can't submit to any
more of your unfairness. It's been
much too long now since you've
even tried to see my point of view.
or Mother's."

He rose from the breakfast table
"Very well. I can't lock you in
your room — particularly since yum
mother chooses to let you twi
around your little finger. But from
now on I shall stay at my club."

"Robert!" Louise called after him,
"What's come over you? You must
be ill!"

He paid no attention, not knowing
how right she was. But he was to
learn how ill he was, to his Borrow,
within the next twelve hours.

He went from his house to his
office, and then to Sue Bl
After such scenes, and they were
increasing in intensity and number,
he never could get to her fast
enough. He honestly believed
was the only person in the world
who understood him. With her, he
found peace. When he had lost that
important operation, for in
Louise had told him he must put
that unavoidable failure behind
him, together with all his miraculous
successes, and go on to other suc-
cesses. But Sue had babied him. en-
couraged him to talk about his
failure. And when he had told her
how the very sight of certain surgi-
cal instruments terrified him, she
had silenced him with long kisses.
39

It was the same when he turned
more and more of his practice over
to his cousin, Arthur Johnson.
Louise looked pained, reproachful.
But Sue rejoiced because he would
have more leisure to spend with her.
He had told Arthur Johnson about
Sue. He had had to talk to someone.
She was his life. She filled his
thoughts. Lately, however, he had
begun to regret his confidences. To-
day, for instance, Arthur was none
too pleasant about taking over for
him when he learned it wasn't Vir-
ginia's golf tournament that took
him away. And he had distinctly
muttered something about Louise
being a fine woman who deserved
better than she was getting.

WITH Sue, he soon forgot about
Virginia and her tournament.
Even though he had bought her her
first clubs, small size, when she was
a little girl; even though in other
years he had spent his weekends
on the links with her, helping her
improve her stroke, beaming at the
compliments that came her way —
still, with Sue, he forgot her.

All through the championship
match Virginia hoped her father
was there, moving along the green
with the gallery. She couldn't be-
lieve he meant the bitter things he
had said to her that morning. By
the time the match was over she
had persuaded herself she would
find him waiting for her.

She won brilliantly. But Dick
Emerson was waiting alone, except
for an enthusiastic group — his
friends and hers — who surrounded
both of them.

Virginia tried not to show her dis-
appointment. She was gay with the
others. But Dick, loving her the
way he did, saw past her surface
laughter. And after she had changed
into evening clothes, in the club-
house, and they got into his car for
the drive to the Sunset Club, his
one idea was to cheer her somehow.

"Virginia," he said, "it doesn't
mean anything that your dad wasn't
there. Doctors can't always get
away when they want to. You know
that, sweet."

She shook her head. "It isn't just
because father wasn't there this
afternoon, Dick." She had to fight
to keep her voice steady. "It's that
he's — he's changed so. I don't know
why. I hardly know him any more.
And I worry about Mother, too. She
tries to pretend everything is all
right, but she looks as if she were
dead inside."

But by the time they reached the
Sunset Club, with its lights, its
music, its congratulations from
friends, she was beginning to feel
better. Dick summoned the head-

40

waiter to their table to ask him to
have the orchestra play the wedding
march when Mr. and Mrs. Emerson
arrived.

And then it happened.

Dick saw Virginia look across the
room, saw her eyes widen in horror.
She was looking at her father, seat-
ing Sue Barclay at a flower-laden
table. And their manner toward
each other left her no room for hope
or for doubt.

"Virginia!" Dick said. "Where are
you going, darling? What are you
going to do?"

His questions were unnecessary.
He knew. Where she was going and
what she was going to do were plain
enough. A moment later she was
standing beside her father. Sue
Barclay saw her first, and stared
until Robert McClean turned around.

"This is why you wouldn't let me

Tune In Aunt Jenny who tells
her real Irfe stories on CBS.

go out at night!" Virginia's voice
was not much more than a whisper.
"You pretended you wanted to pro-
tect me. And all the time it was
only because — you were afraid I
might see you! Like this!"

For a minute her eyes, dead as
stones, took in Sue Barclay's tinted
hair, her cheap mouth. Then she
turned to her father again.

"Oh, Dad," she cried, "how could
you? I'm so ashamed. For myself.
For mother. And most of all for
you!"

"Well, I'm glad you found out,"
her father said, and now she real-
ized, as he slurred his words, that
he had been drinking. "I'm glad you
came here to spy on me. Now you
can go home and tell your Mother
it's all over — tell her to send her

lawyer to see me. Tell her she
can . . ."

But Virginia's sobs as she ran
toward the door cut him short.

Dick Emerson ran after her. For
a long time he had known how
things were with Doctor McClean.
And for a long time he had dreaded
the day when Virginia must know,
too.

He tried to keep her from taking
the wheel. But she was far beyond
reason.

"I'm going to drive," she told him.
"I have to, Dick — fast!"

There was nothing he could do
but climb in beside her. Many times
he begged her to go slower.

"Turn down the wind-shield,
please!" was her answer once. "I
want air on my face!"

She couldn't get enough air. It
was as if she hoped that the evening
rushing at her would make her
clean again.

"The turn, Virginia. The turn!"
Dick shouted to her finally. "Vir-
ginia darling, you can't make it at
this speed! You just can't. Slow
down, slow down, for God's sake!"

This time his answer was the
screech of the brakes, applied too
late. For the tires screamed on the
skid, and as they went over there
was a horrible splintering crash.

By some miracle Dick wasn't
hurt. But all the time they waited
in the glare of other cars for the
ambulance, and all the way to the
hospital, Virginia never moved.

They sent for Mrs. McClean. She
and Dick waited together for Arthur
Johnson to come out of the exami-
nation room. It was very quiet
there in the corridor. Sometimes a
nurse passed them quickly, a door
opened and closed again, or a buzzer
sounded.

"Dick . . ." At last Mrs. McClean
spoke. "What happened — to make
Virginia so reckless? It wasn't like
her. She — she must have had a
great shock."

"We met her father. . . ." Dick
said.

"With Mrs. Barclay?"

He nodded, grateful to her for
sparing him.

Arthur Johnson came from the
examination room. "The X-rays
show a compound fracture near the
base of the skull," he said. "There
must be an operation at once. But
I can't do it. The basilar artery is
almost severed. It's a delicate job
— a hair's breadth slip would- be
fatal."

"But someone can do it!" Vir-
ginia's mother cried.

Arthur said, "Her father. You
must go for him."

"At Mrs. Barclay's," Louise mur-

(Continued on page 65)

Burns and Benny in a pause that
relaxes. Jack is helping George
celebrate his new fall contract
when you'll hear Burns and Allen
broadcast for a new sponsor. Be-
low, Matty Malneck, whose dance
music has set Hollywood on its
ear, talks it over with Marjorie
Weaver and rival Rudy Vallee.

By GEORGE FISHER

■ Listen to George Fisher's
broadcasts every Saturday
at 9:00 P. M. over Mutual.

Even with two babies at home,
the Dick Powells manage to en-
joy a night out. Skinnay En-
nis, right, joins their table.

RECENTLY I had a confidential
talk with an official of one of
the movie firms, and here's
what he told me. So many un-
favorable reactions have been regis-
tered against one of their comedi-
ennes by Women's Clubs, Church
groups and other alliances, that it
is not expected that the studio will
renew her option when it expires
soon. This may mean that her film
career in Hollywood is at an end, but
it is certain that she'll continue on

her radio program.

* * *

It's not surprising to me that the
Texaco Show has never had a par-
ticularly good popularity rating: Af-
ter all, Ken Murray is only a little
better than average comedian, and
the dramatic skits suffer from lack

august, 1939

of sufficient preparation. Frances
Langford is not at all happy with her
position on the show, for she has lost
a lot of popularity while being asso-
ciated with Texaco.

# * *

The Bob Hope show is a brilliantly
written affair, but suffers by keeping

the audience always in high pitch.

* * *

Paramount, which has been won-
dering what was going to happen
with its next picture with Jack
Benny, can go ahead with the release
of "Man About Town," anyway.
When it was sneak-previewed here
in Hollywood, it got a terrific hand,
and showed without any doubt that
the audience approved of the come-
dian, the patrons apparently forgiv-
ing him his recent trespasses.

Betty Jane Rhodes, Hollywood's
Television Girl, created a sensation
when she sang on a recent Guild

Show.

* * *

Matty Malneck's superb swing
crew has taken Hollywood by storm,
and plays nightly at Cafe Lamaze,
with a CBS wire. Malneck plans to
open on Broadway's 52nd Street in

the fall.

* * *

Orson Welles was approached half
a dozen times to make pictures, and
each time his requests remained the
same. He wanted to make pictures,
to direct, produce and write his film
scripts. Genius Welles might be al-
lowed to do this on the stage, but
Hollywood has never been a town
that will (Continued on page 73)

41

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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Blue: Peerless Trio

NBC-Red: Organ Recital

8:30

NBC-Blue: Tone Pictures

NBC-Red: Four Showmen

8:45

NBC-Red: Animal News

9:00
I CBS: From the Organ Loft
NBC-Blue: White Rabbit Line
NBC-Red: Turn Back the Clock

9:15

NBC-Red: Tom Teriss

9:30

CBS: Aubade for Strings

NBC-Red: Crawford Caravan

10:00

CBS:

NBC-
10:30
CBS:
NBC-
NBC-
11:00
CBS:
NBC:
NBC-
11:15
NBC-
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Church of the Air

Red: Highlights of the Bible

Wings Over Jordan
Blue: Russian Melodies
Red' Children's Hour

News and Rhythm
News
Blue: Alice Remsen

Blue: Neighbor Nell

Red: Vernon Crane's Story Book

11:30

CBS: MAJOR BOWES FAMILY
NBC-Blue: Southernaires
NBC-Red: Romance Melodies

12:00 Noon

NBC-Blue: RADIO CITY MUSIC

HALL
NBC-Red: Walter Logan Music

12:30 P.M.

CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle
NBC-Red: University of Chicago
Round Table

1:00

CBS: Church of the Air
NBC-Blue: Waterloo Junction
NBC-Red: Music for Moderns

1:30

NBC-Red: Sunday Drivers
2:00

CBS: Democracy in Action
NBC-Red: Sunday Dinner at Aunt
Fanny's

2:30

CBS: It Goes Like This

NBC-Red: Barry McKinley

2:45

NBC- Red: Kidoodlers

3:00

CBS: CBS Symphony

NBC-Red: Sunday Drivers

3:30

NBC-Blue: Festival of Music

NBC-Red: Name the Place

4:00

CBS: Words Without Music
NBC-Blue: National Vespers
NBC-Red: Rangers Serenade

4:30

NBC-Red:

The World is Yours

NBC-Blue: Joseph Henry Jackson
NBC-Red: The Spelling Bee

5:45

NBC-Blue: Ray Perkins

6:00

NBC-Red:

Catholic Hour

6:30

CBS: Gateway to Hollywood

NBC-Red: Grouch Club

7:00

CBS: People's Platform
NBC-Red: The Aldrich Family
7:30

CBS: Musical Playhouse
NBC-Blue: Radio Guild
NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon
8:00

CBS: Dance Hour
NBC-Blue: NBC Symphony
NBC-Red: DON AMECHE, EDGAR
BERGEN

9:00

CBS: Ford Show

NBC-Blue: HOLLYWOOD PLAY-
HOUSE
NBC- Red: Manhattan Merry- Go-
Round

9:30

NBC-Blue: Edwin C. Hill
NBC-Red: American Album of
Familiar Music

9:45

NBC-Blue: Orene Rich

10:00

CBS: Knickerbocker Playhouse

NBC-Red: The Circle

MBS: Goodwill Hour

10:30

CBS: H. V. Kaltenborn

NBC-Blue: Cheerio

11:00

CBS: Dance Orchestra

NBC: Dance Orchestra

auv i. i-:^H<:^:

Jesse Lasky (right) rehearses two aspiring actors.
Tune-In Bulletin for July 2, 9, 16 and 23!

JULY 2: Ezra Stone and the Aldrich
Family replace Jack Benny on NBC-Red
at 7:00. . . . Edwin C. Hill replaces Walter
Winchell on NBC-Blue at 9:30.

July 9. A new and welcome addition to
the list of drama programs is Knicker-
bocker Playhouse, on CBS tonight at 10:00.

July 16: On CBS at 9:00, there's a pleas-
ant summer show, sponsored by Ford and
starring James Melton and Francia White.

July 23: More hot-weather music — on
CBS at 7:30, the Gulf show, with Jane
Froman, Jan Peerce, and Erno Rapee's
orchestra.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Gateway to
Hollywood, on CBS from 6:30 to 7:00 P.M.,
Eastern Daylight Time, sponsored by
Doublemint Gum, in conjunction with RKO
Pictures.

Everybody was dubious when Jesse L.
Lasky first presented the idea for this
program. It sounded too much like one
of those talent contests which end up in
disappointment and heartbreak for the
contestants and a black eye for the spon-
sors. But now, near the end of its second
thirteen-week period, everybody agrees
that Gateway to Hollywood has been very
much worth while.

In its first thirteen-week series, two young
people gained long-term contracts with
RKO and featured roles in a new picture,
"Career," six others were given contracts
for film work, and the remaining ten con-
testants were sent back home at the pro-
gram's expense, none the worse for their
adventure. A similar good record is ex-
pected by the time the second series ends.

Much of the credit for this success be-
longs to Lasky and the way he went about
getting talented youngsters for the pro-

gram. Three veterans of the films, Bryant
Washburn, Jack Mulhall and Herbert Raw-
linson, were sent around the country to
scout little-theater groups, interview prom-
ising acting talent, and record voices.

Each week, in Hollywood, Lasky and
Charles Vanda, who directs the programs,
select a boy and a girl by looking at the
pictures and listening to the voice record-
ings sent to them by their scouts.

The contestants arrive in Hollywood, and
meet Vanda and Lasky. The girls live at
the pleasant Studio Club, the boys at the
Hollywood Athletic Club.

A week of rehearsal follows, without the
screen guest-star, always a top-notch
celebrity, who doesn't rehearse until Fri-
day. On Friday night Vanda moves the
entire cast from the KNX studios, where
they've been working, to the stage of the
CBS Vine Street Theater, where the actual
broadcast will be given Sunday; and here
the show is pulled together Friday night
and Sunday. Saturday is always a day off
for rest and brushing up on individual roles.
Frequently, the girls visit the RKO studios
on Saturday, and there they are loaned
attractive dresses from the studio ward-
robe to wear in their broadcast appear-
ances.

Rowena Cook of New York City and
Ralph Bowman of Lincoln, Nebraska, were
the lucky winners of the first Gateway to
Hollywood talent quest, taking the names
of Alice Eden and John Archer. In the
second quest, now drawing to a close,
the winners will be given the names of
Virginia Vale and Robert Stanton, and
will be featured in RKO's "Three Sons."
They have a slightly tougher row to hoe
than the first pair, for they must be able
to sing as well as act.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

RAY PERKINS — who sends you Letters Home from the
World's Fair, on NBC-Blue this afternoon at 5:45. He's a
man of many abilities — pianist, song-writer, singer, come-
dian, master of ceremonies. Born in Boston, he went to
Columbia University, was in the U. S. Army from 1917 to
1919, and is now a commissioned major in the reserve
corps. He broke into radio back in 1925 on a New York
station.

INSIDE RADIO-The N

42

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

12:00

8:30

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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn
8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys
8:30

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade
9:00

CBS: Richard Maxwell
NBC: News
9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB
9:30

CBS: Manhattan Mother
NBC-Red: The Family Man
9:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children
NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh
10:00
9:00 CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC-Red: Central City

10:15
9:15 CBS: Myrtand Marge
9:15 NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
9:15 NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30
9:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45
9:45 CBS: Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah
9:45 NBC-Red: Woman in White
11:00
10:00 CBS: It Happened in Hollywood
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15
10:15 CBS: Scattergood Baines
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30
10:30 CBS: Big Sister

10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45
10:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
10:45 NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of
Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life
12:00 Noon

CBS: Mary Margaret McBride
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street
12:15 P.M.
11:15 CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
11:15 NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30
11:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
11:30 NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
11:30 NBC-Red: Time for Thought
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15
12:15 CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
12:15 NBC-Blue: Your Farm Reporter
12:15 NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over

1:30
12:30 CBS: Road of Life
12:30 NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
12:30 NBC-Red: Words and Music
1:45

11:45 12:45 CBS: This Day is Ours
2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob
2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter
2:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine
NBC- Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

CBS: When a Girl Marries
NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches
3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin
3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
3:45

NBC-Red: The Guiding Light
4:00
NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

11:00 1:00 2:00

2:00
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NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45

NBC-Red: Midstream

5:30

NBC-Red

5:45

NBC-Red

6:00

CBS: News

Billy and Betty
Little Orphan Annie

9:00
9:00
9:00

6:45

NBC-

7:00

CBS:

NBC-

7:30

CBS:

MBS

NBC-

8:00

CBS:

NBC-

8:30

CBS:

NBC-

NBC-

9:00

CBS:

10:00

CBS:

NBC-

N BO

-Blue: Lowell Thomas

Amos 'n' Andy

Red: Fred Waring's Gang

Blondie

The Lone Ranger
Red: Larry Clinton

Tune-up Time
Red: AL PEARCE

Howard and Shelton
Blue: Magic Key of RCA
Red: Voice of Firestone

LUX THEATER (Ends July 10)

Guy Lombardo

Blue: True or False

Red: The Contented H-ur

Dr. Harry Hagen takes a drink before his program.
Tune-In Bulletin for July 3, 10, 17 and 24!

JULY 3: Ben Bernie and all the lads open
an engagement tonight at the Hotel
Astor — listen on CBS. ... A radio version
of that popular comic strip, Blondie, starts
on CBS tonight at 7:30. . . . George Hall's
orchestra opens at Kennywood Park, Pitts-
burgh— listen on NBC. . . . Larry Clinton
stars in a new program, opening tonight,
on NBC-Red at 7:30, rebroadcast to the
west at 6:30, Pacific time.

July 10: It's too bad, but after tonight's
broadcast the Lux Theater, CBS at 9:00,
starts its summer vacation.

July 17: Walter O'Keefe and Andre
Kostelanetz are being heard on CBS these
warm summer Monday evenings at 8:00.

July 24: For some dinner-time music,
tune in Fred Waring's Gang on NBC-Red
at 7:00.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: True or False,
conducted by Dr. Harry Hagen, on NBC's
Blue network from 10:00 to 10:30, Eastern
Daylight Time, sponsored by Williams
Shaving Cream.

Everybody has his pet quiz program, and
this is the favorite of a good many people.
Its questions are sometimes hard to answer,
but they don't require much explaining.
Dr. Harry simply makes a statement — for
instance, "Napoleon's wife was named
Josephine" — and the contestant has to tell
him and everyone listening in whether the
statement is true or false.

Unlike some quiz programs, True or False
doesn't ask you to send in questions. Dr.
Harry and a few assistants dig up all the
queries themselves, and arrange them in
categories — questions about history, about
science, about the movies, about art and
literature, and so on.

Contestants on True or False are di-

vided into two teams, of six people each,
and the quiz is conducted like on old-time
spelling bee, with contestants stepping
down when they make a mistake. Every-
body on the winning team gets a $5 prize,
while the winning individual, the only per-
son left after everybody else has made a
mistake, gets $25. People on the losing
team get prizes, too. Lately they've been
receiving a set of True or False's "I.Q.
Game," a quiz program which they can
take away and play in their own homes.

It's Dr. Harry's job to see that somebody
wins during the half-hour the program is on
the air. It would be tragic if the questions
were so hard that all the contestants failed
before the air-time was up, and equally
tragic if the questions were so easy more
than one contestant was still in the running
at the end of the half-hour. Only once
since the program has been on the air has
there been a tie. The two teams were in-
vited to return the following week and play
it off.

Sometimes a contestant who fails on a
question writes in to complain that his
answer was really correct. When this hap-
pens Dr. Harry checks the answer with all
known authorities and reference books,
and if the contestant was right, he gets
a prize — $25 if he was on the losing team,
$20 if he was on the winning side, because
in this case he's already received $5. But
usually the contestant is wrong and Dr.
Harry is right, because all questions are
carefully checked beforehand.

Contestants always like Dr. Harry Hagen
for his amiability and comfortable man-
ner, which quickly puts them at their ease.
His real name is Harry Strandhagen; he
has a perfect right to the "Dr."; he's
married, has five children, and lives in
Connecticut.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

JANICE GILBERT — who plays Trixie in Her Honor Nancy
James, Jean Adair (and also a two-year-old baby) in
Hilltop House, Helen Menken's daughter in Second Hus-
band, and Clarabelle Higgins in Doc Barclay's Daughters
— is only sixteen years old — does a number of dialects
and speaks French and Spanish fluently — has brown hair
and blue eyes.

Complete Programs

AUGUST, 1939

43

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6:30

8:30
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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

8:30

NBC-Red: Do You Remember

9:00
8:00 NBC: News

9:05
8:05 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:30
8:30 CBS: Manhattan Mother
8:30 NBC-Red: Family Man

9:45
8:45 CBS: Bachelor's Children
8:45 NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

9:00 CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC-Red: Central City

10:15

9:15 CBS. Myrt and Marge
9:15 NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
9:15 NBC-Red: John's Other Wlte

10:30

9:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45
9:45 CBS: Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah
9:45 NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00

10:00 CBS: Mary Lee Taylor
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

10:15 CBS: Scattergood Baines
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

10:30 CBS: Big Sister

10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

10:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
10:45 NBC-Blue: Getting the Most out ot

Life
10:45 NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon
11:00 NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

12:15 P.M.
11:15 CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
11:15 NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30

11:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
11:30 NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
11:30 NBC-Blue: Where to Look for Help

12:45
11:45 CBS: Our Gal Sunday

1:00
12:00 CBS: The Goldbergs

1:15

12:15 CBS: Life Can be Beautiful
12:15 NBC-Blue: Your Farm Reporter

1:30

12:30 CBS: Road of Life
12:30 NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

1:45

CBS: This Day.is Ours

2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters

NBC- Red: Betty and Bob

2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine

NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

2:45

CBS: When a Girl Marries

NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches

3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

3:15

NBC-Red Ma Perkins

3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone

NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

NBC- Red: Backstage Wife

4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45

NBC- Red: Midstream

5:30

NBC-Red: Billy and Betty

5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00

CBS: News

6:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy

NBC-Blue: Easy Aces

NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang

7:15

CBS: Jimmie Fidler

NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen

NBC-Red: Vocal Varieties

7:30

CBS: HELEN MENKEN

8:00

CBS: BIG TOWN

NBC-Blue: The Inside Story

NBC-Red: Johnny Presents

8:30

CBS: DICK POWELL

NBC-Blue: INFORMATION PLEASE

NBC-Red: For Men Only

9:00

CBS: We, the People

NBC-Blue: Artie Shaw

NBC-Red: Battle of the Sexes

9:30

CBS: Bob Crosby

NBC-Blue: TRUE STORY TIME

NBC-Red: Alec Templeton

10:00

CBS: Hal Kemp

NBC-Blue: If I Had the Chance

NBC-Red: Mr. District Attorney

10:30

CBS: H. V. Kaltenborn

NBC-Red: Uncle Walter's Doghouse

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•if s

s

IGHTS

Publisher Macfadden

Tune-In Bulletin for July 4, 11, 18 and 25!

|ULY 4: Independence Day — fireworks
■^ and oarades and fun! . . . And special
programs on all the networks. . . . On
NBC-Red at 9:30, there's a new musical
show in place of Fibber McGee and Molly
— it stars pianist Alec Templeton, Billy
Mills' orchestra, singer Edna Odell, and
Conrad Nagel as master of ceremonies.
. . . Art Shaw is the star of the Old Gold
program, NBC-Blue at 9:00, for the first
time tonight — Robert Benchley is taking
his vacation. . . . And Bob Crosby's orches-
tra has replaced Benny Goodman's on the
Camel show, CBS at 9:30. . . . CBS broad-
casts the Demoiselle Stakes horse race
from the Aqueduct track.

July II: There's an all-star baseball
game, between the National League and
the American League, on both CBS and
MBS at 2 o'clock this afternoon, E.D.S.T.

July 18: Last chance tonight to hear
one of your favorite programs — Dick
Powell, Martha Raye and Parkyakarkus on
CBS at 8:00.

July 25: For some things you never knew
before — listen to the Inside Story program,
on NBC-Blue at 8:00.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: True Story Time
with Fulton Oursler, sponsored by Mac-
fadden Publications, on NBC-Blue at 9:30.

You're listening to two magazines on
the air, every time you hear True Story
Time. Twenty-five minutes of the half-
hour are given over to a real-life drama
from True Story Magazine, and five
minutes to a capsule presentation of an
article or story from Liberty Magazine.

Fulton Oursler, editor-in-chief of all
Macfadden publications, is the master of
ceremonies and commentator on True Story
Time, introducing the drama, and pointing
out its significance in the light of current
news events.

If you've ever wanted to write for a
radio program, True Story Time gives you
your chance, by a roundabout method.
Every drama heard on the program is
adapted from a story in the current issue
of the magazine — and every story in the
magazine is the true story of some person's
life, written by himself or herself. So if you
write your own story, and it's good enough
to find a place in the pages of True Story
Magazine, the chances are you'll hear it
on the air as well.

The actual radio scripts, however, are
prepared by professional radio authors,
who adapt the original stories to air re-
quirements; and they're enacted on the
air by professional actors. Different casts
are used each week — Oursler, announcer
Ben Grauer, and organist Fred Feibel are
the only people on the show all the time.
Occasionally, Bernarr Macfadden, pub-
lisher of all the magazines bearing his
name, also appears on the program.

This is Oursler's second regular radio
job, besides frequent broadcast appear-
ances as a speaker at banquets and other
occasions. He was a weekly commentator
for Liberty Magazine several years ago.
He rehearses with the rest of the cast
Tuesday afternoon. Besides being one of
the nation's imporant editors, he is famous
as a novelist and playwright — training
that stands him in good stead in present-
ing the dramatic True Stories.

True Story Time comes from NBC's
Studio 3-B in New York — a long, narrow
room with space for about 300 people in
the audience. As with all dramatic pro-
grams, at least a quarter of the stage is
taken up with sound equipment of different
kinds — turntable: for records, doors and
windows to open and close, drums and
whistles, gravel-boxes for the sound man
to walk in, and so forth.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

HELEN FORREST— Artie Shaw's girl vocalist on his Old
Gold program, NBC-Blue at 9:00 tonight. Helen was sing-
ing in a Baltimore night club when Shaw heard her and
hired her, although he had another singer at the time. She
was born in Atlantic City 22 years ago, and took a com-
mercial course in Washington, D. C, but never used it,
becoming a singer instead. Washington voted her its
most popular singer, and gave her as a prize a trip to
any tropical country she chose — but she's never yet
claimed the prize, though she hopes to some day. She
used to sing for Mark Warnow as Bonny Blue.

44

(For Wednesday's Highlights, please turn page)

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

THEY

ty£& ON TODAY'S NEW SKIN CARE

In England, The Lady Rosemary Gresham, daughter of the 21st
Earl of Erroll, has cared for her skin with Pond's since her school
days. She says: "Pond's is as perfect as ever for cleansing'and
softening my skin!"

Montreal — The Hon. Ann Shaughnessy, daughter of
the late Lord Shaughnessy. With English and Ameri-
can sportswomen, she cheers the new skin care — "skin-
vitamin" in Pond's Cold Cream.

CREAM

EXTRA "SKIN-VITAMIN

INTO THEIR SKIN*

Titled English Horsewoman — The

Lady Cynthia Williams, daughter of
the Earl of Guilford, often visits
America — one of many British peer-
esses who praise the new skin care.

In Canada — Mrs. Robert W. Arm-
strong, of Toronto, goes to' Lake
Muskoka for fishing. " 'Skin-vita-
min' in Pond's is an added reason
for banking on this grand cream!"

It's American to skate! Mrs. Nicholas
R. du Pont, of Wilmington, often joins
her friends at a private rink. She has
always used Pond's to give make-up
that winning sparkle.

A Roosevelt smiles from the spring-
board! The former Anne Clark says:
"Now that it's known 'skin-vitamin' is
necessary to skin health, it's great to
have it in Pond's."

*Statements concerning the effects of the "skin-vitamin" applied to the skin are based upon
medical literature and tests on the skin of animals following an accepted laboratory method.

In Britain, in Canada and in the
United States, smart society women are
quick to grasp the meaning of the new
skin care. Vitamin A, the "skin-vitamin"
so necessary to skin health, is now in
every jar of Pond's Cold Cream. Skin
that lacks this vitamin becomes rough
and dry. But when "skin-vitamin" is
restored, it helps make skin soft and
smooth again.

Use Pond's night and morning and
before make-up. Same jars, same labels,
same prices.

^_ Copyright. J939, Pond's Extract Company

AUGUST, 1939

45

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7:00

8:00

8:00

9:00

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC- Red: Hi Boys

8:30

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade

NBC-Red: Do You Remember

9:00

CBS: Richard Maxwell

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:30

CBS: Manhattan Mother

NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

NBC-Red: Central City

10:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

NBC-Blue: Jane Arden

NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Blue: Jack Berch

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00

CBS: It Happened in Hollywood

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

CBS: Scattergood Baines

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
NBC- Red: Road of Life
12:00 Noon

CBS: Mary Margaret McBride
NBC- Red: Carters of Elm Street
12:15 P.M.

CBS: Her Honor Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills
12:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Your Farm Reporter
NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over
1:30

CBS: Road of Life
NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
NBC-Red: Words and Music
1:45

CBS: This Day is Ours
2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Blue: Your Health
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob
2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter
2:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine
NBC- Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

CBS: When a Girl Marries
NBC-Red: Betty Crocker
3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin
3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
3:45

NBC-Red: The Guiding Light
4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas
4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade
4:45

NBC-Red: Midstream
5:30

NBC- Red: Billy and Betty
5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie
6:00
CBS: News

'C'ti^L.'r "" ",.:■":.. 1^,'.;

6:30

CBS:
6:45
NBC
7:00
CBS:
NBC-
NBC-
7:15
NBC-
7:30
MBS:
8:00
CBS:
NBC-
8:30
CBS:
NBC-
NBC-
9:00
NBC-
10:00
NBC-

Bob Trout

Blue: Lowed Thomas

Amos 'n' Andy
Blue: Easy Aces
Red: Fred Waring's Gang

Blue: Mr. Keen

The Lone Ranger

Phil Baker

Red: ONE MAN'S FAMILY

CHESTERFIELD PROGRAM
Blue: Hobby Lobby
Red: Tommy Dorsey

Red: What's My Name

Red: KAY KYSER'S KOLLEGE

Left to right: Morse, Mother, Nicky, Teddy, Jack, Father

Tune-In Bulletin for June 28, July 5. 12, and 19!

JUNE 28: There are an awful lot of final
broadcasts for you to listen to tonight
—The Ask-it-Basket on CBS at 7:30, Gang
Busters on CBS at 8:00, Fred Allen's Town
Hall Tonight on NBC-Red at 9:00, the
Texaco Star Theater on CBS at 9:00, Ed-
gar Guest on CBS at 10:00 — but here's
hoping they'll all be back in the fall.
. . . Joe Louis and Tony Galento fight
in the Yankee Stadium tonight, if all the
sports promoters' plans go through, and
NBC will describe the battle to you.

July 5: What's My Name, a quiz show,
starring Arlene Francis and Fred Uttal,
takes Fred Allen's place on NBC-Red to-
night at 9:00. . . . Phil Baker changes
broadcast time, beginning tonight — from
now on, Wednesdays at 8:00.

July 12: On NBC horserace fans this
afternoon hear the Massachusetts Handi-
cap. . . . Leighton Noble's orchestra starts
an engagement at the Baker Hotel, Dallas,
Texas, tonight, heard on NBC.

July 19: Brush up on your musical knowl-
edge with Kay Kyser's Kollege, on NBC-
Red at 10:00 tonight.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: One Man's
Family, on NBC's Red Network from 8:00
to 8:30 P.M., Eastern Daylight Time, spon-
sored by Tender Leaf Tea. (If you live
in the Pacific Coast time zone, you hear
it, Sunday nights at 8:30.)

This dean of family serials has been on
the air since April 29, 1932, and on the
NBC network since May, 1933. In all that
time it's never changed its theme song,
"Destiny," or its basic cast (although new
players are added as new characters enter
the story); but it has moved from San
Francisco, where it first originated, to
Hollywood, where it is now broadcast from
Studio G in the Hollywood Radio City.

The real boss of One Man's Family never
appears on the air. He is Carlton E.
Morse, who originated the program, and

now writes it, directs it, produces it, and
personally controls the entire production
and cast. Author Morse's word is law
where One Man's Family is concerned, but
he's an easy master and maintains only
a few sets of rules. One is that no member
of the family knows what is going to hap-
pen in the current week's script until the
day of the broadcast. Another is that
there can be no studio audience, and no
visitors ai all allowed during a broadcast.
Morse personally auditions all new players,
and has been known to listen to a hundred
aspirants before finding the right one.

The cast of One Man's Family falls
naturally into the family pattern — in fact,
they all get together every now and then
to have family parties. Minetta Ellen and
J. Anthony Smythe, who play Father and
Mother Barbour, actually made their stage
debuts together in Oakland when they
were very young, and met again for the
first time in years to play the parents in
this story. Other members of the cast
love to call them "Mother" and "Father."

Claudia and Hazel (Kathleen Wilson
and Bernice Berwin) are married to non-
professionals and are the mothers of young
sons. Teddy Barbour and Wayne Grub
(Winifred Wolfe and Jack Edwards) really
attended the same school, Hollywood High
school, and will go to the University of
California together next fall. Paul
(Michael Raffetto) is exactly as his air
fans imagine him, tall and dark, and
Clifford (Barton Yarborough) is tall,
young, and devoted to his "mother,"
Minetta Ellen. Beth Holly (Barbara Jo
Allen) does a good deal of radio work
outside the Family — one of her roles is
that of Phil Harris' girl on the Benny show.
And Jack (Page Gilman) is precisely the
same character he plays on the air. He's
just finishing college, and as a side-line he
maintains a photography business.

46

SAY HELLO TO . . .

ARLENE FRANCIS — as happy a radio entertainer as you
can tune in. Happy because she's one of radio's very
few women stars and she's married and lives in a beau-
tiful country house. You hear her as Judy LaRue in Big
Sister on CBS and as the feminine questioner on that new
NBC show. What's My Name, pinch hitting for Fred Allen.
She was born in Boston, went to a finishing school, then
to the American Academy of Dramatic Art, then to
Europe. At home again, she briefly ran a gift shop before
going into stage work and then radio. Her real name is
Kazanjian. A decided brunette, she is 5Vi feet tall.

(For Thursday's Highlights, please turn page) BADI° AND television mirror

Diana's record would delight any Mother!

First Year: splendid start. ..on clapp's strained foods

"With doctors approving Clapp's so heartily,"
Diana Dann's mother says, "of course Clapp's
Foods were the choice for my baby. And she
loved them— right from the first.

"You know, the Clapp people have worked
with doctors 18 years. They were first to make
baby foods, and they're the only large company
that makes nothing else! So they're experts!"

'Diana just growed, like Topsy," Mrs. Dann
says. "But oh, how she growed! She gained a
pound a month regularly, and when this photo
was taken, she was starting to walk.

"One look, and you knew she was getting
plenty of vitamins and minerals. And for a baby
girl, she had the healthiest little appetite you
ever saw!"

17 VARIETIES

Every food approved by doctors.
Pressure-cooked, smoothly strained
but not too liquid — a real advance
over the_ bottle. Clapp's — first to
make baby foods — has had 18 years'
experience in this field.
Soups — Vegetable Soup • Beef
Broth • Liver Soup • Unstrained Baby
Soup • Strained Beef with Vegetables
Vegetables — Tomatoes • Aspara-
gus • Spinach • Peas • Beets • Car-
rots • Green Beans • Mixed Greens

Fruits — Apricots • Prunes ■ Apple
Sauce

Cereal — Baby Cereal

Toddler Years: picture of health. ..on clapp's chopped foods

"She never had to be coaxed to eat. Not even
when the time came for coarser foods— babies
often get notional then, but not she!

"We promoted her from Strained Foods to
Clapp's Chopped Foods and she loved them
right off. Of course, the flavors were so good and
so much like the Strained, that was why. And
no lumps or stems, as you're bound to have
sometimes in foods cooked at home!"

"There's so much variety in Clapp's! Diana
gets 11 kinds of Chopped Foods. And when she
has one of those new Junior Dinners that com-
bine meat and vegetables and cereals— why, it's
almost a meal in itself.

"Yes, she's really very well-built — she rides a
pony and she can swim. She's real proof that if
you want to do a perfect job of baby-feeding, it
pays to insist on Clapp's!"

11 VARIETIES

More coarsely divided foods for chil-
dren who have outgrown Strained
Foods. Uniformly chopped and sea-
soned, according to the advice of
child specialists. Made by the pio-
neer company in baby foods, the
only one which specializes exclu-
sively in foods for babies and young
children.

Soup — Vegetable Soup

Junior Dinners — Beef with Vege-
tables • Lamb with Vegetables
Liver with Vegetables

Vegetables — Carrots • Spinach
Beets • Green Beans • Mixed Greens

Fruits — Apple Sauce • Prunes

Free Booklets — Send for valuable
information on the feeding of ba-
bies and young children. Write to
Harold H. Clapp, Inc., 777 Mount
Read Blvd., Rochester, N. Y.

CLAPP'S BABY FOODS

STRAINED FOR B A B I E S . . . . C H O P P E D FOR YOUNG CHILDREN

AUGUST. 11)39

47

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4:30

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5:00

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8:00

. 6:00

8:00

9:00

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

8:30

NBC-Red: Do You Remember

9:00

NBC: News

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:30

CBS: Manhattan Mother

NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

NBC- Red: Central City

10:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

NBC-Blue: Jane Arden

NBC-Red: John's Other Wile

10:30

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00

CBS: Mary Lee Taylor

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

NBC- Red: David Harum

11:15

CBS: Scattergood Baines

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out ot

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life
12:00 Noon

NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street
12:15 P.M.

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills
12:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: American Life
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Your Farm Reporter
1:30

CBS: Road of Life
NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
NBC-Red: Words and Music
1:45

CBS: This Day is Ours
2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob
2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter
2:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

CBS: When a Girl Marries
NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches
3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin
3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
3:45

NBC-Red: The Guiding Light
4:00

NBC-Blue: Sunbrite Smile Parade
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
4:15

NBC- Red: Stella Dallas
4:30

NBC-Blue: Rhythm Auction
NBC-Red: Vic and Sade
4:45

NBC-Red:
5:30

NBC- Red:
5:45

CBS: March of Games
NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie
6:00
CBS: News

Midstream
Billy and Betty

6:45

NBC-

7:00

CBS:
NBC-
NBC-
7:15
CBS:
NBC-
NBC-
7:30
CBS:
NBC-
8:00
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8:30
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Blue: Lowell Thomas

Amos 'n' Andy
Blue: Easy Aces
Red: Fred Waring's Gang

Music by Malneck
Blue: Mr. Keen
Red: Vocal Varieties

Joe E. Brown

Blue: Goldman Band

Red: RUDY VALLEE

Blue: It's Up to You
MAJOR BOWES

10:00

NBC-Red: KRAFT MUSIC HALL

v[Trr; ; : - \:iir][X_

Rudy directs the band — and telephones the control room.
Tune-In Bulletin for June 29, July 6, 13 and 20!

JUNE 29: Last show of the season for
Kate Smith— on CBS at 8:00 ... and
when she returns next fall you'll hear her
Friday nights. . . . Harry James, who used
to be Benny Goodman's trumpeter, opens
with his new orchestra tonight at the Rose-
land ballroom in New York — listen to his
broadcasts over NBC and MBS.

July 6: Carl Deacon Moore's orchestra
opens tonight at Lake Breeze Pier, Buckeye,
Ohio, and NBC will broadcast his music
late at night.

July 13: The Professional Golfers Asso-
ciation championship matches begin today
at the Pomonok Country Club. . . . CBS
broadcasts a description, spoken by the
colorful Mr. Husing.

July 20: Bing Crosby's guest star to-
night, on NBC-Red at 10:00, is Movie
star Brian Aherne.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Rudy Vallee
Hour, sponsored by Royal Desserts and
Fleishmann's Yeast, on NBC-Red from 8:00
to 9:00, Eastern Daylight Time.

Next October 24, Rudy Vallee will have
been on the air for ten solid years, all the
time for the same sponsor. Ten years of
uninterrupted weekly broadcasts is some-
thing of a record, particularly when you
consider vacations for Rudy have never
entered into the scheme of things. As a
matter of fact, though, Rudy's temper is
better now than when he began broad-
casting in 1929. He still is apt to make
a scathing remark or two, if things aren't
going right in rehearsal, but not as fre-
quently as he used to.

The Vallee broadcasts come from NBC's
big studio 8-H, in Radio City — and will
continue to originate there until this fall,
when Rudy will move back to Hollywood
for a while. It's the largest studio in the
building, seating about 1400 people. Rudy
helped NBC in designing this studio, but

when it was finished discovered that he
didn't like to use it, preferring the smaller
8-G. Until recently he steadfastly re-
fused to do his broadcast from 8-H, but
finally the demand for tickets to the studio
audience forced him to give in.

At rehearsals and during the broadcast,
Rudy has a telephone on his music stand,
connected with the control booth, and talks
over it constantly, checking up on tonal
balance. Another gadget he'd like to use,
but can't, is a system of red and green
lights of his own invention. It consists of
a red and a green light on the micro-
phone. If a singer or actor is standing
too close to the mike, the red light flashes;
if too far away, the green one comes on.
If he's just right, neither light is burning.
Rudy thinks this would do away with the
frequent necessity of having an engineer
come out and push or pull an inexperi-
enced actor closer or farther away from
the mike. But engineers don't agree with
him — they think the strain of watching
the lights would throw people off and
make them lose their places in their
scripts — and so Rudy has never been able
to get his lights installed.

There's only one day of rehearsal for
the Vallee Hour, but it's a busy one, last-
ing all of Thursday; and other prepara-
tions go on for a week or more before
each broadcast. Rudy has his own office,
where he auditions talent and reads dra-
matic scripts. Well-established stage
stars, big names in the theater, often
have to go through the ordeal of audi-
tioning before they are accepted for the
Vallee Hour. Rudy has two secretaries,
one to stay in the office and one to ac-
company him to rehearsals and broad-
casts. The office secretary is a Vallee
fixture, Mrs. Marjorie Diven, who has been
with him for ten years and manages all
his business affairs.

48

SAY HELLO TO . . .

ELIZABETH RELLER — who adds to your radio pleasure in
the role of Connie in the CBS serial, Doc Barclay's Daugh-
ters. Elizabeth, though born only in 1913, has been an
announcer, has played the part of Betty in Betty and Bob,
has studied for two years at Royal Academy of Dramatic
Art in London, and has appeared in some of New York's
bigger stage productions. December fourth is her birth-
date, Richmond, Indiana, her home, Swarfhmore her col-
lege. Everything Elizabeth does is marked by a stubborn
refusal to accept defeat, though success should come easily
to anyone with her beautiful brown hair and blue eyes.

( For Friday's Highlights, please turn page) RADI° AND television mirroh

Hazel-eyed girls, like Jean Parker

THE HAL ROACH
PRODUCTION

ZENOBIA

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Please send sample Marvelous Matched

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City-

_State_

august, 1939

49

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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

9:00

CBS: Richard Maxwell

NBC: News

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:30

CBS: Manhattan Mother

NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

NBC- Red: Central City

10:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

NBC-Blue: Jane Arden

NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00

CBS: It Happened in Hollywood

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

CBS: Scattergood Baines

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life

NBC-Red: Road of Life
12:00 Noon

CBS: Mary Margaret McBride
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street
12:15 P.M.

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills
12:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: At Home in the World
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Your Farm Reporter
NBC-Red: Let's Talk It Over
1:30

CBS: Road of Life
NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
NBC-Red: Words and Music
1:45

CBS: This Day is Ours
2:00

CBS: DocjBarclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob
2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter
2:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

CBS: When a Girl Marries
NBC-Red: Betty Crocker
3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin
3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
3:45

NBC-Red: The Guiding Light
4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
4:15

NBC- Red: Stella Dallas
4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade
4:45

NBC-Red: Midstream
5:30

NBC-Red: Billy and Betty
5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie
6:00
CBS: News

6:45
NBC
7:00
CBS:
NBC-
7:15
NBC-
7:30
MBS
7:45
CBS:
8:00
CBS:
NBC-
8:30
( US:
9:00
CBS:
NBC-
NBC
9:30
NBC
10:00
CBS:
NBC-
10:30
CBS:

Blue: Lowell Thomas

Amos 'n' Andy

Red: Fred Waring's Gang

Red: Jimmie Fidler

The Lone Ranger

The Waring Family

FIRST NIGHTER

Red: Cities Service Concert

Johnny Presents

99 Men and a Girl
Blue: Plantation Party
Red: Waltz Time

-Red: Death Valley Days

Grand Central Station
Red: Lady Esther Serenade

Bob Ripley

r

Ruth Warwick, Erik Rolf and Helen Claire at Grand Central.
Tune-In Bulletin for June 30, July 7, 14 and 21!

JUNE 30: At 4:15 this afternoon, CBS
*» broadcasts the Suburban Handicap
horse race from Belmont Park. . . . Nat
Brandwynne and his orchestra open to-
night at the Ritz Carlton, Atlantic City,
with a Mutual wire to your loudspeaker.
. . . Howie Wing, CBS at 6:15, and Lum
and Abner, CBS at 7:15, give their last
broadcasts of the season tonight. . . .
Johnny Presents, formerly heard on CBS
at 8:00 on Saturdays, changes tonight to
8:30, Fridays, same network.

July 7: There's a new program for you
tonight, a serial called The Waring Family,
featuring stage and movie star Leon
Janney. Sponsored by Woodbury Soap,
it's on CBS from 7:45 to 8:00, with a re-
broadcast reaching the West at 8:00.

July 14: Second day of the Professional
Golfers' tournament — on CBS. . . . Artie
Shaw opens at the Eastwood Gardens —
also CBS.

July 21: Russ Morgan's orchestra opens
at the Casa Manana in Fort Worth —
listen on CBS.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Grand Central
Station, sponsored by Listerine, on CBS
at 10:00, Eastern Daylight Time.

The hero — and the villain — of this dra-
matic show is a huge pile of steel and
concrete that sits squarely in the middle
of the intersection of Park Avenue and
Forty-second Street in New York City. In
other words, Grand Central Station itself.
Nobody connected with the program re-
members now who first thought of using
this "crossroads of the world" as the theme
for a series of dramas, but whoever it was,
he was a smart fellow.

Every show is complete in itself — it's not
a serial. But each little half-hour drama
begins in Grand Central Station, picks up
a group of characters, and follows them
out of the station to their destinations.

Different people write the stories broad-
cast on Grand Central Station, and dif-
ferent people act in most of the casts.
Some of the regular actors, however,
heard from time to time, are Parker Fen-
elly, Erik Rolf, Ruth Warwick (who is Mrs.
Rolf), Helen Claire (now that she's no
longer starring in the Broadway play,
"Kiss the Boys Goodbye"), Arline Black-
burn (who also plays Pretty Kitty Kelly in
the serial of that name), Florence Ma-
lone and Martin Gabel.

The people connected with the program
are proud of a letter that came in from
a lawyer, asking to see a copy of a par-
ticular script that dealt with divorce and
its effects on children. He wanted to
show it to one of his clients who was con-
templating divorce, because the situation
in the script so closely parallelled his
client's real-life problem. His request was
granted, and later he wrote in to say that
the client had decided against the divorce
and was once more living happily with
her husband.

The program doesn't have a studio audi-
ence, and comes from CBS' Studio three,
on the 21st floor of its building in New
York. A sound-effect used on every pro-
gram is the long-drawn-out whistle of a
train, and hardly a week passes that a
listener doesn't write in to protest that
trains coming into Grand Central Station
don't use that kind of whistle — don't use
any whistle at all, in fact. The producer
of the show has a stock answer which he
sends to all train-whistle-complainers, ex-
plaining that they're quite right, but a
whistle is a good sound effect and is only
used for atmosphere.

One of radio's few feminine production
"men" is assigned to Grand Central Sta-
iton by CBS. Her name is Betsy Tuthill,
and her job is to see that the program
runs smoothly.

50

SAY HELLO TO . . .

LILYAN PERRON — much better known as Honey, for she's
the girl in Fred Waring's novelty trio, Two Bees and a
Honey, on NBC-Red at 7:00 tonight. Fred discovered Lil-
yan and her two partners in the trio, Hal Kanner and
Murray Kane, in the College Inn, Chicago — the same place
where he first heard Donna Dae, another of his featured
singers. Lilyan was brought up in Fall River, Mass., by
a mother who was a vocal teacher and wanted her daugh-
ter to sing classics — but Lilyan showed a decided prefer-
ence for the swing variety of music. In private life's she's
engaged to NBC's popular announcer, Gilbert Martin.

(For Saturday's Highlights, please ium page) BADI° AND television mirrok

PUT THE

BEE

ON YOUR SPELLING

ARE you a champion speller? — or do
ZA you just wish you were ? In either
* * case, here's a list of words that
will give you some uneasy moments be-
fore you get the correct spelling.
They're supplied by Paul Wing, Master
of the NBC Spelling Bee, broadcast
every Sunday afternoon at 5:30 E.D.
S.T., and sponsored by the makers of
Energine.

Only one of the three suggested
spellings is the right one. Mark the
words you think are correct, then turn
to page 80 for the answers.

1. Passtime — pastime — pasttime.

Amusement; recreation.

2. Inflorescence — infloressence — in-
flourescence. The budding and unfolding
of blossoms.

3. Frezia — freezia — freesia. A sweet-
scented plant of the iris family.

4. Drivel — drivvle — drivvel. Foolish
talk; twaddle.

5. Reddingcoat — redingote — reddin-
gote. A long outside coat now usually
worn by women.

6. Paragoric — paregoric — pera-
goric. A medicine that mitigates pain.

7. Ipecac — ipicac — ipacack. Dried
roots of a South American plant used as
medicine.

8. Unemployabillity — unemploy eabil-
ity — unemployability. The quality of
being unemployable.

9. Separator — seperator — separater.

An apparatus for separating cream
from milk.

10. Osserb — acerb — ascerb. Sour or
bitter to the taste; sharp and harsh.

11. Hobbnobbed — hobnobed — hob-
nobbed. Associated familiarly.

12. Antimacassar — antemacassar —
antimacasser. A cover to protect the
back or arms of a chair, sofa, etc.

13. Digitallis — digitalis — digitalus.

The dried leaf of the purple foxglove —
used principally in diseases of the heart.

14. Belladona — beladonna — bella-
donna. The mild narcotic made from the
leaves of the plant, "the deadly night-
shade."

15. Aconite — acconite — accanite.

An extract or tincture from certain
plants, used as a sedative.

16. Deserts — desserts — disserts. In

the United States, sweets served at the
close of meals.

17. Mascarah — mascarra — mascara.

A preparation used for coloring the eye-
lashes.

18. Homesteader — homsteader —
homestedder. In the United States, one
who has entered upon or acquired a
homestead under provision of homestead
laws.

19. Toridity — torridity — torriddity.

The state of being parched.

20. Naiaids — naiaads — naiads. The

nymphs believed to live in lakes, rivers,
springs, and fountains.

AUGUST, 1939

TOM orTESS
—who's to blame?

HIS PEEVE: "My appearance can make me or break me in my job — and I'm
sick and tired of going around in shirts that are full of tattle-tale gray."

HER PEEVE: "I work like blazes. Why blame me if my washes simply luon't look
white?" . . . And the truth of it is, she does try hard. It's her weak-kneed soap
that dawdles in the tub and leaves dirt sticking in the clothes. What she needs
is a livelier, peppier soap. Fels-Naptha — the soap that gets out all the dirt.

HAPPY SOLUTION: If tattle-tale gray is your husband's peeve, too — take this
wise little tip. Get Fels-Naptha at your grocer's and give its richer golden soap
and lots of gentle naptha a chance at your wash. You'll get the snowiest clothes
you ever pinned on a line. Every shirt, every towel, every romper just sparkling
clean and sweet! You'll get compliments from him, and never another complaint!

COPR. 1939, FELS a CO.

Banish "Tattle-Tale Gray" with Fels-Naptha Soap

TUNE IN HOBBY LOBBY every Wednesday night. See local paper for time and station.

51

8:00
8:00

8:30
8:30
8:30

9:15

9:30
9:30

10:00
10:00
10:00

10:30
10:30

11:00
11:30
12:00
12:30
, 1:30
1:45

2:00
2:00

2:05
2:05

2:30
2:30
2:30

3:00
3:00
3:00

4:30
4:30
8:00

8:00
7:00

5:30
5:45
6:00
6:30

a

8:15
8:15

8:30
8:30

8:45
8:45

9:00
9:00
9:00

10:00
10:00

10:30
10:30
10:30

11:30
11:30

12:00
12:00
12:00

12:30
12:30

1:00
1:30
2:00
2:30
3:30
3:45

4:00
4:00

4:05
4:05

4:30
4:30
4:30

5:00
5:00
5:00

5:30
5:30

6:30
6:30
6:30

7:00
7:00
7:00

7:30
7:45

8:00
8:30

52

8:05
8:05

8:15
8:15

8:25
8:45

9:00
9:00
9:00

9:15
9:15

9:s0
9:30

9:45
9:45

10:00
10:00
10:00

11:00
1:00

11:30
11:30
11:30

12:30
12:30

1:00
1:00
1:00

1:30
1:30

2:00
2:30
3:00
3:30
4:30
4:45

5:00
5:00

5:05
5:05

5:30
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5:30

6:00
6:00
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6:30
6:30

7:30
7:30
7:30

8:00
8:00
8:00

8:30
8:45
9:00
9:30

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A. M.

NBC-Blue: Cloutier's Orch.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC-Blue: Dick Leibert

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

8:30

NBC-Red Musical Tete-a-tete

8:45

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade

9:00

NBC: News

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

NBC-Red: Texas Robertson

9:15

CBS: Sunny Melodies

NBC-Red: Cloutier's Orch.

9:25

CBS: Newj

9:45

NBC-Red: The Crackerjacks

10:00

CBS: Hill Billy Champions
NBC-Blue: Morin Sisters
NBC-Red: The Wise Man

10:15

NBC-Blue: Amanda Snow

NBC-Red: No School Today

10:30

NBC-Blue: Barry McKinley

NBC-Red: Florence Hale

10:45

NBC-Blue: The Child Grows Up

NBC-Red: Armchair Quartet

11:00

CBS: Symphony Concert

NBC-Blue: Music Internationale

NBC-Red: Music Styled for You

11:30

NBC-Blue: Our Barn

12:00 Noon

NBC-Blue: Education Forum

NBC-Red: Manhattan Melodies

12:30 P.M.
CBS: Let's Pretend
NBC-Blue: Farm Bureau
NBC-Red: Call to Youth

1:15

NBC-Red: Calling Stamp Collectors

1:30

NBC-Blue: Little Variety Show

NBC-Red: Campus Notes

2:00

CBS: Poetic Strings

NBC-Blue: Morton Franklin Orch.

NBC-Red: Kinney Orch

2:30

NBC-Blue: Slavonic Serenade

NBC-Red: Matinee in Rhythm

3:00

NBC-Red: Golden Melodies

3:30

NBC-Blue: Cosmopolitan Melodies

4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

4:30

NBC-Red: Southwestern Stars

5:30

CBS:

What Price America

5:45

NBC-Red: Three Cheers

6:00

CBS: News

NBC-Red: Kaltenmeyer Kinder-
garten

6:05

CBS: Dance Orchestra

NBC-Blue: El Chico Revue

6:30

CBS: All Hands on Deck
NBC-Blue: Renfrew of the Mounted
NBC-Red: Art of Living

7:00

CBS: Americans at Work
NBC-Blue: Message of Israel
NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

7:30

CBS: County Seat

NBC-Blue: Uncle Jim's Question Bee

8:30

CBS: Columbia Workshop
NBC-Blue: Brent House
NBC-Red: Avalon Time

9:00

CBS: YOUR HIT PARADE
NBC-Blue: National Barn Dance
NBC-Red: Vox Pop

9:30

NBC-Red: Hollywood Today

9:45

CBS: Saturday Night Serenade

10:00

NBC-Red: Arch Oboler's Plays

10:30

NBC-Red: Benny Goodman

S. " 5

The Breakfast Club's Don McNeill, Evelyn Lynne, Jack Baker.

Tune-In Bulletin for July 1, 8, 15 and 22!

JULY I: Just about tonight, watch for the
Hit Parade to change time, to 9:00 in-
stead of 10:00, with a rebroadcast reach-
ing the West at 8:00. ... On CBS at
4:15 this afternoon, listen to a description
of the Gazelle Handicap from the Aque-
duct track.

July 8: Another horse race, on CBS,
from Aqueduct — the Fleetwing Handicap,
with a $5000 purse— listen at 4:15, E.D.S.T.

July 15: It's the final day of the Profes-
sional Golfers' tournament, and Ted
Husing will broadcast the play on CBS.
. . . For the horseracing fans, the Empire
City Handicap, also on CBS.

July 22: The Saturday horse race: The
Butler Handicap, on CBS from 4:15 to
4:45.

ON THE AIR TODAY: The Breakfast Club,
with Don McNeill as master of cere-
monies, on NBC's Blue network every day
except Sunday from 9:05 to 10:00 A. M.,
Eastern Daylight Time.

The general notion is that broadcasting
is nice work if you can get it — something
that's emphatically not true in the case of
the Breakfast Club. How'd you like to
have the task of getting to a radio studio,
rain or shine, at eight o'clock or even
earlier every morning (the program comes
from Chicago, and nine o'clock Eastern
time is eight o'clock Chicago time) and
waking up the listening world with a smile?
Some of the performers live in suburban
Chicago, which means climbing out of
bed around six in order to arrive on time.

The Breakfast Club's orchestra has two
leaders, Walter Blaufuss and Rex Maupin,
who conduct their men on different days.
With Jack Baker, tenor, and Evelyn Lynne,
girl vocalist, they spend the half-hour be-
fore air-time in going over the musical
numbers. The spoken lines on the Break-
fast Club are never rehearsed — all those

wise-cracks are spontaneous, and are de-
livered for the first time just as you hear
them on the air.

The genial Don McNeill, master of cere-
monies, arrives a few minutes before the
show goes on the air. Don, besides being
in the program, has the responsibility of
planning it and keeping it moving, for the
Breakfast Club is unique among broad-
casts in that it has no network director on
hand, working behind the scenes, timing
and overseeing. All that work is left up
to Don, and he does it well. The only re-
striction placed on him is that he must file
the names of musical numbers and poems
to be used on the air, so the network can
"clear" them — that is, get permission to
broadcast them.

Visitors are allowed to watch the broad-
cast, but because of the early hour, only
a few are ever present. Here's what you'd
see if you were one of those few: Don at
a table microphone, surrounded by his
books of poems and bits of homely philoso-
phy which he reads as the broadcast pro-
gresses. Jack Baker and Evelyn Lynne
singing at a. second microphone at the
side of the orchestra — or leaving it to
join Don at the table and swap jokes
with him there. The whole cast talks about
anything that comes to their minds, along
lines generally planned by Don. If some-
body thinks of something funny, he says it
— and hopes he'll get a laugh.

The Breakfast Club was originated in
October, 1932, and has grown into NBC's
best-loved sustaining program. People are
always writing in to Don and the others
on the show; and Don encourages them to
send in poems, jokes, requests, philosophic
sayings, or anything they'd like to have
read or performed on the air. Holidays
always cause a flood of mail — in April and
May Don got more than 300 different
poems about Mothers' Day.

1

SAY HELLO TO . . .

HEDDA HOPPER— famous as deWolf Hopper's fifth wife,
as a stage and movie star, as a columnist — but of im-
portance now to radio listeners because she is Portia
Brent in Brent House, that Saturday evening half hour over
NBC-Blue. Born in Pittsburgh, Hedda began stage work as
soon as school work and scored hit after hit — then mar-
riage to famous deWolf Hopper, father of her son Bill,
strapping six footer and himself an actor these days.
Hedda went to Hollywood after a divorce in the early
1920's for film success. Now, near middle age, she is a
gracious example of how to lose youth gracefully.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Pretty Kitty Kelly

(Continued from page 32)

Isaac Hamish said steadily. He walked
forward and put the muzzle of the gun
into Mr. Andrews' stomach. "Now,
Mr. Andrews, I must really ask you to
leave. We will conclude our business
in the next room — if you don't mind."

Mr. Andrews breathed heavily. A
purplish flush came into his cheeks.
He stared for a moment angrily into
Hamish's eyes, then turned, and
walked slowly out of the room.
Hamish followed, keeping the gun at
his back. The door slammed shut.

"You little — !" Dr. Orbo's voice was
a guttural bellow of rage. He seized
her by the throat, maniacal anger dis-
torting his face. "I'll teach you to
keep quiet!"

A ROUGH gag was thrust into her
mouth, bound there with strips of
cloth. With one giant hand he held
her in the chair, while with the other
he wound a rope about her body,
tying it so tightly it cut into her
flesh. She was suffocating. From far,
far away she could hear a shrill
whine in the night — the whine of the
lighted discs still whirling around.

The whine was coming closer. It
was filling her ears. What was hap-
pening? Out in the hall, the bell be-
gan to ring again and again. Foot-
steps were pounding, running around
the house. Somebody was beating
against the front door.

Abruptly Dr. Orbo released his grip,
sprang for the door. She slumped in
the chair, half fainting from the pain
of her bonds. He peered through the
crack, then with an oath, seized his
machine, and crashed his way through
the kitchen window. There was a
sharp tinkle of broken glass, the wild
flapping of the shade, as the wind and
rain rushed in through the hole he
had made.

Then the door burst open, and
Michael rushed in, and caught her in
his arms.

"Kitty!" His voice broke in a sob
of relief. "Kitty — my darling! I — I've
found you!"

His arms, so warm, so strong, so
safe, enfolded her. She sank into his
embrace, feeling his cheek all wet
with rain, his lips against her own.

The kitchen began to fill with peo-
ple— policemen. Inspector Grady, doc-
tors, Mr. Andrews, Michael — even
Bunny and Slim. And in the center of
the room, handcuffed, his sallow face
tied up in a bloody bandage, was
Isaac Hamish. He was ghastly pale,
swaying on his feet. Inspector Grady
plumped him into a chair and stood
over him. At first Kitty was barely
aware of what was going on; then the
buzzing in her ears faded away, and
she heard Inspector Grady say:

"And so that's why you kidnapped
her! So you could get her to sign this
stock certificate, and sell the whole
business to this — Mr. Andrews here."

Hamish nodded his head.

The Inspector turned to Mr.
Andrews.

"Is it true that you were negotiat-
ing with this man for these shares?"
he asked. Mr. Andrews bit his lip.

"Yes — I was," he admitted. "Or
rather, my agent here, Michael Con-
way was — negotiating with Dr. Orbo
for them. They represent a controlling
interest in a firm I have always
wanted to hold. But I — I never be-
lieved there was anything crooked
(Continued on page 79)

AUGUST, 1939

Does Body odor qive you

INFERIORITY COMPLEX?

Before you use any soap to overcome body odor, smell
the soap! Then you'll decide to bathe in the costly per-
fume of Cashmere Bouquet Soap — the fragrance men love!

A MAN'S love turns on such unexpected
things! Just when you think he's yours,
something happens to transform your confi-
dence into confusion.

Nine times out of ten you blame the you
that is deep in you. Your whole personality
goes vacant and hopeless.

But, such disillusionments should only be
temporary. Too bad, most women take them
deeply to heart, when the trouble can be so
easily avoided. It's too big a price to pay for
ignoring this secret of arming yourself with
loveliness.

Yes, go by the "smell test*' when you buy
soap to overcome body odor. Trust no soap
for body odor until you smell the soap itself
for daintiness.

Instinctively, you will prefer the costly
perfume of Cashmere Bouquet. For Cash-
mere Bouquet is the only fragrance of its kind
in the world, a secret treasured by us for

years. It's a fragrance men love! A fragrance
with peculiar affinity for the senses of men.

Massage each tiny ripple of your body
daily with this delicate, penetrating lather!
Glory in the departure of unwelcome body
odor!

Thrill as your senses are kissed by Cash-
mere Bouquet's exquisite perfume! Be ra-
diant, and confident to face the world!

You'll love this creamy-white soap for
complexion, too! Its gentle, caressing lather
removes dirt and cosmetics so thoroughly,
and leaves skin smooth and radiant.

So buy Cashmere Bouquet Soap before
you bathe tonight. Get three cakes at the
special price featured everywhere.

3 for 25*

Wherever finer
soaps are sold

Cashmere

Bouquet Soap

53

SURPRISE

him with extra-tasty
summer meals

— quick and easy to fix

• Tempt listless summer appetites but don't
spend long hot hours in the kitchen cooking!
Save work with Franco-American Spaghetti.
Serve it as main or side dish. Combine with
other foods. Give it to the youngsters for
lunch. It's a wonderful energy-builder. And
how everybody loves its tasty, tangy cheese-
and-tomato sauce made with eleven different
ingredients! Only 10c a can — order today!

r&

out

^0t

Use your regular hash recipe but add Franco-
American Spaghetti to chopped meat instead
of potatoes. The sauce gives a wonderful flavor.

Make nests of hot Franco- American Spaghetti.
Fill with cooked peas, top with strips of crisp
bacon. Deliciously tasty and appetizing.

Bring on a platter of cold cuts and a big dish
of piping hot Franco-American Spaghetti and
watch it disappear. Another time, serve poached
eggs in spaghetti nests. They'll make a big hit.

Franco-American

SPAGHETTI

MADE BY THE MAKERS OF CAMPBELL'S SOUPS

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Camden, New Jersey. Please send me your free recipe

book: "30 Tempting Spaghetti Meals."

Name (print).

Addr

City_

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This Must Be Love

(Continued from page 11)

Fowler, a small community on the
outskirts of Fresno. Those memories
were indelible. Fowler had meant the
greatest thing ever to come into her
life — Dad and mother bought a piano.

She played with Annes and Marys
and Margies and most of them took
piano lessons, too. But they meant
more to her. There was something
about the black and white of the
keys that held a fascination for her.
Her parents, too, recognized a peculiar
touch, a feeling — as old as music — in
their daughter whose legs were hardly
long enough yet to reach the pedals.

The piano was her life. As she
banged out her exercises, she accom-
panied herself with a thin childish
soprano which began to ripen with the
years into a contralto.

She was seventeen when she entered
Fresno State College. She knew now
what she wanted to do with her life.
She would specialize in music and
then, some day, she'd be able to teach
it. Already she had begun to prepare
for her teaching, when the events that
were to change her life began.

SHE joined a sorority and made
friends immediately with two girls
who thought, too, that a voice was the
greatest inheritance given them. To-
gether, they formed a new harmony
trio. And soon Fresno and all sur-
rounding communities came to know
them as the "Triad In Blue." The
girls were good. Ginny knew they
were. They used all their spare time
singing at sorority and fraternity af-
fairs and at whatever clubs and res-
taurants would hire them.

Summer vacation came, and the
Triads went to Los Angeles. They
spent the weeks getting auditions,
singing over local radio stations.
Ginny was driving herself — she knew
somehow that much Jay before her.
September returned and brought a
new semester at college. But the
months seemed to leap ahead and it
was summer again. Ginny had made
up her mind once more. She was
eighteen now — determined to leave
school and do something with her
voice.

The Triads had planned well for
this second summer. They arrived in
Los Angeles with smart blue gowns,
unusual vocal arrangements for the
trio — and a new kind of confidence.
Ginny's spirit had transmitted itself.
The managers heard something be-
sides voices when the girls auditioned
at a beach club. When they were
signed, Ginny knew the time had
come.

The trio clicked — and so did she.
She had begun to step out occasionally
from the three-part harmony and
command attention with her solos.
But finally, the engagement was over.
Ginny, a little down-hearted, was not
quite sure which way to turn next.
Again, though, something happened —
the management asked Ginny to audi-
tion as a soloist. If she were success-
ful, she could stay on alone. Her
partners insisted that she try. Both
were returning to school — but if sing-
ing were to be Ginny's career, here
was her one chance.

Her mind was made up. She selected
just one song. A tune called "I Got A
Right To Sing The Blues." The most
important song I ever sang, Ginny
thinks now. If she hadn't sung it well,

54

she would never have been hired. She
would never have met Kay. She
would never have been sitting at the
piano in that small Santa Monica
office, singing for him.

. . . She had finished her song now.
She lifted her fingers from the keys
and turned around to face Kay. He
smiled again and then spoke in that
lazy southern voice of his:

"Miss Simms, I think you're darned
good — with plenty of promise. If I
could afford it, I'd hire you myself.
But I can't. I'll recommend you to
Bailey — and I'm sure he'll be able to
do something for you."

And then he said (shyly, if I know
Kay) , "Would you like to go to a foot-
ball game with me?" and Kay and
Ginny began going to football games
together. And those dates were not
to discuss business.

But then it was time — all too soon —
for Kay and his orchestra to head east.
But he had done his work. A spark
had been struck and it was to grow.
If he had failed to discover the prom-
ise and warmth which lay beneath
the inexperience and nervousness he
first found in Ginny's voice, both their
lives might have been changed. But it
was Kay who discovered what Ginny
had and sent her on and up until the
swinging cycle brought her back to
him.

Because of his recommendation,
Bailey was able to place her with a
trio on a Guy Lombardo program
while Guy was touring the' West. From
there on, the way was almost easy.
She joined Tom Gerun's band in San
Francisco and began the life of an
orchestra vocalist. She left California
with the Gerun organization to go to
New Orleans. The months slipped by
— almost as America's towns slipped
by the orchestra's bus and train win-
dows. New Orleans to Texas. Texas
to Denver. Denver and back to the
West Coast. And then it was almost
January, 1935, and Virginia Simms
was in Chicago singing at the French
Casino with Tom Gerun's band.

THERE were nights when the late-
' stayers could notice a straw-haired
bespectacled young man slip into a
seat at a Casino table. He'd leave
work at the nearby Blackhawk to
listen to Ginny sing. It was Kay, of
course. He was able to afford a girl
vocalist now. Ginny was where she
had wanted to be a year and a half
before. And the man who had gone
to the University of North Carolina to
become a lawyer and the girl who had
started out to be a school-teacher
met again — off the beaten track.

The rise of Kay and his band
seemed to coincide oddly with Ginny's
arrival. The Fall of 1937 saw the be-
ginning of the "Musical Class and
Dance" idea. From there on it was
easy sailing into the big-money ranks.
As Kay's fame increased, so did
Ginny's. As they grew, so grew the
Strange Case of the Kay Kyser-Ginny
Simms Romance. The Case began on
that January day, four years ago,
when Ginny joined Kay. It became
more and more intriguing. I kept
hearing tales of how Kay would never
permit photographers to take cheap,
over-glamorous pictures of his girl
singer. I was told that Kay had ar-
ranged for his own recording company
to issue records bearing the label

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

"Ginny Simms and her Orchestra."

I heard that they were secretly
married, because their rooms at the
Hotel Pennsylvania in New York,
where the orchestra was playing, were
very close together. And then found
that Ginny's mother lives with her
and accompanies her constantly —
cross-country and back.

But the Case continued to grow.
I determined to solve it — yet Kay and
Ginny have steadily refused to discuss
their relationship with anyone. They
had never talked to a reporter-detec-
tive about it — either to affirm or deny
their romance. I knew that — and I
knew I was on the trail when they
agreed to see me. For the first
time, they had consented to see a
writer. . . . Love-detectives — are you
ready?

When I entered his hotel living-
room, Kay was there alone. He was
wearing his tuxedo pants and an old
tweed jacket. I had already felt the
full force of his ingratiating person-
ality when Ginny knocked and en-
tered. Her gay yellow evening gown
swept the floor. She was lovely that
evening. They looked at each other.
I looked at both of them. Any man
could well be envious of Kay. This
must be the girl to whom Kay's moth-
er referred when she said: "I wish
he were married so some one could
take care of him."

I had my clues well in hand. I
needed just two more pieces of evi-
dence to solve the case. Ginny, an-
swering for both of them, took care
of the first part missing from our
puzzle:

"One thing definite — we are not
married. To say that we are is a com-
pliment. But we are not."

Then they looked at each — and I
(just a trifle embarrassed) said: "Are
you in love?" And Kay began to talk:

WHEN I first met Ginny, I thought
girl singers were a form of in-
sanity. But Ginny had something I had
never been able to discover in any
other girl vocalist. She had sincerity
above everything else — not only in
her voice but in everything. Her way
of expressing herself may still have
been a little green — but she had
a great deal more. A sincerity, an
expression and — yes — a soul in her
voice.

"Now, she has everything. To me
she is the nicest companion anyone
could ever ask for. We're seen to-
gether because there is no one else
I'd rather be with. That is one phase
of our relationship. The other? Ginny
is the greatest singer of popular songs
in America! I don't mean just the
best band-singer — but the best of all
popular singers."

Ginny blushed a little and looked at
Kay — again.

"That feeling is mutual — except
that Frances Langford is my own fa-
vorite singer.

"We thoroughly enjoy each other's
company. For laughs and companion-
ship and real fun I'd rather be with
Kay than anyone else I know."

Kay stood up. Here was the last bit
of evidence:

"If it isn't Ginny, it is certainly no
other woman."

I gathered my hat and coat. I
thought I had the solution to this
most strange case. My mind was made
up.

You want to know the solution?

Why, I thought you were love-de-
tectives, too!

AUGUST, 1939

Realize Your Dream
of Thrilling Hair!

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GLANCE around you where smart peo-
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women with plain features are actually
considered beautiful!

Hair can do wonders for a woman if
she gives it a chance. It can seem to make
a round face take on lines of classic beauty.
Give fullness and youth to faces that may
be a trifle too angular. Yes, hair can re-
flect exotic over-tones in your eyes and
your complexion.

But to reap this reward you must let the
natural beauty of your hair come forth.
You see, many old-style shampoos so often
leave an unrinsable film of soap or oil to
actually dull the hair and cover up its
natural brilliance. That's why women
used to need a lemon or vinegar rinse.
Why your hair so often looked dull and
dead, stringy and unmanageable.

How lucky for all women that a scien-
tist made this discovery now in Halo
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Here at last is the ideal shampoo for
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any need for lemon or vinegar rinse. How
silky-soft and manageable it leaves even
"wild" hair. How clean and fragrant your
scalp, without irritation. In fact, even
loose, flaky dandruff is safely removed.

So buy Halo Shampoo from any drug,
department or ten-cent store in the 10c,
50c or $1.00 size. It is approved by
Good Housekeeping Bureau. If a trial
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REVEALS THE BEAUTY HIDING IN YOUR HAIR

55

ree

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rom

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n
arching

• If you want lips of siren
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Coty "Sub-Deb" does double duty. It gives
your lips ardent color. But— it also helps to
protect lips from lipstick parching. It helps
lips to look moist and lustrous.

This Coty benefit is partly due to "Theo-
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WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?

The voice of Patricia Rogers Ryan of the NBC
serial, Girl Alone, is Betty Winkler's, above.

EL-O-KEW-SHUN classes" at a very
early age are, to a large extent,
responsible for Betty Winkler's charm-
ing radio voice. And "el-o-kew-shun"
is just the way she pronounced it when
she preferred it to kindergarten.

Miss Winkler as Patricia, is heard on
the program, Girl Alone, on the air
every Monday through Friday at 4:45
p.m. on the NBC Red Network.

Betty was born April 19, 1914, at
Berwick, Penna., and because she was
so preoccupied with her dramatic les-
sons, when she was eight years old,
did not quite realize the honor be-
stowed upon her when Bernie Cum-
mings, then a young and struggling
band leader, chose her to sing with
his band at a charity affair.

Attended school in Akron and later
in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Made her ap-
pearance on the professional stage
when she was seventeen and her radio
debut a year later.

Miss Winkler is five feet three
inches and usually wears tailored
clothes. Devotes much of her leisure
time to swimming and the theater.

* * *

Marie White, Houston, Texas — Eliza-
beth and John Perry of John's Other
Wife are played by Adele Ronson and
William Post, Jr. . . . Sorry we cannot
furnish you with a picture of the cast
of John's Other Wife.

Inez Clendenin, Akron, Ohio — Jim
Ameche was born in Kenosha, Wise,
on August 6, 1915. He won a high
school state championship in oratory
just a few months before an audition
at the NBC Chicago studios started
him on his career as a radio star.
Always an admirer of his big brother,
Jim thought little about acting until
Don phoned one day while he was
playing tennis and urged him to come
to Chicago. He came, he auditioned,
he won. From August 1933 to Novem-
ber 1937, Jim played the juvenile role
in a daytime serial. In November,
1937, however, he was given a chance

56

to play leads in Campana's Grand
Hotel, the show which once starred
Don. He made good, was signed to a
contract and on January 3, 1938, be-
gan playing in Attorney-at-Law. You
can hear him this summer on the
Woodbury show, Sundays over NBC.

Jim is five feet eight and a half
inches, weighs 140 pounds, has a med-
ium complexion, dark brown hair and
brown eyes. He enjoys looking at new
cars in automobile shows, spends
much of his spare time at movies and
walking in the park with his dogs.

Irene Zielinski, Chicago, 111. — Write to
Kate Smith and Eddie Cantor in care
of the Columbia Broadcasting System,
485 Madison Avenue, New York City.

FAN CLUB SECTION

I have just received word that an
Alice Frost Fan Club has been in exist-
ence since May 1, 1938. Write to Miss
Flo Welsh, 6317 South Hamilton Ave-
nue, Chicago, Illinois, for details. As
you know, Alice Frost plays the lead
in the Big Sister serial.

Swing fans anxious to join the Artie
Shaw fan clubs may apply to Sid Gar-
field, president of the International
Association of Artie Shaw Fan Clubs,
247 Park Avenue, New York City.

If you'd like to join a Kate Smith
Club, write to Katherine Caruthers,
8502 89th Avenue, Woodhaven, L. I.,
N. Y.

There is an Eddy Duchin Fan Club
and Edna Rogers, Secretary, 3730
North Eighth Street, Philadelphia,
Penna. will be happy to receive re-
quests for membership.

If you're an admirer of Larry Clinton
and would like to become a member
of the Dipsy Doodle Fan Club, write
to the Dipsy Doodle Club, 617 High-
land Avenue, Steubenville, Ohio.

Charlotte Bicking, President of the
Gene Krupa Fan Club is instituting a
drive for new members. Write to
Miss Bickering at 33 Downing Aven-
ue, Downingtown, Penna.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Radio's Way to a Perfect
Figure

(Continued jrom page 34)

Nope. Move the body. Up. Out of
bed. Into the bathroom. Dash cold
water on your face. Drink a glass of
warm water. Feel brighter already,
don't you? Slather your face with
cold cream. Turn on the radio — low —
so you don't wake the family. Any
peppy music will do. Are you wear-
ing socks and a fleece-lined sweat
shirt or bathing suit? Fine.

ONE. For that chiseled chinline:
Stand erect, stomach in, weight on the
balls of your feet, hands on hips.
Hang your chin on your chest, as far
down as it will go. Feel that pull on
your vertebrae? This will be good for
that dowager's hump, that little cush-
ion at the back of your neck. Now,
slowly incline your head backward,
as far as it will go. Now you turn
your head to the extreme right, rest-
ing your chin on your right shoulder.
Do you feel those unused cords in
your neck pull? Now left. Repeat the
entire movement ten times. Head-
up - and-down. Head - right - and - left.
Be sure you incline the head to the
UTMOST LIMIT on each count. You
must feel the exertion in the neck.

TWO. For thigh and limbs: Again
you stand erect in the first position.
Your arms are flat and straight at
your sides. You bring your knees up
smartly, alternating right and left to
a quick count. Step high. Be sure
your toes point down. How will you
know you're doing it right? Lady,
you'll feel the rusty muscles answer-
ing you in your calf and thigh.

THREE. The five-in-one for arms,
neck, back, hips, and romantic waist-
line: First position. Arms extended
shoulder high like yoke. Swing con-
tinuously from right to left, and back.
Keep your arms rigid and straight to
give force to the swing.

FOUR. For legs, hips, and tummy
tires: Lie flat on the floor, arms at
your sides, toes pointing down. Keep
that left leg flat on the floor. Raise
the right straight up into the air. Up
and down. Back and forth. Keep time
with the music and your count.

FIVE. For a modeled torso: Flat on
the floor, palms pressed down. Raise
both legs straight up at right angles.
Don't crook your knees. Now, bring
your legs up and over until your toes
touch the floor behind your head.

SIX. For general circulation, glint
in eye, pride in your legs on bathing
beaches, and a rear diminuendo: Start
on all fours, in the position of a man
looking under a bureau for a collar
button, but keep your chin UP. Now
kick out vigorously, backward and
upward, like a mule. Kick high and
hard. See to it that your knee is
straight at the completion of each kick.

One more word of advice. When-
ever you think of it during the day
today, place your hand on your dia-
phragm to see whether you are in-
haling deeply of oxygen, or merely
nostril-nibbling. Test yourself at odd
moments, until you can sneak up on
yourself at any time and feel the
deep, regular rise and fall of your
diaphragm under the palm of your
hand. Practise your exercises to
rhythmic breathing like this: Exhale,
one-and-two; inhale, three-and-four.

All right. Class dismissed.

AUGUST, 1939

MUMS****

friends can t* * satisfymg as a

t so *«°*W,ing Gn<n. hcte is WW

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57

LOVELY-LINGERING

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Before Your Very Eyes

(Continued from page 23)

a television studio during rehearsal is
like watching a Hollywood movie
company at work. It has all the move-
ment, color and excitement of life in
cinema land. Over in one corner,
Donna Dae, Waring's young singer,
goes through her song, the cameras
trained on her. All afternoon she has
been complaining about the bright
lights, and now her eyes are almost
closed as she sings.

Because of the noise and confusion
on the set, Waring must write his in-
structions to the cast on a blackboard.
Members of his gang hurry over to
read his messages so that they won't
miss their cues. Publicity men, with
candid cameras, try to get pictures,
begging actors to take off their dark
glasses. Some jugglers go through
their routine in a corner of a set.
Other performers stand around rest-
lessly, because the studio is small and
there are not enough chairs.

When it is time for an act to be re-
hearsed, the cameramen give the per-
formers instructions where to stand,
pointing to chalk marks on the floor.
They are all young men, and many
of them look like college youngsters,
but in reality they are young televi-
sion experts that have been trained
for years by RCA.

How Stars Are Televised
There are three cameras facing a
scene or a performer. One for close-
ups, one for medium shots and one
for long shots. The director sits in a
booth above the studio in a totally
dark room. He can not see what is
going on below, but he can see the
people at which the cameras are
pointed, because their images are
transmitted to three screens directly
in front of him. If he wants a close-
up, he calls for action from camera 1.
And tells camera 3 to get ready to
take a long shot when camera 1
moves away. And so on. Once the
show is under way and actually being
televised, the cameramen must re-
member what they have done and do
it again by memory. So scenes are
rehearsed all day. Easiest to tele-
vise are the movies, and these are
put into a television camera in an-
other studio. But the "live talent"
must rehearse all day until they are
letter perfect, which brings us to —

The Type of Talent Television Uses
Right now, television has been us-
ing actors who are in radio or on the
Broadway stage. Movie people would
probably be better but television is,
as yet, non-supporting, so it would
cost too much to hire them. Many
radio actors, however, are excellent
because they have become used to
playing for studio audiences and know
how to project facially as well as
vocally. A good example of this is
Ed Herlihy, the radio announcer who
does the television pick-ups from the
World's Fair. Mr. Herlihy is an in-
quiring reporter and is adept at pro-
jecting enthusiasm in order to get
people to talk on the air.

It is a general rule that people who
photograph well will also televise ex-
cellently. A pretty girl still looks
pretty on your television screen..

Talent for television is picked up
wherever it can be found. Not long
ago a beautiful young girl named
Lillian Eggers came up to witness a
Philco television broadcast. The en-

58

gineers took one look at her and
immediately put her on the im-
promptu show. She was swell and
Philco signed her on the spot.

Other excellent television bets are
Ezra Stone, Phil Baker, Lew Lehr,
Ben Bernie, Dorothy Lamour, Don
Ameche, Binnie Barnes, and Mitzi
Green. We could name lots more.

It has long been said that blondes
are not good for television. A few
days ago, Toby Wing and Jean Muir,
both decided blondes, took television
tests and registered beautifully. Many
of the girls that are on the lists to
be television announcers are also
blondes.

Make Up
It is almost exactly like make up
used by the movies. On the set you
can't tell the difference between tele-
vision and movie make up. A little
less heavy make up than is used in
the movies is right for television.
Which brings up the point of how
people look on the television screen.
You've heard that they look green,
purple, or maybe pink. This is not
true. The images are almost exactly
as you see them on the motion picture
screen, but not quite so clear.

What You See

A television receiver looks like a
large console radio, and most televi-
sion sets come radio equipped. Tuning
in a television program is a little more
involved than getting a radio pro-
gram, but it can be done in a few
minutes. The room must be dark
and then the picture comes on the
screen. (7V2 x 10, for instance, on
the larger RCA models). The picture
will be clear. Yes, you can tell who
it is, but every once in a while you
get a "womp," which is a sudden
change in the light value of the pic-
ture. In other words, the picture may
grow dim or brighter all of a sudden.
Movies show off best and cartoons are
excellent. Donald Duck certainly stole
the first television show.

The exciting angle of these televi-
sion shows is the on-the-spot stuff.
The fact that people can be televised
on the street, or at a picnic, or watch-
ing a fire, and their reactions can be
given to you right at the moment, is
certainly thrilling. The broadcasts
picked up at the World's Fair proved
that. As time goes on, more of these
pick-up shows will be put on. By
the end of the year we should be see-
ing football and baseball games, at
least a portion of them, on our tele-
vision screens a few minutes after the
action takes place. You women will
probably be fascinated by the excel-
lent television fashion shows that are
being planned.

This early you« can't expect tele-
vision shows to be as smooth running
as well-paced radio programs, nor can
you expect the images to be quite as
good as those you see in the movies.

The important thing is that most
of the changes in television will be
made in transmitting and not in re-
ceiving. If you buy a set now the
pictures and programs will become
better as transmitting improves.
Which brings us up to —

When and Where Everybody Can

Enjoy Television
If you live in the New York area
you can get television programs five

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

hours a day (movies and newsreels).
Two nights a week you get a regular
"live talent" show. Television pro-
grams are now also being transmitted
in Los Angeles and Philadelphia. By
the end of the year, and very prob-
ably before that, programs will be
transmitted from Boston, Kansas City,
Camden, New Jersey, Chicago, Iowa
City, Albany, Schenectady Milwau-
kee, and San Francisco. These are
the cities that have licenses to put on
television shows and most of them
already have their equipment.

In the above cities mentioned, sev-
eral movie houses already have tele-
vision sets operating in their lobby.
So if you live in these cities, or near
them, you will probably be given tele-
vision along with a double feature.

Many of you have already seen tele-
vision, even though you don't live in
these cities. And you will continue
to get an opportunity to see it from
time to time. Philco Television Cor-
poration has a portable television
transmitter now on tour throughout
the country. This remarkable instru-
ment, though only five feet high and
two and a half feet wide, carries
equipment which usually fills an en-
tire studio. It picks up outdoor scenes
and projects them on to television re-
ceivers with amazing clarity.

These portable television shows
have already been seen in Washing-
ton, Baltimore, Boston, Pittsburgh,
Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, Milwau-
kee, St. Louis, Minneapolis, Palm
Beach and Miami. The tour is now
headed towards the Pacific coast and
will continue traveling around the
country, reaching many small cities
as well as the larger ones.

There is another place where many
of you will see television and that is
at the New York World's Fair. Pro-
grams are being received and trans-
mitted from there every day, and it
attracts more crowds than any single
exhibit. You may also be given an
opportunity to have yourself tele-
vised! This should be a thrill.

No licenses have been issued yet for
television broadcasters to sell their
programs to commercial sponsors. The
broadcasters want to wait for awhile
to see how many sets are sold this
year and whether you, the consumer,
will enjoy your television programs,
which brings us to —

Where You Can Buy Sets and
Their Cost

The companies who have sets on
the market are American Television
Corp., Andrea Radio Corp., DuMont,
Garod, General Electric, RCA and
Philco. You can get these sets in
most large department stores.

American has sets ranging from
$125 to $395, featuring three and five
inch screens. Andrea sets run from
$175 to $595, and they also offer a kit
of parts for $97.50 for those brave
souls who will attempt to build their
own television sets. DuMont has a
fourteen-inch screen on their sets, the
prices ranging from $395 to $445. Gen-
eral Electric runs from $150 to $600
tops. RCA runs from $200 to $600
tops, the latter having a 7% x 10 inch
screen. Philco's best bet sells for
$350 tops.

The larger the screen the more
money you pay for a television set
and it is advisable to see as many
models as possible before buying. The

cost of operating a set will be little
more than your radio costs, but re-
placements are expensive. A cathode
ray tube, which will wear out first,
costs from $25 to $95.

Many of these prices we have
quoted will change, but to be general
about it you will be able to purchase
a set for as low as $150 and as high
as $1000.

The Future

The scientific wonder of television
is bound to catch your imagination
but the rate of its development will
be in proportion to the daily fare of
program material. Fortunately, there
are still good movie shorts, newsreels
and cartoons available and this makes
excellent television material. But as
time goes on, you, the consumer, will
demand good "live talent" shows and
it is up to the television broadcasters
to come through.

One of the biggest problems that
faces television is lighting. In the
case of outdoor shots, all vicinities do
not provide enough sunlight. Interior
stuff, shot on sound stages, costs
money, and special television studios
will have to be erected. Everything
is now very much on a temporary
basis. Those in television are cau-
tiously feeling you, the consumer, out.

The future of television is up to
you. If you buy sets and enjoy the
programs, those in the industry will
see that they get consistently better.
We think that you in the big cities,
who can get programs every day, will
buy television sets. And we are sure
that along with a few minor disap-
pointments you are going to get plenty
of television thrills in 1939.

AUGUST, 1939

59

"Central casting office
calling. Miss La Due to
report to Mr. Duane to-
morrow at seven."

holly-R

# REG. U. S. PA-

ax

"I just can't go — at this time of the month! I'd
be humiliated to death!"

"Straighten up, Joan — haven't you heard of
Holly- Pax? Holly-Pax gives protection internally,
invisibly. Many of the stars use it."

"You played that scene marvelously. Miss La Due.
I'm sure you'll steal the picture!"

FROM Hollywood, world center of fashion
and feminine smartness, comes the truly
modern mode of sanitary protection — the
invisible, internal protection of Holly-Pax.

Developed for screen stars who must be
always active, Holly-Pax enables normal
women to go through every clay of the month
with her secret her own. Used internally,
Holly-Pax banishes pads, pins, belts. Holly-
Pax doesn't betray itself — even in a swim
suit! Its comfort is amazing. No chafing, no
binding, no secret fear. Due to its method of
absorption, no odor can form. What peace of
mind this advantage alone will bring you!
Available at drug, department and ten cent
stores — package of four, 10 cents; package
of ten, 20 cents.

HOLLY-PAX MW89

Palms Station, Hollywood, California

For the enclosed 10c please send me a trial
package of four Holly-Pax.

Name

Address

City State

60

I've Found the Perfect Backseat Driver

(Continued from page 21)

can usually reroute myself to another.
Meeting magazine and newspaper
deadlines consulting with editors and
keeping up with other business and
family happenings I have to be con-
stantly in touch with my world by tele-
graph and airmail. I nearly always re-
ceive my mail in care of the telegraph
company which handles my wires.
Therefore in rerouting my journey I
try to pass a city in which the tele-
graph station is open until midnight.
This will usually give me time to have
the wires and mail forwarded from the
city to which they were originally
addressed. Often the radio weather-
reports cause me to change my direc-
tion after I've started.

COR instance one time I left Chicago
' late in the afternoon for Des Moines,
Iowa. I was working my way north-
west through the maze of highways
that branch out from that great
midwestern metropolis. Shortly after
we got under way we ran into a
cloudburst. This came on top of four
days steady rain. Soon the radio be-
gan announcing floods in the northern
suburbs of Chicago. Next we heard
that the Illinois and the Mississippi
Rivers were rising at an alarming rate.
We were already sloushing through six
inches of water, and my trailer is not
well equipped for boating purposes.
So without mulling over it very much
I decided to push on to St. Louis,
instead, by way of Indianapolis. The
next afternoon, as I was turning east
from Champaign, 111., the rain came
down in renewed torrents. Shortly
the radio warned that the Wabash
was in an ugly mood and about
to leave her banks, so rather than
risk a passage of the enraged river
and her aroused tributaries we again
changed our course, dropped Indian-
apolis and sped straight on to St.
Louis where I had more important
work to do.

High winds are difficult to navigate
a trailer through. It begins to shimmy
and skid and slide all over the road.
Particularly so ■ in going around
curves.. Radio has sometimes saved
me from having to pass through some
nasty storms. Last fall I narrowly
missed/ a hurricane in south Florida.
Government radio weather reports
warned me in the nick of time.

The make of radio I carry is un-
important, providing its reception is
clear and distinct. But I insist it be
equipped with first class short-wave.
I do a good deal of foreign writing
and I must keep up not only with the
opinions of the American newscasters
on. foreign affairs, but of the foreign
announcers on their own affairs, no
matter how highly propagandized they
may be. As all radio fans know there
are certain places in which foreign
short-wave reception comes in better
than in others; yet if one is carrying
a short-wave set which is attuned
only to those spots, one misses a great
deal of foreign news. For this reason
I carry my own generator as well as
my own electric plant. The latter I
use when the trailer is not in motion,
to store up the radio energy neces-
sary. In the stern end of the trailer
I have a conversion switch. Some-
times when we are standing still I am
able to hook into city power giving
me from 110 to 120 volts. But when
this isn't possible I make my own
6-volt juice. Of course I carry two

fitted radios — one in the car and one
in the trailer. In addition I have a
portable set for hotels, cabins, trains
and boats.

The power-car and trailer are
equipped with the latest thing in 2-
way telephone. This is an absolute
necessity if anyone is riding in the
trailer. Last spring I took a crowd
down to the Kentucky Derby from
New York. A well-known Washing-
ton official went back in the trailer to
sleep as we were crossing the Blue
Ridge Mountains. This was his first
experience in the trailer in motion.
We were winding and bobbing around
the West Virginia hills. He was in the
trailer scarcely ten minutes before he
jumped up, grabbed the telephone and
began desperately ringing the buzzer
to the driver's seat. The driver, either
because he was too busy rounding the
mountains or because of mischievous
inattention, did not answer immedi-
ately. When he did the Washingto-
nian begged him to stop immediately.
The trailer wheeled slowly to a stop,
a mile further along the road, and the
agitated New Dealer bolted through
the trailer door thirty seconds ahead
of his breakfast.

From reading this yarn it would
appear as if I was always in motion,
which isn't true at all. I often stay a
long time in one place or another.
When time hangs heavy as it some-
times does, I begin the usual twirl-
ing of the dials. Sometimes I pick
up police calls, which are as in-
teresting as detective stories, and a
whole lot more exciting because
you've got to fill in the missing gaps
through your own imagination. Other
times I hear the "hams" talking
to one another from various parts
of the hemispheres. This is often the
most thrilling thing on the air. It
still fills me with amazement to be
camped out in the Rockies and to hear
a boy in the diamond fields of South
Africa talking to another boy in
British Columbia.

ON lonely nights I don't have to tell
anyone who has motored much
how consoling and pleasant it is when
one is driving along a long, - lonely
road to switch on Jack Benny, Charlie
McCarthy or Bob Burns. It gives one
a kick which is totally lacking in re-
ception at home.

Most sporting events I find more
exciting to listen to than to watch.
I'm quite sure I got more -put of the
Louis-Schmeling fight hearing it on
my automobile radio at . a roadside
stand on top of the Cumberland
mountains, surrounded by a group of
mountaineers, than I would have at a
ringside seat.

If I'm too far away from church on
Sunday morning I can carry on my
devotions with my favorite minister
and hear the choir that I most enjoy.
And during a political campaign I can
travel with my favorite candidate in
all parts of the country without hav-
ing to be on the spot to help him
personally. Better still I can hear the
opposition which is something he
can't possibly do.

Thus in all of its varied phases
radio is the best traveling companion
I have. It never argues with me
about the road; it never gets in my
way; and it never answers back. It
simply states a fact arid lets me make
the decision.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Lanny Ross Tells What's Wrong With Women's Dancing

fact and allows her partner to think
he's got the situation under control
anyhow. So, never, never lead if you
want dancing happiness.

Many women who seem to be com-
mitting this crime probably don't
mean to. I have it on the authority of
a New York dancing teacher, Albert
Butler, that the whole trouble is one
of balance. Many girls don't stand
firmly on the balls of their feet, Mr.
Butler says, controlling their own cen-
ter of balance, and so they seem to be
pushing a poor chap around. Stay on
your own feet and keep your balance.

This balance thing is pretty impor-
tant in dancing. Take the girl who
hangs all over her partner's chest, or
pulls on his arm as if she wanted to
chin herself. Another simple question
of balance. If she were standing, nice-
ly balanced on her own two feet,
with the same kind of freedom she
uses in walking, she wouldn't have to
cling. A little clinging is an excellent
thing in a woman, but not on the
dance floor. It wears a man out. Don't
cling. Don't lean.

AND you know something else that
■ wears him out? You'd never sus-
pect it. When you see a strained look
on a dancing male's face and a slight
glaze in his eyes, you can bet the girl
he's dancing with is chattering her
head off. Nearly every man hates this,
unless the girl is the one and only, and
the reason seems simple enough. He's
enjoying both the music and the mo-
tion of the dance — or else he'd be
home with a crossword puzzle. In any

(Continued from page 27)

case, he appreciates a little peace and
quiet. He'd definitely just as soon not
hear the story of a girl's life to the
tune of "Begin the Beguine." Don't
chatter.

And, by the way, ladies, if you
really are out to make your dancing
partner boil — and to make yourself
unpopular — just keep on waving and
calling to other chaps on the floor. If
you want your escort to ask you again,
make it a point not to greet David or
Charlie or Jim so enthusiastically over
his shoulder. Don't wave hellos.

There's one frequent masculine ob-
jection that doesn't trouble me per-
sonally very much. But most men
kick about it.

Don't dance too close.

Now why a man should really ob-
ject— but, as I said, I pass this along
because so many men do object. They
give unromantic reasons like the fact
that lipstick gets on their collars or
suntan powder comes off all over their
white linen suits.

On the other hand, let me register
one serious complaint. I mean picture
hats. Picture hats are something like
porcupines — awfully pretty and inter-
esting to look at from a distance, but
nothing to cuddle under your chin.

That's what I tell Kay Lorraine
when we take a few turns together to
Mark Warnow's Hit Parade orchestra
on the stage of Columbia's big Broad-
way playhouse on Saturday mornings.
That's what I'm telling Kay in the
picture. If you must wear a hat, re-
member your partner's neck.

Going from hats to dresses for danc-

ing— and don't think the wrong kind
of clothes can't interfere with danc-
ing— I think this summer is going to
see a menace arise in the new craze
for fishnet in women's clothes. Or any
other fabric that gets caught in things.
Now, personally, I think fishnet is a
wonderful fabric to make dresses out
of. Anybody can see what I mean.
But it's hard enough to tear yourself
away from a pretty girl without hav-
ing your shirt buttons or studs go
with her. So don't wear fishing clothes
on the dance floor.

Maybe I'm making too much fuss
about the whole thing. But it's a relief
for a man to get a chance to come
right out in public and defend himself.

DID we deserve them? Well, not that
time the girl insisted on shagging
when all we really wanted to do was
a quiet walk. Not that time the girl
kept spraddling as if she were doing
a broad jump instead of moving her
feet close together like a pair of scis-
sors.

But I'm an easy-going sort of chap
and only tell girls these things so they
will have more dancing fun than ever
this summer. Just follow old Professor
Ross' tips and listen to your Dad or
hubby kick about the bills for all
your new dancing dresses!

Only don't, for heaven's sake, take
it too seriously! Remember, all of us
men will go right on loving you even
though you dance all over our new
white shoes, if you'll remember the
biggest rule of all — In dancing as in
singing, have fun.

CANAJOHAR/E.N.Y.

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august, 1939

61

I Married Outside the Law

(Continued from page 20)

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is a hive of gossip, full of newspaper
columnists and radio commentators,
all eager for every scrap of news. Un-
til recently, none of them had been
interested in Greg, particularly, be-
cause the program on which he sang
was heard only on the West Coast,
but now that he was one of Imperial's
new contract players, and was begin-
ning to be talked about as a good bet
for a coast-to-coast air show, his name
was beginning to mean something.

I knew all this — but still I wasn't
prepared for the bombshell exploded
so casually in my lap by Ralph Mont,
one morning two weeks after the
wedding.

C VERYBODY liked Ralph. He had his
•- own coast-to-coast gossip program,
once a week, but he never high-hatted
us lesser radio performers who never
got our names mentioned on the air
and perhaps seldom managed to work
on a network broadcast. He was a
young fellow, not yet thirty, slight
in build and usually with a far-away,
preoccupied look in his gray eyes —
not at all the dynamic, aggressive
type of person you'd expect a success-
ful Hollywood reporter to be. I knew
him slightly — he'd even taken me once
to a preview, a few months before I
met Greg — and I was glad, that morn-
ing, when he perched himself on a
stool next to me at the drug-store
counter where I'd gone for a cup of
coffee between rehearsals.

"Hello, chipmunk," he said cheer-
fully. "Big glass of orange juice," he
called to the counter-man, and put
a cigarette in his mouth. Around the
cigarette, he mumbled carelessly,
"You're looking wonderful — but of
course all brides look wonderful, don't
they?"

I managed to set down my coffee
cup without spilling it. "Bride?" I
said in a voice I hoped sounded nat-
ural. "I'm not a bride."

"Oh yes, you are," he said in a low
voice. "You were married on the
fourteenth, at Dune. To Greg Dean."

"How did you know?" I gasped.

"Darling, that's my business. Why,
I pay every county clerk in Nevada
and Arizona to send me complete lists
of all marriage licenses every two
weeks. And Greg's real name is
Thomas Boerland. You can see how
simple it was."

The counter-man set down his glass
of orange juice, and he began sipping
it through a straw, looking at me
quizzically. I must have gone very
white, because I was simply panic-
stricken at the thought of Greg's
anger if the news got out. To have
anyone know was bad enough — to
have a coast-to-coast news broad-
caster know was infinitely worse.

He chuckled. "Pretty nice of me to
tell you about it before broadcasting
it, wasn't it?" he said. "Gives you a
chance to ask me to keep my mouth
shut."

"Your- — your — " I stammered, un-
able to believe that there could even
be such a possibility. "You don't mean
you — might — keep the secret?"

"I might," he nodded. "You'd be
surprised at the number of secrets I
keep, all the time. Keeping judi-
ciously chosen secrets is the way I got
a lot of news."

"But — how? I don't understand."

"I keep secrets for people I like. I

62

like — you." Even then, I noticed that
he didn't say he liked Greg. "And
people I like, like me. When the
time comes, they bring me the tip
first. I still get my scoop, and no feel-
ings hurt. I don't like to hurt feel-
ings."

A fat woman eased herself onto the
stool next to me, and he gave me a
significant glance, finished his orange
juice, and accompanied me to the
street.

"Don't worry," he said. "You've
got your own reasons for keeping it
a secret, and I can guess what they
are. Marriage wouldn't help Greg
much right now — and I hear he's go-
ing great guns in that picture he's
making."

"I don't know how to thank you,
Ralph — " I began.

"Forget it," he said with a wide,
friendly smile. "I love having people
under obligation to me. And I guess
I'm just naturally romantic — I cluck
over an elopement as much as an old
lady in a small town."

A sudden thought struck me. "Sup-
pose somebody else — some other col-
umnist or radio reporter — finds out
about it?"

"That's a chance we'll both have to
take. But I don't think there's much
danger. As far as I know, nobody
else in this business gets lists of mar-
riage licenses wholesale. And I'll have
to hand it to you — nobody from Holly-
wood ever thought of going to Dune
to get married before. You were
pretty far off the beaten track."

And then he was gone, leaving me
torn between doubt and relief. What
a strange man he was! Underneath
his flippant way of talking, there was
a real friendliness and warmth. At
first, when I learned he knew our
secret, absurd, melodramatic thoughts
of blackmail had crossed my mind.
But now, somehow, I felt I could trust
him. If only no one else learned of
the marriage!

AFTER some thought, I decided not
^to tell Greg that Ralph knew. It
would only worry him — and some in-
stinct warned me that Greg and Ralph
were not the sort of men who would
ever be very friendly.

After this, the weeks slipped by.
Greg was terribly busy at the studio;
he had a good part in a musical pic-
ture called "Monterey," which gave
him a chance to sing and do some
acting as well. And I, of course, had
my work to take up my days.

But the nights — there was nothing
to fill them. Even today, I don't like
to write about the loneliness of those
night-time hours I lived through,
longing for Greg. Even when he was
with me, we could not be wholly
happy — the guilty, furtive way which
he must come to the apartment late
at night made our love seem a clan-
destine, cheap affair.

Yet, I told myself, what were we to
do? I knew from items in the trade
papers and gossip columns that Greg
was being groomed by the Imperial
studio to be a romantic singing lead-
ing man. Already, one of those studio
campaigns had started, linking his
name romantically with that of the
leading lady in "Monterey." It sick-
ened me to read the gossip-items, even
though I knew they were nonsense.

Then came a veritable epidemic of

EADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Hollywood marriages — Nelson Eddy,
Tyrone Power, Douglas Fairbanks —
big names, romantic names; and peo-
ple who knew the picture industry be-
gan shaking their heads and saying
that these marriages wouldn't do the
stars any good, particularly those who
had never been married before.
"Every girl who admires a star," one
columnist wrote, "likes to think, deep
in her heart, that some day — maybe
— she can marry him. And she hates
to learn that he has married someone
else. Only this morning, I got a letter
from a sixteen-year-old girl, saying

that she'd never go to one of 's

pictures again."

IN the midst of all this, Greg pointed
■ out, it would be fatal to announce
our marriage. "Just a little while
longer, dearest," he said. "If I'm a
hit in 'Monterey,' we can announce it
and everybody will think it's so ro-
mantic. If I'm not a hit — well, then
I've muffed my chance, and nobody
will care either way."

It was always so comforting when
he was with me, talking to me. Under
his assurances all my half-formed
doubts melted away, like mists under
the sun. "Oh, you will be," I whis-
pered, holding him close. "You've got
to be a hit."

But when he had gone, the loneli-
ness and uneasiness came back again.
There was one fear, worse than any
other, that I never mentioned to Greg.
If he was a hit — Why, then he'd be
famous, and I'd be a nobody. Just a
little radio actress, unknown. Wouldn't
Greg be ashamed of me? Wouldn't
I be a drag on him, even then?

I was home, alone, lying awake in

the darkness, when this thought first
came to me, and I buried my face in
the pillow, as if by doing so I could
force it out of my head. But it stayed.
It was always there, afterwards.

It was there when two or three days
passed without even a telephone call
from Greg; when I saw his name in
the list of guests at some party to
which I had not been invited; when
I asked him, hating myself for asking
it, "Where were you last night? What
did you do? Tell me all about it."
It irritated Greg to have to answer
such questions, and I didn't blame
him. But I couldn't stop myself from
asking them.

Looking back, I know the true rea-
son for my loneliness. It was not
simply that our marriage was a secret.
It was something deeper than that —
a knowledge that I wouldn't admit
even to myself — that some day the
man I loved was going to let me
down. I must have known it, even
then; but I chose to delude myself,
blind my eyes to the truth.

One night the telephone rang, and
I flew to it, hoping it would be Greg.
Instead, it was Ralph Mont. "How'd
you like to attend a sneak preview of
your husband's picture?" he asked.

"Why, I'd love to — except — " I hesi-
tated. I'd been going to say that I
expected Greg would want me to go
with him — but I suddenly realized he
might not. Ralph's next words proved
how right my hesitation had been.

"It's tonight, you know. You can
come along with me, if you aren't do-
ing anything."

Tonight! The preview upon which
our future depended — and Greg hadn't
even mentioned it.

"All right. Fine," I said. "Where
shall I meet you?"

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

He arrived on the dot, and soon we
were on our way out to the suburban
town where the preview was sched-
uled.

"I don't think Greg even knew
about the preview," I said after a
while. Something made me say it, to
defend Greg both to Ralph and to
myself.

"I wouldn't be surprised," he said
easily, and after that we drove on, not
saying much.

It was nine o'clock when we reached
the unpretentious neighborhood the-
ater where the preview was being
held. Big, expensive cars were parked
up and down the street, and we were
just able to squeeze ourselves into a
pair of seats far back in the auditor-
ium. We were barely in time — hardly
had we settled ourselves when "Mont-
erey" began.

AT first I paid little attention to
1 the picture, peering around the hall
to see if Greg was there. At last I
gave that up as a vain occupation,
and watched the screen. It was a
strange, eerie sensation, seeing my
husband up there — or rather, seeing
his shadow. I was not sure I liked
it. He seemed so remote, so different
from the man I loved. But after fif-
teen minutes or so, a new feeling of
excitement began to well up inside
me.

Greg was good! He was terribly
good! All of his natural charm came
out in this new medium, intensified
and heightened. And his singing was
beautiful.

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64

I knew, by the time the lights went
up, that we had seen the birth of a
new star.

Without saying anything, Ralph and
I elbowed our way out through the
crowd. I was so happy I could have
danced for joy. Greg had made his
hit, he would soon be famous — and
then we could announce our marriage.

I looked for him again, outside the
theater. And then I saw him. Smil-
ing, triumphant, he was just coming
out of the door, with Lily Vail, the
star of "Monterey," and some men I
didn't know.

I forgot everything but my happi-
ness. I ran toward him, pushing my
way past bystanders. Not until I was
a few feet from him did he see me.
His face lit up, he started to smile —
and then his eyes went dead, passed
over me as if I hadn't been there at
all. He turned to Miss Vail again,
said something, and laughed uproari-
ously at her reply.

| SANK back into the crowd, letting
■ it cover me and hide me and carry
me along down the street. In the
swirling fog of my anger and humilia-
tion I could find just one thought:
"This must not happen again. Never,
never. I am his wife, and it's my
right to stand beside him in his mo-
ment of triumph."

Ralph found me, at last, and led
me back to the car. I was grateful
for his silence, then and on the trip
back to Hollywood.

The next day my unhappiness had
crystallized into a hard core of de-
termination. I felt ill and weak, but
my mind was made up. I called Greg
at his apartment, at the studio, at the
broadcasting station, anywhere I could
think of that he might be. At last,
late that night, I reached him, and he
promised to come right over.

What happened in that brief visit
he made to my apartment was tor-
ture to me. But I had to ask him,
even though I brought my whole
dream-world down around my head.
The experience in front of the the-
ater had shown me that I couldn't
stand our equivocal position any
longer. At last, I had to face the
truth.

"Greg," I said quietly, "please an-
nounce our marriage now. I'm fright-
ened. Last night I felt like a silly
woman, throwing herself at the feet
of a movie star. Don't I deserve some-
thing more than that?"

He was angry too. "You should
have known better than to burst up
to me the way you did."

"I know. I'm sorry for that. But
I love you, Greg! I was so happy for
your sake. And — and for ours, too.
Because I thought we could tell
everyone we're married."

"You don't understand," he said im-
patiently. "Last night was just a pre-
view— you can't tell — " He stopped,
for we both knew he was lying.

"Greg — don't you love me? Don't
you want to acknowledge me?"

"Oh — of course I do! But — right
now — Oh, well, I guess I'll have to
tell you. Imperial wants to send me
on a long personal-appearance tour,
with the picture. They've got big
plans for me — that's where I was to-
day, in conference. All day long, I
was talking to them." His cheeks
flushed, his eyes grew bright. "They're
going to rush 'Monterey' into release
right away, open it in New York,
with me, and then tour the big cities.
Don't you see what it'll mean to me?
Why, it's the biggest thing that's ever

happened. I'll be famous — "

He said more, much more, but I
heard only a part of it. A terrible
dread was forming around my heart,
like a crust of ice. "You're hurt now,"
my mind kept saying. "That's all.
Just be patient — the hurt will go
away. Greg doesn't mean to be cruel.
He's just excited, and full of his own
concerns, and convinced that success
depends on keeping his marriage a
secret a little longer. He really loves
you. Tomorrow all this won't seem
so bad." That's what my mind said,
but my heart wouldn't listen. And
when Greg tried to put his arms
around me, I drew away.

"Please — not tonight," I said; and
a few minutes later he left.

Except at the broadcasting station,
I didn't see him again during the
week before he left on the tour. Not
once.

The night before he was to leave,
he had told me, he would come to
the apartment. I waited there for him,
nervously — and when the telephone
rang, I knew, before I answered, that
it would be Greg, apologizing and
saying he was unable to get away.

Then came days of complete mis-
ery. I couldn't work, I couldn't sleep.
I would drag myself out of bed in
the morning, and if I had a broad-
cast, go down to the studio and read
my lines mechanically, not caring
very much what they sounded like on
the air. And when this indifference
began to be noticed, and jobs started
going to other girls, I couldn't seem
to care much about that, either.

I read everything that was printed
about Greg — the accounts of his ap-
pearance in New York, reviews of
"Monterey," everything — with a kind
of dull wonder that I had once held
this famous man in my arms and be-
lieved that he belonged to me. Now
he belonged to the whole world.

It was three weeks after Greg's de-
parture that Ralph Mont came to see
me one night, unexpectedly.

"I'm glad you're home," he said. "I
had to see you — because I'm afraid,
chipmunk, I've got some bad news."

"Greg?" was all I could say.

NO — not exactly. I — " His sensi-
tive mouth set itself in a firm, un-
happy line. "I hate to do this to you.
But the papers will have it tomorrow
anyhow. I just got a tip. Greg's
former wife — the one he got a divorce
from years ago — has turned up. She
says he got the divorce by default,
and it isn't legal. She wants him to
come back to her."

The room — everything before my
eyes — seemed to quiver, and then
steady itself. "But — he's married to
me," I said stupidly.

"I'm afraid he isn't — not if he's still
married to her."

I turned away from him, hating to
let him read the anguish in my face
— even though soon I would have to
confide in him. He was my only friend,
the only one I could count on for
help. He touched my arm.

"I'm sorry, Kay. It's tough. But
nobody knows except me. We can
figure out what's best to do."

."It's not that simple, Ralph," I told
him. "You see — I'm going to have
Greg's baby."

Will Kay be able to save her baby
from being born under the shadow of
an illegal marriage? Read next
month's Radio Mirror for the drama-
tic climax of her fight for her hus-
band's name.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

mured. Both men watched her walk
down the corridor and disappear
through the door.

"How much of a chance. . . .?"
Dick asked pleadingly.

Johnson liked this boy with his
brave, level eyes. He liked him
enough to tell him the truth. "Not
much of a chance at all. But one in
a thousand if her father gets here in
time."

HAD he known the emotional state
Robert McClean was in at that mo-
ment he wouldn't have counted upon
him at all. The scene with Virginia
had upset Sue and they had left the
club immediately.

"Don't cry," he implored her, over
and over. "Don't cry, Sue. It was
horrible for you, I know. But I'll see
that it never happens again. I'm go-
ing to be free. And I'm going to
spend my life making you happy."

If he hadn't taken that last drink,
when they reached her apartment,
things might have turned out dif-
ferently. But she urged it on him, to
steady his nerves. That was the way
she was! She catered to his weak-
nesses, for it was through them that
she held him.

"I — I just can't forget Virginia's
face," he told her, taking the glass.
"It was as if I had destroyed some-
thing inside her."

She kissed his mouth into silence.

"Sue," he told her finally, "you'll
never know how grateful I am to
you. For everything. For your un-

Doctor's Folly

(Continued from page 40)

derstanding. When the divorce is
granted we'll go far away, you and I
— and we'll never come back. . . ."

If Louise heard him say that she
gave no sign. She was standing just
within the doorway, white-faced,
swaying a little.

"Robert!" she called. "Robert! Vir-
ginia's dying. There was an accident.
It's a brain hemorrhage. Only you
can save her. She's at the hospital."

It was as if some mechanized part
of his brain sprang into action. He
went to the telephone, called the hos-
pital, issued orders. And as he rushed
out of the room, perhaps he did not
even hear Sue call out after him.

Traffic was heavy. At every cross-
street the light was against them.
Huddled in her corner of the cab,
Louise felt time flow through and
over her — rushing, hurrying time,
every second precious if her daugh-
ter's life was to be saved. While in
her heart she wondered if Virginia's
father was equal to the delicate job
he faced; even if, by some miracle,
they were not too late.

Arthur Johnson's reaction was the
same. "You're sure you're all right?"
he asked; and in the operating room,
where Virginia lay like a marble
statue, he pointed out the X-ray de-
tails as if he dared not trust Robert
to observe for himself.

Robert asked a nurse to wipe his
eyes. They were misting so he
couldn't see.

Harris, the anaesthetician, said,
"Respiration thirty. Pulse fifty-two.

Dropping fast. . . ."

"Adrenalin!" Robert demanded. But
Arthur stopped him. "You can't, yet!"
he said. "Remember the hemor-
rhage."

"The gauze again, please," Robert
said, like a man in a thickening fog.
"My eyes . . ." The nurse wiped
them, and for a moment he stood up-
right, with a tremendous effort. "The
trephine," he called.

"Robert! Robert!" Arthur cried.
"It's in your hand!"

No one in that deathly still oper-
ating room dared to breathe. They
knew what was happening. Some of
them had seen it before, and would
never forget. The shaking fingers,
the staring eyes above the white
mask, the uncertain movements —
they all meant fear.

The trephine dropped to the floor.

I'M leaving . . ." Robert McClean
' stumbled toward the door. "Arthur
— you do it!"

Half blind, he went on to the wash
room. And it was there, some thirty
minutes later, when his mind began
to clear, that he had a full and hor-
rible realization of the thing he had
done.

In the corridor Louise McClean and
Dick still waited. Louise saw Rob-
ert shuffling toward them.

"You're dressed!" she said. "What
does that mean? Robert!"

Now her hands were on his shoul-
ders. Now she was shaking him.

"What happened? Speak. Robert,

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66

tell me, is she . . ."

"Arthur's with her in there, doing
what I should have done," he said.
"You may as well know it. I failed —
failed Ginny when she needed me
most. I've been thinking . . . And
now I know what I've done — to you
— to her — and to myself . . ."

She went back to the bench and
sat down beside Dick again. She was
utterly numb. Then she began to
cry and her sobs came as if they
were torn from her.

Dick was scarcely aware of the
two who wept beside him. Not for
one split second did he take his eyes
off the door through which Arthur
Johnson at last must come — to tell
them —

When the door did open Dick's
cry came choked. "Doctor Johnson?
Is she . . ."

Arthur stood before them, smiling.
"She's alive," he said. "And safe."

And those blessed words brought
Louise and Robert McClean, un-
stumbling and unhesitatingly, back
to each other's arms.

Dick did not even try to hide his
tears. "She'll be so happy to live
now," he said. "She'll be so happy!"

Louise and Robert stretched out
their arms to Arthur.

"You've done a wonderful job,"
Robert told him. "But you know
that."

Quietly Arthur shook his head.
And when he spoke his voice, too,
was unsteady. "I know nothing of
the kind," he said. "I never believed
in miracles — until I picked up that
trephine. But then I knew it wasn't
my hand alone. ... I can't explain
it. It's just something I know but
don't properly understand."

"Perhaps," Louise ventured, "an-
other hand guided yours, Arthur.
Perhaps He took the destiny of our
family into His gentle hands."

"I think so," Arthur agreed rever-
ently.

For one brief but beautiful moment
he let the three who loved Virginia
so dearly look in at her from the
doorway. She had not yet re-
gained consciousness. But while they
watched there a smile softened her
lips. It was as if she knew the hap-
piness they were planning for her.

It wasn't long after Virginia re-
covered that she and Dick were mar-
ried. And I can wish them no greater
happiness than Louise and Robert
McClean have known through all
their life together, except for those
two years of madness.

Should We Send Our Men to War?

{Continued from page 13)

only organization in the world today
that can commit a crime and not be
punished for it. A nation can do any-
thing it has the strength to do, and
do it without punishment — simply be-
cause there is no law above the law
of the sovereign state. That law will
have to be created, or we will always
have wars.

"It wasn't created after the last war,
because we weren't wise or imagina-
tive enough. A League of Nations
was set up — in which the United
States refused to take part — when
what was really needed was a union
of people, a union of the people of
the world, made up of the people's
regularly elected representatives, and
modeled after our own United States.

MAYBE such a union, to act as an
international governor, couldn't
be created on the heels of another war.
Certainly it can't be created now —
not without some totally unforeseen
event to change the international situ-
ation. Meanwhile, there is the very
real threat of war.

"For what I'm going to say, I know
very well that people will call me a
war-monger, but I don't mind par-
ticularly. I've been called many
things. The Communists call me a
Fascist, the Fascists call me a Com-
munist. I've even been called a Jew,
but I don't happen to consider that
an insult, so I don't pay any attention
to it.

"I don't believe war is inevitable,
but I do believe we have to show
strength to maintain peace. If we
drift on a do-nothing policy, we will
drift into war. That is the reason I
have approved, by and large and so
far, of President Roosevelt's foreign
policy. He knows that we must be on
our guard, and must keep the world
convinced that the United States is
something to be reckoned with. The
last war might never have occurred
if the German government had not
believed that we would stay out.

"I'd like to be a pacifist, if pacifism
meant living in peace. But there are
some things I hate worse than war.
I think illimitable terror is worse than
war. I think being allowed to live
only on somebody else's terms is
worse than war. And I think per-
petual international anarchy is a form
of war.

"We in America have to make up
our minds! If we don't like war, it's
up to us just as much as it is to the
rest of the world, to see that there
isn't any. And, paradoxically, we have
to be ready to go to war in order to
keep peace.

"If war comes, it may well be be-
cause we in America have shirked our
responsibility as a member of the
family of nations — and if war comes,
we will pay for our indifference by
being drawn into it, or ruined by it.
Then it will be too late to ask your-
self, 'Should we let our men go to
war?' because there will be only one
answer. They'll go whether you let
them or not."

And there you have it — the opinion
of one who is universally acknowl-
edged to be an expert on world af-
fairs. Yet she was speaking not only
as a journalist, but as a woman, and
from her words I drew the obvious
conclusion — that if a general Euro-
pean war were to break out, she
would be in favor of anything that
would bring a quick victory to Eng-
land and France, and defeat to the
Rome-Berlin axis. No matter how
much it hurt her, she would want her
men to go to war. Convinced as she
is, from her knowledge, that they
would have to fight eventually, she
would want them to go quickly, be-
cause then the war would be that
much shorter and cost that many less
lives.

Perhaps it would be a good idea for
you, the women of America, to ask
yourselves that same question, now —
and let the world know the answer
you choose.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

The Case of the Hollywood Scandal

but I'm not going to take the rap
alone."

I saw Mr. Foley's eyes widen with
surprise; saw Bruce Eaton start in-
credulously. The city officer nodded.
'"Now," he said, "you're talking sense."

"All right," I told him, "here come
my two accomplices. If you want to
get the goods on them, go to it."

The officer turned to his men,
"Okay, you boys " he said, "get up at
the windows. You," to the cashier,
"get back there and start waiting on
them. Make it snappy, let's go."

The men dispersed into groups. The
officer took me by the arm, and said,
"You, come on over here and stand
at the table. Remember, we're making
out a deposit."

MRS. TEMMLER and her escort
strode directly to the cashier's
window. She said, cooingly, "My
friend," with a nod toward the man
with her, "is a detective. My husband
is an inventor. He had an invention he
wanted to sell, and left notes about
the secret of the process in a safety
deposit box here. The box is number
five. I'm suing my husband for divorce,
and I have here a court order appoint-
ing this gentleman as a receiver to
take charge of all of the property be-
longing to the community. Here's a
certified copy of the order."

She pushed a legal looking docu-
ment across the counter.

"And don't tell me that you haven't
an extra key to it," she went on, "be-
cause we know that you have."

The cashier glanced helplessly
about him. The man who accompa-

(Continued from page 37)

nied Mrs. Temmler, and was now
posing as a receiver appointed in a
divorce action, glanced casually over
his shoulder, and evidently became
suspicious as he saw the men who
were gathered in little groups in the
bank, suddenly frozen into attentive
immobility — ail eyes on Mrs. Temm-
ler. Then he saw me. I saw panic in
his eyes. He turned and started for
the door. One ox the officers casually
stepped between him and the screen.
Abruptly I saw the flash of a fist.

Mrs. Temmler turned just as the
city officer slammed her accomplice
up against the wall so hard that it
shook the building. Then, she, too,
started to run, but the men grabbed
her. The man who had told me he
was a detective had his wrists circled
by handcuffs; and Mrs. Temmler was
in the grip of one of the officers.
The city officers in charge said:
"Okay, sister, here are your accom-
plices. Now go ahead with the sketch."

I tried to make my laugh sound
casual and carefree, but I knew it
was a hollow failure as soon as I
heard it. I managed, however, to
make my voice breezy and noncha-
lant. "Don't be silly. I was simply
fixing things so you'd trap these
people intelligently."

The handcuffed man sneered,
"That's what you say! I'm an opera-
tive, I've been shadowing this little
lady ever since she started to work
for that man, Foley, over there."

"Wait a minute," the officer inter-
rupted, staring hard at Foley. "Is
this woman working for you?"

He nodded.

I saw the officer's lips tighten. He
said to the handcuffed detective.
"What's your name?"

"Thompson Garr."

"All right, Garr. Go ahead."

WELL," Garr said. "She went out
to Temmler's house the night of
the murder. She went in there by
herself. When she went in, Carter
Wright was alive. He had the key to
that safety deposit box with him.
When this woman came out. Wright
was dead, and she had the key."

I realized that circumstantial evi-
dence had caught me in a trap. I
whirled to the detective, and said, ac-
cusingly, "And you and that blonde
accomplice of yours tried to run me
down a block from Temmler's house."

Garr said, easily, "I didn't try to run
you down, sister. I was tailing you."

Mr. Foley said, "Just a minute,
gentlemen, I think I can clarify the
situation. The woman who is with
this man appeared at my office earlier
in the day. She stated she was Mrs.
Charles Temmler, that Carter Wright
had stolen the key to the safety de-
posit box from his employer; that her
husband didn't know anything about
the theft, and she was afraid to have
him find out, because it would in-
dicate she had given the chauffeur the
opportunity to steal the key."

Mr. Foley took a telegram from his
pocket. "I wired a detective agency
to check up on Mrs Charles Temmler.
I find that Mrs. Charles Temmler is
with her husband in New York City.
I also find that Carter Wright had a
woman traveling with him as his com-

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68

mon-law wife, and the description of
this woman tallies identically with
that of ... "

"You lie," she screamed, and jerking
herself free of the officer who was
holding her, made a sudden wild rush
for the door.

She almost made the door, but they
subdued her, and got handcuffs on her.

MR. FOLEY said, "I think, gentle-
men, you'll find that Thompson
Garr, the detective here, was hired by
Mr. Temmler to get back the key to
this safety deposit box, but Garr saw
no reason why he should get a poten-
tial fortune and turn it back to Charles
Temmler. He decided to get the key,
recover the contents of the box, and
keep whatever he found there.

"He first resorted to trickery, and
then to violence, He actually got the
key, but lost it, and, even then, didn't
know where the safety deposit box
was located. He knew that Padgham
and Wright were going to reach an
agreement, and that that agreement
was to be negotiated through my of-
fice. He acted upon the entirely
natural assumption that the informa-
tion he wanted would be contained
in the agreement.

"He deliberately injured my secre-
tary in an automobile accident,
planted one of his operatives in the
employment agency which handles all
of my employment problems. His
operative, Miss Blair, had an inside
track with Miss Benson, who runs the
agency. Miss Benson recommended
her to me very highly, and I probably
would have accepted her if she hadn't
made the mistake of thinking she
could land a job more through her
sex appeal than through ability.

"Then, after Carter Wright's death,
this woman, who had been passing
herself off as his wife, saw an oppor-
tunity to trick me into getting posses-
sion of the key. She thought either
Padgham or I must have it, so she
posed as Mrs. Temmler, and tried a
bold and audacious trick. It didn't
work. Shortly after she tried that,
however, Garr must have got in
touch with her. You can see what
happened; they hatched up a fake
court action, in which she sued a
fictitious husband under an assumed
name, and got this court order."

The city officer seemed impressed.
He said to Bruce Eaton, "How did it
happen you got the key?"

"I gave it to him," I said, before
Bruce Eaton could answer. "I found
it on the floor of Mr. Temmler's house
when I went there to get Carter
Wright to sign the agreement."

Mr. Foley said, "Surely, you gentle-
men don't need to detain Mr. Eaton.
He isn't going to run away."

"How do we know?" the officer
asked.

Mr. Foley laughed, and said, "In
the first place, he's innocent; in the
second place, even if he wanted to
run, there'd be no place for him to
go. Every man, woman, and child,
who has ever been to a movie, knows
Bruce Eaton."

The sheriff said, "I reckon that's
right, boys."

Mr. Foley said, "I think I can finish
with the rest of these details, Miss
Bell. I'd like to have you go back to
the office and wait for me. You'll
drive her back, won't you, Mr. Eaton?"

"Certainly," Eruce Eaton said. "It
will be a pleasure."

I said, "Do you want to give me
any instructions about these papers in
the bank case, Mr. Eaton? I haven't

them in the files, but they're where I
can put my hand on them."

I saw him frown.

"No," he said, thoughtfully.

It takes a long time under ordinary
circumstances for two people to get
to know each other, but when some
emergency arises and two persons are
teamed up against the outside world
they either click, or they don't. Mr.
Foley and I clicked. I felt suddenly
as though I'd known him all my life.

"After what happened last night," I
said, "I want to be sure there won't
be any misunderstandings. You didn't
want me to get those papers in that
bank case?"

There was comprehension in his
eyes. "Yes, I did. I hope you didn't
misunderstand me."

I LAUGHED and said, "Quite the
' contrary. I feel any difficulty would
be quite vice versa," which I hoped
was sufficiently goofy to fool the of-
ficers. I knew Mr. Foley would get it.

"Exactly," he said.

The officer said, "Well, don't stand
there chinning. We have work to do.
Get started, you two — if you're going."

"I take it, then, that you'll take care
of that matter?" I asked Mr. Foley.

"Yes. You took the papers out of
the file?"

"Yes, Mr. Foley. If you want them
you can get them any time before
lunch tomorrow."

I saw that for a moment he was
puzzled. Then his face lit. "Oh, yes,"
he said. "I'll take care of the matter
at the earliest opportunity."

I nodded to Bruce Eaton. "Ready,"
I said.

Bruce Eaton drove rather slowly,
returning to Los Angeles. Several
times I caught him stealing quick
glances at me, sizing me up, but it
wasn't until we had left Pomona be-
hind that he said, "I wonder if you
realize just how much it means to
Woodly Page, and to me — what you've
done?"

"I haven't done anything," I said,
making the usual stereotyped answer,
with my mind not at all on what he
was saying, but on what must be
happening back in Las Almiras, won-
dering if I shouldn't have stuck by
Mr. Foley until after the situation had
been finally cleared up.

Bruce Eaton said, "Won't you have
dinner with me tonight?"

"You forget," I told him, "I'm a
working girl."

"But you don't work in the
evenings."

"I may have to."

"Well, let's take a chance that you
won't."

"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Eaton,
but . . ."

"Aren't you going to call me
Bruce?"

I flashed him a smile, and said, "All
right, Bruce, I'm scrry. I'm worried
about Mr. Foley."

"Your boss, Mr. Foley, looks to me
very much like a person who could
take care of himself, under almost
any circumstances," Bruce Eaton said.
"I don't think you need to worry
about him, at all."

"I'm worried just the same."

"Well, how about that dinner date?"
he asked.

"Thanks all the same, but I'm hold-
ing the evening open for the boss.
May I have a rain check on it?"

"You most certainly may," he said,
and then, after a moment, added, as
he pushed his foot down on the
throttle, "And I presume that means

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The car leaped ahead like a fright-
ened animal, until I braced my feet
against the floor boards, and watched
the quivering needle of the speed-
ometer. Bruce Eaton concentrated on
the driving. It wasn't until he'd stop-
ped the car in front of my office build-
ing that he took my hand and said,
"Claire, you've done a great deal for
Woodley Page. You've done a lot
more for me. 1 don't suppose there's
any use trying to tell you how much."

LIE looked as if he wanted to say
• ' more, but someone recognized him
as he stood there holding the door
open for me. People began to crane
their necks, so I just gave his arm a
squeeze and said, "It's been grand
getting to know you, Mr "

"Bruce," he interrupted.

"Bruce," I said, and grinned.

"Right, Claire." he told me. "I'll be
giving you a buzz."

I crossed the sidewalk to the office
building. People stared at me as
though I'd been a queen.

Mr. Foley didn't come in until
nearly six o'clock.

"Great heavens!" he said. "Are you
still here?"

I nodded.

"You're supposed to go home at
five o'clock."

"But I hadn't heard from you, and
. . . and I was waiting."

"What happened to your actor
friend?" he asked, frowning.

"He wanted me to go to dinner," I
said. "I took a rain check on it."

"Why the rain check?"

"I wanted to hear from you. I was
worried about leaving you in a spot
there at the bank."

He looked at me with frowning
contemplation as though perhaps try-
ing to find confirmation in my face of
something he had heard in my voice
So I said rapidly, "Tell me what hap-
pened."

"Nothing much." he said. "The
woman was afraid she was going to
get roped in on the murder rap. When
the going got good and rough, she
caved in and put all the blame on
Garr's shoulders. Garr tried to get
out by making her the goat. When I
left, they were both going sixty miles
an hour, calling names and making
accusations. I lifted the letters out
of the cashier's lunch box."

"Do you know exactly what hap-
pened on that murder?" I asked

He grinned, "I think so. One of the
things thats been puzzling you is
what happened to your shorthand
notebook and that agreement in the
brief case. Right?"

I nodded.

"Well," he said, "you see it's this
wa.y- Padgham went out to the house
a little early. He got there a few
minutes before you did. He found
the corpse in the upstairs room. Your
actor friend had evidently been tied
and gagged in the closet— Garr ad-
mitted slugging him and tying and
gagging him after a struggle but
wo^idn't admit the murder— Anyway
Padgham beat it. After ten or fifteen
minutes he started worrying about
what was going to happen to Woodley
^age. He wondered if Carter Wright

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of his car and slipped it in his pocket.
Then he went around to the back
screen porch, pulled a master switch
which plunged the whole place in
darkness, and walked around to the
front door. Ha rang the doorbell,
just as a precaution, not thinking it
possible anyone was in the house, but
not wanting to take a chance on being
discovered if someone did happen to
be there. When you opened the
door, it almost knocked him over.

"You didn't notice the significant
part of his conversation. He didn't
ask you anything about when the
lights went off, and despite the fact
the house was in darkness, started
upstairs to see what he could find.
That shows he had a flashlight in his
pocket, and he wouldn't have had a
flashlight with him unless he'd taken
it, knowing that he had use for it.

"So," Mr. Foley went on, "after
thinking the matter over, I got hold
of Padgham, accused him point-
blank and made him admit the whole
business, in addition to telling me
about the real purpose back of the
agreement. It was, of course, a spe-
cies of blackmail."

"But why did Mr. Padgham steal
the agreement and my shorthand
notebook?" I asked. "If he. . . ."

Mr. Foley grinned and said, "He
didn't. Now don't get mad, Miss Bell,
.but I'm the guilty one. I lifted the
agreement out of your brief case
while you were in the drugstore,
telephoning the police. I came up to
the office late last night to get your
shorthand notebook. I was afraid
you were going to get dragged into it.
I was afraid the police would grab
the agreement, and I didn't think that
was exactly the right way to treat my
clients."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" I
asked.

"Because then you'd have had to lie
to the police. As it was, you rather
suspected Padgham of having taken

the agreement, which was perfectly
swell as far as I was concerned. . . .
Why did you take a rain check on
Bruce Eaton's dinner invitation?"

I felt color in my cheeks, but tried
to make my vcice sound casual. "I
thought perhaps you might want
me. . . ."

"I do," he said, "Let's go out where
we can eat and dance and forget all
this."

That finished the case as far as the
office was concerned. As far as I'm
concerned it's just started things, and
I don't know how or where they're
going to end. Bruce Barton called me
at the office this morning, insisting on
a definite date for dinner.

Mr. Foley came in a few minutes
ago and paused by my desk to look
down at me. I don't think I can ever
forget last night, with the rhythm of
the dance music, and drifting across
the floor in his arms. He said, "Let's
do that again sometime, Claire."

I nodded.

"Soon," he said.

I didn't tell him about Bruce's call.
"Any time," I told him.

He put his hand on mine for a min-
ute, and said, "You look mighty sweet
with that red ribbon tied around your
hair," and then, as though afraid he'd
become too personal, made a great
show of grabbing his mail and bus-
tling into the office.

I picked up the paper with its big
headlines reading,
"POLICE OBTAIN CONFESSION

IN WRIGHT MURDER CASE."
I started to read and ... I picked up
the receiver as Mr. Foley buzzed my
signal. I thought he wanted to give
me some dictation so I was reaching
for my book, but instead he said,
"How about lunch today?"

I didn't dare answer right away —
not after what happened last night.
He's too darned clever at reading
voices.

The End

Debutantes — You Can Have Them!

(Continued from page 17)

TUNE IN ON JOHN J.ANTHONY'S GOOD WILL HOUR.

See your local newspaper for exact time and station.

70

thing. Maybe it's old-fashioned to
want kids — all right, then I am old-
fashioned! But that's the way it is.
We've got to forget it."

No. Soft words of comfort would not
help him. Well, rouse him to a greater
anger. "All right, Eddie," she said in
a small voice. "After all — you know
how much you love me."

"What's it matter how much I love
you — when I can't afford to do the
things I want to do for you?"

Pam thought of her home — the
Bruce mansion, its corps of servants,
its luxury, and its deadly dullness.
How could she make him understand
how little money meant to happiness?
For an instant the truth was on the
tip of her tongue — but she stopped.
She didn't dare. The deception must
go on, or she would lose him forever.
She would let it go on, for the rest of
her life, if by doing so she could keep
him. She said lamely, "But money's
nothing, Eddie."

"Nothing, huh? Have you any idea
what we could do with five thousand
bucks? We could get married tomor-
row— I'd buy you some clothes — we
could send Dad to a good hospital and
find out what's really the matter with
him — we could make a payment on
a little house somewhere — and I could
have that lab. I need, so I could make

every city in the country a better and
cleaner place to live in! If it's any
satisfaction to you, I do love you so
much I can't see straight — but that's
the end of it."

CDDIE ADAMS," she declared, "it
■- isn't! If you don't propose to me —
Eddie, we're going to get married —
tomorrow!"

"You're crazy!" But a light began to
nicker, far back in his eyes.

"Sure I am. But I don't care. Why,
you darn fool, I love you so much I'd
marry you even if you were rich!
We're going to Greenwich tomorrow!"

The light in Eddie's eyes was blazing
now. "What? And spend seven dollars
on train fare? Nix. We'll get a license
tomorrow, wait five days — and then
go to the city hall in a taxi."

They tiptoed up the stairway to the
apartment. "Going to wake your
mother and tell her?" Pam whispered.

"Sure," he whispered back. "I — "

And stopped. There was a line of
light under the apartment door.

Eddie threw the door open. Mrs.
Adams and the doctor stood in the
living room, their faces white and
drawn under the glaring electric light.

Pam stood quite still listening to the
hurried, whispered explanations.
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must have treatment — a pneumo-
thorax operation and then months of
complete rest — a thousand dollars for
the operation alone —

It all clicked into place. She knew
what she had to do now. Perhaps
Eddie wasn't big enough to forgive
her for deceiving him — but he would
have to know. It was the only way
she could save his father's life.

She turned and ran to the door,
down the stairs, into the early dawn.

She didn't see Eddie again until
late the next afternoon. There had
been so many things to do — see her
father, explain to him, notify the hos-
pital, tell Mother Adams. She was
sitting in the living room when Eddie
came back from work.

"Paula!" he cried. "Where did you
go? I looked everywhere for you un-
til I had to leave for work — Why,
Where's Dad? And Mom?

"Your father's in the hospital,
Eddie," she told him.

"But we can't pay for it, Paula!"

"You pay for it with this." She held
out a slip of paper — a check for two
thousand dollars, made out to Edward
Adams and signed Marshall Bruce.

MARSHALL BRUCE . . ." Eddie
'V| said stupidly. "Why, he's rich.
What's he to you?"

"He's my father, Eddie."

"Your — your — " There was a long
pause. Then Eddie laughed. "I get
it. Swell. Marshall Bruce's daughter
— and you'd marry me even if I was
rich. Very funny. I'll bet you've had
a swell time, haven't you? Slumming
with the Adamses!"

"Shut up!" said Pamela. Her heart
should have been broken. Instead,
she was furiously angry. "I might
have known you'd take it like this,"
she raged. "Because money's the one
thing in the world that matters to you,
you're too blind to see that all the
money in the world isn't as important
as loving someone!"

"Paula!" Eddie gasped. This was a
new Paula — a red-haired, green-eyed,
blazing fury.

"My name is Pamela. Call me that!
And there's another thing — I told my
father about your idea — your plan to
make cities healthier to live in. He'll
lend you that five thousand you need.
He offered fifty thousand, but I said
we only needed five. That we still
wanted to be on our own — now and
always. But you won't take that
either, I suppose — because nothing
matters to you but pride — pride over
money! It doesn't even matter that
I'd live with you forever in a fur-
nished room if you asked me to!"

She stalked to the door, and turned
for a final shot. "So you can take
your dreams and your budgets and
your kids — and throw them in the
East River!"

The door slammed behind her.

Eddie ran to it, tore it open, burst
through it at top speed, yelling,
"Paula! Pamela! Hey!"

"Huh?" said Pam. She was standing
quietly right outside the door.

"Oh — I thought you were running
away."

"That's what I thought you thought,"
Pam said. "Oh, Eddie, I can't help it
if I was born rich. Can't we — can't
we both just forget it?"

"I don't know," Eddie said grimly,
"whether to kiss you or kill you."

"Well — I wish you'd make up your
mind and do one or the other."

"Oh, Paula — er, Pamela," said Eddie
tenderly, making up his mind.

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72

Facing the Music

(Continued from page 8)

!

Alexander, Jan Savitt, Dick Stabile,
and Harry James. They are the "dark
horses" of the new season.

* * *

BACK in the lush days before the de-
pression and even the fabulous Wall
Street crash, a caviar-crusted cafe did
a nourishing business in the heart of
New York's public Central Park. It
was known as the Central Park Casino.
Jimmy Walker was mayor of old Man-
hattan and the Casino's favorite cus-
tomer. To this park paradise where
the cover charge was often compared
with the national war debt, came the
socialites, the spenders, and sports-
men. The backgrounds of these spend-
ers varied but they had one thing in
common. They all crowded like school
kids out on their first "date" around
the bandstand to watch a sinewy,
swarthy pianist make music in Leo
Reisman's band. The pianist was Eddy
Duchin.

The lad had just come down from
Boston and was playing like mad. He
had to prove that the decision he had
made was the right thing. His father
had planned a career as a pharmacist
for his tall son. Eddy had even grad-
uated from Pharmacy College. The
piano beckoned and one summer
while working as a waiter in a boys'
camp he organized his fellow waiters
into an orchestra. That ended any pill
concocting for Eddy.

When Reisman left the Casino his
pianist stayed behind. The Casino, on
the advice of important patrons, pre-
vailed on Eddy to organize his own
band.

He became the debutante's delight.
Society swarmed around him in Palm
Beach, Newport, Southampton, Los
Angeles, London, Paris.

Everything Eddy did clicked. Com-
mercial programs came his way. Stage
dates were his for the asking. While
playing in the Persian Room of the
Plaza, which has become his second
home, Eddy met and fell in love with
a lovely debutante, Marjorie Oelrichs.
They were married as thousands
cheered. Eddy seemed destined for
continual luck and happiness.

But tragedy struck the Duchin
household. His wife died in childbirth.

The blow momentarily stopped
Duchin. But he came back fighting.
A lengthy tour was prescribed by his
managers and he rolled up box office
records across the country.

The Duchin style has not undergone
drastic changes. Everything evolves
around the piano. Occasionally they
tear off a swing tune just to show they
know how to do it. In fact, the best-
selling swing record of last year — "Ole
Man Mose" — was made by Duchin.

Artie Shaw is now on the road to
recovery after plenty of medicos gave
up on the clarinetist. . . . Will Lee
Wiley, the songbird, help him recu-
perate?

* * *

Saxie Dowell, flushed with success
of his tune, "Three Little Fishes," has
left the Hal Kemp band. Bob Zurke
gave Bob Crosby notice to form his
own combination, despite domestic
trouble and other headaches.

* * *

Maxine Grey, Hal Kemp's warbler
who returned to the band to replace
her successor, Judy Starr, has left
again. She may marry Tommy Lee,

west coast radio prexy. Nan Wynn
took Maxine's place on the band.

Bert Block junked his Bell Music to
manage Dick Stabile's band, while
Penny Wise has stopped writing tunes
to sing them on Mutual. . . . Charlie
Barnet, whose name is linked with
Dorothy Lamour's, is swinging out
vigorously from Playland, Rye, N. Y.

OFF THE RECORD
Some Like It Sweet

Tears From My Inkwell; Little Hot
Dog Stand (Victor 26199) Sammy
Kaye — Acceptable treatment of two
standard tunes that have attained a
degree of popularity.

Our Love; Only When You're In My
Arms (Victor 26202) Tommy Dorsey —
The streamlining of Tschaikowsky
coupled with the tune from "The Cas-
tles" fares well under the Dorsey
trombone and tricks.

Tea For Two; There'll Be Some
Changes Made (Brunswick 8341)
Clarence Profit Trio — A strange and
subtle treatment strictly for listening
purposes and revealing the kind of
piano you'd like to play.

Sing a Song of Sunbeams; East Side
of Heaven (Decca 2359) Bing Crosby —
That man is here again with a finished
rendition of tunes from his newest
flikker.

Ad-De-Day; Class Will Tell (Decca
2365) Ted Weems— A Cuban novelty
dominates this platter. You'll probably
hum it on the way to work and then
wonder what the devil it's called.

It's All So New To Me; Honorable
Mr. So-and-So (Victor 26205) Joan
Crawford — The oddest record of the
month. MGM's Joan tries her charm
and voice (?) on the records and fares
fairly well on the top side. Terrific
accompaniment carries Joan over the
rough spots.

Three Little Fishes; Chestnut Tree
(Victor 26204) Hal Kemp— Fishie talk
replaces double-talk, and threatens to
sweep the country. Saxie Dowell,
Kemp's ex-saxophonist, penned it and
they'll probably put his statue in the
Aquarium.

Some Like It Swing

Sweet Georgia Brown; Ciribiribin

(Brunswick 8327) Harry James — This
new swing band piloted by Harry
James, a fugitive from Goodman, stands
out on this platter that really sizzles.

Rock-a-Bye Basie; Baby Don't Tell
On Me (Vocalion 4747) Count Basie —
It's the colored Count's new theme song
and he really rocks it with some pretty
fine Boogie-Woogie manipulations on
the keyboard.

If It's Good; Sticks and Stones (Blue-
bird B10203) Les Brown — In a month
shy of outstanding swing records, this
unheralded platter stands out.

Lady's In Love With You; Some Like
It Hot (Brunswick 8340) Gene Krupa—
The drummer and his vocalist, Irene
Day, show off a pair from Gene's first
film "Some Like It Hot."

And the Angels Sing; Snug As a Bug
(Decca 2390) Jan Savitt — Can you
stand another smart rendition of this
hit tune 1 We would especially the way
Savitt rolls it.

'Tain't What You Do; It's Slumber-
time Along the Swanee (Vocalion 4708)
Mildred Bailey— The First Lady of
Swing is given a tune right down her
alley. She doesn't disappoint.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

take dictation. When Mr. Welles learns
this, then perhaps we'll see him on the
screen.

Here's how you must make up for
television, girls, according to Max
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Deep scarlet lips with blue undertone,
light tan foundation, bluish powder
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Artie Shaw, who was given only a
fifty-fifty chance to live a few weeks
ago, is practically fully recovered
from his illness. When doctors first
took Shaw's blood test to the labora-
tories, the attendant took one look at
it and said, "This is the blood of a
dead man!" But Shaw fooled every-
one and staged a fight the like of
which no doctor has seen in years and
after receiving six blood transfusions
in one day, the band leader pulled
past the crisis. The Palomar, where
Shaw's orchestra has been playing
announced his return by using bill-
boards reading: "That Man's Here

Again!"

* * *

Jackie Coogan and Betty Grable
and Robert Benchley are poker and
roulette fans . . . but my informants
tell me they're not very lucky!

Lya Lys, who we predicted was the
only new Hollywood discovery capa-
ble of giving Hedy LaMarr some real
competition, makes her first major

Hollywood Radio Whispers

(Continued from page 41)
radio appearance on the Crosby hour.

Burgess Meredith, in a dramatic
series titled "Prosecuting Attorney,"
will most likely replace the Bob Hope
fun show for the summer. This is bad
news to Milton Berle who had been
expecting the job.

* * *

Jim Ameche, brother of filmstar
Don Ameche, replaces Charles Boyer
on the Playhouse series late in June.

You may be surprised to hear this,
but the best dressed girl at the Tro-
cadero the other night was not a
movie star, but the wife of my radio
competitor, Jimmie Fidler. She drew
raves from all the stars, including
the exquisitely dressed cafe society
folk.

Rudy Vallee's terrific romance with
Susan Ridgeway has most of the other
film pretties green with envy. They've
always figured Rudy was a swell
catch . . . and it seems to them that
Miss Ridgeway has the inside track to
an early marriage.

* * *

Wendy Barrie celebrated her birth-
day recently and planned to have a
large party; but at the last minute
cancelled the affair when she learned
that she would have to work late
on the set. Finally, at nine o'clock,
Wendy went home and called a few

friends to join her at a midnight sup-
per celebration. Later in the evening,
a big limousine drove up in front of
her house ... a man got out, entered
the house, sat down at the piano and
played and sang birthday songs for
Wendy for over an hour. The man
was Rudy Vallee!

Mickey Rooney is adding another
success story to his amazing list of
accomplishments. The young star has
persuaded MGM to let him direct a
portion of his next picture, "Babes in
Arms." Rooney, without any help
from director Busby Berkeley, will
direct the minstrel show sequence,
and if it is good MGM has promised
him screen credit as director of that
particular scene.

Bob Burns is expecting a double
celebration at the end of this month.
His second baby is expected to arrive
on the same day that the Burnses cele-
brate their second wedding anniver-
sary. It's a curious fact that Mrs.
Burns, who was the former Harriett
Foster, Bob's ex-secretary, has not re-
linquished her secretarial duties to
anyone else. Mrs. Burns still answers
Bob's fan mail, takes care of his busi-
ness engagements and otherwise runs
his office as well as his home. Some
say that Harriett will always remain
Bob's secretary. After all, it isn't
every secretary who marries her boss,
is it?

,;,,■,,.-. .............

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74

His Life Is News!

(Continued from page 29)

asked, be a perfect columnist for the
Graphic, New York's newest news-
paper enterprise which Bernarr Mac-
fadden was publishing?

Oursler was unimpressed by Win-
chell's potentialities as a reporter.
He'd think it over. He had little time
to do anything else. From that mo-
ment on, he was besieged by phone
calls from both Winchell and Frescott.
In the middle of the night, at dinner,
at breakfast, he would answer a call.
"How about that job?" Still he saw
no reason for hiring Winchell to write
for the paper. But the more he saw
of Walter the more Oursler realized
that this ambitious hoofer had mag-
nificent sources of news.

SO Winchell was hired as a man who
could give real reporters leads
on big stories and got a column to
write to keep him happy. It didn't
take Oursler long to realize that all
the tips he'd expected Winchell to give
the City Desk were somehow finding
their way every time into the column
— which certainly didn't give the
front page any big stories, but did
give the paper, New York and Win-
chell a column that became increas-
ingly popular.

In 1929 Walter left the Graphic for
the New York Mirror. His first salary
on the Mirror was $500 a week. At
present, he receives $1,200 a week
from his paper, plus a bonus for his
Sunday column. The column is also
syndicated to 150 newspapers from
coast to coast — another source of in-
come. As editor of the Jergen's Jour-
nal, Sunday nights on the air, he re-
ceives $5,000 for each fifteen-minute
radio broadcast, fifty-two weeks a
year. He broadcasts only forty-eight
Sundays, however. Five thousand a
week for four weeks' vacation!

All this seems like a great deal of
money for writing one column of
newsprint a day and talking for a
little less than fifteen minutes on the
air once a week. But the writing, and
the talking, are the smallest parts of
Walter's work. Those casual items in
his column are not just odds and ends
gathered at random. Back of each
line is a story, often a big one, and a
mass of unseen work. Although
Walter prints only one line, or maybe
as much as a paragraph, he has al-
ways heard a complete, detailed story
to justify the note. Sometimes, true
enough, the item is vague — you may
not know exactly what it means — but
its vagueness is not due to doubt
about its truth; there are other reasons
for not printing the whole story.

And Walter has immeasurably en-
riched the American language with
his "Winchellarv" — with words and
expressions that originated in his
brain. The best known, of course, is
"blessed event" — but there are also
"is my face red," "infanticipating,"
"the main stem," "giggle-water,"
"Renovated" "middle-aisle it," "have
Phfffft," "making whoopee," and, of
course, "Ratzi" which earned Walter
the proud post of Hitler enemy No. 1.

Once he feels that he has used a
word until it has become stale he
fixes his blue eyes on space, and out
of nowhere captures a substitute.
These strange and new words serve a
double purpose. They liven up the
column, keep it rich and racy — and
they help avoid libel suits. For in-
stance, it would be dangerous to say

that a certain couple were to be
divorced, but "on the verge" could
mean almost anything, and would
help drive a judge to dismissing any
libel suit.

When Walter was thirty-five years
old, he said he would retire when he
was forty. He's forty-two this year,
although he looks five years younger,
and is still going strong. He's not very
tall, and his figure hasn't a trace of
that fat which usually goes with fame
at forty. His hair has been whitening
for years. His eyes, the most mem-
orable, feature in his face, are an
electric blue and an inward dynamo
keeps them sparkling, except when
some dullard's conversation causes a
short circuit. He wears conservative
blue or gray suits.

He's a good listener — has to be, or
he wouldn't hear the reams of news
he does. But when he feels that his
own conversation is more interesting
than that of his companions (which is
often) he unleashes a rapid-fire patter
of ideas and anecdotes, mostly about
his career. His greeting invariably is,
"What's new?"

A typical day finds Walter rising at
five o'clock in the afternoon. First,
he writes his column from the ma-
terial he has gathered the previous
night, has breakfast while his family
has dinner, and then starts out to
work. Long after sun-up he returns,
has a romp with the children — and so
to bed.

He is his own "Girl Friday," writing
the Friday column which he attributes
to his secretary, Rosa Bigman, al-
though she does contribute some of
the "So-and-so called and said . . ."
items. The "Girl Friday" columns
originated one day when Walter
didn't know what to do to fill in space.
Few people ever have the privilege
of watching a Winchell broadcast,
which is a shame, for Winchell at the
microphone is a very dramatic figure
indeed. He loosens his collar and tie,
pushes the soft hat to the back of his
head, lines up three or four paper
cups full of water within easy reach
— and off he goes, the high-pitched
voice tumbling the words out.

He himself manipulates the tele-
graph key for his famous sound-
effect. Telegraph operators are al-
ways writing in to complain that his
dots and dashes are just so much gib-
berish— don't mean a thing. They are
quite right — Walter never learned the
Morse code — but who cares? Certainly
not Walter; he has too much fun
jiggling the kev.

Read one of his scripts, and you get
the impression that you are actually
hearing Walter talk. They are typed
out exactly as he reads them. All of
his dramatic pauses are indicated by
dashes. Words like "Fascist," "Dala-
dier," "expose" and "Mussolini" are
written phonetically: "fashist," "Dala-
dee-ay," "exposay," and "Moosilini."
One never knows what his broad-
cast will bring. Once he opened his
program with a flash about a triple
murder in New York, and informally
asked through the mike, "If Police
Commissioner Valentine will send a
detective to see me, I think I can give
him a clue." Ten minutes later, while
he was still on the air, a detective
from the Homicide Squad dashed into
the NBC studio. Winchell directed
him to a person to whom one of the
murder victims had confided that she
feared for her life.

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august, 1939

Although I have known Walter
nearly all my life, and although I
confidently count him as one of my
best friends, I must admit that I have
never seen the inside of his home. I
met his wife just once, years ago.
I've never seen his children, except
in the picture frames which hang on
all four walls of his office in the Daily
Mirror Building. There are two chil-
dren— his daughter Walda, and a little
boy called Walter, Jr.

To Walter, even more than to the
average man, his home is his castle.
He insists upon personal privacy. This
isn't a pose, and to me it seems very
logical that a man who makes a busi-
ness of invading other people's pri-
vacy should be particularly jealous of
his own.

His family — father, mother, wife
and children — is Walter's most pre-
cious possession, and he keeps it
inviolate. In the winter, Mrs. Win-
chell and the children, accompanied
by Walter's mother, go to Florida,
where he joins them for a month or
so. In the summer they live at his
home near New York.

EVEN in Hollywood, when Walter
was making "Wake Up and Live"
and "Love and Hisses," Mrs. Winchell
almost never accompanied him on his
trips to the local night clubs. The
one time she did, a photographer
secured the picture that accompanies
this article.

While he was in Hollywood, Walter
worked like a demon, for he can't
stay away from New York very long
without running into a news shortage.
Twentieth Century-Fox paid him
$75,000 apiece for appearing in the
two pictures, but I'm sure it was the
hardest money he ever earned. He
was so tense, so nervous before the
camera, that Director Sidney Lanfield
had to rehearse him until he was
worn out before a scene could be
shot. Only then had he relaxed
enough to appear at ease. For some
reason known only to himself, he
refused to allow his lips to be rouged,
with the result that on the screen they
looked unnaturally pale.

His inquiring mind made him want
to know what was going on around
the set at all times, and the Holly-
wood custom of shooting scenes in
the most convenient order, instead of
the way they would fall in the com-
pleted picture, drove him almost
crazy. He could never figure out
what part of the script they were
shooting.

Considering his pugnacious pen, he
has few enemies — except the Nazis,
and he considers their enmity a rare
compliment. Although he has a rov-
ing assignment, and could go any-
where in the world he wants to, at
his employer's expense, he has never
been to Europe, and probably never
will go. He doesn't even have a
passport.

In his forty-second year, Walter
Winchell has really found his life
work. At heart, he is a crusader, and
in the sorry state of the modern world
he has found something well worth
crusading against. I believe that in
years to come his influence will
broaden, become even greater than it
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75

listen to the Andrew Sisters, Patty, Maxine and La Verne on Phil Baker's show.

WITH everybody using lip-
stick, it is amazing how few
women really use it to the
best advantage. The right lipstick
skillfully applied can make any
mouth look attractive. Too often
a girl's lips are her enemy instead
of her friend. One sees lips that are
smeary and shapeless, lips that are
the wrong color, and lips that could
be so easily improved by just a little
art helping nature.

The Andrew Sisters, that lovely
trio that you hear on the Phil Baker
Hour Wednesday evenings at eight
o'clock over NBC, are expert in all
the arts of makeup. They made a
systematic study of it. For months
they had a beauty specialist live
with them to give them daily lessons.
These talented sisters have been
professional entertainers since they
were little girls, so young that they
had to have a tutor travel with them
to satisfy the school laws. Yet there
is nothing stagey or artificial in their
appearance. Patty — Maxine — La
Verne — each is a distinct type, in-
dividual and spontaneous. If you are
lucky enough to see them, either in
the broadcasting studio or in the
setting of their delightful home life,
you will be impressed by their
naturalness.

Here are a few hints on making
the most of your lipstick: First, get
the right shade. Whether you use a
lipstick in the usual form, or a
cream rouge, or one of the new
liquid lip cosmetics, you have plenty
of shades from which to choose.

By
Dr. GRACE GREGORY

Consider first your own coloring and
your type. What is right for a ma-
ture brunette will be all wrong for
the youthful blonde. The outdoors
girl with her tan may wear a tawny
red lipstick that would be startling
on the lips of the sweetly Victorian
type, all delicate pastels.

When is the lipstick to be worn?

Here are Helen Macfadden's rules for
your beauty sleep which were offered
over June Hynd's NBC program Let's
Talk It Over:

A hard bed is preferable to a soft one.
It is better for the spine.

Sleeping without a pillow keeps the
neck and chin area more youthful.

The minimum amount of bedclothing
with the maximum amount of warmth is
not only more comfortable but healthier.

A good sleeping posture is half way
between lying face downward and on
the side. Lying flat on the stomach, with
head turned to either side, is just as
good if it is comfortable.

Drugs to induce sleep are habit-form-
ing and dangerous. Take a long walk
instead, or a cup of warm milk.

Cultivate relaxation.

Keep a humidifier or water pan in the
room to keep the air moist.

Do not overeat before retiring.

RADIO MIRROR

• *

There are shades for evening and
for day. With what dress and hat?
One lipstick goes well with bold,
strong colors, and another with sub-
dued shades and tints. Take all
these into consideration.

Having chosen, the next thing is
to get it on properly. Be sure you
are in a strong light and have a good
mirror. A magnifying mirror is a
great help with makeup. It shows
up your mistakes in exaggerated
form. Never let me catch you
smearing on lipstick in public by the
aid of a tiny compact mirror or no
mirror at all.

Put a little dab of color in each
curve of the cupid's bow on the
upper lip. Then rub the lips to-
gether, drawing them in and out so
that the color is spread to the lower
lip and well toward the inside of
both lips. This avoids a line show-
ing as you talk or laugh.

Now shape the lips carefully with
the tip of your little finger. Add a
little more lipstick if necessary but
see that it is well blended and the
line of the lips is preserved.

You may cheat a little and alter
the line of your lips, if you do not
go too far. To make a small mouth
seem larger, spread the color to the
extreme corners and edges. For the
too-large mouth, reverse this and
keep just inside the natural line.
This also helps thick lips look thin-
ner.

Last step, powder all around the
lips so that they blend naturally
with the rest of the face.

76

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

What Do You Want to Say?

(Continued from page 4)

SIXTH PRIZE

WANTED: THE RETURN OF ROBERT
YOUNG

A radio show is as good as its Mas-
ter of Ceremonies — a loud blatant
M.C. can ruin a good show and an in-
telligent one can put over a poor one.

We have just read with more than
regret that Good News of 1939 is leav-
ing the airwaves, and with it goes the
finest, most intelligent "pleasant-to-
the-ears" M.C. on the air. I refer to
Robert Young.

After the raucous, "circus barker"
introductions of talent from the va-
rious air shows, it is a positive re-
lief to our ears to hear the quiet,
even tones of Robert Young as he
introduces his players, and when he
leaves the air, his gentle "Good-
Night" is the good-night of a friend
leaving our living room. Please, spon-
sors, let us keep our gentle voiced
friend — Robert Young!

A Radio Fan
From Baltimore

SEVENTH PRIZE

THOSE WERE THE "GOOD OLD DAYS"

Perhaps radio is not yet old enough
to have reached its "Golden Era."
Nevertheless, although we have much
that's fine on the air today, I long for
the "Good Old Days!" The early
1930's when we had those marvelous
fifteen-minute programs with Bing
Crosby, Mildred Bailey, Kate Smith,
Russ Columbo, Alex Gray, Jane Fro-
man, Ruth Etting, The Mills Brothers,
The Boswell Sisters, etc.

Possibly, too, it was the melodious
tunes of those days that added to the
charm; "Stardust," "Body and Soul,"
"I Surrender, Dear," "Prisoner of
Love," "Rockin' Chair," and so many
others.

How much nicer to tune in and
really have your favorite for fifteen
minutes rather than listening for
them at intervals through sixty min-
utes of hodge-podge.

Ah, me! I guess those were the
"Good Old Days."

B. R. Bauer,

Chicago, 111.

What's New From Coast to Coast

(Continued from page 6)

Burns and Allen had a contract
with a new sponsor long long before
the one with their present boss was
due to run out. Beginning in October,
they'll be on the air for Hinds Honey
and Almond Cream, at a salary that's
said to be $13,500 a week, or a thou-
sand more than they were getting this
season. (Of course, they pay all the
expenses of producing the program,
out of that amount, so it's not quite
as staggering as it seems at first
glance.)

It looks as if, now that Kate Smith
and her manager, Ted Collins, have
proved their point, they're satisfied.
When the Kate Smith hour went on
CBS at 8:00 o'clock Thursday night,
everybody said Kate could never buck
the competition of the popular Vallee
Hour, on NBC at the same time. But
this year Kate's popularity rating in
the surveys went up past Vallee's —
and when she goes on the air again
next fall Kate will retire from the
Thursday-night fray, taking the 9:00
to 10:00 spot Friday nights on CBS
instead. To the victor belongs the
right to change times.

* * *

Nan Wynn, songbird of the Hal
Kemp Time to Shine program on CBS,
is also a bright spot in songwriter
Jimmy Van Husen's eyes.

CINCINNATI— At the age of four,
standing on a stool to reach the top of
the table, Marsha Wheeler mixed her
first cake, and ever since then cooking
has been her major passion. Today
it's her profession as well, because she
is the conductor of WSAI's Wonder
Kitchen program, broadcast daily ex-
cept Sundays from the auditorium of a
Cincinnati department store.

Marsha picked up all the cooking
instruction she could from her mother
when she was a girl, then attended
the University of Chicago, where she
made a practice of eating at downtown
hotels and meeting each hotel's chef.

AUGUST, 1939

By the time she graduated, she knew
every chef in the Windy City.

She came to Cincinnati and WLW
and WSAI in 1927, and has been there
ever since. She has a standing invita-
tion to eat in the chef's kitchen of
every Cincinnati hotel, and says she'd
rather eat there than in the finest
dining room in America — even though
she must eat lunch at 11 a. m. and din-
ner at 5, when the chefs do.

With the cleverness of an expert, she
can tell from a recipe exactly how it
will taste, just as a musician can tell
from reading a score how it will sound.
She often makes out of an ordinary
recipe an interestingly novel one. For
instance, she once began with a simple
Vanilla Wafer recipe, twisted the in-
gredients a bit, and ended up with
some cookies she called "Lanky Legs,"
because they were based on ingredients
necessary for fast-growing children.

With all her cooking ability, it was
her fondness for horses and horseback
riding that won Marsha her husband.
Riding is her only recreation; she loves
it so much that recently, touring the
south and southwest to study hotel
kitchens in that area, she rode in every
Texas, Arkansas, Mississippi and Ala-
bama town she visited.

Maybe she's breaking union rules,
but Eleanor Phelps, besides being the
star of the CBS serial, Life and Love
of Dr. Susan, impersonates animals
on it too. Three puppies are promi-
nent characters in the script, and since
the salaries of three separate animal
imitators would mount up, radio was
combed to find someone who could
imitate all three of them at once. One
animal-noise-expert — a woman — was
finally found and hired, and she does
the job very well, but Eleanor always
helps her out by contributing a few
supplementary barks and whines her-
self, just to make the illusion richer.
And also because Eleanor has always
thought it would be fun to be able
to imitate animals well, and this is
good practice.

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77

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By MRS. MARGARET SSMPSON

Above, Ezra Stone who plays the
part of Henry Aldrich of the pop-
ular Aldrich Family, keeps cool
with nourishing foods like this.

OH, it's too hot to eat!"
How often, during sultry
weather you hear that plaint.
True, it is too hot to enjoy the heavy
rich foods so popular during the
colder months, but that only makes
it all the more necessary to plan
meals that are nourishing yet light
— so people whose jobs depend upon
their being physically fit and men-
tally alert at all times keep their
energy up to standard by eating
plenty of cold cereals.

People, for instance, like Ezra
Stone, the. engaging Henry Aldrich
of the popular Aldrich Family and
star of the Broadway play, "What a
Life," from which radio's Aldrich
Family grew. You can hear him on
Jack Benny's NBC spot these sum-
mer Sundays. The secret of good
health and energy which enables
him to carry on in these difficult
assignments is wise eating — and to
Ezra that means crisp cereals with
milk or fruit.

But don't get the idea that when
you've served these valuable grain
products with cream or fruit you
have exhausted their possibilities.
Far from it. They are essential in-
gredients in many delightful new
recipes as well. Two of the most
delicious of these are date icebox
pudding, and cereal hamburger rolls.

Date Icebox Pudding
3 cups uncooked bran cereal
1 cup uncooked corn or wheat
cereal

78

Dash of salt 4 tbls. sugar
1 tsp. grated orange rind
1 cup finely cut dates
1 cup chopped walnut meats
1 cup milk

Combine the two cereals and
crush into crumbs. Set aside half
a cup of the crumbs. To the remain-
ing crumbs add the remaining in-
gredients with the exception of the
milk and mix well. When thor-
oughly mixed stir in the milk, then
mold the mixture into a loaf about
eight inches long. Roll the loaf in
the remaining crumbs, wrap it in
waxed paper and chill in the re-
frigerator for five to six hours. Cut
in slices and serve with whipped
cream or any desired fruit sauce.
Cereal Hamburger Rolls

1 lb. ground round steak (without
fat or suet)
Vz cup uncooked cereal
Vz tsp. salt Pepper to taste

1 clove garlic

1 medium onion, grated
Rub a wooden mixing bowl with
the garlic then grate the onion into
the bowl. Add the meat, cereal, salt
and pepper and mix until all ingredi-
ents are thoroughly blended and the
mixture has absorbed the onion
juice. Form into rolls about four
inches long and not more than an
inch in diameter. Place on broiler

RADIO MIRROR

rack under flame and broil for six
minutes; turn and broil for six
minutes more.

As a last word on the subject of
cold cereals — remember that when
crumbed as for the recipes above,
they are an excellent topper for any
casserole dish that calls for a top
layer of crumbs.

That Extra Little Snack

You know that there's nothing
that quite takes the place of crackers
and milk as a bedtime snack and of
course you wouldn't dream of serv-
ing soup or canapes without them,
so you don't need to be told how
good they are or how really in-
dispensable in modern menus. But
perhaps you've never considered
them as the basis for a sweet teatime
delicacy — one that you'll serve over
and over because of their tantaliz-
ing flavor. The recipe isn't a new
one, really — it goes back to the days
of our grandmothers and is a new
treatment for our old friend the
cracker.

Marguerites
1 dozen crackers, 1 egg white, 2

tbls. sugar, dash salt
Vz' tsp. vanilla

English walnut halves
Beat the egg white stiff, add the
sugar, salt and vanilla. Spread the
mixture on the crackers, top each
one with a walnut half and bake in
a moderate oven until the meringue
is firm and golden brown.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Pretty Kitty Kelly

(Continued from page 53)

going on. I thought Dr. Orbo was the
legitimate agent for the shares — and
that the real ov/ner was in London. I
— I never connected the deal with this
poor unfortunate girl — "

Kitty listened weakly, trying to
understand. What was it all about?
An estate in London? Stock certifi-
cates? Shares? What did it have to
do with her?
Mr. Andrews was going on.
"I observed a secrecy in connection
with the whole matter, Inspector,
merely because I was not the only
person trying to buy those shares. Mr.
Grant Thursday also wanted them."
Grant Thursday! But of course. She
remembered it now. That day in the
car, when he bad hinted at a deal
with Dr. Orbo. So this was what it
was. He too had been fighting for
those mysterious shares, those shares
on which Isaac Hamish had wanted
her so badly to write her name.
Oh! it was all so complicated!
The Inspector was turning back to
Isaac Hamish.

"We will investigate your state-
ments later, Mr. Andrews," he said
curtly. "Just now, while our Mr.
Hamish still has breath, I want to
know why this girl's signature was
so necessary to those shares. Who is
this girl, Isaac Hamish — and why have
you tortured her so?"

The room was very still. Kitty held
her breath. Outside, through the
patched-up windowpane, she could
still hear the rain beating, and the
distant rumble of thunder. Isaac
Hamish groaned, and put his hand-
cuffed hands over his face.

"It's a long story, Inspector," he
moaned. "And I am very tired — in
pain. Must I tell it tonight?"

"Tonight!" The Inspector was grim.
"Come!" He motioned to a doctor.
"Give him a glass of brandy: That'll
brace him up. Now, Hamish. Out with
it at once!"

Isaac Hamish sipped the brandy
slowly. It sent a faint flush of return-
ing color to his yellow cheeks. Then
he took a deep breath.

THE story of Kitty Kelly," he be-
' gan, "dates back more than twenty
years ago— to the time when I, Isaac
Hamish, was the solicitor to the estate
of the Fitzhugh family, hereditary
lords of the house of Glenannan.
Twenty years ago, there were only
two surviving members of the family
— the old Earl, and his beautiful
daughter, Lady Margaret Fitzhugh.

"The Lady Margaret was a young,
high-spirited girl. She fell in love,
married against her father's wishes — ■
and ran away forever. Her husband
was a poor young Irish rebel, a Mr.
Robert Emmet Kelly — "

"Kelly!" Bunny gave a little gasp
from the other side of the room.
Hamish looked at her for a moment
and frowned.

"Mr. Robert Kelly," he repeated.
"He was a poor man, as I have said,
of no connections whatsoever. But the
Lady Margaret was willing to give up
everything for him. She went away
with him, lived in a cottage in the
country— quite happy and contented
for a year. But her happiness was
short-lived. Early in 1917, rebellion
broke out in Ireland. Young Kelly
was called to the wars. One night he
was brought home in an Irish lorry to
Lady Margaret's cottage — dead. That

AUGUST, 1939

same night their child was born
— a girl, Kathleen. You, Miss Kelly,
were that child!"

"Kitty!" Bunny shrieked. "You're
a — a — countess!"

"The Countess of Glenannan." Isaac
Hamish's face was drawn with pain.
His eyes were growing glazed. "That
is right, ma'am. Miss Kelly there is an
heiress — to one of the oldest and rich-
est estates in Ireland!"

Kitty closed her eyes. The room
was reeling round in front of her. A
countess! So it had been true! All
those presentiments of her past.
Everything Grant Thursday had said.
The skiing. Mrs. Megram's words: —
"The place that is rightfully yours."
Isaac Hamish hurried on.
"Yes, Miss Kelly, by rights you
should have had the estate long ago.
Your — your mother died when you
were only two years old. Your grand-
father brought you up. He worshipped
you — willed his entire fortune to you.
He died two years ago, leaving me to
turn the estate over to you. But I
would have been ruined if you had
taken over the estate. For — for twenty
years — I — had been cheating your
grandfather. He was old, careless.
But you were young. You — you would
have found me out. I heard of Dr.
Orbo. He had performed some am-
nesia experiments, was unscrupulous,
half mad. Two days after your grand-
father's funeral I — I delivered you
into his hands. He succeeded in de-
stroying your -memory completely. I
then gave you over to Mrs. Megram,
who promised to take you to Amer-
ica, and kill you upon your — arrival.
But she changed her mind on the way
over — and instead of killing you, she
blackmailed us. We — finally — had to
kill her."

"So you were the ones who killed
Mrs. Megram!" the Inspector broke
in. "Scotland Yard suspected as
much."

"It was a — a — foolish move on our
part, I admit," Hamish groaned. "But
we were desperate. Dr. Orbo — had
come over from England to find Miss
Kelly. We — needed her signature on
some stock — we wanted to sell to
Andrews there. Dr. Orbo had planned
to get her old handwriting back by
hypnosis. Then the Mrs. Megram busi-
ness interfered with our plans."

"You'll hang for this, Hamish!" The
Inspector blurted out. Hamish smiled
wryly.

"Not if I know it," he gasped. "Your
— your men have done me in. I am
. . . dying." His breath came in short
sobs. "But there is one more thing I
want to tell Miss Kelly — one thing of
vital . . . importance. Her . . . memory
can be restored. Dr. Orbo was . . .
working on the compound. He — he
was a peculiar man . . . a . . . scientist
as much as he . . . was a murderer.
He — he gave me the antidote in this
vial. I was to . . . give it to Miss Kelly
... in case ... in case . . ."

His voice ended in a suffocated
choke He fell forward in the chair,
then slid to the floor in a crumpled
heap. The doctors rushed to him. But
there was no need for them now.
Isaac Hamish was dead.
* * *
THE rain had stopped, and the morn-
1 ing sun was coming up over the drip-
ping trees, over the still swamp, when
Kitty and Michael finally escaped into
the open for a breath of fresh air.

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FOOT
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They walked hand in hand, saying
little, like two children. It was all
over at last. All the pain and suffer-
ing of the last week were over.
Michael had explained everything
about Isabel. It had been a misunder-
standing from beginning to end, a
series of little things gone wrong.
Isabel had used the big "business
deal" between Michael and her father
as a ceaseless excuse to see him. That
night in the French restaurant, she
had deceived Michael into thinking
Mr. Andrews was to be there. That
day in the store she had captured
him again — merely by chance. He had
really come to see Kitty and apolo-
gize— but she had seized his arm,
started talking. He had felt he ought
to play along with her, on account of
the "deal." He had called Kitty herself
again and again — once at the store,
that afternoon, when she was visiting
Dr. Weyman's — again during her
visit with Dr. Orbo. He had missed
her both times — and had finally come
to her apartment that terrible night
when Dr. Orbo took her away. He
had found the place empty — the door
wide open, not a soul within.

It was over now, and she could rest
safely in his love. And yet — there was
still something a little strange about
Michael. They had walked all this
way, to the very edge of the marshy
lake, and still he had not taken her in
his arms. His face was sober, ab-
stracted. His eyes looked away from
her own every now and then.

She touched him gently on the arm.

"Michael, darling, what's the mat-
ter? What's wrong?"

He did not speak for a moment,
only patted her hand.

"Nothing, Kitty. Nothing at all.
I — I'm just thinking about your —
future."

IT'LL be the same as my present,
1 Michael. Only a bit happier, that's
all. I — I know who I am now, Michael.
I'm not afraid. I — I — want . . ."

She wanted to tell him that now
they could be married. They had
waited for it so long. So many ghosts
had come in the way. But the ghosts
were gone. The words trembled on
the tip of her tongue. She waited for
him to pick them up.

But he only stood there, staring
over the lake.

"Your future is going to be very
different from your present, Kitty
Kelly," he said. He looked at the
ground, kicking the soft wet earth
with the tip of his shoe. "You won't
be wanting me in it, that's one sure
thing."

"Michael!" She gave a little cry,
seized his arm. "Michael, what do
you mean?"

He did not look at her.

"I mean — you're going to be rich
and famous. You're a countess, Kitty.
A real countess. You — you always have
been a countess — too good for me. I
should have known it — all along."

"Michael!" Kitty threw her arms
about his shoulders. "Please! Don't
talk that way! It doesn't matter a bit
to me. Not one bit! Nothing matters
— except you. I — I'd love you, no
matter who I was."

Oh, if only he would look at her, if

only he would understand. But
Michael shook his head.

"You can say that now, Kitty. But
it will matter some day. Once you've
got your memory back, I — I'll be for-
gotten. All right. You're content to
be Kitty Kelly now. But wait till the
doctors start giving you some of that
compound Dr. Orbo left you. Wait
till you start remembering things
about Ireland and the estate and the
people you knew in St. Moritz. Do
you think you'll be content to be Mrs.
Michael Conway?"

"But I would, Michael! I would. I
couldn't forget you — not in a million
years! I love you!"

''You forgot the old earl, your grand-
father, didn't you? It'll be the same
way, once you start taking that medi-
cine. You won't know me any more.
You'll want some other kind of man.
Someone who fits in with your old
memories — someone like that Thurs-
day guy who's more your style."

His voice died away bitterly. They
stood there, very quietly, at the edge
of the lake, staring into each other's
eyes. Then Kitty shook her head.
Tears were running down her cheeks.

"Michael!" she said brokenly. "My
own dear Michael . . . I — couldn't ....
I'd never want anything in the world
to come . . . between you and me . . ."

She fumbled in her coat pocket, as
though for her handkerchief. But
when her hand came out again, her
fingers were clasped tight around a
tiny bottle, a bottle filled with pale
green liquid. Isaac Hamish had given
it to her last ni-?ht before he died.

She felt it for a moment, caressing
its smooth glass contours secretly with
her palm. Her memory. The link be-
tween her present and her past. There
were dear forgotten faces in that
bottle. Her grandfather's face. Her
mother's. Theie were landscapes,
houses, the green hills of Ireland, the
streets of Dublin, the towers of a
baronial mansion, And yet, Michael
was more important than them all.

With a swift gesture, she lifted the
little vial high above her head. It
shimmered for a moment, like an
emerald, in the morning light. Then
she threw it with all her might to-
ward the lake at her feet. It flashed
through the air in a dizzy green arc —
and fell with a light splash, into the
quiet waters.

Michael gave a cry to see it go, and
caught her wrist. But it was gone,
forever. She was glad, now that it
was gone. Glad for life and love.
Glad for knowledge and youth, and
the consciousness that all the darkness
lay behind her. She smiled at him, as
he came forward slowly, holding out
his arms for her. They clung to each
other, as the sun rose higher and
higher in the morning sky.

But was Kitty able to cast away all
her past so easily? Or did riches
bring new trials, new adventures to
the sweet Irish girl? And did her
amnesia always remain, or did she
suddenly regain her memory, forget
Michael, her friends in New York?
For further episodes in this strange
love story, tune in CBS, Pretty Kitty
Kelly, Mondays through Fridays,
10:00 to 10:15 a. m. Eastern Daylight
Saving Time.

ANSWERS TO SPELLING BEE

1. Pastime. 2. Inflorescence. 3. Freesia. 4. Drivel. 5. Redingote. 6. Paregoric. 7. Ipecac.
8. Unemployability. 9. Separator. 10. Acerb. 11. Hobnobbed. 12. Antimacassar.
13. Digitalis. 14. Belladonna. 15. Aconite. 16. Desserts. 17. Mascara. 18. Homesteader.
19. Torridity. 20 Naiads.

80

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Sweet LITTLE PRINCESS. .DEAR LITTLE GIRL

Her Midsummer Night's Dream is sure to come true
because she discovered how a Certain Color Tone
gave her the Look of Fashionable Innocence...

1 hat 'Little Girl' look has always been completely disarming, and
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But don't be misled! Clever realness and genuine sincerity must be
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definitely has the spirit of flying curls and lacy things. It gives to
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POWDER HAS IT... the 'Little Girl' scheme is complete
• . . even to English Tint shade of world famous Princess Pat almond
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PRINCESS PAT, DEPT. 489, CHICAGO

Rush me the ' Little Girl' Make-up Kit right
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-

:

WITNESSED STATEMENT SERIES:

TOBACCO MAN

"The finest tobacco of all time— that's
what we've had in recent crops! And
Luckies always buy the cream of the
crop," says Jack Rogers, tobacco
auctioneer and a Lucky Strike smoker
for seven years

R-Tj AVE YOU TRIED A LUCKY LATELY?
LnJ Luckies are better than ever because
new methods developed by the United
States Government have helped farmers
grow finer, lighter tobacco in the past sev-
eral years. As independent tobacco ex-
perts like Jack Rogers point out, Luckies
have always bought the Cream of the
Crop. Aged from 2 to 4 years, these finer
tobaccos are in Luckies today. Try them
for a week. Then you'll know why
sworn records show that among inde-
pendent tobacco experts — auctioneers,
warehousemen and buyers — Luckies
have twice as many exclusive smokers
as have all other cigarettes combined!

WITH MEN WHO KNOW
TOBACCO BEST- ITS LUCKIES 2 TO 1

Copyright 1935, The American Tobacco Company

r>

*.

V^S^

Easy on Your Throat-
Becau selTS TOASTB0*

/fan you fr/eJa^UCW/afe/ys

WOULD A WOMAN FORGIVE?

leginning BACKSTAGE WIFE in vivid story form

MURDER FOR LOVE

frad the Daring Story Charles Martin wrote for JOAN CRAWFORD

TELEVISION
SETS GIVEN AM

DETAILS ON
PAGE 22

«■

' fl$K YOU >%U*. „ -*- ~~^^^™

^ that's why I'll never again use
anytb ng butYotes Sanitary Napkins
SS*W» -ade with layer ^
1 „,. ^f soft filmy tissue that one aira
S^rb attribute moisture

throughout the pad; check striking

through in one spot !

3 SIZES OF KOTEX wake, qg huj Am^ V- 5*4*4"

If any girl hasn't learned this secret, she's
missing comfort and protection never before
possible! 3 sizes of Kotex Sanitary Napkins
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simple matter for every woman to meet her
individual needs from day to day.

All 3 Types at the
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KOTEX* SANITARY NAPKINS

( *Trade Mark Beg. U.S. Pat. OJfcct)

&jett&L> £o*f KotcK^-^jetfou ^ct- L\cxl

Romance is alway$,UUIZ11 wirr
Just around the corner" for Jane!

No need for a girl to spoil her own chances when MUM so surely guards charm!

A GAY PARTY— a pretty new dress—
. and so becoming! For months Jane
had dreamed that this would be her eve-
ning, her night to win romance! But
when it came, it was the other girls who
got the masculine attention. Romance
seemed everywhere— why couldn't it
come to Jane?

Romance can't come to the girl who
is guilty of underarm odor. This fault,
above all faults, is one that men can't
stand. Yet today there are actually thou-
sands of "Janes" who court disaster. . .
girls who neglect to use Mum!

It's a mistake to think a bath alone
will protect you from underarm odor!
Realize that a bath removes only past
perspiration, that Mum -prevents odor. . .
then you'll play safe. More women use
Mum than any other deodorant— more
screen stars, more nurses— more girls
who know that underarms need special

SEPTEMBER, 1939

care — not occasionally, but every day!
You'll like this pleasant cream!

MUM IS QUICK! It takes 30 seconds—
practically no time at all— for Mum!

MUM IS SAFE! The Seal of the American
Institute of Laundering tells you Mum is
harmless to fabrics. You can apply it after
you're dressed. And even after underarm
shaving Mum soothes your skin.

MUM IS SURE! Without stopping perspi-
ration, Mum stops underarm odor. Get
Mum today at any druggist's. Remember,
any girl can lose romance if she's guilty of
odor! Make sure of your charm! Play safe
—guard your popularity with Mum!

AVOID THIS EMBARRASSMENT! Thou-
sands of women make a habit of Mum for sani-
tary napkin use. Mum is gentle, safe... frees you
from worry of offending.

MORE MOVIE STARS, MORE NURSES, MORE WOMEN, USE MUM

S9M

■« -

) ^ -~y

liP =

f TO HERSELF: ^

_» ^m

mil

SIS WAS RI6HT '•_-

r ' '

-MUM KEEPS |

-1

SIS SAYS A BATH
ALONE IS NEVER
ENOUGH FOR
UNDERARMS,
SO I'LL TRY

ME FRESH.

TONIGHT BILLS 1
ASKED FOR.
EVERY DANCE. J

MUM, TOO.

1

MUKl

*&2s2&*

■

J: i

TAKES THE ODOR OUT OF PERSPIRATION

SEPTEMBER, 1939

JkUXOR

The face powder with
a light touch!

A heavily overpowdered face has no
charm for the stag-line. Why not use
Luxor "Feather-Cling," the face pow-
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for hours. Choice of shades? All five
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Rose Rachel is very popular.

the

]Nei«

JPacUo

MHO TEUEWISIOn

VOL. 12 No. 5

ERNEST V. HEYN
Executive Editor

BELLE LANDESMAN,
ASSISTANT EDITOR

FRED R. SAMMIS
Editor

Condemned To Live . 8

The strange love story especially written for Joan Crawford
Honeymoons Need Not End Marian Rhea 10

The Jon Halls share. their secret of happiness with you
Backstage Wife Hope Hale 1 2

Beginning the complete story of radio's exciting marriage serial
Eleanor Roosevelt — Radio's Favorite Guest Jerry Mason 16

The First Lady has lived through some rare radio experiences
Is Your Husband Really a Bargain? John^J. Anthony 18

Take this quiz and get the lowdown — if you dare
How to Raise a Male Quartet Virginia T. Lane 20

Join the Crosby family and see how it's done
A Television Set For You — Free! 22

Radio's biggest news!
The Real Life Adventures of Molly Goldberg Fannie Merrill 24

Meet the Goldbergs' beloved Mother as she really is
My Daughters Sing Swing Mrs. Frances Tilton 33

A modern mother's challenging story
Interrupted Wedding as told by Aunt Jenny 34

The story of a scandal that threatened four lives
Hollywood Radio Whispers George Fisher 37

Stars in filmland
I Married Outside the Law 38

To whom did her husband really belong?

What Do You Want to Say? 3

What's New From Coast to Coast 4

Radio's Photo-Mirror

Rudy Vallee 25

Perfection in Television 26

Hot Weather Specials 28

"True or False?" 30

Noel Mills 32

Facing the Music 40

Summer School 43

Inside Radio — The New Radio Mirror Almanac 44

What Do You Want to Know? 60

We Canadian Listeners 69

Hands Play a Part 82

Make It Appetizing! 84

COVER — Ann Sheridan by Carlo Garrone
(Courtesy of Warner Brothers)

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBROR, published monthly by Macfadden Publications, Inc., Washington and
South Avenues Dunellen New Jersey. General Offices: 205 East 42nd Street. New York, N. Y. Editorial and
advcrtisinc offices' Chanin Building, 122 East 42nd Street, New York. Bernarr Macfadden, President; Wesley
F Pane Secretary Irene T. Kennedy, Treasurer; Walter Hanlon, Advertising Director. Chicago office: 333
North Michigan Avenue. C H. Shattuck. Mgr. San Francisco office: 1658 Buss Building. Lee Andrews. Mgr.
Fntered as second-class matter September 14, 1933, at the Post Office at Dunellen, New Jersey, under the
Act of March 3 1879 Price in United States, Canada, and Newfoundland $1.00 a year. 10c a copy. In U. S.
Territories- Possessions Cuba, Mexico. Haiti, Dominican Republic, Spain and Possessions, and Central and
South American countries, excepting British Honduras, British, Dutch and French Guiana, $1.50 a year;
all other countries $2 50 a year. While Manuscripts, Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's
risk every effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompanied by sufficient 1st class postage,
and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to be sure to retain copies of their contribu-
tions ' otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters for the "What Do You Want to Say?"
department will not be returned, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter contributed.
Alt submissions become the property of the magazine. (Member of Macfadden Women's Group.)
ropyright 1939 by the Macfadden Publications, Inc. The contents of this magazine may not be printed,
either wholly or in part, without permission.
Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Company, Dunellen, N. J.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MERROB

w tmrit "&

FIRST PRIZE

And So They Were Married

YOUR June issue was really a God-
send. You see, a young man and
I have wanted to marry for two
years but because of the lack of
money we hesitated. He left town
because it was more than we could
stand to be around each other. I read
John J. Anthony's "Dare I Marry"
and I immediately sent the article to
my young man. And, dear Editor, we
are marrying in June when he comes
home. Bless Mr. Anthony's heart and
your magazine.

Verbena M. Pendleton

Texarkana, Texas

SECOND PRIZE

We Dis

Mr. Fidler!

isagree,

In the May issue of RADIO MIR-
ROR Jimmie Fidler picked Nelson
Eddy as his second choice of a male
classical singer, "Despite the fact that
he makes few concessions to please."

I believe Nelson creates this un-
justifiable impression because he does
not confine his selections to the
thoroughly familiar, constantly re-
quested songs but gives us a variety

THIS IS YOUR PAGE!

YOUR LETTERS OF OPINION WIN

PRIZES

First Prize $10.00

Second Prize $ 5.00

Five Prizes of $ 1 .00

Address your letter to the Editor,
RADIO MIRROR, 122 East 42nd
Street, New York, N. Y., and mail it
not later than August 25, 1939. All
submissions become the property of
the magazine.

of exceptionally beautiful songs of
the Masters and of modern American
and English composers.

I am sure there are many thousands
like myself who appreciate these
beautiful songs and who feel that

Nelson is trying to please them. So
here's to Nelson Eddy for his courage
and sincerity in bringing us music of
exceptional quality, no less deserving
of a permanent place in our musical
memories than the old, familiar ones.
Dorothy A. Still

Patchogue, N.Y.

THIRD PRIZE

He's A Cure For The Blues

Tune in, hear Kay Kyser. He has a
real program, always full of pep,
something different, no sob stuff.

The world is full of trouble and
each one has his or her share. So,
listen to this program. It is very
much worth your while. Have a few
laughs, get a little bit of education
and hear the latest songs. It is a good
cure for the blues.

Viola Sims
Indianapolis, Indiana

FOURTH PRIZE

Are You Nervous?

You, no doubt, have heard people
say that the radio made them ner-
vous. Did you ever hear of the radio
(Continued on page 61)

A HINT TO A WOMAN OF 30

;ts BEEN YEARS ! COME to lunch
AND TELL ME ALL ABOLTT YOURSELF.

Jane dares to hint

LISTERINE S WORTH TRYING,
ISN'T IT? REMEMBER, YOU
NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU H*VE
HALITOSIS. I DIDN'T.

ANYTHING S WORTH
TRYINC. I'VE GOT
LISTEBINE AT HOME.-
ALWAYS USE IT FOR
MY HAIR , ITS SO
WONDERFUL.

The following June

who says i'm not a match- maker. ..who
says listebine isn't dan cupid .
Linda's marrying bob on the 21 st.

MEN IGNORED ME,T00. ID NEVER
HAVE COT JIM IF I HADN'T FOUND THAT
MY BREATH WAS MY TROUBLE, AND
BEGAN USING LISTERinC.
PERHAPS YOU

NO , NO *
NOT THAT.
STILL ....

For halitosis (bad breath) use |JSTERINE

TO GIRLS WHO
DON'T WANT TO STAY SINGLE

No matter how good-looking, how witty,
how well dressed you are, you're only a flat
tire on the highway of love if you have hali-
tosis (bad breath). And you may have it
this very moment, without realizing it.

Why not follow the rule of popular women
and use Listerine Antiseptic as a gargle and
mouth rinse? Its effect is so delightful, its
antiseptic and deodorizing action so quick.
Listerine Antiseptic cleans and
freshens the mouth, halts fermen-
tation, a major cause of odors,
and leaves the breath sweeter,
purer, and more agreeable.

Use Listerine Antiseptic before

all engagements at which you

wish to appear at your best.

Lambert Pharmacal Co.,

St. Louis, Mo.

SEPTEMBER, 1939

3\SA

$*"*™?!3

% C\^(jyri,'j,j

A Hollywood twosome that is
giving the gossips something
to think about— Judy Garland
and Artie Shaw. Right, pausing
on one of their dates to auto-
graph a tourist's car. Below,
Harry Leedy, Connie Boswell's
husband, brings the singer to
NBC's All American broadcast.

A Fink Photo

-

'Miff

/ <, -A

&\

I

t%

BY DAN SENSENEY

V

RADIO'S newest variation on the
quiz program ought to give some
bright hostess an idea for a way
to entertain her guests. For instance,
there's Author, Author! on the
Mutual network every Monday night
at 9:30, Eastern Daylight Time, which
presents a half-finished story to its
literary guest stars, and asks them to
think up a satisfactory ending for it
on the spur of the moment. How
about trying that on your friends
some night? Let each of them supply
an ending to the story, and see which
ending is best.

You shouldn't have to think up
more than three or four unfinished
stories for an evening's entertainment.
Just to give you an idea and get you
started, here's a sample story, taken
from Author, Author!

The scene is a formal coming-out
party, and the mother of the debu-
tante is talking to the society column-
ist, Lucian Reeby. Lucian compliments
her on the party, saying it's absolutely
perfect and daughter looks wonderful.
"Do you really like it?" says mother
happily. "Then, Mr. Reeby, will you
do me a big favor? When you write
the report for the paper will you say
that the party was vulgar, the guests

of no importance, the refreshments
poisonous, and my daughter the
homeliest girl you ever saw?"
Try to finish that story!

A man in the CBS publicity depart-
ment is wondering how you address a
letter to the Queen of England.

It all started when this publicity
man went along on the special train
which preceded Their Majesties' train
in Canada. On a rainy morning near
the end of the royal visit, the two
trains were drawn up on a siding at
Cape Tormentine, Nova Scotia. All
the reporters except our hero were
milling around the station, trying to
get some sort of story before the
royal party left them and went
aboard a ship for Prince Edward's
Island, which they were due to do at
any moment. But the CBS man, not
being a regular reporter, and hating
rain, stayed comfortably in the obser-
vation car of his train, which was
right next to the observation car of
the Royal special — and who should
come out on the platform of the latter
but Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth
herself. The CBS man, standing on
{Continued on page 6)

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

oLa^&mez

raa4-

The wronq shade of powder can turn

the MGMT MAM ™<«y!"

Why spoil your own charm? Find
the shade of my powder that glori-
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YOU KNOW how critical the eyes of
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do the Lady Esther test, it is almost im-
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For powders and powder shades can be
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Right at this moment you may inno-

Don't ruin your close-ups. Make the test I urge,
and find the powder shade most flattering to you!

cently be using a shade that's all wrong
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—a shade that suited you four months
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Don't risk it, please. It's a shame to
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one that is right for you— one that will
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Your Lucky Shade. So I urge you to

try all my shades which I will send you
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And the minute you find it, your eyes
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A True Beauty Powder, when you

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SEPTEMBER, 1939

Beginning September 1, 1939

$25,000

BIG, NEW SENSATIONAL
TRUE STORY

Manuscript Contest

It has long been the custom of Macfadden Publications, Inc.,
each Autumn to electrify writers of true stories with a magnificent
prize contest offer which presents opportunities for men and women
everywhere to convert happenings in their lives into handsome
sums in cash — greater sums than even the world's greatest authors
can command for fiction stories of corresponding length.

And this Autumn will be no exception. In fact, we believe our
Autumn 1939 True Story Contest will be the most attractive we
have ever conducted. It begins September 1st and will end
November 29th, 1939. There will be fifty cash prizes as follows:
a munificent first prize of $2500, a great second prize of $1500,
three third prizes of $1000 each, fifteen fourth prizes of $500
each and thirty fifth prizes of $250 each — fifty in all.

THREE SI, 000 BONUS PRIZES

And in addition there will be three splen-
did special bonus prizes of $1000 each, one
to be awarded to the best true story re-
ceived in the contest during the month of
September, one to the best true story re-
ceived during the month of October and
one to the best true story received during
the month of November, 1939.

These special bonus prizes are in nowise
connected with the fifty regular prizes ex-
cept that, of necessity, the winner of the
§2500 first prize will receive one of them,
making the total amount we pay for the
best story in the entire contest $3500. There
is no telling where the other two will go.
The best story received each month will
be awarded $1000 regardless of all else,
this of course in addition to any regular
prize it may win.

It is not necessary to delay preparation
until September 1st. Why not begin to-
day? If you have already taken part in
True Story contests, you know the proce-
dure. If not, write today for a copy of the
free booklet "Facts You Should Know
Before Writing True Stories," which con-
tains information that will be of value to
you. A coupon is provided for your con-

venience. In any event, do not submit
any manuscript in this contest before Sep-
tember 1st. Wait until you have read the
complete rules in the October issue of
True Story, on sale September 1st, be sure
you have complied with all of them and
then mail your manuscripts as soon there-
after as you wish. Remember, somebody
will receive a $1000 bonus for a story sub-
mitted in September. It may be you. Who
knows?

MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS. INC.

Dept. L. P. O. Box 629

Grand Central Station

New York, N. Y.

TRUE STORY. Dept. L R.M.9

P. O. Box 629, Grand Central Station
New York. N. Y.

Please send me my free copy of your
booklet entitled "Facts You Should Know
Before Writing True Stories."

Name

Street

Town State

(Print plainly. Give name of state in full)

WHAT'S NEW (Continued)

the platform of his train, spoke to
her, and they had a private, cozy
little chat of several minutes, cli-
maxed when he took a picture of
Queen Elizabeth, with her gracious
permission. She made him promise to
send her a print of the photograph,
though, and that's what's worrying
him now — how's he going to address
it so she'll be sure to get it?

No, he wouldn't tell me what they
talked about. But he likes the Queen.
Says she's real folks.

LINCOLN, Nebraska— Here's an-
other candidate for the title of
"Youngest Radio Announcer." He's
Jack Hitchcock, who was nineteen
years old last Janurary, staff an-
nouncer for the Central States Broad-
casting System, stations KFAB and
KFOR. He has about five commercial
programs of his own now, according
to Charlotte Bierbower of Hastings,
who sent me his name and age, and
he works full time shifts as well as
attending the University of Nebraska.
But because he's more than nineteen
years old, he can't wrest the title
away from Robert Franklin of San
Jose, California, who hasn't quite
reached that age yet.

Raymond Paige has learned — to his
sorrow — not to joke with his musi-
cians. One day, after spending a long
time rehearsing a difficult number
for his CBS program, Paige smilingly
said, "And now let's go South for
five minutes." What he meant was
that he wanted to spend that long
rehearsing a musical number called
"South" — but all the men in the band
heard was the magic phrase "five
minutes," which always means a five
minute rest, and before Paige could
collect his scattered wits, every musi-
cian had laid down his instruments
and fished out a cigarette.

Here's a sidelight on Mrs. Franklin
D. Roosevelt's character which there
wasn't time to include in the story
about her on page 16. On the day she
was scheduled to appear on Kate
Smith's program, the First Lady can-
celled broadcast arrangements at two
other functions where she was to
speak. No reason for the cancellation
was given — but everybody knew why.
Mrs. Roosevelt, grateful for Kate's
presence at the White House the week
before, where she had entertained the
King and Queen of England, was re-
turning the compliment — by giving
Kate exclusive possession of her radio
services for that day.

The gossip columnists have been
making much of the "romance" be-
tween Artie Shaw and Judy Garland
— but Artie mows them all down with
a vigorous and detailed denial. "Judy
and I met for the first time in New
York," Artie says. "When I came out
to Hollywood and fell ill. I knew
almost no one there, and Judy was
kind enough to come and visit me
several times. After I got well, I was
a guest at her home, and I took her
out once or twice to the theater or
supper. We're very good friends, and
that's all."

And for proof, there's the fact that
now, restored to health, Artie is very
(Continued on page 81)

BADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

HE HEALS WITH HIS VOICE

I BELIEVE in the power of the hu-
man voice to heal," says Paul Alli-
son, and proves his statement with
a morning program, heard every day
except Saturday and Sunday over the
Mutual network. From the studios
of station WLW, in Cincinnati, Paul's
deep soothing voice goes out to thou-
sands of listeners in the east and mid-
west at 10: 15, Eastern Daylight Time.

Paul's program is all poetry, even
down to the verbal bridges he im-
provises to fill the gaps between
verses. And although he is on the air
only fifteen minutes, he takes hours to
prepare each broadcast — hours of
work alone in his study. His nightly
routine includes the reading of some
fifty poems and the selection of the
ones to use on the air. He seldom
writes down the transitional passages
from one poem to another.

On the air, he reads slowly, with a
soft background of organ music
played by Arthur Chandler, Jr., and
sounds rather as if he were not read-
ing at all, but simply thinking — in
poetry — out loud.

Paul's belief in the power of the
human voice to soothe and heal goes
back to his delicate childhood, when
his mother spent many hours at his
bedside, reading. From her voice he
got first comfort, then pleasant sleep,
and ultimately health.

He was born in Jackson, Tennessee,
a little town not far from Memphis.
After he graduated from Union Uni-
versity in his home town he began

If you want to be soothed,
listen in to Paul Allison's
program over station WLW.

healing with his voice, visiting the
hospitals of Tennessee and reading to
the patients, just as he reads now over
the air. He broke into radio, how-
ever, as a singer on the Jackson sta-
tion. Announcing followed, and he
went to Houston, Texas, in that capac-
ity. In Texas he began a poetry-

reading program, and found that his
belief in the power of the human
voice was justified, when letters
poured in from men and women
thanking him for the few moments of
relaxation and meditation he had
given them. Late last year he came
to WLW, to resume his program of
poetic readings at once.

DAUL always makes his program in-
tensely personal. He never thinks of
his listeners as a vague mass of peo-
ple, but as a group of friends. In fact,
the basis of his program is "All the
world needs a friend" — and he doesn't
mean a single friend to the entire
world but a friend to each person in
the world.

One would suspect from hearing
him on the air that Paul is a quiet,
slow-moving Southerner. He's a
Southerner, all right, but one who
loves airplanes and speed, and is
planning a parachute jump — if his
wife will let him.

He's almost thirty-six years old,
likes food, prefers brunettes, and
makes friends with people for what
they do and say, rather than how
they look. His regular sports activi-
ties are boating, fishing, hunting, ten-
nis, and chasing rainbows; and he dis-
likes only three things: talking on
the telephone, unnecessary noises,
and insincerity. Very much the
family man, he's the father of two
children, Dannie, who wants to be a
radio comedian, and Barbara.

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Copyright. 1939, Pond's Extract Company

SEPTEMBER, 1939

Was Joan Crawford's electrifying per-
formance as the heroine of this gripping
story inspired by her love for Charles
Martin (below) who, Hollywood whispers,
has replaced Franchot Tone "in her heart?

Photo by Fink

SHE rode on the train to the
prison, on the last night of
Bill's life. Past the dusty win-
dows whizzed the lights of farm-
houses, of villages, of homes where
women were preparing food for
their men. She had not prepared
food for her man — she had prepared
death.

The chair-car was crowded. A
group of reporters, a few seats
away, stared at her, whispering
among themselves. They knew who
she was, and they thought she was
a liar. One of them half rose, as
if to come and question her, but
just then a black-f rocked priest
walked swaying down the aisle and
stopped beside her. She knew him;
he was the priest at the church
where, once, she and Bill had gone.

"Sit down, Father," she begged.

"You are going to the prison, my
child?"

"Yes, Father."

"So am I. Bill wanted me present,
instead of the prison chaplain."

"Oh, Father, how can I save him?
I tell the truth, and no one will be-
lieve me!"

His face, proof against the sins of
the world, was kind. "Perhaps I
can help you, my child. Tell me.
I'll believe you."

"It started," she said, "with a
telephone call . . ."

The telephone was ringing in the
library of Henry Crane's apartment,

8

"fc—LM'

■ The love story Charles
Martin wrote for Joan
Crawford — a strange
drama of secret violence
that doomed three people

and Mary Crane stood beside it, let-
ting it ring.

She knew who it would be.
Every day, at this time, that tele-
phone rang. Every day, for the last
week. She wanted to ignore it, go
back to her reading and forget the
sound and what it meant. But you
can't ignore a telephone — not when
it will go on ringing and ringing
endlessly. Henry will come home,
and it will still be ringing, clamor-
ously, at carefully-spaced, never-
changing intervals, and Henry's
brows will come together, and he'll
say in that chilly way of his,
"What's this?" And he will answer
it.

She picked the instrument up,
as she had known she would from
the first, and put it to her ear.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello, Mrs. Crane," the man
said. "How are you today?"

"You must stop this," she said
helplessly. "Who are you? Why do
you call me every day?"

"Haven't you ever wanted to talk
to somebody about the little prob-
lems that wage war on your life?"
he asked. "Someone you couldn't
see — someone you don't know—
someone you never will know?"

"No, I haven't. I think you're
crazy."

"If you were to meet me — which
you never will — you'd say I was
quite sane. And after all, Tschai-
kowsky was in love for twenty

SEPTEMBER, 1939

years with a woman he had never
seen."

"Why don't you write a book on
'The Technique of Telephone Pick-
ups'? You could make quite a good
thing out of it. . . ."

"I'm not really an authority on
the subject." His answer, drained
of raillery now, floated to her ears
through the wire. "Listen," he said.
"You are miserable, aren't you?"

Strange, how she wanted to tell
the truth. Instead, she asked warily,
"Am I?"

"Of course — terribly. One of the
cruelest forms of torture for a
woman is marriage to a man she
doesn't love."

Her hand — her white, soft hand
with its carefully tended nails — was
shaking; it could hardly hold the re-
ceiver to her ear.

"Will you please pick on some-
body else?" she asked. The tele-

T/iis romantic tragedy by Charles
Martin, radio and screen writer,
was a CBS Silver Theater pre-
sentation entitled, "Train Ride."

Illustrations by Vincentini

phone slammed into its cradle. And
after that the room seemed very
still and empty.

But the telephone rang the next
day — and the next — and the next.
Only on Sundays, when Henry was
home, was it silent at four o'clock
in the afternoon. As if the Un-
known, wherever he was, really did
understand.

There were so many things the
Unknown seemed to understand.
He understood that as the hands of
the clock moved around to four she
would begin to listen, against her
will, waiting, half afraid that today
the phone would not ring; and he
understood how to be patient, so
that after months when she hung
up on him abruptly and angrily, the
time would come when a smile
would creep to her lips at the sound
of his voice, and she would not hang
up until (Continued on page 56)

9

¥

NEED NOT END

ONCE in a while, even in Holly-
wood, it happens. Once in a
while, even in the twentieth
century, two people come along to
prove that romance isn't dead, that
honeymoons don't have to end, that
the first year is not the hardest. Once
in a while, you run across such a love.

I'm not cynical enough to claim
that such a fact is big news. There
are still plenty of married lovers in
the world. The trouble is, we never
hear of them. So, for a change, here
is a true story about perfect happi-
ness. Call it good news — heartening
news to make you decide the world
is a better place than you thought.
That's what I decided, somehow, the
other day after I'd talked to Frances
Langford and Jon Hall.

They celebrated their first anni-
versary June 4, Jon and Frances did
— that is, their first annual anniver-
sary. They've been having weekly
celebrations ever since their memo-
rable elopement to Prescott, Arizona.

One year, and a little more. One
year in which they've been sep-
arated only once — toward the end of
Frances' personal appearance tour,
when Jon was called back to Holly-
wood by Samuel Goldwyn, to whom
he is under contract. Then it was
only for three days and they vowed
it would never happen again, God
and studios willing. And when I
say they've never been separated, I
mean it. Believe it or not, with the
exception of those three days,
they've not been apart more than
three hours at a time. Jon takes
Frances to her radio rehearsals and
to the broadcast every Wednesday
night, waiting quietly in the back-

■ Their dreams of a per-
fect marriage have come
truer than they had ever
hoped. Their secret is
yours — if you're in love

By MARIAN RHEA

ground until she is through. He
takes her shopping. He takes her
to the beauty parlor. He takes her
to market— when she goes. For the
husbands and wives who hold to
the theory that it is a good thing
to get rid of a spouse once in a
while, they hold no brief.

"I have more fun with Jonny than
anyone I know. Why should I want
to be away from him?" Frances de-
mands.

"Yeah, why?" echoes Jon. Well,
who am I to answer that? I don't
even try.

There was, of course, the tragic
time when it looked as though Sam
Goldwyn was going to send Jon to
England to make a picture, mean-
ing, of course, that Frances, tied up
with her radio contract, would have
to stay behind. Those were terrible

■ Never apart for more than three
hours at a time — so deeply in love
are Frances Langford and Jon Hall.

days — very black days. Jon con-
fronted Sam in his office and told
him he wouldn't go. But —

"Whaddye mean you won't go?"
Sam came back. "Boy, if we make
that picture, you're going!" And
Jon, mindful of his own contract,
could only sputter, futilely. Fran-
ces, in turn, thought she might get a
leave of absence, but the Texaco
people thought differently. So it
looked for a while as though love
was going to take a sock in the chin
— until the war scare came along
and Goldwyn called off his European
plans.

"Well, war is an awful thing, but
I couldn't be entirely sorry it threat-
ened about that time," Frances con-
fided to me. "Certainly makes you
believe that saying about the dark
cloud and the silver lining. We were
pretty low until we heard Jonny
could stay here after all!"

But such tense moments in the
Langford -Hall household are rare.
For one thing, theirs is a com-
pletely unsophisticated and therefore
wholesome marriage. You have to be
with them only half an hour to re-
alize that. (Continued on page 85)

^^~

T WAS beginning all over again.

From her seat on the Empire sofa,

Mary Noble watched, and saw it
happen.

She should have been warned, the
moment they entered and met
Catherine Monroe — who, according
to their hostess, Larry's mother, was
"in a position to do something for
you." Catherine was young and
slender and lovely as a camellia,
with black-fringed eyes that she
raised as she said to Larry,

"Washington's the place for you.
We need men there these days —
real men. Things are happening
there. New things. Maybe soon
we'll have a Federal Bureau of Fine
Arts. And bureaus need directors,
you know — " Her smile held infinite
promise. "And they're talking of es-
tablishing our first National Thea-
ter. An actor-manager could make
history. . . ."

Oh, Mary should have known,
then! And perhaps, instinctively,
she had, for she said quickly, "May-
be, after our New York run, we'll
play Washington on tour. You see,"
she explained to Catherine, "we
have the American rights to that
play of Juan de Leit's that was such
a hit in Paris last year. We've al-
ready started to rehearse it — "

Larry turned to her with that im-
patient gesture that always froze
her heart. "Let's not try to fool
people, Mary. We have no backer
— and without a backer we might
as well not have the play! You need
money, you know, for that- sort of
thing."

"Oh, but you have a backer!"
Catherine Monroe's voice was amaz-
ingly vibrant, exciting. "I've a plan!
Bring the cast to Washington, re-
hearse there, and the charity bene-
fit I'm arranging for a fortnight
from now shall be the opening of
your play!"

And with that, control of the situ-
ation was swept out of Mary's hands.

"I can't go through with it again,"

she said to herself a few minutes
later, while she sipped her tea and
appeared to be chatting with the
young Senator from out west who
had taken her in tow after Larry
and Catherine had drifted away.
Wicart, she believed, was his name.

Her thoughts flew backwards,
backwards ... to the day when she
had come fresh from an Iowa farm
to marry one of Broadway's glam-
orous stars — Larry Noble, the —
No, even to herself she would not
use that hateful phrase, "matinee
idol."

It wasn't really so long ago. Not
in years. .But in the things she had
learned — had had to learn! It was
all very well to be modern and
tolerant — to say to herself that she
was Larry's wife, bound to him by
law as well as love; that the other
women meant nothing to him, be-
yond their flattery; that he loved
her in a way he could never love
one of them. It was all very well
to say these and other things, but
there had been so many times when
reason didn't help — when jealousy
and fear of the future had broken
out in violent quarrels, recrimina-
tions, bitterness. Until Larry re-
tuned, penitent, ashamed, begging
her to forgive him ... as she always
had.

But now, because she had thought
those times were over for good, she
couldn't endure one of them again.
Not because she loved Larry any the
less. She would always love him,
with heart and brain and soul. But
. . . no, she could not go through
the agony of watching him drift
away from her again.

Until this afternoon, the way to
happiness had seemed so clear and
straight. Ever since Larry's fall
from stardom, all through his slow
struggle upward again, there had
been no other woman. He had de-
pended on her, needed her both as
wife and manager, leaned on her
while she comforted him, cheered

Beginning a new novel of modern marriage, adapted by Hope Hale from the

12

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

As thrilling as its broadcast
original — the love drama of Mary
Noble and of Larry, her husband,
who could not give her the one

thing she wanted — faithfulness

He stood aside while Bradley
said lightly, "I'm terribly
glad I found you this morning. '

Above, Vivian Fridell, who plays
Mary Noble in the radio drama of
Backstage Wife, Monday through
Friday on NBC at 4 P.M., E.D.S.T.

him, smoothed his path for a come-
back. . . .

Perhaps — she snatched at a straw
of hope — perhaps she was wrong.
Maybe it wasn't the old danger
starting all over again. Maybe the
excitement in Larry's eyes was only
for the play — only because Cathe-
rine Monroe offered him his one
chance of getting the play produced,
now that the financial backer they
had depended on had withdrawn his
support.

Her eyes following Larry and
Catherine, across the room, she said
to Senator Wicart, "Mrs. Monroe
must be quite an influential woman
in Washington."

"She is . . . indeed," he answered
grimly.

The strange emphasis in his tone
made Mary look -at him, intently
and for the first time. He had a

famous NBC radio serial, sponsored by the makers of Dr. Lyons Tooth Powder

SEPTEMBER, 1939

13

IT WAS beginning all over again.
From her seat on the Empire sofa,
Mary Noble watched, and saw it
happen.

She should have been warned, the
moment they entered and met
Catherine Monroe — who, according
to their hostess, Larry's mother, was
"in a position to do something for
you." Catherine was young and
slender and lovely as a camellia,
with black-fringed eyes that she
raised as she said to Larry,

"Washington's the place for you.
We need men there these days —
real men. Things are happening
there. New things. Maybe soon
we'll have a Federal Bureau of Fine
Arts. And bureaus need directors,
you know — " Her smile held infinite
promise. "And they're talking of es-
tablishing our first National Thea-
ter. An actor-manager could make
history. . . ."

Oh, Mary should have known,
then! And perhaps, instinctively,
she had, for she said quickly, "May-
be, after our New York run, we'll
play Washington on tour. You see,"
she explained to Catherine, "we
have the American rights to that
play of Juan de Leit's that was such
a hit in Paris last year. We've al-
ready started to rehearse it — "

Larry turned to her with that im-
patient gesture that always froze
her heart. "Let's not try to fool
people, Mary. We have no backer
— and without a backer we might
as well not have the play! You need
money, you know, for that sort of
thing."

"Oh, but you have a backer!"
Catherine Monroe's voice was amaz-
ingly vibrant, exciting. "I've a plan!
Bring the cast to Washington, re-
hearse there, and the charity bene-
fit I'm arranging for a fortnight
from now shall be the opening of
your play!"

And with that, control of the situ-
ation was swept out of Mary's hands.

"I can't go through with it again,"

she said to herself a few minutes
later, while she sipped her tea and
appeared to be chatting with the
young Senator from out west who
had taken her in tow after Larry
and Catherine had drifted away.
Wicart, she believed, was his name.

Her thoughts flew backwards,
backwards ... to the day when she
had come fresh from an Iowa farm
to marry one of Broadway's glam-
orous stars — Larry Noble, the —
No, even to herself she would not
use that hateful phrase, "matinee
idol."

It wasn't really so long ago. Not
in years. .But in the things she had
learned — had had to learn! It was
all very well to be modern and
tolerant — to say to herself that she
was Larry's wife, bound to him by
law as well as love; that the other
women meant nothing to him, be-
yond their flattery; that he loved
her in a way he could never love
one of them. It was all very well
to say these and other things, but
there had been so many times when
reason didn't help — when jealousy
and fear of the future had broken
out in violent quarrels, recrimina-
tions, bitterness. Until Larry re-
tuned, penitent, ashamed, begging
her to forgive him ... as she always
had.

But now, because she had thought
those times were over for good, she
couldn't endure one of them again.
Not because she loved Larry any the
She would always love him,

less.

with heart and brain and soul. But
... no, she could not go through
the agony of watching him drift
away from her again.

Until this afternoon, the way to
happiness had seemed so clear and
straight. Ever since Larry's fall
from stardom, all through his slow
struggle upward again, there had
been no other woman. He had de-
pended on her, needed her both as
wife and manager, leaned on her
while she comforted him, cheered

Beginning a new novel of modern morrioge, adapted by Hope Hale from the

, TELEVISION

him, smoothed his path for a come-
back. . . .

Perhaps — she snatched at a straw
of hope — perhaps she was wrong.
Maybe it wasn't the old danger
starting all over again. Maybe the
excitement in Larry's eyes was only
for the play — only because Cathe-
rine Monroe offered him his one
chance of getting the play produced,
now that the financial backer they
had depended on had withdrawn his
support.

Her eyes following Larry and
Catherine, across the room, she said
to Senator Wicart, "Mrs. Monroe
must be quite an influential woman
in Washington."

"She is . . . indeed," he answered
grimly.

The strange emphasis in his tone
made Mary look -at him, intently
and for the first time. He had a

«-« NBC radi. serial, sp.ns.red b, the m.kers .f Dr. Ly..s T..th P.wd.r

SOTEMSE,

She couldn't endure it again— the agony of watching her husband drift into the

kind face, handsome in a rugged
sort of way, direct and candid. There
was something about him that re-
minded her of home, making her
feel instantly at ease with him.
"Why do you say that as if you —
well, resented it?" she asked.

"Did I?" he said. "I'm sorry."
Then he smiled. "No, I'm not,
really. Mrs. Monroe has a hobby
— of making history — and I suppose
I do resent that, in a way. I'm not
too fond of the influential type of
woman, who handles people as if
they were a pack of cards."

"No," she said a bit bitterly.
"Neither am I."

"Be thankful," he said — and only,
Mary sensed, half in jest — "that your
husband isn't a legislator who has
to keep himself clear of obligations.
They are Mrs. Monroe's specialties."

By the time Larry returned to her
side, the Washington opening for the
play seemed to be quite settled.
Catherine knew of a theater they
could have. And they were even
to stay, in Washington, in Cathe-
rine's home.

Mary was glad, at least, if she
must go to Washington, that Senator
Wicart would be there too. A good

friend to have, Senator Wicart — an
ally she would sorely need.

But it was even before they
reached there that the Senator's
path crossed hers again. He was,
she discovered, a passenger on the
same train they took two days
after the reception. Catherine Mon-
roe was already in Washington, and
had promised to meet them at the
station when they arrived, while
the cast of the play was to follow
the next day. Mary tried not to be
hurt at the way arrangements were
suddenly being made, entirely with-
out her help as manager of the
company — tried to remind herself
that Larry's rudeness was due only
to his excitement over getting the
play produced. Yet — she couldn't
quite believe it. Instinctively, she
knew that — soon — Larry would
force her to a decision.

Catherine Monroe met the three
of them — Larry, Mary, and Senator
Wicart — at the gate in Union Sta-
tion. But to Mary's surprise, it was
not Larry, but the Senator, she
greeted most effusively.

"Let Enrico herd your redcaps to
the car," she said, signalling to the
swarthy young chauffeur who fol-
lowed her; then she seized Senator
Wicart' s arm as they crossed under
the high vaulted dome of the mar-
ble waiting room.

"Now tell me all about the Muni-
tions Committee excitement," she
demanded.

"How do you know there was any
excitement?" he grumbled down at
her. "I've got some secrets from
you."

"You're so bad-tempered," she
sighed, stopping before her sleek
town car. "Sometimes I want to
wash my hands of you."

"Sometimes," he answered, "I
think maybe you ought to — "

He broke off suddenly, his eyes
on the chauffeur loading baggage
into the trunk of the car. "Where
is my brief case?" he snapped.

The man turned a blank stare
upon him. "Brief — case?"

The Senator's rugged face was
stern — and, Mary thought, a little
frightened. "A black cowhide case,
zipper, gold initials W. W. Where is
it?"

"I did not see." Enrico shook his
head solemnly.

"You must have seen it," Mary
broke in. "It was with his other
things. I saw it myself!"

Suddenly Catherine was standing
between Mary and the Senator. "If
it's his fault, Bill, I'm terribly sorry.
I'll go over with him and report the

loss. If we don't find it, I'll make
it good—"

Senator Wicart looked at her
steadily for a long moment. Was it
open distrust that Mary saw in those
keen gray eyes? "You can't make it
good," he said flatly. "Not this brief
case — and what's in it — "

Mary and Larry waited in the
velvety depths of the car. It crossed
Mary's mind that Washington was
like this car — sleek, shining on the
surface, but propelled from within
by complicated machinery, power-
ful and delicate — and dirty.

The soft breeze of a Washington
spring floated in at the window. She
slid closer to Larry's side, until she
could smell the familiar fragrance
of his clean skin, his fresh shirt, his
suit and the mingled odors of differ-
ent tobaccos from the train. Sud-
denly she pulled his head down
against hers. "Oh, Larry — "

arms of another woman

But he patted her shoulder briefly
and pulled away, and she sank back,
chilled. She knew what that pre-
occupied gesture of his meant — that
he had left her, was journeying
again in the private world of his
own dreams, where she could never,
never reach him, and where all his
journeyings had only one end . . .
danger. Danger to him, to her, to
their life together.

But still she tried not to let her-
self believe. She must not be jeal-
ous without cause. It was true that
Catherine Monroe was their one
hope of getting the play on — and
therefore, their one hope of bring-
ing Larry back to stardom.

Why did Senator Wicart distrust

Mary saw them then, standing so
close together they were almost
touching, while his hands closed
on the folded paper she gave him.

her so? Or was that, too, jealous
imagination?

The other three came slowly out
of the station. Wicart's brief head-
shake told their story. He was silent
on the ride, watching Catherine
grimly while she pointed out the
sights, and he barely nodded to his
hostess when she dropped him at
his hotel.

Somehow, Mary got through that
first evening in Catherine's elabo-
rate home. She managed to smile
and appear interested in the New
Deal alphabet agencies whose heads
she met, and she tried to appreciate
the novelty of meeting attaches of
embassies and even a cabinet mem-
ber. But she was glad, so glad, when
at last the guests began to melt away
— even though their departure meant
that Catherine calmly carried Larry
off to the library to look at her
father's collection of books on the
stage, leaving Mary to talk to Sena-
tor Wicart in a small sunroom just
off the vast drawing room.

"Has anything been heard of the

brief case?" Mary asked him as
soon as they were alone.

"No. But it's serving its purpose,"
he said. "We ought to know soon
if our friend Enrico — "

As if he had heard his name
called, Enrico himself stepped in-
side the room. He spoke the one
word, "Madame — " breathlessly, be-
fore he saw them. Then he stopped.
His eyes caught the Senator's, and
his dark face turned purple. He
began to back out of the room, mur-
muring some sort of apology.

Wicart caught his arm. "What's
the hurry?" There was a steely
undertone in his voice.

Enrico's head jerked from side to
side as he struggled to get out of the
Senator's grasp. His eyes, black on
their widened whites, rolled des-
perately. Then Mary saw them
focus. His face suddenly paled to
yellowish gray. Mary followed his
gaze to the French window. And at
what she saw there, she screamed.

The shot crashed into her scream,
and the figure outside the window
faded quickly into the darkness.
Mary whirled, to see Enrico's body
twist, then fall. She and the Senator
were at his side together, looking at
each other for one shocked moment
before the room became full of
people, Catherine, Larry, the ser-
vants, and finally the police.

There was a long period, then,
when she did not think at all. She
could only lean against Larry's
shoulder, hear his blessed thankful-
ness for her safety, and try to re-
member what she had to tell these
people who were moving before her
eyes like blurred pictures.

Then she realized that Catherine
was smoothly getting the police
officer to the door. "I'm sorry, Lieu-
tenant," she was saying, with her
marvelous smile full on his face,
"but when we came rushing into
the room, after we heard the shot,
there was poor Enrico. I'm afraid
nobody saw anything that would
help you."

"But I saw him!" Mary exclaimed.
"I saw the man at the window!"

Catherine was at her side then,
her hand on Mary's. "How could
you, darling?" she said. "You came
into the room with us . . . She's
hysterical," she said to the others.
Mary could feel intensity in her
voice like a threat.

She threw an agonized, question-
ing glance at Senator Wicart, stand-
ing frowning at the other side of the
room — and in a flash of intuition she
understood. For some reason, Wicart
could not contradict Catherine, but —
yes, he wanted her to tell the truth.
She moved away from Larry's encir-
cling arms — and heard herself say-
ing calmly, (Continued on page 62)

SEPTEMBER, 1939

15

ws,

ELEANOR
RADIO'S FAVORITE

I

>-*

IF YOU could walk down any one of a thousand
busy Main Streets and ask those you met to name
America's most popular woman, I think you'd
hear one name. Not so much "Myrna Loy" or "Helen
Hayes" or "Joan Crawford", but the name of a
middle-aged married woman, with a nice large
family and several healthy grand-children. It would
be a woman who is probably the busiest member of
her sex in the country and is, at the same time, a
loving wife and mother.

The name of Eleanor Roosevelt.

She's not only Main Street's favorite. She is also
Radio Row's Number One Person. There isn't a
radio executive, an announcer or a studio hand who
doesn't say:

,

\

By train, plane, bus and taxi,
Mrs. Roosevelt keeps her radio
dates— and never late once, an
astounding record for a broad-
caster. Top, pausing in Chicago,
left, at the San Francisco Fair,
below, graduation celebration
of a West Virginia high school.

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RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

ROOSEVELT

GUEST

*Bu J&m CMasm

"Mrs. Roosevelt? There's no one we'd rather
see come into the studio."

Because she is the First Lady, because she is
willing to lend a hand to a charitable cause,
because she never cancels a microphone engage-
ment, and because usually what she has to say
has front page newspaper interest, Mrs. Roosevelt
is radio's favorite guest. And about the most
frequently heard of all nationally important
women, with the natural exception of those few
stars who broadcast on regular programs.

She is also about as interesting a radio person-
ality as you'll ever find in a broadcasting studio.
Her career on the air really got under way in
earnest several weeks (Continued on page 77)

NBC has learned the best way to
reach the busy First Lady when
she's in New York — send the mes-
sage to the florist near her apart-
ment. Above, short wave to South
America. Below, being interviewed
by her daughter, Mrs. John Boet-
tiger, of Seattle, Washington.

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SEPTEMBER, MM

17

Z/<MW •/JttfWtld

AT some time in your married
I*\ life, haven't you taken a long
* ■ look at the person of the mas-
culine sex whom you promised to
love, honor and obey, and wished
that there were some way you could
put him to the test? Some way to
find out whether he's really a bar-
gain, or a very inferior piece of
merchandise?

Well, here's your opportunity to
do that very thing, simply by giv-
ing yourself a quiz — a quiz that will
reveal the male in your life in his
true colors, be they good or bad.

It's the little things that cause
trouble in marriage, I've discovered
from my work as mediator of the
Original Good Will Hour on the air,
and as director of my Institute of
Marital Relations. Time and again
I've found a couple on the verge of
divorce, simply because of an accu-
mulation of small complaints against
each other. Taken singly, these com-
plaints wouldn't cause any trouble
at all — added together, they spell
another broken-up marriage.

And because these little things
can be so irritating, many times you
can't see them in their proper per-
spective, can't tell just how impor-
tant they are to your happiness.
That's the reason that I've drawn up
this list of questions about your
husband, based on the most frequent
complaints that wives make to me.
All are small complaints, because
I'm assuming that your husband is
a normal and decent human being
— he isn't a drunkard, he doesn't
beat you, and he isn't unfaithful to
you with other women. These three
are big complaints, and if he's guilty
of them, he isn't a bargain.

Answer this quiz, applying the
questions to your own husband. An-
swer each question yes or no im-
partially and honestly. And when
you've finished I'll tell you how to
score your husband.

There's another reason I'd like
you to take this quiz now, before
I go any farther. When you've fin-
ished, and when we've given your
husband his bargain-score, I have
a surprise for you — a surprise that
i I can almost guarantee will make
you into a happier wife.

By
JOHN J. ANTHONY

Director of the Good Will Hour, Sun-
day nights on the Mutual network

Here are the questions about your
husband for you to answer:

1. When you spend the evening
with another couple, does he insist on
boring all of you by talking endlessly
about his business?

2. Does he get angry when he comes
home and finds that you have accepted
a social invitation for that evening
without consulting him — even though
he hadn't planned to do anything but
stay at home and read?

3. Does he accuse you of being
wasteful and extravagant, and nag you
about money?

4. Does he frequently find fault with
your relatives?

5. Is he critical of little things that
aren't any of his business — the way
you keep house, the color of your nail
polish, the way you arrange the furni-
ture?

6. Does he think your feminine mind
isn't capable of wrestling successfully
with weighty masculine problems, such
as his work, politics or international
affairs, and so pooh-poohs you when
you try to express an opinion on them?

7. Does he put off getting a hair-cut
until you think you'll have to lead him
to the barbershop yourself, or does
he forget what the word "manicure"
means?

8. Is he frequently guilty of taking
that "one drink too many?"

9. When you're out in the car to-
gether, does he habitually drive faster
than the speed at which you feel safe
and comfortable and ignore you when
you plead with him to go slower?

10. Does he get out of helping you
with the work of raising the children by
claiming "That's your job, not mine?"
Or, if you have no children, is he in-
different to becoming a father?

11. When you are at a party to-
gether, does he forget your presence

If you want the truth about the male in your life,

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

'ffiama&Maawi

and leave you to shift for yourself
while he has a good time with other
women?

12. Does he cling to some purely
masculine interest that he had before
marriage— golf, baseball, stag affairs
or some other hobby in which you have
no part — leaving you alone at frequent
intervals while he pursues this interest?

13. When you are leaving the house
together, does he nag at you to hurry
— only to discover, when you have your
hat and coat on, that he isn't quite
ready yet himself?

14. When you are walking along the
street together, does he keep on going,
paying no attention to whether you are
at his side or not, so that you have to
hurry to keep up with him, and have to
rush past shop windows you'd love to
stop and look at?

15. Does he insist on talking about
the girls he used to go with before he
married you?

16. Does he criticize your clothes,
especially your hats, after you've
bought them?

17. Does he litter up the house with
cigarette and cigar ashes, or — worst of
all — half-burned pipe tobacco, be-
cause he's too careless to make sure
the ashes all go into the ash-trays?

18. Does he forget important dates,
such as your birthday or your wedding
anniversary?

19. Does he underestimate the
amount of work you do at home, and
claim that you "certainly have an easy
time of it while I slave all day to make
both ends meet?"

20. Is he bored and inattentive when
you try to tell him how you've spent
the day while he was away at work?

21. Does he try to avoid meeting
the friends you had before you married
him, because he thinks they aren't
good enough for him?

22. Does he love an argument so
much you want to scream?

23. When he comes home much
later than you expected him, does he
fail to give you, of his own accord, an
explanation?

Well, how did your husband come
out on that quiz?

Obviously, every "no" is a point
in his favor, and every "yes" a black
mark against him. But here's the
funny thing about this quiz: If your
husband scored only twelve no's to
eleven yes's — in other words, ap-
proximately a fifty per cent score
— you can consider that you have
got a bargain. Even more surpris-
ing, if he answers all the questions
no, he is not a perfect husband. He
just isn't human.

Let me explain. In every human
being there are traits of personality
which may grate on another human
being. But did you ever stop to
think that it's these very faults that
make a human being? Without
them, he becomes colorless and un-
interesting; with them, he becomes
an individual. Perfection in any-
one is terribly, terribly dull— and
anyway, only a superman could
achieve perfection.

That's one reason I say that a man
who comes out fifty-fifty on the quiz
is a bargain — because he is a good,
sensible mixture of good and bad,
sour and sweet, even as you and I,
and eminently worth living with.
But there's another reason too, and
it is tied up with that surprise I
promised you.

Did it ever occur to you that at
least some of your husband's faults
may be just as much your faults?
That for every black mark you have
against him, he has a complemen-
tary black mark against you, and
that by reforming yourself you can
reform him?

This isn't a new idea, but it's sur-
prising how many people forget it.
I've discussed it at great length in
my new book, "Marriage and Fam-
ily Problems and How to Solve
Them," which will be published this
fall, and I've tried to bring it out
in many a session of the Good Will
Hour on the air. Still it's well worth
thinking about right here and now,
and the best way I can show you
how to think about it is to give you
another quiz — this time a quiz on
yourself, as a wife. But first let's
see how your husband came out.
(Continued on page 76)

take this unique marriage quiz prepared by an expert

SEPTEMBER, 1939

tfl

**•

«MSE A Mfllf

Swallowed golf tees, buried false teeth, and hot
licks with a shaving brush — take it from Mrs.
Bing, the Crosby foursome is a howling success!

TUNE IN on the Bing Crosbys at
home — and you tune in on the
All-American family. Folksy,
fun-loving, common-sensical. And
mad about music. Yes indeed.

"We're what you might call a
'howling' success. If you know what
I mean," chuckled Mama Dixie.
"It's all right when the Quartet are
in the noisery. That's more or less
sound-proof. But Bing's room is
not. And that's where the male
members of our clan gather every
morning. The attraction, you see, is
watching Papa shave. Papa also
sings. A little flat, to be sure, when
he de-whiskers his chin but it's all
music to the Quartet. Especially
when he lets out a Tarzan-whoop!"
He does this with astonishing fre-
quency. When Gary Evans, for in-
stance, decides that a little tooth-
paste would blend well with the
shaving cream. Or one of the twins
does a tumbling act with the

What a picnic when the twins
had their hair-pulling match!

20

By VIRGINIA T. LANE

Drawings by Steve Grout

brushes for Bing's thinning locks.

Then they all whoop. "It's the
male chorus from O-we-let-go,"
mused Dixie, "with a little fortis-
simo flourish . . .

"If Bing is working on a picture,
the morning session is about the
only one he gets with the boys. Be-
cause the rest of the time he's busy
on his radio program. The other
day somebody asked Gary what his
father did. 'My daddy sells cheese,'
announced our eldest. 'But we're
not allowed to eat it.' If the spon-
sors had heard that one!"

Since Gary has arrived at the ripe
old age of six he is allowed to sit up
for the first few minutes of Bing's
program (it comes on at seven P.M.
here in California.) About three
months ago Dixie noticed a strange
thing happening. She called in the
nurse. The girl's eyes popped. "Mrs.
Crosby," she said solemnly, "heaven
help you but you've got another
crooner in the family!"

No doubt about it, Gary was do-
ing an exact imitation of his father,
even to screwing up an eyebrow as
Bing does when he sings. When the
studio heard of it, they wanted him
for his new picture, The Star-
maker. "Nope," said Bing. "If my
kids want to go in the movies later
when they're on their own, okay.
But not now. They are going to
have a regular kid's life like I had."

From the minute the first son
came along they made plans. "I
want him to be typically boy," pro-

nounced Papa. "I hope he gets dirty
and tears the seat out of his pants
every once in a while and has a few
good fights."

Um-hum. That's what Papa said.
One day last week he brought home
his boss, on a visit here from New
York with his wife. All went well
until suddenly there was a Coman-
che yell outside the window and
into the living room stalked the
dirtiest small object in captivity.
He had a beautiful black eye and a
bloody nose. "Now Pop," cried the
Crosbys' pride and joy, "I guess
that fella down the road will say
you can sing!" And out he went,
giving the boss an excellent rear
view of certain wide open spaces.

"Well, I asked for it," admitted
Bing later, " — and I got it!"

When the second baby was on its
way he just knew it was going to
be a girl. One evening he came
home with that vastly innocent ex-

"Call the doctor, call the po-
lice!" Bing cried, dangling Philip.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

pressibn men wear when they're
up to something. Out of his pocket
he took a small white box. "For
Dixie junior," he said. Inside was a
tiny gold locket with a cross at-
tached . . . They still have them.
On a Friday the thirteenth the twins
arrived — Dennis Michael and Philip
Lang, all boy from their first lusty
bawl. "By the time Lin (Harry L.)
put in an appearance I think Bing
was resigned," said Dixie. "He told
me they'd make a good backfield
for some university anyway. And a
nice foursome at golf. And the next
thing I knew he had brought home
a trainer ..."

Joe is their boon companion. He
does everything but make them eat
spinach. One of the funniest sights
I've ever seen was those four small
tykes lined up outside for their
"sitting up" exercises (Lin's consist
mostly in sitting down to date! ) Re-
cently Papa made a miniature box-
ing ring for them. Now his favorite
sport is putting the gloves on his
sons and "squaring them off." "You
can't begin teaching them sports-
manship too young," says Bing.

SEPTEMBER, 1939

That's the first thing that impres-
ses you about the Crosby household,
the fine, down-to-earth way those
kids are being brought up. The
older boys already have certain re-
sponsibilities. It's Gary's job, for
instance, to see that the tropical fish
are fed at regular intervals. Dur-

Par amount

ing the hurricane last winter the
nurse missed him from his bed one
night. All the electricity in the dis-
trict was off and they went around
with candles searching madly for
him. It was Bing who found him —
carefully piling sweaters around
the fish bowl. "They have to be
warm, you know, or the babies die,"
he explained. And marched back to
bed.

"We've tried to call the boys by
their right names — considering how
a nickname stuck to Papa!" laughed
Dixie. "But occasionally there is a
slip-up. The last time Bing took
Gary out to see Gary Cooper (who
likes to check up on his namesake's
progress) big Gary asked, 'And
what does your father call you?'
Expecting, of course, to hear his
own name. Instead, our eldest
chortled gleefully, 'Bucket pants!' "

Being a lone woman in a house
full of men Dixie is not expected to
understand the intricacies of purely
masculine ideas. For example — they
have a jolly colored cook who hands
out sugar cookies by the dozen
to the (Continued on page 58)

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Address

NOW you won't have to wait until
you have the money to be the
first on your block — perhaps in your
town — to own a Philco television
set! The newest miracle, this
decade's greatest thrill, may be
yours for the price of a postage
stamp (and the few minutes it will
take you to answer the questions on
this page).

Philco Radio and Television Com-
pany is now offering readers of
Radio Mirror six of its finest and
most beautiful television sets as
prizes in this unique and simple
quiz. Only recently put on sale,
they're an engineering achievement!
The latest developments are all
here to make reception doubly good.
And no strings are attached except
those that are wrapped around the
set when it's delivered to your door.

And if, perhaps, you live in a
section of the country where tele-
vision programs cannot yet be re-
ceived, this quiz still carries a prize
for you. Any winning contestant
can have, if he wishes, a de luxe
Philco radio set instead of the tele-
vision receiver.

In addition, there are six secon-
dary prizes — six of those handy
portable Philco radio sets that you
can carry around with you. They
contain their own batteries, so you
don't have to plug them into elec-
tric-light circuits, and they don't
need aerial or ground wires — ideal
for picnics or week-end trips, for
the car, the office, the guest room.

This is all you have to do to win
a Philco television or radio set:
Check the answers on the accom-
panying quiz. On question eight,
write in the name of the movie or
radio star you'd most enjoy seeing
in a television program, and on a
second sheet of paper write down
the reasons for your choice in a
hundred words or less.

All entries must be accompanied
by the question box, filled in with
your name and address.

Pencils all sharpened? An extra
piece of paper handy for the answer
to question nine? Here's hoping,
then, that you win the first tele-
vision set in your neighborhood!

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

fOR

r$M&*fiZ&J!&-

THE RULES

1. Anyone, anywhere, may compete
except employees of Macfadden
Publications, Inc., and members of
their families.

2. An entry will consist of an official
contest coupon with your answers to
the first eight questions checked, in
ink, in the space provided, together
with a nomination and explanation
in 100 or less words completing the
ninth item.

3. Entries will be judged on the
basis of the reasoning and clarity
of thought represented in your
answers to questions 1 through 8
and in your nomination and state-
ment in connection with the ninth
item.

4. The six highest entries rated upon
the above basis will each be
awarded a Philco Television set or,
if preferred, a Philco de Lux Radio
set. The six entries next highest in
rating will each be awarded a handy
Philco portable radio set. In the
event of ties duplicate awards will
be made.

5. No entries will be returned nor
can we enter into correspondence
concerning any entry. By entering
you agree to accept the decisions of
the judges as final.

6. All entries must be postmarked
on or before Friday, September 8,
1939, the closing date of this con-
test.

7. Address all entries to Television
Quiz Board, Radio Mirror, P. O. Box
556, Grand Central Station, New
York, N. Y.

Below, six of these handy portable
radio sets are additional prizes.

The year's biggest ra-
dio news — the last word
in television receivers
is waiting to be shipped
to your home. Be the
first in your town to
have one. All you need
is a sharp pencil and
sheet of notepaper!

Prizes.

SEPTEMBER, 1939

The REAL LIFE
adventures of

MOLLY GOLDBERG

As Molly, Gertrude Berg sews a but-
ton for Jake, played by James Waters.

Meet The Goldbergs beloved star, a woman who
can become at will a waitress, a factory work-
er, or a farmer's wife — with amazing results

By FANNIE MERRILL

YOU should know Gertrude Berg.
Of course, you do know her as
Molly Goldberg, the kindly and
lovable mother of Rosie and Sam-
myly Goldberg, and the wife of
Jake. That's the Gertrude Berg you
hear over the Columbia network
every day at 1:00 P.M. (EDST).

But I mean the Gertrude Berg
who takes the trouble to listen to
and sympathize with people every-
where— a little old farm woman in
upper New York State, the pro-
prietor of a roadside diner, a Polish
bride and groom, a New York gar-
ment worker, a lower East Side
New York ladies' benevolent so-
ciety. Not to forget a wailing
mother of New York's Ghetto who
is still unaware that her eviction
was prevented, in answer to her
prayers, by the Gertrude Berg I
know.

24

And I also mean the Gertrude
Berg who loves to play practical
jokes!

First I had better explain that I
have been Gertrude Berg's secre-
tary for about eight years. It all
started the day my son Howard
came home from the broadcasting
studios where he was playing the
lead in a radio dramatization of
"Penrod."

"Gee, Mother!" Howard said to
me, "There's a woman down at the
studio doing a show called 'The
Goldbergs,' and she's great! I want
you to come down and meet her!"

When I did, I found that Howard
was right. Mrs. Berg and I became
friends.

But it wasn't until Christmas
time when I offered to help her
with her Christmas shopping that
I became Gertrude Berg's secretary.

I love Christmas shopping and
wrapping presents and I had done
a lot of it for other friends. But
after I had done it for Mrs. Berg,
I discovered that I was on her pay-
roll.

Today I take care of all her
mail, see that it is all personally
answered, keep track of each day's
cast and of the transcriptions we
make, also the pay-roll, her ap-
pointments— and more other details.

I will never forget the first time
I accompanied Gertrude Berg on a
trip.

It was just before The Gold-
bergs became a commercial pro-
gram and Mrs. Berg wanted to take
a rest before the new series started.
I wasn't at all sure I wanted to go.
Remember, I didn't know Gertrude
Berg then as I know her now.

We went (Continued on page 65)

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

■ The perennial Rudy is back again on the scene of
his first triumphs, New York City, after a spell in
Hollywood appearing with Sonja Henie and Tyrone
Power in Darryl Zanuck's "Second Fiddle," which
ought to be appearing in your local theater any day
now. Between week-end trips to his camp in Maine,
he'll go on broadcasting from Manhattan until autumn.

w

rJ

' i

i^ tl

f

■\

Notice Ann's vivacity while
she dances with Cesar Romero.

«

WUHC

s

PPUr

An infinite variety of personali-
ties is Ann Sheridan — the sultry
siren opposite, the inaenue above,
the sophisticate at right, and the
primitive child of nature, right
below — but all of them telegenic!

Experts select Ann Sheridan, the "Oomph Girl,"
as one movie star who is a television best bet

THE television experts have a
word for it — and the word is
Telegenic! Translated into everday
English, it means beauty over tele-
vision.

What makes a person telegenic?
The answer's in these pictures of
Ann Sheridan, Warner Brothers
star, who was recently chosen by
Philco Television engineers as the
movie star whose face, figure and
general personality are nearest to
perfection for the television camera.

Ann's beautiful, of course — but so
are many other girls, and her beauty
wasn't the main reason Philco
picked her. Her greatest asset, as
far as Television goes, is her abil-
ity to project her personality and
charm into the camera. In other
words — that same "oomph" which
has already brought her movie fame.

Dead-pan beauty, say the engi-
neers, simply isn't any good in tele-
vision. Notice the way Ann's face

SEPTEMBER, 1939

alters its expression and mood in
the different pictures shown here.
Still another point in her favor is
the definition and strength of her
clear-cut features.

To be telegenic a girl needs a
charming smile — a requirement in
which Ann scores 100 per cent, as
proved by the picture at the right
and the scene from her newest pic-
ture, "Winter Carnival," with Rich-
ard Carlson, above.

Television's more taxing than
movie work — there's no time for the
cameraman to experiment and find
flattering angles to shoot from — so
Ann has an advantage in being
equally lovely no matter which side
of her face is photographed.

But when all's said and done,
Ann's greatest asset is her sex-ap-
peal— her personality — her "oomph"
— whatever that intangible some-
thing is that makes her a vital,
arresting human being.

RAID'S
P H OtO-

Presenting the stars of radio's summer
all of them guaranteed to refresh you

Bob Crosby's swing band is
playing in the interests of
a cigarette company these
hot Tuesday evenings at 9:30,
over the Columbia network.

RADIOS
PM0T0-

James Melton, above, and Francia White, left, help Don
Voorhees' orchestra bring you melody and romance Sunday
nights at nine on the Columbia networks. They're pinch-
hitting for the serious music of the Ford Symphony Hour.

shows— -old favorites and newcomers, and
no matter how high the thermometer goes

For drama, listen to the stars
of the Woodbury Playhouse Sun-
days at 9:00 on NBC. Gale Page,
above, and Jim Ameche, left, are
substituting for Charles Boyer.

What's My Name? asb Arlene Francis,
above, on NBC's quiz program, Wed-
nesday at 9:00. Edna Odell, below,
sings with Alec Temptaton while Fib-
ber McGee and Molly take a holiday.

Blondie and Dogwood
(Penny Singleton
and Arthur Lake)
are on the air now!
Monday, CBS, 7:30.

William Powell played the title role in the
movie detective thriller, "The Thin Man."
(4) True □ False □

Courtesy of Loft's

A seersucker is a lollypop, very much enjoyed
by kids — and often by many a grown up as well.
(2) True □ False □

fRUS Ok

ONCE more Radio and Television Mirror adapts one
of radio's popular quiz programs to the printed
page. Here are ten questions taken from the True or
False program, heard Monday evenings at 10:00,
Eastern Daylight Saving Time, over NBC stations.
Read the captions under the pictures, check whether
the statements are true or false in the spaces pro-
vided, and then turn to page 76 to see how many

Most lisle stockings manufactured for women
are made of a specially treated kind of silk.
(3) True □ False □

A chaise-longue (Shez-long) is a bench like
the one Jeanette MacDonald is sitting on.
(5) True □ False Q

30

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Dr. Harry Hagen has won many trophies as one
of America's leading professional golfers.
(6) True \J False □

A "dead mike" means an Irish comedian (like
Walter O'Keefe, above) when he's off the air.
(7) True □ False □

FALSE

*i»*

7

you got right. We hesitate to lay down any exact rules
for the amount of True or False knowledge you should
have, but you really ought to get at least seven out of
the ten questions correct — even if this is hot weather.
Listen to the Monday night programs, sponsored by
Williams Shaving Cream, to which Radio and Tele-
vision Mirror extends its thanks for permission to
publish this feature.

Courtesy of Swift's Premium Beef

A Porterhouse steak is one of the tenderest

cuts taken from the hindquarters of a beef.

[8) True □ False □

Parchesi is frequently grated and served as a
garnish, sprinkled over spaghetti or macaroni.
(9) True □ False □

Universal

The short jacket which charming Deanna Dur-
bin is wearing, above, is known as a bolero.
(10) True Q False □

SEPTEMBER, 1939

31

HL

L

MY DAUGHTERS tf

0*

By
MRS. FRANCES TILTON

— A modern mother who defends her
daughters' singing with dance bands
and defies you to prove she's wrong.

I AM the mother of two nice American girls. Their
names are Martha and Elizabeth and if it were
not for their jobs, they would be exactly like any
other lively, pretty, prom-trotting college co-eds.
Both of them happen, however, to make their
living singing swing with bands. Until recently,
Martha has had what I suppose people in the business
would call the biggest job of its kind in the country
— featured vocalist with Benny Goodman's Swing
Orchestra.

The baby of the family — Elizabeth — who is three
years younger than Martha, sings with Buddy
Rogers' band here on the West Coast. So far, you
can just hear her locally on West Coast stations.

I have always considered myself a pretty typical
American mother. But, since Mart and Liz started
traveling with swing bands, I have become aware
that some people, finding out that I am the mother
of two swinging daughters, look at me as if
they thought I might be out of my mind, permitting
my girls to be exposed to what I am sure these
people feel are the dangers of swing music in
general — and swing musicians in particular.

And as for allowing Mart and Liz
to travel — the only girl with twelve
or thirteen men — allowing them to
stay up all hours of the night in
public places where liquor is sold,
allowing them to ride unchaperoned
in buses or trains with drummers
and trumpet players and saxophon-
ists— well, I guess there's many
another mother in America who
thinks I am sending my daughters
straight down the path to perdition.
I can only insist that they are
quite wrong. And I think I can tell
them why.

To me, there is nothing either
dangerous or frightening about my
girls' jobs. The hours they work —
usually from about nine at night
to two or three in the morning —
may seem a little strange to people
who think of jobs as day-time prop-
ositions. But you can't always
choose the (Continued on page 51)

SEPTEMBER, 1939

Martha was the first to leave home.
Elizabeth followed soon after. Would
you have given them your blessing?
Inset, Martha and Hhabetti (right).

This is the story of Alice
Drake and Bob Borden, two fine
young people I've known ever
since they were born. It's one
of the strangest stories I've ever
told on my CBS radio program,
and it proves something that
most folks are likely to forget —
that misplaced chivalry and no-
bility can sometimes rob you
of everything that's valuable in
life. But suppose I let you read
the truth about the scandal that
marred Alice's wedding day,
told just as Alice herself told it
to me. Aunt Jenny

UNTIL those dreadful three days
when life suddenly turned it-
self upside down and became
a nightmare, I'd never thought much
about the effect one person can have

34

THE STORY OF ALICE DRAKE AND BOB BORDEN AND THE SCANDAL THAT
BROKE UP THEIR WEDDING WAS FIRST BROADCAST BY AUNT JENNY ON
HER CBS MORNING PROGRAM. SPONSORED BY THE MAKERS OF SPRY

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

■

1

on other people's lives. Oh, I'd
realized that some people were bad,
some good, but I'd never understood
how much harm even the good ones
can do, given the opportunity, and
given the wrong conception of
what's the right course to follow.

And before I learned, one man's
mistaken notion of nobility had al-
most wrecked four lives — one of
them his own, two of them mine
and that of the man I loved.

I wasn't even slightly nervous on
my wedding day. The white roses
and bridal wreath I carried lay
quietly against my arm. I was only
sorry that my mother, who died
when I was twelve, couldn't be with
us. And Bob wasn't nervous either.
When father and I came up the aisle
to him he was quick to smile. He
was an eager bridegroom. Loving

SEPTEMBER. 1939

each other the way we did, we both
felt we had waited too long. The
last year, especially, had been end-
less. Bob had been supervising the
construction of a bridge in Nebras-
ka, and we had been separated for
twelve long months.

The organ swelled, then faded
away, and the beautiful words of
the marriage ceremony filled the
hushed church.

"Dearly Beloved. . . ."

And then it happened. That
harsh, high-pitched voice cut
through the minister's words.

"Bob Borden can't marry that
girl!"

A woman had rushed up the
aisle to stand behind us. And her
face was the right face for her
voice. Her eyes were small and
close and pale and her mouth was

moist and greedy. She shook her
finger in Bob's astonished, shocked
face.

"You're going to marry my
daughter," she told him. "You
thought I wouldn't find you, didn't
you?"

In the hush that followed her
words, the scene imprinted itself
indelibly on my brain. It is strange,
all through those three horrible
days, how some incidents were
etched on my memory as if with
acid, while others, mercifully, grew
blurred and fuzzy almost as they
occurred.

The minister came to our rescue.
He held up his hand and addressed
the congregation. "There has been
a tragic misunderstanding," he said
soberly, "and I ask you all to leave.
This — this will be explained later."

35

' r.

f

Four lives on the verge of
ruin _ all because of one
man's warped ideals of love!
Aunt Jenny tells another
dramatic real-life story

She shook her finger in Bob's face.
"You're going to marry my daughter!
And you thought 1 wouldn't find you!"

S

I

This is the story of Alice
Drake and Bob Borden, two fine
young people I've known ever
since they were born. It's one
of the strangest stories I've ever
told on my CBS radio program,
and it proves something that

most folks are likely to forget

(■hat misplaced chivalry and no-
bility can sometimes rob you
of everything that's valuable in
life. But suppose I let you read
the truth about the scandal that
marred Alice's wedding day,
told just as Alice herself told it
to me. Aunt Jenny

UNTIL those dreadful three days
when life suddenly turned it-
self upside down and became
a nightmare, I'd never thought much
about the effect one person can have
34

1

#/

A

THE STORY OF ALICE DRAKE AND BOB BORDEN AND THE SCANDAL THAT
BROKE UP THEIR WEDDING WAS FIRST BROADCAST BY AUNT JENNY ON
HER CBS MORNING PROGRAM. SPONSORED BY THE MAKERS OF SPRY

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

1

on other people's lives. Oh, I'd
realized that some people were bad,
some good, but I'd never understood
how much harm even the good ones
can do, given the opportunity, and
given the wrong conception of
what's the right course to follow.

And before I learned, one man's
mistaken notion of nobility had al-
most wrecked four lives — one of
'hem his own, two of them mine
and that of the man I loved.

I wasn't even slightly nervous on
my wedding day. The white roses
and bridal wreath I carried lay
quietly against my arm. I was only
s°rry that my mother, who died
when I was twelve, couldn't be with
"*• And Bob wasn't nervous either,
when father and I came up the aisle
t0 him he was quick to smile. He
Was an eager bridegroom. Loving

"TOmber. 1938

each other the way we did, we both
felt we had waited too long. The
last year, especially, had been end-
less. Bob had been supervising the
construction of a bridge in Nebras-
ka, and we had been separated for
twelve long months.

The organ swelled, then faded
away, and the beautiful words of
the marriage ceremony filled the
hushed church.

"Dearly Beloved. . . ."

And then it happened. That
harsh, high-pitched voice cut
through the minister's words.

"Bob Borden can't marry that

girl'"

A woman had rushed up the
aisle to stand behind us. And her
face was the right face for her
voice. Her eyes were small and
close and pale and her mouth was

moist and greedy. She shook her
finger in Bob's astonished, .sin
face.

"You're going to man
daughter," she told him. "You
thought I wouldn't find you, didn't
you?"

In the hush that followed
words, the scene imprinted itgeU
indelibly on my brain. It is ati
all through those three horrible
days, how some incidents were
etched on my memory as if with
acid, while others, mercifully, grew
blurred and fuzzy almost as they
occurred.

The minister came to our re
He held up his hand and add!'
the congregation. "There has been
a tragic misunderstanding," he said
soberly, "and I ask you all to leave.
This— this will be explained later."
35

But even as he said it, I saw the
beginnings of that doubt I was so
soon to find on every face.

We were herded into a little room
behind the altar — Bob, my father,
the woman, and I. Bob reached
for my hand while he spoke to my
father.

"Mr. Drake," he said, "I'm not to
blame for this. This woman owns
the boarding house where I lived in
Harmony, Nebraska, while I was
working on the bridge. But it isn't
her daughter she's talking about —
it's her step-daughter."

"It's — it's all right, Bob," my
father said — although even then I
knew that his pride had suffered a
severe blow through this scandalous
interruption of his daughter's wed-
ding. "We'll stand by you."

As for me, I could only trust my-
self to squeeze Bob's arm, in token
of my trust.

BUT the woman saw my gesture,
and it enraged her. She stood
close to us, thrusting her face too
close to ours. "Don't try to lie out
of this," she screamed at Bob. "You
know you made love to my daugh-
ter! You took her out in an auto-
mobile, and wrecked it — and now
she's crippled and disfigured! And
a lot you care. You ran away!"

Bob's voice was low and strained.
"I never made love to your step-
daughter. I wasn't driving the car
when the accident happened. And
when I left Harmony I believed your
daughter was recovering."

"You're lying," she said. "To
protect your skin so you can marry
Miss High and Mighty here. She's
rich, I suppose. And my poor girl
isn't."

Bob was haggard — years older
than he had been fifteen minutes
before. "Mr. Drake," he said, "take
Alice home. I don't want her sub-
jected to this any longer. I'll come
along later, when I've got things
straightened out with Mrs. Mc-
Creagh. And I'll explain everything."

"I'd rather wait with you, Bob,"
I pleaded. Some premonition of
further disaster warned me not to
lose sight of him.

His lips brushed my cheek. "I
can't bear to have you here," he
said. "Go with your father, like a
darling. I'll see you soon."

We waited, father and I, in the
living room. Hours dragged by.
Again and again I went over the
same ground, re-enacting that
frightful scene in the church, trying
to find some sense in it. The woman
was obviously mad. How could
anyone take her seriously? And
yet, as the clock ticked madden-
ingly on, I saw my father's lips be-
come pinched and stern, his eyes
cold and remote.

I think he was better prepared
than I for the message the minister
brought with him when he came
at last — alone.

"Bob wants me to tell you he felt
it wise to return to Nebraska with
Mrs. McCreagh. He will write you."

When he had gone, my father
took my hand in his and said grave-
ly, "Alice, there's something very
wrong here. I've tried to be pa-
tient— but it's clear to be seen that
Bob wouldn't have gone back to
Nebraska with that woman if he
didn't have to."

"But it can't be true!" I ex-
claimed. "Bob and I have been in
love since we were children — he
wouldn't do this to me!"

Father's eyes were sad. "Young
men away from home, having their
first taste of freedom, sometimes —
sometimes let freedom go to their
heads. . . ."

He threw his shoulders back. "I
want you to go to New York to-
morrow for a long visit with your
Aunt Emily — until the talk around
town dies down. And . . . Alice . . .
I think you'd better forget Bob."

Poor Father — even in the midst
of his anger and humiliation (for
in a town the size of ours, what
had happened to us was a juicy
scandal, and Father knew it very
well) he tried to be gentle. I know
he was relieved when I docilely as-
sented to his plan and boarded the
train, the next day, for New York.

But I was not being docile. In
the midst of the whirling darkness
of my thoughts, one fact shone clear
and steady, like the beacon of a
light-house. Bob would not — could
not — deceive me. And I could not
desert him.

At the first station I could I left
the east-bound train and exchanged
my ticket to New York for one to
Harmony, Nebraska.

The green fields whirling past
the car windows gave Way to long,
rolling brown plains, stretching

36

away into the dim horizon. Some-
where in that vast panorama was
Harmony, and in Harmony was
Bob, needing my help. In my soul,
I had already pledged him my mar-
riage vows . . . "in sickness and in
health, in joy and in sorrow" . . .
Was that the way the service went?
Mine had been interrupted before
it got that far. It didn't matter. My
husband, my lover was in trouble;
I could not understand, but I could
be at his side.

I was frightened when I got off
the train at Harmony, a desolate
little town set in the midst of the
surrounding flatness. But I was de-
termined. I found a taxi and told
the driver to take me to Mrs. Mc-
Creagh's.

"Mr. Borden?" repeated the
slovenly maid who admitted me
into the big frame house the taxi
driver stopped at. "Sure, he's
around."

When Bob came and saw me
there his face brightened. But only
for a moment. Then that dreadful
gray, set look returned. "Alice!" he
said. "Darling, you shouldn't have
come here."

"I don't understand what has
happened," I told him, "but you're
in some kind of trouble. And it's
serious or you never would have
come back here — and if you're in
trouble, so am I."

The harsh lines around his mouth
softened at that. "Darling. But I
will not have you dragged into it."

"Just explain to me, Bob," I
begged. "Then, if you say so, I'll
go away. But — it's all so crazy, so
mixed-up — I've got to know what
happened."

HE rubbed his hand over his fore-
head, across his bloodshot, weary
eyes. "All right, dear. I'm in a
spot. I was in the car the night
Georgia — that's Mrs. McCreagh's
stepdaughter — was hurt. I even
hired the car, in my name. Mrs.
McCreagh can. prove that. But I
wasn't driving it — the accident
wasn't my fault. And — " he looked
steadily at me — "I've never, never
made love to Georgia. You believe
that, don't you?"

"Of course I believe it!" I
breathed. "Only — only, who was
driving the car, Bob?"

"That ... I won't tell you," he
said slowly. "Because I won't have
you getting mixed up in this busi-
ness. There may be a law suit over
it. I don't know. Mrs. McCreagh
says she'll sue me if I don't — marry
— Georgia. And it would kill me if
you knew anything that got you
brought into court."

My head was whirling. Law suits
— threats (Continued on page 74)

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

~W

/

k>*

fcr

d*

■

HOLLYWOOD

RADIO WHISPERS

By GEORGE FISHER

■. Listen to George Fisher's broad-
casts every Saturday night over Mutual.

daYs. AUiQrnot"- is A^.

9 Vrt* 8"<c. (gg

FUNNIEST surprise of the month
was the birthday party ten-
dered Norris Goff, the "Abner"
of the "Lum and Abner" team, after
one of their broadcasts. "Lum"
wheeled a brand new motor bike
right into the studio and presented
it to Goff, with the one stipulation
that he must "ride it out." The re-
sult was the first motorized tour of
the CBS Studios, when Goff zoomed
out of the studio doors . . . without
first learning how to stop the ma-
chine. After circling the lobby for
five minutes, he finally escaped
through the auditorium door into

SEPTEMBER, 1939

the adjacent auto parking lot, where
attendants brought it under control.

Sizzling Whispers
Wayne Morris is not at all happy
over his forthcoming radio appear-
ance for Warner Bros. Wayne's
slated for the lead in a boxing series
. . . but he'd rather be the romantic

type!

* * *

Al Jolson and Ruby Keeler are
making their second stork visit to
the Evanston Cradle . . . they'll
adopt another baby boy.

Georgie Stoll, who maestroed the
Camel Caravan for so long, is giving
up his MGM music making work to
preside musically over another net-
work show this Fall! Georgie's last
picture work was directing the
music on Mervyn Le Roy's "Wizard

of Oz."

* * *

The "Circle" in Hollywood circles,
is considered the radio dud of the
year. A great idea that fell through.
PREDICTION: "The Circle" will
have many copiers next year . . .
but good.

(Continued on page 67)

37

Where did her loyally
belong? — with her un-
born child, with the
man who preferred fame
to her love, or with
the pitiful woman who
had first claim on him?

Part II

MY STORY:
Because Greg Dean was on
the threshold of success as a
radio and screen star, we agreed to
keep our runaway marriage a se-
cret. We were almost successful —
only one person found out. He was
Ralph Mont, the Hollywood gossip
broadcaster at the radio studio
where I took small parts in dramatic
programs, and where Greg sang on
a local variety show. But because
Ralph was my friend, he agreed not
to use the information on the air,
and I did not even tell Greg he
knew our secret. As the weeks
passed, I found that Greg was
changing. He was working in his
first picture under a contract at one
of the studios, and it seemed to be
more and more difficult for him to
find time to see me. On the night
the picture was previewed, he didn't
tell me about it, and I wouldn't have
seen the preview if Ralph hadn't
taken me. Watching the picture, we
knew that Greg was a coming star,
and when it was over and I caught
sight of him coming out of the
theater, I couldn't help running up
to him. He was with some other
people and he pretended not to
know me. The next day I delivered
an ultimatum to Greg: this secrecy
must come to an end. But he per-
suaded me to wait a while longer,
because the studio was sending him

38

on a personal appearance tour to
build up his popularity. I con-
sented, and he left on. the tour. But
three weeks later Ralph came to me
with terrible news. Greg's first
wife had appeared, and was plan-
ning on contesting Greg's Mexican
divorce on the grounds that it had
been illegally obtained. It was

news that shocked me into telling
Ralph something that even Greg did
not know — that I was going to have

Greg's baby.

* # #

RALPH'S expression didn't change.
He said slowly: "A baby. Well
— that makes things different,
doesn't it?"

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

"Ralph," I said, "she can't do this
to us. What does she want to do —
ruin Greg's career?"

He shook his head. "No — she
just wants money, more likely. The
way I figure it, she was satisfied to
let Greg go until he began getting
famous. Then she must have de-
cided she'd better cash in on him."

SEPTEMBER, 1939

"Who is she? Is she here in
Hollywood?"

"Yes, she's in town," he told me,
"but I don't know much about her.
I just got the tip tonight from a
fellow in the Record office. He
wouldn't have told me, of course, if
I'd been going on the air tonight."

I took a deep breath. "Can you

find out where she is? I want to
see her."

"Wait a minute, Kay," he pro-
tested. "I don't think that's a good
idea, at all. She doesn't know
Greg has married again — and if she
finds it out, then she has him in a
really tough spot. She could have
him arrested for bigamy."

"I won't let her find out. . . .
Please, Ralph, see if you can't get
her name and address."

Unwillingly, he went to the tele-
phone, where he carried on a short,
low-voiced conversation. When he
hung up he handed me a slip of
paper on which he'd pencilled a
name, Mrs. Beatrice Boerland —
Greg's real last name — and an ad-
dress on a street in the poorest sec-
tion of Los Angeles.

"I'll drive you down there," he
said, "and wait for you outside. Un-
less you'd rather I went in with
you."

"No," I said, "I think it would
be better if I saw her alone."

"She must really be down on her
luck, or she wouldn't be living at
that address," Ralph pointed out as
we got into his car. "Either that
or she's putting on an act."

THE tumbledown frame building
before which we stopped thirty
minutes later certainly didn't look
like a place anyone would choose to
live in. Gaunt and rickety, it was a
relic of Los Angeles' oldest days.
Once, perhaps, it had been some
wealthy caballero's home, but now
the city had crowded in on it,
jostled it until it was unsteady on
its foundations, dirtied it with grime
and dust.

"Whew!" Ralph murmured. "I'd
better help you find her." And I
was glad of his company up the un-
steady front stairs and into the
shadowy hall. I stood there while
he knocked on several doors with-
out receiving any answer. At last
one of them opened, and a sullen
man in undershirt and trousers di-
rected us to a room on the second
floor for Mrs. Boerland.

Clinging to Ralph's arm, I went
up another (Continued on page 70)

39

CHARLIE BARNET dropped his
entire band for a week re-
cently just to fly west and
play patty-cake with Dorothy La-
mour. Then he came back and re-
hired the band all over again. The
love bug has surely bit him. In
order to catch the westbound plane
Charlie hired an ambulance so he
could pass all the traffic spots.

If the Lombardos really break
precedent and hire a girl singer you
can bet she will be a Lombardo
relative. . , .

We told you that Bob Crosby was
headed for a coast-to-coast com-
mercial. He replaced Benny Good-
man in June.

# * *

Pete Viera, 32-year-old middle
western pianist replaced Bob Zurke
in the Bob Crosby Cat-clan.

* * *

You'll never recognize the Benny
Goodman and Hal Kemp bands —
there have been so many replace-
ments. * * *

Kemp's organization must be a
great training school for future
batoneers. Look at the graduates:
Skinnay Ennis, John Scott Trotter
and now Saxie Dowell.

40

Little Jack Little is back with a
new band. His old one is now oper-
ated by Mitchell Ayres.

# * #

Al Donahue stays at the Rainbow
Room in Radio City until October

10- * * *

Hal Kemp returns to the Waldorf-
Astoria in August.

# # *

Radio listeners and tin pan alley
mourn the passing of swing band
leader Chick Webb, of "A Tisket, a
Tasket" fame, who died of tuber-
culosis. # # #

Buddy Rogers will try again to
lead a band when he returns from
Europe with his wife, Mary Pick-
ford. Having failed to click with a
swing and sweet band, Buddy will
groom one along the lines of a pres-

entation outfit, a la Heidt and War-
ing. His manager is lining up mu-
sicians and soloists and has designs
on the talents of those 17 -year-old
Steele Sisters who chirped on the
Musical Steelmakers program over
MBS. These kids recently had a
professional tryout with Heidt.
* * *

Those band feuds have never ma-
terialized. This summer Garber
and Lombardo were both in New
York at the same time and never
crossed swords. Earlier this season
Kyser and Kaye played in Gotham
simultaneously and never came to
blows. , # ■ «

The hit tune from Billy Rose's
Aquacade "Yours for a Song" is a
Jesse James on Snow White's "One
Song."

(Continued on page 79)

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

By burning 25% slower

than the average of the 15 other

of the largest-selling brands tested

— slower than any of them —

CAMELS give smokers the equivalent of

5 EXTRA SMOKES
PER PACK!

Copyright. 1939, R. J. Reynolds Tobacco Co., Winston-Salem, N. C.

PUFF BY PUFF YOUR GREATEST
SMOKING PLEASURE

The next time you light up a Camel, notice how slowly it
burns . . . and be glad. For —

With slow-burning Camels you get — a cooler, milder
smoke. Fine fragrance, too — and what a delicate taste!

With slow-burning Camels you get — added moments of
smoking. The pleasure is prolonged!

With slow-burning Camels you get— smoking pleasure at
its best. For Camels are made from finer, more expensive
tobaccos!

Smoke Camels and enjoy what Camels have to give —
rare smoking pleasure and more smoking in every pack!

IN APRIL, 1939, a group of scientists made some unusual
tests of cigarettes. They applied the same tests— impar-
tially—to 16 of the largest-selling cigarette brands. Here
are the results :

OIn the Weight Test— Camels were found to contain
MORE TOBACCO BY WEIGHT than the average
for the 15 other of the largest-selling brands.

OIn the Burning Test (or Smoking Test,)— CAMELS
BURNED SLOWER THAN ANY OTHER BRAND
TESTED-25% SLOWER THAN THE AVERAGE TIME
OF THE 15 OTHER OF THE LARGEST -SELLING
BRANDS! By burning 25% slower, on the average, Camels
give smokers the equivalent of 5 EXTRA SMOKES PER
PACK!

OIn the Ash Test -In this test, CAMELS HELD
THEIR ASH FAR LONGER than the average time
for all the other brands.

Camel, the cigarette of costlier tobaccos, is the luxury
smoke every smoker can afford. Truly, penny for penny
your best cigarette buy!

SMOKING IS BELIEVING ...Jean Martin and William Bishop enjoying Camels at the
New York World's Fair. "I've often noticed that Camels burn more slowly," says Jean. "I think
that's one reason why they smoke cooler and milder. As far as I'm concerned, smoking is believ-
ing! I know that Camel smoke is cool on my throat. And Camels have such a delicate taste!"

Everybody's talking about the

extra care, brilliance

that Luster-Foam "bubble bath
gives the teeth!

95

M*

BETTY: That Luster-Foam "bubble
bath" in the new Listerine Tooth Paste
is marvelous . . . ray mouth feels so fresh.

BETH: And did you ever see anything
like the way it makes teeth sparkle?

1st REPORTER: Ever see a smile so
dazzling? AH these glamour girls have
it — I wonder why?

2nd REPORTER: It's the dentifrice
they use — the New Listerine Tooth
Paste with Luster-Foam. It's swell I

JIM: Even if I am your husband, I'
got to admit your smile gets more gor
geous daily.

JOAN: Honey, it's that Luster-Foam
'bubble bath" in the New Listerine
Tooth Paste that does it.

LARRY: Will we ever save enough
to own one?

LOU: Leave it to me! I'm budgeting
everything, including tooth paste.
And what a money-saver this New
Listerine Tooth Paste is.

NURSE: Listerine Tooth
Paste is designed to go to
work on the tiny pits and
cracks in enamel — the
danger zones where 75%
of decay is estimated to
start.

HEN ARE YOU GOING TO TRY IT?

Don't be so wedded to old favorites that you miss out on the utterly
different, wholly delightful action that you get with Luster-Foam
detergent in the New Listerine Tooth Paste. You'll wonder why
you ever used any other paste.

At the first touch of saliva and brush, Luster-Foam detergent
leaps into an aromatic, dainty, foaming "bubble bath" that wakes
up the mouth. It surges over, around, and in between the teeth to
accomplish cleansing that you didn't believe possible. And what
dazzling luster it gives.

You know this new dentifrice must be delightful,
because six million tubes of it were sold in 90 days. In
two economical sizes: Regular, 25t and big double-size
at 40e, containing more than J^ of a pound of tooth
paste. Lambert Pbarmacal Co., St. Louis, Missouri.

THE NEW FORMULA
Supercharged with LUSTER-FOAM

P. S. LISTERINE TOOTH POWDER ALSO CONTAINS LUSTER-FOAM

WHILE the summer sun beats
in at the closed windows of
the school house, the CBS
March of Games program sees to it
that you don't let those cobwebs set-
tle on your brain while you're hav-
ing a good time. For the March of
Games is a quiz show for everybody
between the ages of eight and six-
teen— although its questions can
make some of the older folks scratch
their heads for an answer. If you
don't believe it, try this game:

In the box below are 14 questions
especially prepared by Natalie Pur-
vin Prager, originator of the show.

For the March of Games contest on
CBS, little Sybil Trent, right, the
Drum Major, leads the contestants to
the mike, while young Arthur Ross,
left, puts them through their paces.

Try the quiz yourself, and then give
it to your mother or father — and see
which member of the family gets
the highest score. But remember,
this game is run on the honor sys-
tem— the answers are on page 86
but it's no fair looking until you've
finished.

After you've done the quiz, you're
sure to want to listen to the March
of Games program, on CBS every
Tuesday and Thursday at 5:45,
Eastern Daylight Time. It's pro-
duced by Nila Mack, director of
children's programs at CBS, but
only children take part in it.

SEPTEMBER, 1939

1 . Right or Wrong: An Indian mother carries her caboose on her back?

2. A giant is always very big, little or cruel?

3. What would one do with a coronet? Eat it, play on it or wear It?

4. Indian is to Teepee as eskimo is to ?

5. Right or Wrong: A water moccasin is a fancy bathing shoe?

6. Would you write, ride or e<ii an avocado?

7. The Pilgrims landed at Fort Ticonderoga, Plymouth Rock, or Massa-
chusetts Bay?

8. Right or Wrong: The little people with whom Gulliver dwelt in
"Gullivers Travel's," were called Hottentots?

°. Would you look for kohlrabi in a mine, in a garden or at the Zoo?

1 0. Spot the word that does not belong In this group:
Hockey, Checkers, Lotto, Chess, Backgammon.

11. What did the following nursery rhyme characters eat?

A. Miss Muffet .... B. Jack Homer ... C. The Knave of Hearts

12. Right or Wrong: Napoleon Bonaparte was a Frenchman?

13. Name three songs that have a girl's name as the title?

14. In what country would you look for the following:

A. Jinricksha B. Windmill C. Gondola. .

43

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Ul

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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Blue: Peerless Trio

NBC-Red: Organ Recital

8:30

NBC- Blue: Tone Pictures

NBC-Red: Four Showmen

8:45

NBC-Red: Animal News

9:00

CBS: From the Organ Loft

NBC-Blue: White Rabbit Line

NBC-Red: Turn Back the Clock

9:15

NBC- Red: Tom Teriss

9:30

CBS: Aubade lor Strings

NBC-Red: Crawford Caravan

10:00

CBS: Church of the Air

NBC-Red: Highlights of the Bible

10:30

CBS: Wings Over Jordan

NBC-Blue: Russian Melodies

NBC-Red: Children's Hour

11:00

CBS: News and Rhythm!

11:05

NBC-Blue: Alice Romsen

11:15

NBC-Blue: Neighbor Nell

11:30

CBS: MAJOR BOWES FAMILY

NBC-Blue: Southernaires

NBC-Red: News

11:45

N BC-Red : Vernon Cra ne's Story Book

12:00 Noon

NBC-Blue: RADIO CITY MUSIC

HALL
NBC-Red: Walter Logan Music

12:30 P.M.

CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle

1:00

CBS: Church of the Air
NBC-Blue: Waterloo Junction
NBC-Red: Music for Moderns

1:30

NBC-Red: Sunday Symphonette

2:00

acy ir
nday
Fanny's

2:30

CBS: It Goes Like This
NBC-Red: University of Chicago
Round Table

CBS: Democracy in Action
NBC^Red: Sunday Dinner at

2:45

NBC-Red: Kidoodlers

3:00

CBS: CBS Symphony

NBC-Red: Sunday Drivers

3:15

NBC-Blue: Bookman's Notebook

3:30

NBC-Blue: Festival of Music

NBC-Red: Name the Place

4:00

CBS: Musical Fun
NBC-Blue: National Vespers
NBC-Red: Rangers Serenade

4:30

NBC-Red: The World is Yours

5.00

NBC-Blue: News from Washington

5:30

NBC-Red: The Spelling Bee

5:45

NBC-Blue: Ray Perkins

6:00

N BC-Red:

Catholic Hour

6:30

CBS: Gateway to Hollywood

NBC-Red: Grouch Club

7:00

CBS: Alibi Club

NBC-Red: The Aldrich Family

7:30

CBS: Musical Playhouse

NBC-Blue: Radio Guild

NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon

8:00

CBS Ellery Queen

NBC-Blue: NBC Symphony

NBC-Red: DON AMECHE, EDGAR
BERGEN

9:00

CBS: Ford Show

NBC-Blue: HOLLYWOOD PLAY-
HOUSE

NBC-Red: Manhattan Merry-Go-
Round

9:30

NBC-Blue: Walter Winched
NBC-Red: American Album of
Familiar Music

9:45
NBC-Blue:

Irene Rich

10:00

CBS: Knickerbocker Playhouse

MBS: Goodwill Hour

10:30

CBS: H. V. Kaltenborn

NBC-Blue: Cheerio

11:00

CBS: Dance Orchestra

NBC: Dance Orchestra

'ens

■ From the play, "What a Life"; Ezra Stone, Marguerite Lodge, Ann Lincoln

Tune-In Bulletin for July 30, August 6, 13 and 20!

July 30: If you like to solve mystery puzzles, be sure to listen to the Adventures of Ellery

Queen, on CBS tonight at 8:00.
August 6: And another quiz program — this time about music — is the Hour of Musical

Fun, on CBS at 4:00 this afternoon.
August 13: NBC has a couple of sports events for you — the National Soap Box Derby

from Akron, Ohio, and the finals of the Eastern grass court tennis tournament.
August 20: The largest army maneuvers since the World War are on the air today, over

CBS — the U. S. Army war games from Plattsburg, N. Y.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Aldrich
Family, starring Ezra Stone as Henry Aid-
rich, on NBC-Red from 7:00 to 7:30, East-
ern Daylight Time (rebroadcast to the
West at 7:30, Pacific Time), sponsored by
Jell-O.

Old star-maker Rudy Vallee is respon-
sible for this half-hour weekly serial, as he
is responsible for so many radio successes.
With the help of Rudy, The Aldrich Fam-
ily "just happened."

It all started with the play, "What a
Life," which was a Broadway hit from the
minute it opened more than a year ago.
In the natural course of events, Rudy
Vallee presented a scene from the play on
his NBC program — and scored such a suc-
cess with it that he asked Clifford Gold-
smith, who wrote the play, to write an-
other Aldrich Family sketch for use the
next week. This original sketch was funnier
than the scene from the play, so Author
Goldsmith wrote another, also for the
Vallee Hour. By this time radio agencies
were bidding for the services of Gold-
smith and Ezra Stone, and the successful
bidder was the Young and Rubicam
agency — which promptly put The Aldrich
Family on Rudy's competing program, Kate
Smith's Hour. There it stayed until this
summer, when it took Jack Benny's time.

The Aldrich Family consists of Henry,
played by Ezra Stone, his sister Mary,

played by Ann Lincoln, his mother, played
by Katherine Raht, and his father, played
by House Jameson. Ezra Stone and Ann
Lincoln are the only members of the radio
cast who are also in the Broadway play —
and in that Ann is only an extra. She was
so good when she auditioned for the Mary
part, though, that she won it in competi-
tion with twenty-five other actresses.

Like Orson Welles, Ezra Stone is a youth-
ful theatrical genius — but unlike Orson,
he's not spectacular. It's hard to believe
that this modest young fellow — only 22 —
is already one of the trusted lieutenants of
the famous theatrical producer, George
Abbott. He lives quietly with his parents
in Brooklyn, but they probably don't see
much of him, he's so busy acting Henry
Aldrich on the stage and over the air,
speaking at high schools and clubs, and
helping run the business affairs of the
stage play. Some time ago "What a Life"
would have closed, but Ezra talked Pro-
ducer Abbott into letting the cast take it
over on a co-operative basis, and since
then he has been practically the business
manager as well as the star. By this time
all his different responsibilities should have
put a few gray hairs into his head — but
as Ezra himself points out, you couldn't
see them anyway because for his role of
Henry he has to keep his naturally dark
brown hair dyed a bright golden red.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

ELLIOTT LEWIS — leading man and master of ceremonies
on the Knickerbocker Playhouse, on CBS tonight at 10:00.
Elliott's been called the radio find of the year. He's
only 21 years old, and was studying law in Los Angeles
when he started acting on the air to earn tuition money.
Then he discovered he loved acting, and now he's given
up the study of law entirely.

INSIDE RADIO-The New Radio Mirror Almanac

44

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

fcXUI

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Eastern Daylight Tim.'

. ■ 8:00 A.M.

^ NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn
</> 8:15

. NBC- Red: Hi Boys
u 8:30

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade
9:00
8:00 CBS: Richard Maxwell
8:00 NBC: News

9:05
8:05 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:30
8:30 CBS: Manhattan Mother
8:30 NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45
3:45 CBS: Bachelor's Children
8:45 NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00
9:00 CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC-Red: Central City

10:15
9:15 CBS: Myrt and Marge
9:15 NBC-Blue: Josh Higgins
9:15 NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30
9:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Blue: Jack Berch
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45
9:45 CBS: Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah
9:45 NBC-Red: Woman in White
11:00
10:00 CBS: It Happened in Hollywood
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC- Red: David Harum

11:15

10:15 CBS: Scattergood Baines
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

10:30 CBS: Big Sister

10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

10:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
10:45 NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon
11:00 CBS: Girl Interne

12:15 P.M.
11:15 CBS: When a Girl Marries
11:15 NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30

11:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
11:30 NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
11:30 NBC-Red: Time for Thought
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00
12:00 CBS: The Goldbergs

1:15

12:15 CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
12:15 NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over

1:30 ;

12:30 CBS: Road of Life
12:30 NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

1:45

12:45 CBS: This Day is Ours
12:45 NBC-Red: Words and Music
2:00
1:00 CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
1:00 NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

2:15
1:15 CBS: Dr. Susan
1:15 NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30
1:30 CBS: Your Family and Mine
1:30 NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

2:45
1:45 NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches

3:00
2:00 NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

3:15
2:15 NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

3:30
2:30 NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45
2:45 NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
2:45 NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

4:00
3:00 NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
•5:00 NBC-Red. Backstage Wife

4:15
3:15 NBC-Red Stella Dallas

4:30
3:30 NBC-Red Vic and Sade

4:45
3:45 NBC-Red: Midstream

5:00
4:00 NBC-Red: Life Can be Beautiful

5:30
4:30 NBC-Blue: Affairs of Anthony
4:30 NBC-Red: Billy and Betty

5:45
4:45 NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00
5:00 CBS: News

6:05
5:05 CBS: Edwin C. Hill

6:45
5:45 NBC-Blue Lowell Thomas

7:00
6:00 CBS: Amos 'n' Andy
6:00 NBC-Blue: Orphans of Divorce
6:00 NBC-Red Fred Waring's Gang

7:30
6:30 CBS: Blondie
6:30 MBS: The Lone Ranger
6:30 NBC-Red: Larry Clinton

8:00
7:00 Tune-Up Time (Aug. 21)
7:00 NBC-Red: AL PEARCE.

8:30
7:30 CBS: Howard and Shelton
7:30 NBC-Blue: Magic Key of RCA
7:30 NBC-Red: Voice of Firestone

9:00
8:00 CBS: George McCall

9:30
8:30 CBS: Guy Lombardo

10:00
9:00 NBC-Blue: True or False
9:00 NBC-Red: The Cont.nted Hour

MONDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

■ Tom Howard and George Shelton ponder a knotty argumentative point

Tune-In Bulletin for July 31, August 7, 14 and 21!

July 31: The racing season opens today at Saratoga Springs, N. Y., and CBS' Bryan Field

is on hand to describe it for you.
August 7: You can hear great stage star Margaret Anglin in Orphans of Divorce on

NBC-Blue now, at 7:00 tonight.
August 14: Ted Husing describes the play in the National Doubles Tennis tournament at

the Longwood Cricket Club in Boston — over CBS.
August 21: Andre Kostelanetz and Walter O'Keefe return on CBS at 8:00.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Model
Minstrels, with Tom Howard and George
Shelton, Ray Bloch's orchestra, and the
Eton Boys, on CBS at 8:30, E.D.S.T., with a
re-broadcast at 7:30, Pacific Coast Time —
sponsored by Model Smoking Tobacco.

As proof that arguments can be both
funny and profitable, take Tom Howard
and George Shelton, who have been argu-
ing for years on every subject under the
sun, and have made money out of it. As
stars of the Model Minstrels, they stage
two bitter arguments every Monday night,
exhausting themselves and their listeners.

Tom Howard lives with his wife and
daughter in Red Bank, New Jersey; George
Shelton maintains a residence on Long
Island but spends most of his time in Red
Bank, working with Tom on their comedy
scripts. Tom, of course, is the zany, loud-
voiced fool who always gets things wrong;
George is the patient, long-suffering friend
who tries — and fails — to put Tom right.
Privately, Tom and George get along very
well, and only argue in public. They write
their own scripts during the week, come
into New York on Monday to rehearse with
Ray Bloch's orchestra, and keep changing
the scripts right up to broadcast time. In
fact, since they never use scripts on the
air, their broadcast version is frequently
at least half ad libbed.

People who listen to Howard and Shel-
ton frequently send them ideas for argu-

ments, but Tom and George wish they
wouldn't. All too often someone suggests
a subject for argument they've already
used, or are working on at that very
moment, or had thought of for a future
broadcast. In the latter two cases they're
afraid to go ahead with their plans for
fear the person who suggested the topic
will want to be paid for it. So their usual
procedure is to send suggestions back un-
opened— except that frequently a sugges-
tion looks like innocent fan mail, and only
reveals its true character after tho en-
velope has been torn open.

Tom and George have been the come-
dians of Model Minstrels only since the
first of this year — but four years ago,
when the program first went on the air,
they nearly got the job. They were runners-
up to Pick and Pat, the successful candi-
dates who left the show last winter.

Out in Red Bank, Tom is considered a
solid citizen, one of the pillars of the
community. Both he and George are in
constant demand to appear at local bene-
fit and charity shows — requests that they
never, never turn down. Perhaps more than
anyone else on the air, they're typical of
their background. Both are real vaudeville
troupers, with years and years of work on
all kinds of stages behind them. Nothing
glamorous about either of them, and
they're thankful for it — they're just simple,
big-hearted people.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

BETTY LOU GERSON — who plays Julia Meredith in Mid-
stream, the serial on NBC-Red this afternoon at 4:45,
Eastern Daylight Time. She's been heard on many net-
work broadcasts, and was Don Ameche's leading lady
when he worked in Chicago radio. Betty Lou's a South-
ern girl, is married to radio director Joe Ainley, and
enjoys keeping house and cooking.

Complete Programs from July 26 to August 24

SEPTEMBER, 1939

45

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6:15
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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

8:30

NBC-Red Do You Remember

9:00

NBC: News

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:30

CBS: Manhattan Mother

NBC-Red: Family Man

9:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

CBS: r>retty Kitty Kelly

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

NBC- Red Central City

10:15

CBS Myrt and Marge

NBC-Blue: Josh Higgins

NBC-Red John's other Wife

10:30

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC- Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00

CBS: Mary Lee Taylor

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

CBS: Scattergood Baines

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

NBC-Red: Road of Lite

12:00 Noon

CBS: Girl Interne

12:15 P.M.

CBS- When a Girl Marries

NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent

NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour

NBC-Red: Where to Look for Help

12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs

1:15

CBS: Life Can be Beautiful

1:30

CBS: Road of Lite

NBC-Blue Peables Takes Charge

1:45

CBS This Dav is Ours

NBC-Red: Words and Music

2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters

NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

2:15

CBS: D~. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine

NBC- Red: Valiant Lady

2:45

Hymns of All Churches

7:00
7:00
7:00

8:00
8:00
8:00

8:30
8:30
8:30

9:00
9:00
9:00

9:30
9:30

NBC- Red:

3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

3:15

NBC-Red Ma Perkins

3:30

NBC-Red: Tepper Young's Family

3:45

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone

NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

NBC- Red: Backstage Wife

4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30

NBC-Red. Vdc and Sade

4:45

NBC-Red: Midstream

5:00

NBC-Red: Life Can be Beautiful

5:30

NBC-Blue: Affairs of Anthony

NBC-Rtd: Bniy ana bcu,

5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00

CBS: News

6:05

CBS: Edwin C. Hill

6:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy

NBC-Blue: Easy Aces

NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang

7:15

NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen

NBC-Red: Quicksilver Quiz

7:30

CBS: HELEN MENKEN

8:00

CBS: The Human Adventure

NBC-Blue: The Insme Story

NBC-Red: Johnny Presents

8:30

NBC-Blue: INFORMATION PLEASE

9:00

CBS: We, the People

NBC-Blue: Artie Shaw

NBC-Red: Battle of the Sexes

9:30

CBS: Bob Crosby

NBC-Blue: TRUE STORY TIME

NBC-Red Alec Templeton

10:00

CBS: Hal Kemp

NBC-Blue: If I Had the Chance

NBC-Red: Mr. District Attorney

10:30

CBS: H. V. Kaltenborn

NBC-Red: Uncle Walter's Doghouse

>m)L;.-4^v : l-j <7 !-;:-.;■■: i;{ r

■ Some of the Waring Gang: Poley McClintock, Patsy Garrett, Paul Gibbons
Tune-In Bulletin for August 1, 8, 15 and 22 1

August I : If you missed the opening program last week, here's your chance to listen
to the second in a new series on CBS called The Human Adventure. It's exciting stuff
about science and the men who work with it . . . Freddie Martin and his orchestra
open at the luxurious St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco — listen on both Mutual
and NBC.

August 8: True Story Time, with Fulton Oursler, editor in chief of all Macfadden
Publications, is a good bet for 9:30 on NBC-Blue.

August 15: More of the National Doubles tennis matches you heard yesterday — on
CBS, with Ted Husing announcing.

August 22: For swing fans, there's only one choice tonight at 9:00 — Artie Shaw's
orchestra on NBC-Blue.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT— Fred Waring in
Pleasure Time, sponsored by Chesterfield
Cigarettes on NBC-Red from 7:00 to 7:15,
Eastern Daylight Time, with a re-broadcast
at 7:00, Pacific Coast Time.

To get this fifteen-minute variety show
on the air every night except Saturday and
Sunday, the services of seventy-five people
are required, in one of radio's most com-
plex organizations. Fifty-six of the people
are performers — the other nineteen are
writers, secretaries, music arrangers, press
agents, and even a cook.

Fred Waring has a whole floor of an
office building on Broadway, where the
affairs of the Waring gang are transacted.
A big rehearsal room, just like a radio
studio, is equipped with microphones and
control-room — and even with recording
equipment, so rehearsals can be put on
wax and then played back so mistakes can
be corrected. In addition, there are several
smaller rehearsal rooms, where trios and
soloists can practice. There's a ping-pong
table, for relaxation when rehearsal hours
are long. And off Fred's private office is
a compact kitchen, where his personal
cook prepares the dinner that Fred and
one or two guests eat between the first
and second broadcasts.

Every afternoon the Waring gang deserts
all this magnificence and repairs to Radio
City, where it rehearses some more until

it's time to go on the air. Fred always
prepares twice as many numbers as he'll
need, and never selects a complete pro-
gram until the very last possible minute —
a system that helps keep the show spon-
taneous and lively. In the gang there are
twenty-one "entertainment units" — that is,
soloists or specialty combinations; obvi-
ously all twenty-one can't be used on a
fifteen-minute show, so Fred has devised a
mysterious staggering system, understood
by no one but himself, for using different
acts on different nights.

The whole broadcast is staged exactly
as if it were meant to be seen as well as
heard. NBC's Studio 8-G, where the gang
broadcasts every night but Wednesday,
when they use the larger 8-H, has a stage
with a curtain; and Fred has the curtain
raised at the start of the show and lowered
at the end. He also uses different light-
ing effects for the various numbers. All
this for the reason that he wants to keep
his entertainers accustomed to acting for
audiences as well as for the mike.

Studio audiences at Pleasure Time get
a double measure of enjoyment, because
after the broadcast a further informal en-
tertainment is always given by the gang —
Fred thinks fifteen minutes of fun isn't
enough repayment for the trouble of get-
ting a broadcast ticket, going to Radio
City, and settling yourself in the studio.

46

SAY HELLO TO . . .

RUTH CARHART — whose lovely contralto voice is heard
on Story of the Song, over CBS at 3:30 this afternoon,
and on other CBS programs. Ruth was born in Ellsworth,
Kansas, and revealed musical ability when she was very
young. She won a scholarship given by Mme. Schumann-
Heink and later attended the Curtis School of Music.
While she was in the Curtis School, "Roxy" discovered
her and presented her on the air. CBS signed her to a
contract soon after, and has recently renewed it for a
fourth year, making her one of the few soloists to remain
with one network for that long a time.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

VNTHfc

Before Her Guests Arrive — Mrs. A. J. Drexel, III,
busy member of Philadelphia's young married set,
steals a moment for an interview.

Both thrilled over the

NEWnSKIN-VITAMIN
care* they can give
their skin today

QUESTION TO MISS BREWER:

Do you have to spend a lot of time
and money on your complexion,
Blanche? ,

ANSWER:

"No, I can't! I haven't much of !
either. But thanks to Pond's two
creams, it isn't necessary. I cream
my skin with their cold cream night
and morning and when I freshen up
at lunch hour. After this cleansing,
I always smooth on Pond's Van-
ishing Cream for powder base."

QUESTION TO MRS. DREXEL:

Mrs. Drexel, how do you ever find
time to keep your skin so smooth
and glowing?

ANSWER:

"It takes no time at all. To get my
skin really clean and fresh, I just
cream it thoroughly with Pond's
Cold Cream. Now that it contains
Vitamin A, I have an added reason
for using it! Then to smooth little
roughnesses away, I pat on a light
film of Pond's Vanishing Cream —
one application does it."

QUESTION TO MISS BREWER:

Don't sun and wind roughen your
skin?

ANSWER:

"Not when I protect it with Pond's
Vanishing Cream! Just one appli-
cation smooths little roughnesses
right away."

QUESTION TO MRS. DREXEL:

Why do you think it's important to
have Vitamin A in your cold cream?

ANSWER:

"Because it's the 'skin-vitamin'—
skin without enough Vitamin A geta
rough and dry. So I'm glad I can
give my skin an extra supply of this
important 'skin-vitamin' with each
Pond's creaming."

QUESTION TO MISS BREWER:

What steps do you take to keep
your make-up glamorous all
evening?

ANSWER:

"Before I go out on a date, I get
my skin good and clean with Pond's
Cold Cream. That makes it soft, too.
Then I smooth on Pond's Vanishing
Cream so my skin takes make-up
evenly — holds powder longer."

♦Statements about the "skin - vitamin" are
based upon medical literature and tests on the
skin of animals following accepted laboratory
methods.

SEND FOR Pond's, Dept. 8KMM.VJ, Clinton, Conn.
TRIAL Rush special tubes of Pond's Cold Cream,'
Vanishing Cream and Liquefying Cream
(quicker-melting cleansing cream) and 7
different shades of Pond's Face Powder. I
enclose 10£ to cover postage and packing.

BEAurr

KIT

Name-
Street-
Cily

_State_

Copyright, 19 39, Pond's Extract Company

12:00

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6:00
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6:30
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7:00
7:00

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC- Red: Hi Boys

8:30

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade
NBC-Red: Do You Remember
9:00

CBS: Richard Maxwell

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:30

8:30 CBS: Manhattan Mother
8:30 NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

8:45 CBS: Bachelor's Children
8:45 NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

9:00 CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC-Red: Central City

10:15

9:15 CBS: Myrt and Marge
9:15 NBC-Blue: Josh Higgirs
S:i5 NBC-Red: John's oiher Wife ♦

10:30
0:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Blue: Jack Berch
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45
9:45 CBS: Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah
9:45 NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00
10:00 CBS: It Happened in Hollywood
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15
10:15 CBS: Scattergood Baines
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30
10:30 CBS: Big Sister
10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder drown

11:45
10:4^ CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
lOuS NBC-Red: Road of Lite

12:00 Noon

CBS: Girl Interne

12:15 P.M.
11:15 CBS: When a Girl Marries
11:15 NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30

11:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
11:30 NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour

12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

1:00

CBS The Goldbergs

1:15
12:15 CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
12:15 NBC- Red: Let's Talk it Over

1:30

12:30 CBS: Road of Life
12:30 NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

1:45
12:4"; CBS This Day is Ours
12:45 NBC-Red: Words and Music

2:00
1:00 CBS: Doc Barclay's Dai ght^rs
1:00 NBC-Blue: Primrose Quartet
1:00 NBC-Red: Betty and bob

2:15
1:15 CBS: Dr. Susan
1:15 NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30
1:30 CBS: Your Family and Mine
1:30 NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

2:45
1:45 NBC-Red: Betty Crocker

3:00
2:00 NBC-Red Mary Marlin

3:15
2:15 NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

3:30
2:30 NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45
2:45 NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
2:45 NBC-Red. 1 no Uuidimg Light

4:00
3:00 NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
3:00 NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

4:15
3:15 NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30
3:30 NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45
3:45 NBC-Red: Midstream

5:00
4:00 NBC-Red: Life Can be Beautiful

5:30
4:30 NBC-Blue: Affairs of Anthony
4:30 NBC-Red: bin; and Betty

5:45
4:45 NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00
5:00 CBS: News

6:05
5:05 CBS: Edwin C. Hill

6:45
5:45 NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00
6:00 CBS: Amos 'n' Andy
6:00 NBC-Blue: Easy Aces
6:00 NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang

7:15
6:15 CBS: Michael Loring
6:15 NBC-Biue. Mr. Keen

7:30
6:30 CBS: People's Platform
6:30 MBS: The Lone Hanger

8:00
7:00 CBS: Phil Baker
7:00 NBC-Red: ONE MAN'S FAMILY

8:30
7:30 CBS: CHESTERFIELD PROGRAM
7:30 NBC-Blue: Hobby Lobby
7:30 NBC-Red: Tommy Dorsey

9:00
8:00 CBS: Stadium Concert
8:00 NBC-Red. What's iviy Name

10:00
9:00lNBC-Red: KAY KYSER'S COLLEGE

¥■53

;aB$Ss
iiliii:

B Professor Kyser quizzes a willing — and beautiful — pupil
Tune-In Bulletin for July 26, August 2, 9, 16 and 23!

July 26: That expert New York Philharmonic Orchestra plays tonight from Lewisohn

Stadium, over CBS at 9:00.
August 2: Pcul Whiteman's orchestra is on the road now, and tonight's his first

broadcast on tour. It comes from the Art Museum in Detroit, on CBS at 8:30.
August 9: Carmel Snow, fashion authority, talks today over CBS, giving you the latest

slant on what they're wearing in Paris.
August 16: You can listen to the great Arturo Toscanini today, conducting his second

program over NBC from the International Music Festival in Lucerne, Switzerland.
August 23: It's NBC's turn today to broadcast some of the U. S. Army maneuvers.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Kay Kyser and
his College of Musical Knowledge, on
NBC's Red network from 10:00 to 11:00,
Eastern Daylight Time, sponsored by
Lucky Strike Cigarettes.

If all temples of learning were as much
fun as Kay Kyser's College, not a youngster
in the world would object to going to
school. It's not only a constant series of
laughs for the studio and radio audiences,
but provides just as much fun for the
"faculty" — Kay, his orchestra and soloists,
the producers, control room and sound
effects men, and even the page boys.
There's a general air of hilarity running
through the entire studio, from the first
minute of rehearsal Wednesday afternoon
to the last note of the broadcast.

Although the College is a quiz pro-
gram, with questions concerning popular
music, it does have to have a rehearsal,
because of the numerous orchestral and
vocal numbers that intersperse the ques-
tions. The first hour of band practice is
usually directed by one of the men in the
orchestra, for then Kay is backstage with
his secretary, his arrangers, his research
staff and announcer Ben Grauer, going
over the script and suggesting last-minute
revisions or additions. Also, he makes sure
that every piece of music has been ar-
ranged in the right key for his pretty girl
vocalist, Ginny Simms, or for one of his
other two vocalists, Harry Babbitt and Ish
Kabibble.

Finally Kay emerges from the confer-
ence room and takes over the band for
more rehearsal, after which the quiz part
of the program is timed. Everybody in
the studio has a lot of fun during the
timing process. Standing opposite Kay
at the microphone is Ben Grauer. Kay
asks him the first question and Ben gives
a funny answer in return. He ad libs
his way through the entire script, giving
crazy answers to the questions and often
sending everyone into helpless laughter.

Getting the questions together in the
first place is no laughing matter, though.
It's one of the toughest parts of Kay's job.
He employs a large staff of researchers,
and insists that they check at least five
different sources to be sure they have the
right answer to every question — well know-
ing that it's all too easy to pull a blunder.

If you want to be one of the active par-
ticipants in a Kay Kyser musical quiz,
there's only one way for you to achieve
your ambition. Get a ticket to the broad-
cast, and go to it. The stub of your ticket
is deposited in a huge goldfish bowl (with-
out any water in it) which is set on the
stage beside Kay, and before the broad-
cast he has a girl select stubs from the
bowl until three girls and three men have
been found to broadcast the quiz game.
If you're one of the lucky ticket-holders
you'll get your chance to display your
musical knowledge (or ignorance) to the
whole country.

48

SAY HELLO TO . . .

EDWIN C. HILL. — a star reporter for twenty-five years.
He got his first newspaper job after graduation from
Butler College in Indiana, and soon after that came to
New York with $100 and lots of ambition — and was a
success with his very first news story. He's been a suc-
cess on the air, too, since 1931, and tonight at 6:05 you'll
hear him broadcating the news over CBS (that is, if you
live in the East). His greatest joy is fishing, he usually
carries a walking stick and prefers gray suits and gray
hats, and he writes all his own broadcasts at top speed
on a battered typewriter.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Jerry is a grand job of Baby-Raising!

A big gain in the first year... ON CLAPP'S STRAINED FOODS

"When baby specialists approve, it's so reas-
suring," says Gerald Wright's mother. "I never
doubted that Clapp's was right for Jerry.

"After all, the Clapp people should know most
about baby foods — they were the first to make
them 18 years ago, and they're the only big
company that makes nothing else. They know
just what flavors and textures babies will like!"

"You could almost see Jerry grow after he
began to get the full menu of Clapp's Strained
Foods. Look at the difference between these pic-
tures— the way he filled out and hardened up!

"On the average, he grew about an inch and
gained more than a pound a month. There
surely must be lots of vitamins and minerals in
those Clapp's Strained Foods!"

17 VARIETIES

Every food approved by doctors.
Pressure-cooked, smoothly strained
but not too liquid — a real advance
over the bottle. Clapp's — first to
make baby foods — has had 18 years'
experience in this field.

Soups — Vegetable Soup • Beef
Broth • Liver Soup • Unstrained Baby
Soup • Strained Beef with Vegetables
Vegetables — Tomatoes • Aspara-
gus • Spinach • Peas • Beets • Car-
rots • Green Beans • Mixed Greens
Fruits — Apricots • Prunes • Apple
Sauce

Cereal — Baby Cereal

Fine progress ever since... ON CLAPP'S CHOPPED FOODS

"He's never been a fussy eater like so many
little tots. Not even when the time came to go on
coarser foods — he changed from Strained Foods
to Clapp's Chopped Foods without a single hitch.
"Of course, the Chopped Foods have exactly
the same good flavors, and they're cut so evenly
—never any lumps or stems. You just can't get
home-prepared foods so even— and babies don't
take to them so easily, I'm sure."

"See what a wide choice you get in Clapp's
Foods. Jerry gets 12 kinds of Chopped Foods.
Some of them are so good I often take a bite
myself — those hearty Junior Dinners, for exam-
ple, or the new Pineapple Rice Dessert.

"Jerry's quite a ball-player now— you ought
to feel his muscle! I often say that if you want a
baby to grow up strong and husky, there's just
nothing like Clapp's!"

12 VARIETIES

More coarsely divided foods for chil-
dren who have outgrown Strained
Foods. Uniformly chopped and sea-
soned, according to the advice of
child specialists. Made by the pio-
neer company in baby foods, the
only one which specializes exclu-
sively in foods for babies and young
children.

Soups — Vegetable Soup

Junior Dinners — Beef with Vege-
tables • Lamb with Vegetables
Liver with Vegetables

Vegetables — Carrots • Spinach
Beets • Green Beans • Mixed Greens

Fruits — Apple Sauce • Prunes

Desserts — Pineapple Rice Dessert
with Raisins

Free Booklets — Send for valuable
information on the feeding of ba-
bies and young children. Write to
Harold H. Clapp, Inc., 777 Mount
Read Blvd., Rochester, N. Y.

CLAPP'S BABY FOODS

STRAINED FOR B A B I E S . . . . C H O P P E D FOR YOUNG CHILDREN

SEPTEMBER, 1939

49

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F:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

NBC-Red: Hi Boys
8:30

NBC-Red: Do You Remember
9:00
8:00 NBC: News

9:05
8:05 NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:30
8:30 CBS Manhattan Mother
8:30 NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45
8:45 CBS: Bachelor's Children
8:45 NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00
9:00 CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC- Red: Central City

10:15
9:15 CBS: Myrt and Marge
9:15 NBC Blue: Josh Higqins
9:15 NBC-Red: John's other Wife

10:30
9:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45
9:45 CBS: Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah
9:45 NBC-Red: Woman in White
11:00
10:00 CBS: Mary Lee Taylor
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC- Red: David Harum

11:15

10:15 CBS: Scattergood Baines
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

10:30 CBS: Big Sister

10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

10:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
10:45 NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon
11:00 CBS: Girl Interne
11:00 NBC-Blue: Southernaires

12:15 P.M.
11:15 CBS: When a Girl Marries
11:15 NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30

11:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
11:30 NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
11:30 NBC-Red: American Life

12:45
11:45 CBS: Our Gal Sunday

1:00
12:00 CBS: The Goldbergs

1:15
12:15 CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful

1:30
12:30 CBS: Road of Life
12:30 NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

1:45
12:45 NBC-Red: Words and Music
1^.45 CBS This Day is Ours
2:00
1:00 CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
1:00 NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

2:15
1:15 CBS: Dr. Susan
1:15 NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30
1:30 CBS: Your Family and Mine
1:30 NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

2:45
1:45 NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches

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2:00 NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

3:15
2:15 NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

3:30
2:30 NBC Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45
2:45 NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
2:45 NBC-Reu: The Guiding Light

4:00
3;i.O NBC-Blue: Sunbrite Smile Parade
3:00 NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

4:15
3:15 NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30
3:30 NBC-Blue: Rhythm Auction
3:30 NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45
3:45 NBC-Red. Midstream

5:00
4:00 NBC-Red: Life Can be Beautiful

5:30
4:30 NBC-Blue: Affairs of Anthony
4:30 NBC-Reu Billy and Betty

5:45
4:45 CBS: March of Games
4:45 NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00
5:00 CBS: News

6:05
5:05 CBS: Edwin C. Hill

6:45
5:45 NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00
6:00 CBS: Amos 'n' Andy
6:00 NBC-Blue: Easy Aces
6:00 NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang

7:15
6:15 CBS: Music by Malneck
6:15 NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen
6:15 NBC-Red: Vocal Varieties

7:30
6:30 CBS: Joe E. Brown
6:30 NBC-Blue: Goldman Band

8:00
7:00 NBC-Red: RUDY VALLEE

8:30
7:30 NBC-Blue: It's Up to You

9:00
3:00 CBS: MAJOR BOWES
8:00 NBC-Blue: Toronto Symphony
8:00 NBC-Red: America's Lost Plays

10:00
9:00 CBS: Workshop Festival
9:00 NRC-Red KRAFT MUSIC HALL

'^rjra' /•";'■;: :M^iK:,Ai:

■ The Workshop cast assembles for the first rehearsal of a play
Tune-In Bulletin for July 27, August 3, 10, 17 and 24!

July 27: On the Columbia Workshop drama festival tonight — CBS at 10:00 — "A Trip
to Czardis,'' adapted to radio from a short story of the same name by Edwin
Granberry . . it's one of the eight Workshop repeat broadcasts selected for this
summer.

August 3: Tonight's Columbia W*rkshop play — a revival of "The Ghost of Benjamin
Sweet," by Pauline Gibson, featuring Karl Swenson as the ghost who doesn't like to
hount people. . . . Arturo Toscanini directs a symphony orchestra in Lucerne,
Switzerland, today, and NBC brings you his music by short wave.

August 10: The Columbia Workshop play at 10:00 — an original script by Dorothy
Parker, famous writer. . . . Also at 10:00, Jose Iturbi is a guest star on the Kraft
Music Hall, NBC-Red.

August 17: "A Drink of Water," by Wilbur Daniel Steele is the Columbia Workshop
play — the story of a girl who suffers from a strange fear of men. . . . Ask-lt-Basket,
the popular quiz program with Jim McWilliams, returns tonight — on CBS at 8:00.

August 24: Irving Reis directs his own play, "Meridian 7-1212" tonight on the Columbia
Workshop festival.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Columbia
Workshop, heard on CBS from 10:00 to
10:30, Eastern Daylight Time.

This month of July marks the third birth-
day of one of radio's finest unsponsored
programs, the Columbia Workshop, de-
voted to experimental radio drama, and
to celebrate, it's presenting several of its
most popular broadcasts all over again,
plus some new plays specially written by
famous authors. You'll find the program
for the five Thursdays covered by this
issue of your Almanac in the Tune-In Bulle-
tin above.

The Columbia Workshop was the brain-
child of a young CBS engineer and writer,
Irving Reis, who experimented with unique
methods of writing and presentation until
he was wooed away from the Workshop,
and from radio, by Paramount Pictures in
December, 1937. After that, William N.
Robson took over the series for six or seven
months. Then CBS decided to make the
Workshop a general Columbia project in
which all its directors could participate.

Many are the tricks the Workshop has
originated. One program compared the
way a play sounded on the air when its

actors huddled around a microphone read-
ing scripts, with the way it sounded when
the actors moved freely around the studio
and memorized their lines. It had lots of
fun with sound-effects, even inventing some
sounds for things you can't hear, such as
the sensation of drowning, or sea-sickness,
or fear, or fog. It even put a real human
heartbeat on the air for the first time, as
background for Edgar Allen Poe's "The
Tell-Tale Heart."

At least ten new radio writers have
been discovered by the Workshop — includ-
ing Milton Geiger, a Cleveland druggist
whose first radio effort, "Case History,"
was bought two hours after the postman
delivered it to Workshop directors; Pauline
Gibson, who wrote "The Ghost of Benjamin
Sweet"; William Merrick, an Associated
Press correspondent who wrote "Forgot
in the Rains" and "Flight from Home";
and Norman Corwin.

If you haven't been a Workshop listener
in the past, this summer is a fine time to
introduce yourself to it, because in the
"festival" you can be sure of hearing those
plays that have proven themselves most
popular and exciting in the past.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

MATTY MALNECK — whose sensational swing orchestra is
on CBS tonight at 7:15 Eastern Daylight Time, with a
rebroadcast reaching the Pacific Coast at 7:15, their
time. Matty was first violinist in Paul Whiteman's or-
chestra for eleven years — but all the time he was de-
veloping his own unique style of musical interpretation.
When he had it worked out to his satisfaction he got
together his own orchestra of eight pieces, and its suc-
cess was immediate. He's appeared in three moving
pictures, and his band was signed for this radio program
only four months after its first rehearsal.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

My Daughters Sing Swing

(Continued from page 33)

hours you work on any job, and sing-
ing with a band just means that you
work while other people play — to
your music.

When Mart was eight and Liz was
five, their father gave them a uke-
lele. That started something definite.
In two hours, Mart had picked out the
chords to one of the latest song hits
and taught Liz to sing with her in
harmony.

In no time at all, they were giving
concerts in the back yard — singing
duets to Mart's uke accompaniment,
just like any other kids of the time.

THEN came the inevitable move to
'singing for money instead of just
for fun. Right after Martha finished
high school, a band leader named Sid
Lippman asked her to join his band at
the Cocoanut Grove in Los Angeles.
In some ways, this did introduce a
problem. Martha was only eighteen
and the hours at the Cocoanut Grove
were long and late. But that's what
she wanted to do, and if she was going
to be happy at it, her father and I
didn't see why we should interfere.

One rule we have always had, how-
ever. We would never have con-
sented to let either of the girls sing
with any of these pick-up, fly-by-
night bands that work in questionable
neighborhoods or cheap cabarets.
Such places are sometimes not even
safe for the musicians, let alone for
girls Martha's age.

As it worked out, Martha loved
singing with Lippman's band. She
got valuable experience in stage
presence, in adapting herself to the
hours you work with a band.

But her next offer introduced a
problem of a different kind. Hal
Grayson, a West Coast band leader,
asked Martha to tour with his band.
I felt exactly the way any mother
would feel when her daughter con-
siders leaving home for the first time.
But I couldn't stand in the child's
way. The only thing I could see to
do was to go with her.

Our tour took us up the West Coast
as far as Seattle. We couldn't have
been more business-like if we'd been
selling furniture. Most afternoons
there were rehearsals that Martha
had to attend. That would be when
we were staying one place for a week.
If we were doing one-nighters, we'd
usually spend the days travelling.
Any free time we had, we did just
what any other mother and daughter
would do — shopped or went to the
movies.

I didn't always go with Martha
when she went to work at night. I
can't keep up those late hours. But,
if I didn't go, the boys would see that
she got there all right. And see that
she got home again safely. Actually,
it seemed to me that she was a lot
safer with all those boys than she
would have been with a single escort.
When, as sometimes happens in any
dance hall, some over-enthusiastic
youth would try to bother Martha,
there would be a dozen musicians
ready to take care of him. The men
Martha works with have always
realized that she takes her job as
seriously as they take theirs. Many
of them are married, you know, and
most of the single ones are likely to
look on her as a sort of little sister.
(Continued on page 53)

SEPTEMBER, 1939

"I hate to discourage you. Miss Ostrich, but I've never noticed anything to eat
in that sand . . .What? You're not looking for things to eat? Then why? . . . Oh,
you're hiding! . . . H'm . . .Well, it seems to me you're making a mistake . . ."

"First place, there's no danger, so why
hide? Secondly, if there were some
danger, you aren't very well hidden."

"Attagirl! Now look— sand in your beak
—and all scratchy down your neck! . . <,
Never mind— we'll soon fix that . . ."

"Hocus-pocus— just like magic your
chafes and scratchy places and prickly
heat will feel soothed . . ."

"•Cause, see? Here comes my Mother
with some soft, velvety Johnson's Baby
Powder!... Me too, Mother? Me too?"

"Crazy about it? I knew you
would be. Everybody is. Such
wonderfully soft, fine talc in it!
And such an inexpensive way to
make a baby comfortable!"

JOHNSON'S
BABY POWDER

Johnson & Johnson , N ew Brunswick , N. J.

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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

9:00

CBS: Richard Maxwell

NBC: News

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:30

CBS: Manhattan Mother

NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

NBC-Red: Central City

10:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

NBC-Blue: Josh Higgins

NBC-Red: John's Other Wile

10:30

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Blue: Jack Berch

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00

CBS: It Happened in Hollywood

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

CBS: Scattergood Baines

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon

CBS: Girl Interne

12:15 P.M.

CBS' When a Girl Marries

NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30

CBS: Romance o. Helen Trent

NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour

NBC-Red: At Home in the World

12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs

1:15

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful

NBC-Red: Let's Talk It Over

1:30

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

1:45

CBS- This Day is Ours

NBC-Red: Words and Music

2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters

NBC-Blue: Women in America

NBC- Red: Betty and Bob

2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine

NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

2:45

NBC-Red: Betty Crocker

3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone

NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

NBC- Red: Backstage Wife

4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45

NBC-Red: Midstream

5:00

NBC-Red: Life Can be Beautiful

5:30

NBC-Blue: Affairs of Anthony

NBC-Red: Billy and Betty

5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00

CBS: News

6:05

CBS: Edwin C. Hill

6:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy

NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang

7:15

CBS: The Parker Family

7:30

CBS: Michael Loring

MBS: The Lone Ranger

8:00

NBC-Red: Cities Service Concert

8:30

CBS: Johnny Presents

9:00

CBS: 99 Men and a Girl

NBC-Blue: Plantation Party

NBC-Red: Waltz Time

9:30

CBS: FIRST NIGHTER

NBC-Red: Death Valley Days

10:00

CBS: Grand Central Station

NBC-Red: Lady Esther Serenade

10:30

CBS: Bob Ripley

FRIDAY S HIGHLIGHTS

■ Energetic Conductor Raymond Paige, of 99 Men and a Girl
Tune-In Bulletin for July 28, August 4, 11 and 18!

July 28: For midwestern listeners only — the St. Paul open golf championship games,

broadcast by CBS in the midwestern territory.
August 4: Bing Crosby's Del Mar race track is the scene today of the Motion Picture

Handicap. NBC broadcasts the doings.
August II: Artie Shaw opens with his orchestra tonight at the Ritz Carlton Hotel in

Boston. You can listen on NBC.
August 18: For some swell music, listen to the Cities Service Concert, on NBC-Red at 8:00.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Raymond Paige,
Ninety-nine Men and a Girl, on CBS at
9:00, Eastern Daylight Time, sponsored by
the United States Rubber Company.

The title of this program states the exact
truth. There are ninety-two men in Ray-
mond Paige's orchestra — commercial ra-
dio's biggest-; — and six in the male sextet.
That makes ninety-nine altogether. And
they fill the stage of CBS Playhouse Num-
ber One so completely that when the
program first went on the air six rows of
seats in the theater had to be torn out
and the stage extended, to make room.

Drilling an orchestra of ninety-two men,
with only one day a week allowed for re-
hearsal, is a pretty tough job. Most sym-
phony orchestras have an equal number
of men, and they rehearse several times a
week, so you can appreciate Paige's
achievement. Here's the way he does it,
to save time and also to help himself in
hearing the tonal qualities of the orches-
tra. He splits the full orchestra into three
sections — the strings, violins, cellos, and so
on; the brass, trumpets, trombones, etc.;
and the wood-winds or reed instruments,
saxophones, clarinets, oboes — and re-
hearses each section separately during
Friday morning. Friday afternoon is spent
rehearsing the whole band together, plus
the girl guest star, a new one each week.

Because by the time the first program
of the series went on the air Paige had al-
most lost his voice from shouting instruc-
tions, he now uses a public-address system

during rehearsal. That helps his voice, but
his energetic method of conducting still
melts weight off faster than a series of
gymnasium courses.

All the musical numbers you hear this
orchestra play are specially arranged, and
so are not printed music, but hand-written
with pen and ink. If your musical educa-
tion never progressed farther than a little
home piano-playing, you probably wouldn't
even be able to read the long sheets of
manuscript score which the Paige musi-
cians whip through every week. It's a full-
time job for ten men, plus Paige himself,
to supply them with these scores. Working
under Paige's instructions, five arrangers
make new orchestral versions of the num-
bers he selects for playing. Then five
copyists work most of the week at writing
out enough copies of each number to go
around to all the musicians.

In the shadowy balcony of Playhouse
Number One, late on a Friday afternoon,
you're likely to see a hundred or so silent
high school children — a sight not visible
at other broadcast rehearsals, which are
usually as carefully guarded from intru-
sion as the United States Mint. These
youngsters are there at the special invita-
tion of Raymond Paige. They're music
students at New York's various high schools
and it's part of their class work to watch
the big symphony orchestra rehearse. Their
presence is good for the musicians too,
Paige has discovered — they respond to an
audience and do better work.

52

SAY HELLO TO . . .

MICHAEL LORING — new CBS baritone, who is heard to-
night at 7:30, and Mondays and Wednesdays at 7:15,
Eastern Daylight Time. If Michael looks familiar it's be-
cause you've seen him in the movies — though never in
very prominent parts. Born in Minneapolis 29 years
ago, he originally planned to be a physician, but gave
up his study of medicine to join the road company of the
play, "Journey's End." Eight years of ups and downs
followed, including a year in Hollywood — then he came
to New York to appear in musical comedy and revues.
His favorite songs are Negro chants and Irish ballads.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

(Continued from page 51)

I can't say I was quite prepared to
have both my girls decide to go in for
swing-singing careers, though. I sup-
pose my trouble was the usual
mother's malady of refusing to think
the baby of the family would ever
grow up.

Then one day, a neighbor stopped
in and said, "Well, I certainly enjoyed
Elizabeth's act at the Orpheum.
Really, Mrs. Tilton, she was great!"

I wasn't going to give Elizabeth
away, so I just blinked and said, "Yes,
I guess she's following in her sister's
footsteps." The Orpheum? I didn't
know a thing about it.

After the neighbor left, I asked
Elizabeth about it.

"Well, Mama," she said, "I just
got tired of sitting around while
Martha had all the fun, so I went into
the Orpheum amateur contest."

WHAT was I to say? In the first
place, I was sort of tickled at the
child's nerve, going into that contest
all by herself.

"Well, honey ..." I began.

"Listen, Mama," Elizabeth said,
"you won't tell Martha that I bor-
rowed her white evening dress to do
it, will you?"

Yes, Elizabeth was growing up.
And when Martha realized it, she re-
acted almost exactly as I had.

A young chap named Gil Evans
who had a local band made up mostly
of college students, called Martha one
afternoon that summer to ask her if
she would sing with them at a dance
hall at Balboa Beach. Martha wanted
to rest after the Grayson tour, so she
turned down the offer. When she
came upstairs to tell us about it,
Elizabeth let out one screech.

"Why didn't you tell him about
me!"

It had never occurred to Martha to
mention to Gil that she had a kid sis-
ter who sang. She looked over at me.
I smiled.

"Why not?" Martha said.

She went right downstairs, called
Evans back, and herself took Eliza-
beth out to the beach next Sunday.

That was Liz' first job and she
learned a lot from it. By this time,
Martha and I had developed a few
rules that we thought a girl singer
ought to bear in mind. They were
just simple things, but we passed
them on to Elizabeth. Things like
never go out on the street alone. Take
a taxi to get home if you happen to
be by yourself when the job is over.
Never go out with men you don't
know. Simple rules that most nice
girls follow anyway.

Soon after Liz started singing,
Martha got her offer from Benny
Goodman. What happened was that
Martha was singing in the chorus that
was part of the Jack Oakie College
portion of Benny's CBS radio pro-
gram. She was singing mostly straight
lead parts and Benny had no way of
knowing that she could sing swing.
But one day, the chorus director
asked Martha to take a solo lick in
a song called "Let's Have Another
Cigarette." She sang it natural voice,
and Benny liked it. He signed her
up.

Liz was still in school, when a tele-
gram came from Gene Krupa. By
this time, Gene had left Benny to
form his own band. He knew Martha,
of course, and he'd heard about
Elizabeth. He probably figured, "like
(Continued on page 55)

SEPTEMBER, 1939

Which Soap Gives Your Skin

THE FRAGRANCE MEN LOVE?

Before you use any soap to combat body odor, smell
the soap! Instinctively you will choose Cashmere Bouquet
Soap, for its fragrance appeals to the senses of men

AM AN loves with all five senses, and smart
girls — those serenely confident females
who seem to conquer men almost without
trying — are fastidious ahout the fragrance of
their bath soap.

How confident and carefree you can feel
when your skin suggests a breath of romance.
Why slave for perfection in make-up, hair-do
and costume, only to risk it all because the fra-
grance of your bath soap is not equally alluring.

Yes, go by the smell test when you buy
soap to combat body odor. Instinctively,
you will prefer the costly perfume of Cash-
mere Bouquet. For Cashmere Bouquet is the
only fragrance of its kind in the world, a
secret treasured by us for years. It's a fra-
grance men love. A fragrance with peculiar
affinity for the senses of men.

Massage each tiny ripple of your body daily
with this delicate, cleansing lather! Glory in
the departure of unwelcome body odor.

Thrill as your senses are kissed by Cash-
mere Bouquet's exquisite perfume. Be radi-
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You'll love this creamy -white soap for com-
plexion, too. Its gentle, caressing lather re-
moves dirt and cosmetics so thoroughly and
leaves skin smooth and fresh looking.

So buy Cashmere Bouquet Soap before you
bathe tonight. Get three cakes at the special
price featured everywhere.

3/„~ O t? J Wherever finer
J Vr *Ol soaps are soid

Cashmere Bouquet Soap

^Ae <=^a^^z^cce, "^fe^- ^^*^_

53

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8:00
8:00
8:00

8:15
8:15

8:30

8:45
8:45

9:00
9:00
9:00

9:30

8:00
8:00

10:00
10:00

8:30
8:30
8:30

10:30
L0:30
10:30

9:15

11:15

9:30
9:30

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11:30

10:00
10:00
10:00

12:00
12:00
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10:30
10:30

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1:00

11:30

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2:00

12:30

2:30

1:30
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3:30
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1:45

3:45

2:00
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2:05
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4:05
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2:30
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4:30
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3:00
3:00
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5:00
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3:30

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6:30
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8:00
7:00

7:00
7:00
7:00

5:30

7:30

5:45
6:00

7:45
8:00

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A. M.

NBC-Blue: Cloutier's Orch.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC-Blue: Dick Leibert

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

8:30

NBC-Red: Musical Tete-a-tete

8:45

NBC-Blue: Tony, Juanita, Buddy

9:00

NBC: News

8:05
8:05

8:15
8:15

9:00
9:00
9:00

9:15
9:15

9:45
9:45

10:00
10:00
10:00

10:30

11:00
11:00

11:30
11:30
11:30

12:30
12:30

1:00
1:00
1:00

1:30
1:30

4:30
4:30

5:00
5:00

5:05
5:05

5:30
5:30
5:30

6:00
6:00
6:00

6:30
6:30

7:30
7:30

8:30
8:45

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

NBC-Red: Texas Robertson

9:15

CBS: Fidler's Fancy

NBC-Red: Cloutier's Orch.

9:25

CBS: News

9:45

NBC-Red: The Crackerjacks

10:00

CBS: Hill Billy Champions
NBC-Blue: Morin Sisters
NBC-Red: The Wise Man

10:15

NBC-Blue: Amanda Snow

NBC-Red: No School Today

10:30

NBC-Blue: Barry McKinley

10:45

NBC-Blue: The Child Grows Up

NBC-Red: Armchair Quartet

11:00

CBS: Mel'ow Moments

NBC-Blue: Ross Trio

NBC-Red: American Air Quartet

11:30

NBC- Blue: Our Barn

12:00 noon

NBC-Blue: Romanelli Orchestra

NBC-Red: Manhattan Melodies

12:30 P. M.
CBS: Let's Pretend
NBC-Blue: Farm Bureau
NBC-Red: Call to Youth

1:15

NBC-Red: Calling Stamp Collectors

1:30

NBC-Blue: Little Variety Show

NBC-Red: Campus Notes

2:00

CBS: What Price America
NBC-Blue: Morton Franklin Orch.
NBC-Red: Kinney Orch.

2:30

NBC-Blue: Indiana Indigo

NBC-Red: Matinee in Rhythm

3:00

NBC-Red: Golden Melodies

3:30

NBC-Red: Cosmopolitan Melodies

4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

4:30

NBC-Red: Laval Orchestra

5:30

CBS: Topical Tunes

NBC-Red: Summertime Swing

5:45

NBC-Red: Three Cheers

6:00

CBS: News

NBC-Red: Kaltenmeyer Kinder-
garten

6:05

CBS: Instrumentalists

NBC-Blue: El Chico Revue

6:30

CBS: This Week in Washington
NBC-Blue: Renfrew of the Mounted
NBC-Red: Art of Living

7:00

CBS: Americans at Work
NBC-Blue: Message of Israel
NBC-Red: Larry Clinton's Orch.

7:30

CBS: County Seat

NBC-Blue: Uncle Jim's Question Bee

8:00

NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

8:30

NBC-Blue: Brent House

NBC-Red: Avalon Time

9:00

CBS: YOUR HIT PARADE
NBC-Blue: National Barn Dance
NBC-Red: Vox Pop

9:30

NBC-Red: Arch Oboler Plays

9:45

CBS: Saturday Night Serenade

10:00
9:00 NBC-Red: Benny Goodman

SATURDAYS HIGHLIGHTS

■ Soloist Henry Burr and Leslie Clucas, of Barn Dance's male octet
Tune-In Bulletin for July 29, August 5, 12 and 19!

July 29: A couple of horse races for you this bright summer Saturday — the Yonkers

Handicap at Empire City, over CBS, and the Arlington Futurity, on NBC.
August 5: Stil! interested in horse races, your loudspeaker today offers the Saratoga

Handicap for three-year-olds, on CBS from 4:30 to 5:00, Eastern Daylight time.

The winner will get a purse amounting to about $20,000. . . . NBC prefers tennis, and

broadcasts the Eastern grass court meet.
August 12: Bryan Field announces the Champlain Handicap from Saratoga, over CBS.
August 19: Another $20,000 purse goes to the winner of the Trovers Stake horse race,

broadcast this afternoon on CBS.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Alka Seltzer
National Barn Dance, on the NBC Blue
network from 9:00 to 10:00, Eastern Day-
light Time, with a rebroadcast from 7:00
to 8:00, Pacific Time.

It was fifteen years ago last April that
an old-time fiddler and square-dance
caller broadcast an "audition" over Sta-
tion WLS in Chicago. From that humble
beginning has come the Alka-Seltzer Na-
tional Barn Dance which today is one of
the most popular of network programs —
a real radio and national institution.

The Barn Dance is based on the theory
— and it seems to be a sound one — that
the American public likes a variety show
of old-time folk tunes and cowboy ballads,
with just a sprinkling of modern music.

Until July 15, 1933, the Barn Dance
remained on WLS as a local program.
Then it was extended to stations in De-
troit and Pittsburgh, and made such a
hit that the following September it went
coast to coast, where it's been ever since.

It's unique among broadcasts in that
its studio audiences pay to get in — and
both Saturday night shows always play to
packed houses. For a studio, the Eighth
Street Theater in Chicago is used, and it
holds 1200 people, but all seats are in-
variably filled long before the first curtain.

The Barn Dance is genuinely rural in its
setting. The stage represents a real barn,
with plenty of hay around, and all the
entertainers appear in character — dressed

in overalls or gingham. Genial Pat Bar-
rett, who as Uncle Ezra is the star of the
show with his homely philosophy and quaint
style of wit, not only dresses the part but
makes up for it too, with white wig, chin
whiskers and grease paint. In reality, he
is quite a young man, but as Uncle Ezra
he looks at least seventy.

The various entertainers rehearse separ-
ately on the Friday before each program
— singer Henry Burr, who holds a record
of having made more than nine million
phonograph records; the Hoosier Hot
Shots, who are Frank Kettering, Kenneth
and Hezzie Trietsch and Gabe Ward; bari-
tone Skip Farrell; basso Joe Parsons; har-
monica wizard Bob Ballantine; contralto
Lucille Long; Arkie, the Kansas Wood-
chopper, who sings Western songs; the
girl vocal trio, Anne, Pat and Judy; the
Maple City Four and the male octet; and
Glenn Welty's orchestra, several members
of which play with symphony orchestras
in other days of the week.

After these individual rehearsals, the
whole cast gathers at the theater on Sat-
urday at 4:30 for a dress rehearsal with
Uncle Ezra and the master of ceremonies,
Joe Kelly, and there they work right up
until two hours before the broadcast. Be-
tween the first and second broadcasts
there is always a table in the wings of the
stage, loaded with a buffet lunch, where
the members of the cast gather round
to gossip and eat.

54

SAY HELLO TO . . .

LOUISE TOBIN — the small, dark and vivacious singer with
Benny Goodman's band on NBC-Red at 10:00 tonight.
Louise is a Southerner — born in Texas and raised in Ten-
nessee. She's been a blues singer all her life, and began
her career over Southern radio stations, then came to
New York, where she met Harry James, famous swing
trumpeter who now has a band of his own. They fell in
love and married, and it wasn't until last year that
Louise resumed her career, singing in a Greenwich Vil-
lage nigh"' spot. Benny heard her there, liked her, and
when Martha Tilton left the band he sent her a hurry call.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

(Continued from page 53)
Martha, like Elizabeth." So he wired
Elizabeth an offer to join his band.

Well, that was a time. It took the
combined efforts of the family at
home and Martha's air mail letters
to keep Elizabeth from quitting
school and skipping out on us.

As if this weren't bad enough,
Buddy Rogers came to the Palomar
just about this time. He, too, had
heard about Martha Tilton's little
sister. One night when Elizabeth was
dancing at the Palomar like any other
girl on a date, Buddy asked her to
sing a chorus with the band. She did
— and he offered her a job right away.

DUT Elizabeth showed her natural
L' good sense. Without a word to any-
body, she turned down the offer, went
back to school, and graduated.

Then, the very day after graduation,
she left to join the band of a friend
named Ken Baker in Portland,
Oregon.

I didn't go with her. I figured she'd
learned all she needed to know by
now and could take care of herself.

Later, when Elizabeth returned
home, she found that Buddy Rogers
had not forgotten about her. He had
wired her to join him in Memphis,
Tennessee. Together Liz and I made
the plane reservations — and I had to
realize that my second daughter was
grown up and started out in the world
on her own.

Regrets? Well, hardly. I've tried
to make it clear to you that I don't
consider my girls are in any more
moral danger singing in a night club
than they would be typing in an office.
They probably make more money
than do most stenographers and their
work is less confining and more fun.
They have learned a great deal of
self-reliance from being on their own
as they are and from being financially
independent at such an early age.
Of course, I miss them — the house
seems very quiet when they are away
— but they write me oftener, I'll bet,
than do many girls who work away
from home.

Neither of the girls drinks or
smokes. As a matter of fact, they
rather disapprove of my taking a
cigarette now and then. They're
happy, doing good work at jobs they
like. And by now, they've got over
the terrible homesickness that goes
with traveling with a band at first.

Why should I worry? If other
mothers in America have daughters
who are crazy to sing swing with
bands, I can only say to them, just be
sure you know that your daughter
really wants to sing, that she isn't
carried away by the notion that sing-
ing with a band is just an exciting,
grand picnic of dressing up in evening
clothes every night, spending your
time among the bright lights, and
having a lot of men around all the
time.

Try to make her see it as a job like
any other for which she must have
real ability, real ambition, a lot of
good sense, and a knowledge of how
to conduct herself as any nice girl
would. And I think she ought to finish
high school at least before she even
considers taking up such a career.

Then, if you have been close enough
to her, so that you know you can
trust her under any circumstances,
and she still wants to sing swing with
a band, I say, why not?

I have two daughters who sing
swing with bands. I'm proud of them.

SEPTEMBER, 1939

Why Can Hair Make a
Woman Look So Young?

Halo, a new soapless shampoo, brings youthful

sparkle and manageability to even dry hair— •

with no scalp irritation!

IF you long to possess that "little girl"
look so evident in all late styles of dress
and make-up, then start with your hair!

Because hair that sparkles with high-
lights— seems to breathe with life and
■vitality, keys-up your whole appearance
with a breathless, expectant note of youth.

Yes, hair can have an electric effect on
the rest of your make-up, provided some
old-fashioned shampoo is not robbing
you of its natural beauty. Because many
old-style shampoos so often leave an un-
rinsable film of soap or oil to actually dull
the hair and cover up its natural brilliances
That's why women used to need a lemon
or vinegar rinse. Why your hair so often
looked dull and dead, unmanageable and
stringy.

How lucky for all women that a scientist
made this discovery now in Halo Shampoo
— a way to make rich, creamy shampoo
lather without the use of either soap or oil

Halo

shampoo

Here at last is the ideal shampoo for dry,
oily or normal hair. One shampoo with
Halo demonstrates perfectly how it re-
moves all trace of dull film left by those
old-style shampoos. How radiant and full
of luster it leaves your hair, eliminaticg
any need for lemon or vinegar rinse. How
silky-soft and manageable it leaves even,
"wild" hair. How clean and fragrant your
scalp, without irritation. In fact, even
loose, flaky dandruff is safely removed.

Buy Halo Shampoo from any drug, de-
partment or 10c store in the 10c, 50c or
$1.00 size and discover how beautiful
your hair can be. Halo is tested and ap-
proved by Good Housekeeping Bureau.

i//«e rveatfaet*
fof the Qountny

If you're the outdoor
type — active, athletic
— here's a semi-up
hair-do for your kind.

High off the face showing hair
line and exposing entire ear.
Back of hair is long, hugging
the neck, forming a soft roll.

REVEALS THE BEAUTY HIDING IN YOUR HAIR

55

Wf-:

/:*..

if

ip

*S5*

with spaghetti- ^° botovenC3j5 * ^ d

THRIFTY WIVES -Learn
this priceless secret!

o Get acquainted with Franco-American Spa-
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with less expensive meat cuts. Combine it
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Franco- American has a wonderful cheese-and-
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eleven different ingredients.

Serve it as a main dish,
too. Junior will love it for
lunch — a big plateful! Give it
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good, wholesome nourish-
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Only icy a can. Order several
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Franco-American

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Name (print)—

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Condemned to Live

(Continued from page 9)

he had said "Good-bye." He under-
stood that one day she would want
to hear him call her "Mary," and to
be told that his name was Bill.

And — wonderfully — he seemed to
understand that it was good not to
meet, not to know each other except
as disembodied voices.

A month — two — three — a whole
year. And then one day her husband
came upon her as she was talking on
the telephone. He was home early,
and he entered the room quietly, se-
cretively, as he always moved. He
was at her elbow before she was
aware of his presence, startling her
so that she stammered guiltily, and
put down the telephone sooner than
she had intended.

"Who was that, Mary?" he asked.
He had a small, tight-lipped mouth
that seemed to let words go out of it
reluctantly, and whenever he spoke
he watched the words with a pair of
light blue eyes, watched them until
they reached the person he had
spoken to, and watched to see their
work upon that person.

YOU wouldn't be interested," she
said, but he paid no attention and
repeated his question. She knew he
would ask until he received an an-
swer, so she said:

"I don't really know."

"You would not talk to someone
you didn't know."

"I talk to you," she said. "I don't
know you. We're strangers, Henry."

"That's nonsense," Henry Crane
said. "We are man and wife, and you
know I have no time for sentimental-
ity."

"Is it sentimentality to want love
and affection? Laughter? Children?
. . . Henry, we don't mean anything
to each other, any longer. Please —
please — let me have a divorce!"

"I've told you before," he said pa-
tiently, "you can't have a divorce. I
intend to be elected senator from this
state, and it must me obvious even to
you that a divorce at this time is im-
possible."

"You're so ugly!" she exclaimed.

Quite unruffled, he remarked, "I
have a love letter from you in which
you called me handsome."

"Inside, you're — you're hideous!"

Crane turned away, as if he had
lost all interest in the conversation.
"Please go and dress now," he said.
"I have a guest coming for dinner —
Mr. Everhart. I wish you to be po-
lite to him — charming. I want him
to write my speeches for the cam-
paign. After he leaves — " the thin
lips curved in a slight smile — "you
can go to bed with a book of love
stories. To feed your romantic
mind. . . ."

When, dressed in a midnight-blue
gown of pebbled crepe, with only her
pearls for jewelry, she entered the
drawing room, Mr. Everhart had al-
ready arrived. He was younger than
most of her husband's acquaintances;
only a year or so older than she was
herself. Her first sight of him showed
his long, straight back as he stood
talking to her husband. Her second,
as he turned, revealed widely-spaced,
candid eyes, filled with a gravity that
went oddly with the humorous line of
his mouth.

"This is a great pleasure, Mrs.
Crane," he said in response to Henry's
introduction.

56

"Henry says you are an excellent
speech writer," she remarked in con-
fusion.

"Not too excellent. I'm really an
electrical engineer, and just drifted
into politics."

"He still carries on his electrical ex-
periments," Henry said, managing to
make the pursuit sound faintly dis-
creditable. The butler entered, with
word that Mr. Crane was wanted on
the telephone. "I'll take it in the li-
brary," he said, and left the room.

"Let me look at you, Bill," Mary
whispered.

"Are you disappointed?" he asked.

"No. I knew you the instant I saw
you. I didn't even have to hear your
voice."

"I hoped you would," he said.

"Why did you uome? Why did you
allow us to meet?"

"I had to," he said simply. "Just
as I had to start calling you up. You
didn't know — but I saw you a year
ago. One day in your husband's
office. I was leaving — you were com-
ing in. Ever since that day . . . I've
loved you."

She shivered. "You mustn't say
that, Bill."

"Why not? It's true."

The latch of the door clicked behind
them, and Henry Crane came into the
room. "Mary, will you ring for cock-
tails?" he asked politely.

THE days when she could not see
Bill were meaningless, now. Some-
how, she knew she must persuade
Henry to give her a divorce. Per-
haps he would, when he understood.
He must!

She and Bill went to the country,
one afternoon while Henry was in
Washington. Clouds floated over their
heads; the field where they stopped
the car was edged with trees whose
leaves were just beginning to be
flecked with autumn colors. But Bill
looked at their beauty with unseeing
eyes.

"I'm sorry I had to see you, Mary,"
he said. "I shouldn't have forced my
way into your life, to complicate it."

"Complicate it!" She laughed. "I've
only begun to know what life can be
like."

He shook his head. "Mary — you
have to know. Once I killed a man."

"You . . . what?"

"I killed a man — and ran away. The
people who talk about conscience are
so right, Mary. I haven't slept for
years. I ask myself — how can I live
without sleep — without peace?"

She held him to her breast in a pas-
sion of tenderness. "I'll bring you
peace, Bill. I'll find some way. I'll
talk to Henry — and together we
can — "

"No — not Henry. That's the power
he has over me — over us. You see,
Mary, he's the only person in the
world who knows that I am a mur-
derer. He was there when — when it
happened."

"Oh— no!" she whispered. "No!"

"That's why I tried to stay away
from you — and yet tried to be with
you. I thought it would be enough
to talk to you on the telephone, with-
out letting you know who I was. But
it wasn't enough — and now this isn't
enough, either." He moved away
from her, sat up straight. "There's
only one thing left — to confess to the
murder. That will break his power

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

rr

over me. It's the only way."

"You mustn't! Let me try — I'll see
him tonight. He's got to understand.
He's never given me anything I
wanted — he must see that he owes me
this." She was speaking in short,
broken sentences, her hands twisting
together in agony.

But that evening, when she entered
Henry's room, she was calm. Be calm
— that's your only chance, Mary. . . .
Emotional scenes infuriate him, you
can speak to him only with logic.

"I'm going away, Henry."

He looked up from the desk where
he was working on one of his cam-
paign speeches. "A little vacation?"

"No — forever, Henry."

"Bill?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Henry."

He carefully placed his pen in its
rack. "You'll never go away with
Bill, Mary. You and Bill are impos-
sible for each other. He's not really
a free man."

"You mean because he once com-
mitted a murder?"

His voice
told you

HE had not expected this
was surprised: "He
about that?"

"Yes. But it doesn't matter to me.
We're going away just the same. To
be together for as long as Bill can live
in freedom."

His eyes watched his words, watched
her. "Bill can't live in freedom if you
go away with him, Mary— because I'll
send him to the chair."

"The scandal would ruin your
chances to be senator. But if we went
away quietly, together, no one would
know." Against her will, a note of
emotion, of pleading, crept into her
voice. "Please, Henry! I promise, no
one would know!"

He could still smile. "You'll for-
give me if I doubt that. Such things
get around, very quickly. And natu-
rally, I should not accuse Bill of mur-
der myself — his indictment would
come through the usual channels. I'd
merely be a witness. I believe, as a
matter of fact, the publicity would be
an excellent thing for my campaign."

Listening to that careful, self-con-
tained voice, she knew that he spoke
the truth. He was not bluffing; Henry
never bluffed. He would bring about
Bill's execution as coldly, as logically,
as neatly as he had brought about
everything he had ever wanted.

Fury shook her at his power. He
was not human — he was a gigantic
machine of power and ambition. But
he could be stopped — there was one
way. . . . This machine was built of
flesh and blood. It could die! — even
though its death at her hands meant
her death too.

In his dresser drawer there was a
pistol. She had seen it there, only a
week ago. She whirled, tore the
drawer open. Yes, there it was. She
took it out, pointed it at him, saw the
cold eyes widen for the first time in
fear . . . and pulled the trigger.

The explosion echoed about the
room. It blended with the sound of
the doorbell. Why didn't the butler
answer? Then she remembered — he
was off for the evening, and so was
the cook. The pistol still in her hand,
she walked through the apartment,
opened the door.

Bill stood outside.

"Good evening, Mrs. Crane," he be-
gan formally, as he always did in this
house. Then his eyes found the pistol.
"Mary! What—"

"I've just killed him," she said. "He
threatened to send you to the chair —

SEPTEMBER. 1939

"Bill Henry, you'll spank this child
over my dead body!"

A modern wife finds
a modern way out for her child

1. But, Mary ... I tell you I'm tired of pam-
pering him. He needs it and I'm going to
give him some if I have to ram it down his
throat— or else . . .

2. Oh, no, you're not! He hates that nasty-
tasting stuff and I think it's a crime to force
him to take it just because it's around the
house. You just wait a minute while I call the
doctor!

3. Oh, 1 see! Yes, doctor. .. uh-huh .. .
WHAT?... Heavens! I didn't know that! Yes,
indeed, I'll do it right away! Thanks so
much, doctor.

4. There, 5m arty ! The doctor said never to
FORCE a child. He said to give him a GOOD-
TASTING laxative. But XOT an "adult" one.
He said a grown-up's laxative might be TOO
STROXG for a tot's delicate "insides". . . and
could do more harm than good.

5. He said to give him a modern laxative
made especially for children EVEN TO THE
TASTE. So he recommended Fletcher's Cas-
toria because it not only tastes good — it's
safe, too. It has no harsh drugs, and won't
gripe. I'll get a bottle now.

6. Wow! Will you look at him go for that
Fletcher's Castoria! Thank heaven, we won't
have any more fights over a laxative in this
family.

CLa^H^^H castoria

The modern — SAFE — laxative made especially and ONLY for children

57

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and I shot him. I don't care. I'm
glad!"

He rushed down the hall, into the
bedroom. In a moment he was back,
his face chalky white. He went to the
telephone.

"Operator, get me Police Head-
quarters."

"Bill!" she cried. "What are you
doing?"

"This is it, Mary," he said. "This is
the time when I'm to be punished for
the murder I committed."

"Bill! Don't!"

"Hello," he said into the telephone.
"Police headquarters? This is William
Everhart. I'm at 201 Grove Avenue.
I've just killed a man."

CO Henry fulfilled his promise after

J all," Mary said to the attentive
listening priest. "He is sending Bill
to his death — tonight. I tried telling
the judge, the district attorney, the
governor — I told them all that Bill
was lying, to save me. And none of
them would believe — they believed
Bill instead. . . . Don't you believe
me either, Father?"

"I believe you, Mary," he nodded.

"Father, how can I save him?"

"You must make him talk. Tonight.
You must make him tell the truth."

The train was going slower, stop-
ping. A cab took them up a winding
road to the prison, and Mary followed
the priest down brightly lighted cor-
ridors of steel and concrete. For a
while she waited at a barrier, and
then she saw Bill enter the room on
the other side. He came near her;
they could talk through a slit in the
glass.

"Bill," she pleaded, "there's still a
chance to save your life."

"I don't want my life, Mary. For
eight years I've been living on bor-
rowed time."

The tears were falling on her hands,
clasped in front of her; she let them
fall. "You sound as if you want to
die!"

"I do, Mary."

"But you're going for something I
did."

"I'm paying for something I did,
Mary. If I choose to assume your debt
as well as mine, you can't stop me!"

"But I should be punished!" She
felt as if she were talking to him in a
language he did not understand, for
he only smiled and said:

"For loving me? For my loving
you? If our love was at all beautiful,
live on the memory of that. That's

all life is, really — a collection of mem-
ories that we store up to take with
us on another journey. Take mine
with you — as I'll take yours with me
— and be thankful that we've shared
something . . . beautiful."

The door opened behind him. In
the shadows she saw the priest's fig-
ure, waiting for Bill — and though she
beat and tore at the barrier until her
hands were bruised and bleeding, she
could not follow them.

"Bill, who killed you? Henry? I?
Did you know you were dying — that
first day you saw me? Or the first
day you picked up the telephone to
call me? You were dying all through
our love. And now I've died too. I
can walk, and talk, and I suppose
some time I must sleep, but I'm dead.

"No! I have to live! I have to make
someone believe me. I have to let the
world know that I was guilty, not
you. . . ."

£~}N the busiest corner of the city,
^■^ late at night, a woman stood. Her
coat was thin and old, it was no pro-
tection from the icy wind, but she
did not shiver. Watching her, the
priest saw her lay her hand on pass-
ersby, speak a few words before they
shook her off and hurried on their
ways.

"Mister, can you wait a minute? I
want to tell you a story."

But no one would listen.

The priest stopped beside her.

"Good evening, Mary," he said.

Her worn, lined face, with the gray-
ing hair straggling out from under the
battered hat, turned to him, and the
tired eyes softened.

"Good evening, Father. Do you
know what it is to tell the truth and
not be believed?"

"Yes, Mary," he said. "I know what
it is."

"Every night I come here — I try to
talk to people, and tell them the truth.
But they don't care, they won't listen,
and if they do listen they won't be-
lieve me." She looked around in con-
fusion, at the hurrying people. "They
don't believe me. Do you believe me,
Father?"

"Yes, Mary. I believe you. I've been
believing you for five years."

"Five years?" she asked. "Is it so
long since they took Bill? . . . Father,
won't someone punish me?"

"You have been punished, Mary."

"Have I?" she asked in bewilder-
ment. "How?"

How to Raise a Male Quartet

(Continued from page 21)

youngsters. They return her affection
with gusto. But the other day cook's
false teeth were missing. One minute
they'd been sunning on a window
sill, the next they were gone. The
Quartet was hauled up and ques-
tioned. Dennis squirmed. "I buried
'em," he finally acknowledged. At his
mother's look he backed away hastily.
"Mother, it was a x-periment. You
wouldn't understand. Please wait till
Daddy gets home!"

The teeth were duly excavated and
they waited for Bing and the Explan-
ation. Dennis made it standing in the
middle of the kitchen. "Papa, I was
just trying to see if they would grow.
You said teeth growed but I've been
waiting a week for my two front ones
and they ain't in yet. So I took
cook's. . . ."

58

No, there's never a dull moment in
that house. If you noticed that one
of Bing's broadcasts started off a bit
hectically not so long ago there was
a reason! As a rule he rehearses
straight through on Thursday after-
noon until he's on the air. But this
time he dashed home for something
or other. Only to find a frantic family.
Philip had swallowed a golf tee. . . .

Bing dangled him by the heels
while Dixie called the doctor. Dennis
screamed. Gary kept going around
saying, "Do something, somebody!"
Finally the doctor arrived with the
stomach pump. Nobody but Papa
could hold Philip's head. It was only
when the tee was dislodged that they
remembered to look at the clock. Ten
of seven! And they're miles from the
radio station. The police came to the

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROB

rescue with an escort. Bing got there
just as Bob Burns was about to sing
his opening number!

Next year Gary is going to the
regular district school. There will be
no foobilahs (coined word a la Cros-
by) about the boys' education. No
fuss or fancies. Bing's sons are going
to know economic values. Everything
about their upbringing is simple,
plain. You walk into their nursery
and you won't find one elaborate note
— unless you count Gary's bed. That
is an exact duplicate of his dad's, a
mahogany four-poster. But there are
no expensive toys. The youngsters
have to make up their games just as
Bing and Dixie had to. "You have to
learn to live with yourself," is their
father's theory. "And it helps to be
thrown on your own resources a little.
Kids with everything become too
easily bored."

IF one of them shows signs of "tem-
' perament" he is ignored. It soon
brings him around! Last Sunday
while the whole family was having a
picnic in the back yard the twins had
an argument. An argument of the
hair-pulling variety with ample sound
effects. Bing looked up, surprised.
"Hey," he said, "you fellows don't
belong in this camp, do you? We
don't act like that here. Come on,
mama." They made a movement to go,
and the noise stopped.

Saturday afternoon movie shows
are the "gold stars" for weekly good
behavior. But sometimes they're a
headache to Mama! The last time she
took them to see one of Bing's pic-
tures Papa was being chased by a lot
of policemen. "Mom," yelled Gary
at the top of his lungs, "is my Pop
.roing to jail?" In another sequence it
showed Bing kissing a girl. She heard
a queer little sob beside her. "That
isn't you. Mom," Gary pointed out.
She tried to explain that Papa was
only acting, but that night it was
hours before he would go to Bing. And
now the producers are wondering why
Bing doesn't like kissing in the
scripts!

Holidays are replly their specialty
though, Dixie confided. "If you have
solid-steel nerves and are not allergic
to fog horns, fire alarms and radio
static, you have a fairish chance of
living through them. Take Christmas,
for instance. ... It begins at five A. M.
— with carols. That is, with what the
boys fondly think are carols. From
then on — bedlam.

They do pretty well with "America"
too, on the Fourth of July. Papa,
of course, leads the parade and they
all play drums (including Papa.)
Luckily they are usually at the ranch
for this occasion so no neighbors have
turned in riot alarms as yet.

An amusing thing happened at the
ranch this summer. Bing has a big hay
wagon and he and the Quartet — all in
overalls — do a lot of joy-riding
around. They were crossing the state
highway this day when a car pulled
up. "Could you tell me the way to
Oceanside?" asked the driver. The
small girl beside him regarded the
hay riders with upturned nose. "Poor
farmers, they don't have any fun, do
they, father?"

Whereupon young Dennis Michael
Crosby shouted, "Sissy! Bet you can't
even milk a horse!"

"Our home life?" says Dixie. "Yes
indeed. It's made up of Bing — and
four little bangs!"

SEPTEMBER, 1939

■BHK8B

in rko's new motion picture Bachelor Mother'

Measure -giW

M

59

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60

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?

Luise Barclay plays Kareen
Adams in The Woman In White.

WITH so many lovely ladies in
the field, Luise Barclay has
plenty of competition, but I'm
sure our readers will agree with me
that she should be included in the
ranks of the most charming. Miss
Barclay is Kareen Adams in The
Woman In White, heard Mondays
through Fridays at 10:45 EDST over
the NBC Red Network.

Born in Philadelphia May 23, 1912,
Luise, as a child, wanted to be a con-
cert pianist. Attended a Philadelphia
high school where she studied litera-
ture and later joined the Leland
Powers School of the Theater . . . took
courses at the Cincinnati and Phila-
delphia Conservatories . . . studied
piano twelve years; dramatics four
years. Luise made her radio debut in
Philadelphia over a small station. She
speaks French fluently, rides horse-
back, skates and walks for exercise
. . . is five feet seven inches tall,
weighs 133 pounds and has brown
hair and eyes.

Jean, Sydney, Nova Scotia — Below is
the cast of One Man's Family:

Betty Carter

Barbour
Beth Holly
Wayne Grubb
Laura Parker

Jean Rouverol
Barbara Jo Allen
Sonny Edwards
Lucy Gilman

Thomas Ashe, Waterbury, Conn. — Be-
low are the theme songs of the orches-
tras you requested:

Orchestra
Larry Clinton
Benny Goodman
Will Osborne

Guy Lombardo

Theme Song
"Dipsy-Doodle"
"Good-Bye"
"The Gentleman

Awaits"
"Auld Lang Syne"

Character
Henry Barbour
Fanny Barbour
Hazel Barbour

Herbert
Bill Herbert

Pinkie Herbert
Hank Herbert
Claudia Lacey
Capt. Nicholas

Lacey
Joan Lacey
Paul Barbour
Teddy Lawton

Barbour
Clifford Barbour
Anne Waite

Barbour
Jack Barbour

Actor or Actress
J. Anthony Smythe
Minetta Ellen

Bernice Berwin
Bert Horton
(inactive)
Richard Svihus
Bobbie Larson
Kathleen Wilson

Walter Paterson
Eleanor Taylor
Michael Raffetto

Winifred Wolfe
Barton Yarborough

Helen Musselman
Page Gilman

FAN CLUB SECTION— We have
been requested to make the fol-
lowing announcement: "We should
appreciate your advising fans who in-
quire, that the address of Mr. Charles
Boyer is 9423 Wilshire Blvd., Beverly
Hills, Calif. Mr. Boyer is not under
contract to any studio and we have
been experiencing difficulty in han-
dling his fan mail, which seems to be
increasing steadily. Requests for
photographs have become so numerous
that keeping his fans supplied with
pictures has definitely become an item,
and we therefore are forced to make a
charge of twenty-five cents for each
8x10". (Signed) G. A. Lovett, Busi-
ness Office of Charles Boyer.

The Jack Baker Dixie Friendship
Club is anxious to enroll all Jack
Baker fans in their fan club. If inter-
ested in becoming a member, just
drop a card or letter to Miss Gertrude
Turner, 403 South Eleventh St., Gads-
den, Alabama, who is National Secre-
tary; or to Mrs. Hattie C. Privette,
President, 14-14th N.E., Atlanta, Ga.

Write to Kay Browning, President,
of the Bing Crosby Fan Club for details
on how to become a member. Address
her at Camden, Miss. No local ad-
dress is necessary.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRRO"

What Do You Want To Say?

(Continued from page 3)

helping one to overcome nervousness?

I have had that experience during
the past year. I suffered a very
severe attack of the measles and, as a
consequence, had a nervous creak-
down.

My doctor sent me to the country
and for several months I made little
headway towards recovery. The lone-
liness was terrible and worried me
greatly. I suggested a radio but the
doctor vetoed my suggestion, as I was
to have quiet. But I got the radio
anyway. It helped me almost im-
mediately.

Within two months. I was well
enough to return to my work, and
even the doctor had to admix tnat a
large part of the credit for my early
return was due the radio and its
splendid help in helping me forget
my troubles.

C. W. Raymond
Parkersburg, West Va.

FIFTH PRIZE

What A Man!

At last, a comedian with brand-new
quips on every program! Bob Hope is
the one I'm talking of. He has people
running to turn on their radios at ten
o'clock — instead of running to turn
them off! He strives to get something
new into each broadcast, he's not con-
tent to twiddle along with the same
gags and material as the next fellow.
In fact, he's even waking up other
comedians. They're even trying to
inject new life into their rutted spots.

Hooray for Bob Hope! Beware Fred
Allen and Jack Benny — Hope is a
challenger not to be sneered at.
E. M. Murphy
Lewiston, Maine

SIXTH PRIZE

Reading Was a Bore, Until —

Radio works wonders. Up until a
year ago you couldn't have forced my
kid brother to read a book or a short
story or a play. The onlv "literature"
he ever read was the daily newspaper
comic strips.

My mother, a school teacher, was
worried about kid brother's English
grades. He seemed to think the study
of English was just one big bore.

Then we got him interested in radio
stories, One Man's Family, Hilltop
House, Pepper Young's Family, Star
Theater, Hollywood Playhouse and
other such radio features, in an effort
to increase his desire for reading.

And it worked! As this is written,
he has read seven of the nation's ten
best sellers and has even gone back
into the r>ast for "Anthony Adverse"
and "Gone With the Wind."

Thelma Louise Smith

Memphis, Tenn.

SEVENTH PRIZE

Just Two Cents Worth!

I think it's just fine to let these
movie stars like Tyrone Power off
the air, for they have plenty of
money, and just think of all these I
young people who are out of school
(studied hard too), and step out and
try to get work. But can they? No!
Just because sponsors want someone
who has "box office" umph!

Well, I guess I spoke my piece and
feel much better now. Thanks a lot
for having a soft shoulder.

Marjorie Nyboe
Anaheim, California

SEPTEMBER, 1939

Store up Allurg

while you Sleep !

B

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61

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Backstage Wife

(Continued from page 15)

"It's true. I did see him. I saw him
shoot."

Then began the nightmare of ques-
tioning, until at last she had told all
she knew. That the man had been
young, with a heavy, roundish face
covered with dirty blond stubble, a
small reddish mustache. His eyebrow
— the left, yes — seemed partly miss-
ing, she had noticed when he frowned
just as he shot, and another scar cut
up across his forehead and made a
path through his thinning sandy hair.
His clothes were dark and she had
not seen the light accent of a shirt
collar. Yes, perhaps he had worn a
muffler . . .

It was over, at last. But the police
had hardly gone, with the warning
that they would want Mary again
later, when Catherine turned on her.

"I suppose you realize what you
have done," she said coldly. "It was
unnecesary to involve me in this."

Mary stared. Involve Catherine!
When it was her own house, her own
chauffeur who had apparently stolen
impoitant government papers, and
had then been shot! She turned to
Larry. Surely he would point out to
Catherine how unfair, how unscru-
pulous, her words had been.

BUT he was only turning away from
her, angrily and bitterly.

It was incredible.

Or . . . was it? And suddenly she
knew that it was not. It was merely
proof of how right her fears had been.
She remembered other times when he
had lost his lightning perception, had
been blind to her moods and needs —
and always it had meant that she was
losing him, losing him to glamour.

But this time was the last. It had
to be, if she was to retain a single
shred of self-respect.

"I'm sorry," she told Catherine
quietly. "Perhaps it will make it
simpler for you if I move to the hotel
with the rest of the cast."

Catherine assented with a curt nod.

Of course she knew Larry, in his
present mood, would accept her deci-
sion. But it hurt, when he did not fol-
low her to their room until she had
nearly finished packing.

"You're being quite silly," he said.
"It's rude and childish to flare up
just because Catherine hates the idea
of all this publicity."

Her teeth clenched tight against a
bitter retort. Instead, she said, "I
suppose you are not coming with me?"

"No, I think I'll let you be alone
until you come to your senses."

"I have come to my senses," she
said, as she closed her suitcase.

There was no quarrel this time.
They were miles apart, too far for
passionate anger. "I've lived through
this sort of thing often enough be-
fore," she said, "but I still don't seem
to have enough practice to enjoy it.
And I happen to know you don't
really want me around, just now."

"Not in your present mood, cer-
tainly," he growled.

"I'll see you at the theater in the
morning," she said.

A sleepy obsequious butler in the
deserted hall downstairs summoned a
taxi for her, and she was driven to
the hotel they had selected for the
rest of the cast who would arrive in
the morning.

She walked to the theater, the next

62

day, aching in every muscle as if she
had been beaten the night before. She
had slept very little, and there was a
dull throbbing in her temples.

Ahead of her as she turned into the
alley back of the theater, she saw
four figures, and caught her breath in
sharp pain. Two of them were
strangers, men. The other two were
Catherine and Larry, and she thought
wryly: "Perhaps he doesn't even
want me as business manager, now."

The four of them watched her ap-
proach. "These men from the police
want you, Mary," Larry said, as coolly
as if they had not parted forever the
night before. "You've got to go to
headquarters and speak your piece
again."

The old Larry would have offered
to go along with her. Today's Larry
turned and went into the theater,
with Catherine.

He hadn't, of course, known what
she was going into. Even Mary, sitting
in the rear seat of the car between the
two men, staring unseeingly at the
flowers outside in blurred bright pat-
terns, did not know that the way to
police headquarters could not con-
ceivably lead through miles of park.
Still, when the car rolled onto the
bridge over the river, she sat up
straight.

"Where are we going?"

"Repose yourself," came the quick
answer. She felt his hand on her
wrist, tight, hurting, and turned to
look at the man. He was middle-aged,
with sagging face and tired eyes be-
neath short-clipped mouse-gray hair.
Somehow neither he nor his com-
panion any longer looked like
detectives.

THE hand of the man on her right
' closed over her mouth as her scream
started. She was pushed back heavily
against the seat. Four hands held her
there helpless. She stopped struggling.

The car turned south on the broad
highway beside the Potomac, then
turned off to the right, twisted
through narrower and narrower back
roads leading between high cut banks
of bright red clay. This was Virginia,
that she knew. But even as she
thought this, one of the men tied a
handkerchief over her eyes.

It seemed hours later that they led
her out of the car, across soft turf and
then into the resounding rooms of a
great house.

She knew it was afternoon by the
light in the upstairs room where they
removed the blindfolds and left her.
She opened the window that looked
out on rolling hills and gardens. But
one of those inconspicuously barred
screens which ironically keep babies
safe from kidnapers imprisoned her.
There were two doors to the room,
the one leading to the hall securely
locked. The other door led to a bath-
room equipped with the same impreg-
nable screen. From it a door appar-
ently led to another bedroom, from
which came the faint sounds of con-
versation in a language that surely
was not English.

As she listened someone entered her
room and she came out to confront
the man who had been on her right in
the car. He carried a tray of sand-
wiches and coffee. "You will find it
useless to consider methods of es-
cape," he told her. "You will not de-

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

part until we wish it."

"And when will that bg?"
"It will bf — if I receive a message
that the police have released the sus-
pect whom they hold in the death
which you were so unfortunate, my
dear lady, as to witness." He bowed
formally, with a faint click of heels.
"I am sorry," he said.

Dusk came down over the hills, and
Mary sat without moving, watching
and thinking. Yet she thought of her
own danger, oddly, almost not at all.
Larry . . . Larry . . .
Should she have held her peace,
stood by, waited until his madness
was over? As she had always done
before? No . . . instinctively, she knew
that this time was subtly different —
that Catherine Monroe was a stronger
antagonist than any of the others she
had met, and vanquished. And so it
had been right to let him go, even
though it meant the death of some-
thing within her. Better death than
unending torture.

WE shall go now." The guard had
come back.

"Do you mean — I'm free?"

He shook his head and shrugged
slightly. "Not in the sense I would
wish," he said cryptically.

Again blindfolded, Mary rode be-
side him in the car. After an hour she
smelled a misty soft saltiness in the
air. The car stopped and she heard
the gentle lap of water against a
retaining wall.

"Where are we?"

"By the Potomac. Step into the
boat, please."

Mary saw the skiff in the dim light,
bobbing against the wall. She stepped
into it. "Lie down," he ordered her.

Prostrate, Mary lifted her head.
Swiftly he knotted her hands together
behind her back. And then he stepped
out of the boat.

"You're — you're not putting me
adrift — alone," she gasped. "Where
are the oars — I'm tied — "

"I'm sorry," he said again gently.
"But in the morning the Chesapeake
fishing boats will find you."

His foot pushed the boat away from
the wall. At first Mary could not
believe it had happened. Surely she
would soon hear the chug of a motor
boat, some light would sweep over the
water, and she would be lifted into
dry, warm safety. Her position was
cramped, she ached all over with cold,
the ropes cut painfully into her wrists.
But there was still a new terror for
her. At first she had thought the
small waves lapping against the side
of the boat had splashed over, or that
the rain had settled into pools be-
tween the cleats in the bottom of the
boat. But after a while she knew.
The boat was leaking.

Afterward, Mary realized that the
night had been mercifully shortened
by unconsciousness. From time to
time she roused herself enough to
find the water higher, and to hitch
herself farther upright against the
gunwale, to keep her head in the air.

By dawn the boat was awash, roll-
ing deep down in the water. It
couldn't possibly stay afloat much
longer — not until the fishing boats
were out. She closed her eyes.

Was that a distant humming sound?
Her eyes flew open again. Yes! the
bright shape of a plane streaked over-
head, against the gray dawn sky. But
the light was still too dim for them to
see her, and she couldn't signal.

Then she saw the plane dipping,

SEPTEMBER, 1939

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63

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turning. It was circling lower. She
fought to cling to consciousness, for
relief was almost too much for her.
The plane loomed lower, huge. She
saw a man creep out on the wing, saw
pontoons magically appear. And then
the great ship was cutting across the
churning water toward the boat.

What happened between that time
and the moment she found herself in
a clean, hard hospital bed was never
very clear in Mary's mind. A strange
man — young and keen and alert —
was leaning over her.

"I'm Lieutenant Bradley," he ex-
plained. "I picked you up out of the
Chesapeake this morning. How do
you feel now?"

HER thanks were inadequate, be-
cause words came hard. There
was only one thought in her mind.
Larry. Would he come?

Lieutenant Bradley told her Larry
was on his way. Although she didn't
remember it, she had had strength
enough after her rescue to identify
herself, and they had already tele-
phoned him.

Minutes later, while Bradley still
sat beside her, Larry stepped through
the doorwav. He was haggard, years
older than when she saw him last.
"You — came," she whispered.

But he did not touch her. He stood
there, eyeing Bradley while she per-
formed the introductions. His thanks
were stiff, and he stood aside while
Bradley touched her hand and said
lightly, "You know, I'm terribly glad
I found you this morning."

Then Bradlev left the room.

"Thank God you're safe," Larry
said huskily.

That was all. And she understood
what he meant — that he cared enough
for her to be concerned for her safety,
but that he had also accepted their
separation. Her adventure had not
changed that.

When he had left, she lay there,
dry-eyed, watching the leaf-dappled
sunlight on the opposite wall, trying
not to think.

It was a week before she left the
hospital. The staff doctor had insisted
that she stay at least that long, to re-
cuperate from the shock and expos-
ure. She might have stayed even
longer, but one afternoon, when he
came in on his daily visit to her, Bill
Wicart's face was grave.

"Washington needs you, Mary," he
said. "Do you suppose the doctor will
let you go today?"

"Of course. He'd have let me go
before, if— if Larry had wanted me."
There was no need to pretend with
Wicart — she was grateful for that.

"He does want you, whether he
knows it or not," he replied. "More
than that. He needs you."

"What — what do you mean, Bill?"

"You get dressed and I'll tell you
all about it in the car."

As they swept out of the hospital
drive, Bill glanced at Mary's ex-
pectant face. "So, just out of some
darned female pride, you left a per-
fectly good husband in Catherine
Monroe's hands!"

"Then — then you know she's — in
love with him?"

"In love with him!" The young
Senator's voice was gruff. "If that was
all she could do to him!"

"Bill, tell me everything you're
getting at. I want to know."

So it came out — all the things she
had half suspected, many that she
hadn't known at all. That Wicart

64

suspected Catherine of being a mem-
ber of the gang that had killed her
chauffeur. That the gang's leader
might well be a certain Baron Zenoff
whom Mary remembered having
met at Catherine's home that first
evening.

And further, that there was a defi-
nite connection between this spy ring
and a vigilante group that called it-
self the League for Modern Freedom.

"The League's run by an ex-gang-
ster called Voigt," Wicart explained.
"Just what it's supposed to accomplish
is rather vague. But one of the things
it has accomplished is to throw a mon-
key wrench into your husband's plan
for opening that play — "

"The play! But — why?" Mary
gasped.

"It seems the League for Modern
Freedom doesn't care for the propa-
ganda in the play."

"Why, the only propaganda is for
freedom!"

"They use strange labels these days
to accomplish their purposes, Mary.
At any rate, the League managed to
get at the scenery, and tear it to
pieces, and Larry won't be able to
open until new sets have been built."

"Oh . . . poor Larry!"

THE Senator went on: "That's not
his biggest trouble. This morning I
was backstage at the theater. I wanted
to see Larry, try to warn him. But
first I caught sight of Catherine stand-
ing behind a wing with Voigt, the
League boss. She was so busy with
him that neither of them saw me.
And I saw her hand him a long, tube-
shaped package ... I happen to know
her house has been watched for
months now. The theater would come
in handy for a meeting-place."

She gripped the Senator's arm.

"We've got to keep Larry from be-
ing mixed up in it!"

"My idea exactly. But you're the
only one that can — by getting him
away from that woman!"

A few minutes later, standing with
Wicart at the stage door, Mary's
heart was hammering. She had been
wrong. She could not desert Larry —
even though never before had she
been up against so complex, so strange
an enemy as Catherine Monroe. It
would be the hardest fight of all. But
— she felt Bill's solid strength beside
her — this time she had an ally.

They walked through the darkened
stage, toward a light that shone from
a lamp placed in one of the wings. It
wasn't until they were almost unon
it that they heard Catherine's voice,
not bright and sparkling, this time.
It was low, tense. "Here it is, Larry.
Remember I'd never give it to any-
one else. Use it, Larry, when I — tell
you — "

Mary saw them then, standing so
close together they were almost
touching, yet not quite, except for
his hands closing over the folded
paper she was giving him. He looked
down into her eyes as if he would
never have enough, and then he an-
swered as if the words were part of
the spell that was on him.

"I — I promise, Catherine."

What secret is in the paper that
Catherine has just given Larry? Does
it mean that he is already hopelessly
enmeshed in the intrigue she is carry-
ing on, and that Mary is too late to
save him? Read the next chapter of
this thrilling story in next month's
Radio Mirror.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

The Real Life Adventures of Molly Goldberg

to a little farm house in upper New
York State. There was no running
water, no electricity, no modern con-
venience of any kind — which rather
disturbed me, but never bothered
Mrs. Berg one bit. She was born and
raised on a farm, you know.

The little old woman who owned
the farm house had a queer, cracked
voice and an accent all her own. I
noticed Mrs. Berg listening to her,
as she always does to new voices,
before we went to bed.

THEN, just as I was dozing off, and
while Mrs. Berg was getting ready
for bed in the next room, I heard our
hostess' voice through the paper thin
walls of the house. She was dis-
cussing her shopping list for the next
day, giving prices, recipes, and mak-
ing little personal comments that I
knew Gertrude Berg would love to
hear.

I told her about it as soon as she
returned.

"I'll bet you could use a character
like that in a broadcast," I said.

"Maybe," she said calmly.

Then she climbed into bed and
tucked her flashlight between her
chin and shoulder to read by. When
she had finished, she flashed off the
light. And, in the dark, I heard once
more the voice of our hostess, going
over her shopping list.

It came from the bed beside me — ■
and I realized that it had been Mrs.
Berg all the time, imitating our
hostess' voice, playing a joke on me.

But, aside from her love of prac-

(Continued from page 24)

tical jokes, Mrs. Berg is never too
tired or too busy to enter completely
and realistically into the lives of peo-
ple she meets.

On another trip to the country, we
stopped at one of those roadside
diners for something to eat. We sat
down on stools at the counter. I
started to open my mouth to order
a hamburger.

"Do you think there is any place
around here where a waitress could
get a job?" Mrs. Berg was saying.
"I had to leave New York on account
of my health!"

I was too surprised to say a word.
She listened attentively while he told
her all about his last waitress, about
the people who came in there to eat,
about the people who lived in the
neighborhood. In the end, he offered
her a job!

Once we were eating in a little
cafeteria in New York's famous gar-
ment center, the core of the cloak,
suit, and dress business of America.
It's in the upper thirties in Manhat-
tan, west of Seventh Avenue. Mrs.
Berg likes to go there because the
neighborhood is so full of vigorous
humanity.

We took our trays to a table in the
corner and sat down next to a wo-
man of about forty, with a tired, un-
happy face.

Mrs. Berg smiled at her, then turned
to me and said, "If I don't soon find
a job, I think I'll kill myself!"

I was too startled to say anything,
but our table neighbor looked up.

"You don't look as if you need a

job, Miss," she said.

"Oh, that's just because my rich
sister here helps me out," said Mrs.
Berg. "But she can't do it forever,
you know. Do you think there would
be anything for me in your shop?"

"No, I don't," the woman answered.
"You see, we do piece work in my
shop. It takes me all week to make
eight or ten dollars. That wouldn't
do you any good. I know. But what's
a woman to do?"

She was lonely, discouraged, and
without that necessity of the human
heart — somebody to tell her troubles
to. She found that somebody in Ger-
trude Berg, a perfect stranger in
name, but a sympathetic friend in
mind and spirit.

DY way of the universal road of
" understanding, we three became
old friends in a few minutes. And two
of us learned more about the people
in the garment industry in an hour
than we could have learned by read-
ing a whole library full of books.

Gertrude Berg would hoot at any-
body who mentioned anything so
high-falutin' as the study of human
nature to her. She can no more help
drawing people to her than she can
help breathing.

Her concern for people is the most
all-embracing one I have ever seen.
It's no wonder that characters in The
Goldbergs come over the CBS mike
as such real people.

I've seen her stop in a filthy little
hut in Tia Juana, talk to the people
in sign language, pick up the children

SEPTEMBER, 1939

smooth FRAGRANT \

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in her arms, and, finally, when a hor-
ribly dirty glass of water was brought
to her, drink it right down. And make
me drink one, too! Never mind if the
water was full of typhoid germs! The
people had been kind enough to get
it for us. We had to drink it!

I'VE seen her go into little dance
halls in Mexico — not the fancy,
high-priced places, but the places
where ordinary, poor people go. And
she made friends with the people,
danced with them, talked with them,
and listened while they talked to her
as if they had known her all their
lives.

Mostly, though, we do our ad-
venturing around New York City,
mostly down on the lower East Side,
too, in New York's so-called Ghetto.

Occasionally, we go to visit a par-
ticular kind of people. Like the time
Mrs. Berg wanted to write a Polish
character in her script.

We looked up a Polish wedding
over on Second Avenue — a typical
wedding with its colorful costumes,
its exciting music, and its vivid,
lively people. When we got to the
door, a man stopped us and asked us
who had invited us.

We were not prepared for such a
reception, but Mrs. Berg immediately
murmured something about "the
bride." So what did that doorman
do but call the bride over. Of course,
she didn't know us from Adam.

"Was it the bride, you said?" Mrs.
Berg asked me, "or the groom?"

"The groom, of course!" I said
quickly.

Well, if they didn't call over the
groom! For a minute it looked as if
we weren't going to get in at all.

66

Then Mrs. Berg said, looking right in
his eyes, to the man at the door, "But
you know me!"

And in a few minutes, she con-
vinced him that he did — and we went
in. We had a marvelous time. We
danced, we ate and drank, we con-
gratulated the happy couple, we were
one of the family by the time we left.
And Gertrude Berg felt that she could
honestly present a Polish character
on the air and feel as much at home
with him as she had felt with those
Polish people at the wedding.

One night we followed a group of
women into a large building down on
the lower East Side. It might have
been a church service, a funeral, a
concert, or a party. We didn't know.
When we got inside, we discovered
that it was a meeting and grocery
shower given by a ladies' benevolent
society for the benefit of an old peo-
ple's home. Of course, somebody
asked us if we were members.

"My mother," murmured Gertrude
Berg.

So we went in and sat down. The
chairwoman was reading out loud.

"Schwester Lena dooz drei dollar
. . . Schwester Ruth dooz drei dollar,"
was what it sounded like to me. I
wondered what it was that all these
Schwesters were doing.

Not Mrs. Berg, though. She raised
her hand.

"I want to pay my dues, too," she
announced.

And so she became a member. Half
an hour later, she was on the floor,
making suggestions about ways to
raise money for the Home. Before she
left, they wanted to make her presi-
dent of the society, and she had to
excuse herself on the grounds of help-

ing with her husband's business.

She is still a member. To this day,
not one of them knows that their
helpful sister is radio's Molly Gold-
berg.

Once we ran into a near-tragedy.
It happened on the lower East Side.
Across the street from us, a crowd
was gathered before the steps of a
tenement house. On the steps of the
house stood an old, torn mattress,
tied up with a string from which sev-
eral pots and pans hung. And beside
the mattress a little old woman was
wailing and praying.

"Let them evict me!" she moaned
between sobs. "Let them evict me!
Somewhere will I find to sleep. But
don't let them take my children away
from me because I have no home!"

We stood across the street, too
moved to go any closer.

Quietly, then, Gertrude Berg said
to me, "Go, Fannie, go and see how
much the poor woman needs to stop
this calamity!"

"How much?" the old woman's
daughter asked me. "Twenty dollars
back in the rent we are!"

Twenty dollars was all Mrs. Berg
had in her pocketbook. But she gave
it to me quickly and slipped away.

I pressed the money into the old
woman's hands. She looked up at me
— dazed. Her daughter made her un-
derstand it was for the rent. They
could go back now to their home.

"It is the presence of God!" said
the old mother. "Now I can keep my
children yet a while!"

Back upstairs went the old, torn
mattress, the pots and pans banging
against each other.

This is the Gertrude Berg I know.
I wish you could know her, too.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Joe E. Brown fooled us all . . . and
remains on the air for the full year.
I still don't understand how he does
it, but Joe's fans are faithful, and

that's what counts!

* * *

It Couldn't Happen to You!
Doris Mayer, a radio writer, was
introduced to a producer at a party
the other night. "Your name sounds
familiar" said the producer. "Haven't
I heard about you before?" "I don't
think so," replied Miss Mayer. "My
only claim to fame is that I'm the
only girl in Hollywood Rudy Vallee

hasn't discovered."

* * *

Shirley on Air?
Darryl Zanuck, in spite of his re-
cent radio retreat, happens to be
mulling over an idea that may bring
Shirley Temple to the networks.
Since her pictures have fallen off at
the movie temples, Zanuck, I hear,
feels that her stock can be boosted
via the airlanes. And he's probably
right!

* * *

Charlie McCarthy's ordered a new
full dress suit . . . preparing for an
early visit to the preacher with his
boss Edgar Bergen, who may take

the vows with Mary Healey.

* * *

Mickey Rooney does a jitterbug
dance in his next film: he's been tak-
ing lessons at the Palomar, where
Artie Shaw has been teaching him
the rhythms.

Hollywood Radio Whispers

(Continued from page 37)

Hollywood radio studios these days,
with the annual race to Honolulu just
around the corner. Announcer Jim-
my Wallington, of the Star Theater,
spends each week-end practicing for
the event in rented boats, and plans
to buy a super-speed job for the race?
Film and radio schedules permitting,
Dick Powell will accompany Lee Tra-
cy as a crew-member on Tracy's boat.
Meantime Frances Langford and Jon
Hall, are full of talk about their new
63 foot ketch the "Katapui," in which
they'll sail to the South Seas next
year.

* * *

Don Ameche, who sings now and
then on the Charlie McCarthy hour,
has received so many letters protest-
ing against his vocal ambitions, that
I wouldn't be in the least surprised
to hear that he has given up song
for chatter.

Success Story
Don't say that Alice Eden and John
Archer aren't appreciative of the
"break" given them by Jesse Lasky
in his "Gateway to Hollywood" series.
Alice and John won the finals of the
first series, and thus earned the lead-
ing role in the film "Career." But
they certainly haven't forgotten what
Lasky did for them. Each week finds
them on hand at the CBS Playhouse
in Hollywood to watch newcomers in
their try for fame, and to report their
activities of the past week to Mr.
Lasky.

"Boat Talk" predominates around Dorothy Lamour had herself a real

time a few Sundays ago. Dorothy in-
vited 200 guests to celebrate her
mother's birthday . . . and nearly 500
showed up. Which is typical of Holly-
wood parties. Those on the guest list
included Cesar Romero . . . without
Ann Sheridan; Howard Hughes, alone
but very hopeful: no matter what
you hear Dorothy has not yet had a
date with him, and confidentially he's
done everything but stand on his
head to attract her attention. Dotty
divides her time between Randy
Scott and Bruce Cabot. Party was
one of the best of the season, combin-
ing Hollywood's Cafe Society with

the movie crowd.

* * *

Mike fright and an engineer's re-
sourcefulness put Edgar Bergen in
an enviable spot the other Sunday.
Annabella, the vivacious bride of Ty-
rone Power, lost some of her compo-
sure when she faced at the same time,
a glittering microphone and a. frankly
staring Charlie McCarthy. Mike
fright caused her to move away from
the microphone, and the NBC engi-
neer sent a director out to remedy the
situation. Being a practical young
man, the director simply placed Ber-
gen's right arm around the young
lady. Bergen was pleased as McCar-
thy was jealous, until the time came
to turn the page of the script. Then
it looked as though the comedian
would have to choose between Anna-
bella and Charlie. But the director
re-appeared in the nick of time. He
turned the page, and left Bergen free
to support his guest.

Barbara Stanwyck

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67

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TELLS HUSBAND TO GET VACUUM, BUT ON
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Bob Burns is busy explaining to
Bing Crosby, Ken Carpenter and
everyone else, that his two sons do
NOT have the same names. When
the newest Burns arrived May 30th,
he was given the name Robin Burns.
Bob's first son, now 16 years old, is
named Robert . . . usually called
Bob Burns, Jr. In spite of all he can
say Burns can't get away from the
fact that since Crosby often addressed
him as Robin, the new and real Robin
is frequently tagged with a Junior.
* * *

Star Theater fans got the surprise
of their lives when they attended the
show of which Gene Autry, the num-
ber one Cowboy, appeared as guest
star. Every member of the company,
including the band and Ken Murray
was clad in a cow-boy outfit, com-
plete from high heeled boots to a ten
gallon Stetson. Frances Langford
wore a cow-girl skirt and spurs; Ned
Sparks sported a pair of six guns;
Bill Bacher hid his Harpo Marx shock
of hair under a big hat . . . and Kenny
Baker's chaps were the envy of Autry
himself. * * *

Win, Place or Show?
Bob Hope called the manager of
the Lakeside Golf Club the other
morning for a favor, and before he
was half way through the conversa-
tion he had been touched for a ten
dollar contribution to the "Calcutta
Pool," the club was having. Of course
he agreed to pay. "Honestly," mur-
mured Bob as he walked away from
the phone, "I get caught on these
things twenty times a day. I'm Holly-
wood's Number One Sucker." Later
in the afternoon, the manager phoned
Bob to tell him he'd won the $500
prize! * * *

Here's an item which proves the
value of the recent Screen Actors'
Guild program and tells a human in-
terest story as well:

This is the story of two hard work-
ing, ambitious Hollywood extras.
They were fortunate enough to get
steady employment, the girl as stand-
in for Dolores del Rio, the boy as
stand-in for Joel McCrea.

After they had been working for a
while, they married; but shortly after-
wards the girl contracted tuberculosis,
and was forced to stop work. For a
year and a half her husband devoted
himself to her, worked hard and
nursed her. When he couldn't meet
the huge doctor bills, the Motion Pic-
ture Relief Fund, which gets a great
deal of its funds from the Screen Ac-
tors' Guild program, stepped in and
paid them. Finally the doctors gave
the girl up, but her determination to
live was so great that she recovered
sufficiently to be allowed to go to the
desert, with the possibility of a com-
plete recovery. Again the Relief
stepped in, and provided money
enough for the couple to spend four
months on the desert. Joel McCrea
furnished a brand new station wagon
for the happy couple, and personally
wished them God-speed, good luck
and a quick recovery! With the future
so bright, these two youngsters left
Hollywood, leaving for the time being
their cares behind them. But the long
arm of fate caught up with them two
hours later . . . and the boy died in-
stantly from a heart attack. His wife,
literally shocked to death died three
minutes later. I tell you this story
simply to reveal that Hollywood is
not all glamour and glitter, but is a
town with its share of tragedies, just
as every other town in the world!

68

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

WE CANADIAN LISTENERS

By
©RACE BROWN

THE CRAIGS— Sandwiched in be-
tween stock market reports of in-
terest and value to farmers is a
little five-time a week serial, entitled
"The Craigs." It is a part of the new
CBC policy of supplying information
and entertainment exclusively to
rural listeners, and may be heard
every weekday, except Saturday, over
the CBC Ontario network at 1:30
p.m., EDST. Funny thing about The
Craigs is that, while designed for the
farmers, it seems to have also caught
on with the city slickers. This is due
to good writing, good production and
good acting, plus the fact that there
are too few daily Canadian serials.

FRANK PEDDIE, the father of the
Craig family, is one of the CBC's most
reliable actors; hardly a show of any
consequence goes on the air without
his services; born 42 years ago in
Scotland; educated at St. Andrew's
University, and the University of
Edinburgh; went through on scholar-
ships; was a prisoner of war in Ger-
many, and would like to forget
his tunnelling to freedom (he was
caught) ; some of his more important
radio characterizations have been in
"Forgotten Footsteps," "The Family
Doctor," "The Dream Detective,"
"Tribute to a Song."

GRACE WEBSTER, the mother of
The Craigs; although she has never
been one in real life, she has played

more mothers on the radio than any
other Canadian actress; a very charm-
ing person; was born at Hamilton,
Ontario, 44 years ago, and educated
in Toronto; started acting as a child,
but took it up professionally only in
1927; played in Toronto stock at the
old Empire Theater and the Victoria.

ALICE HILL, the daughter of The
Craigs; a nineteen-year-old blonde,
with blue eyes, five-foot two and
weighing 102 . . . her aunt, Alice
Yorke, appeared in the original
"Chocolate Soldier," her uncle, John
Yorke, now appearing in "Leave It
to Me" (or has that show closed,
too?) ; thus comes by her acting talant
honestly; educated at St. Joseph's
Convent, Toronto; likes badminton,
swimming, and dancing; played pro-
fessional stock, principally "Helen"
in "Merrily We Roll Along."

GEORGE MURRAY, the son of The
Craigs, is not only an actor, but also
a singer; twenty-six years old, and
tips the scales at one hundred and
eighty-five; nudging six feet; has
guested as vocalist with Music By
Faith; born at Winnipeg and educated
there; played football and basketball;
should have a nice future in radio,
with his combined talents.

DEAN HUGHES, the author; one
of the better Canadian scripters;
Toronto-born 31 years ago, but

doesn't look his age; started his career
in a bank, but wasn't much good at
figures (that is, adding them), so
hiked out for a harvester's job in Al-
berta; worked as "spike-pitcher" and
engine-oiler; started in radio as an
announcer, then gravitated to script-
ing; wrote a book of poetry when he
was 21, which was published; hopes
some day to live that down.

CYDNEY S. BROWN, producer of
^ the program; better known as
Syd; up-and-coming CBC producer;
after you've known him for a while,
you discover to your surprise that he
saw four years of service in the Great
War; has been with the CBC since
'34, starting as "Algy" in the famous
"Rainbow Revue" series out of Ot-
tawa; his ambition was to get into
production, and so there he is; showed
what an audience-getter he can be
personally, when he starred as "Mr.
Jack" in his "Stars of Tomorrow"
program, a show bringing out the
talents of Canadian children;- has an
infinite capacity for taking pains with
his productions; will shortly produce
a new series written by yours truly
entitled, "It's a Racket!"

L'ENVOI ... if you like a nice,
easy, homey atmosphere in your
drama, without artificial thrills and
with a minimum of hokum, turn your
dials to the CBC Ontario network at
1:30 p.m., EDST, for "The Craigs."

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70

I Married Outside the Law

(Continued from page 39)

flight of stairs and knocked at the
greasy panel of the door the man had
indicated.

A woman stood on the threshold,
looking at me steadily from a pair of
deep-set gray eyes. For a moment
those eyes held mine, seeming to pull
me far down into bottomless wells of
sadness.

"Yes?" she said, standing very still.

She didn't ask me what I wanted.
She just waited, questioningly.

"I'm Kay Moore," I said. "A friend
of Greg Dean's."

"Of Greg . . . ?" she said uncertain-
ly. And then the change in her face
was pitiful. It suddenly came alive
with eagerness, and she held the door
open wide in invitation as she burst
out: "Of Tom's? Did he send you?
Will you tell him I must see him?"

"I can't," I said, entering the room
and closing the door behind me. "He's
away. And he didn't exactly send me.
I just heard that you were going to
contest his divorce and — and so I
came to see you."

Her eyes widened, and she sank
down on the cheap iron bed that stood
in the corner of the little room. "But
I'm not!" she exclaimed. "That is — I
don't want to. All I want is to see
him — talk to him. Will he be back in
Hollywood soon? You see, I only
found out yesterday that he was Greg-
ory Dean. . . ."

I SAT down on the one old chair the
' room contained, feeling weak and
afraid. Something was terribly wrong
here. I had come prepared for argu-
ments, anger, bitterness; ready to
fight with a scheming woman. And I
found. . . .

I looked at her more closely. She
was taller than I, and very thin. Even
in the dim light cast by the overhead
bulb, I could see the hollows in her
cheeks and the pallor of her lips. Her
brown hair was dull and lifeless, and
her black dress was several years
old. Yet, in a worn, emaciated way,
she was lovely. There was a sweet
and pitiful dignity about her which
didn't square at all with my precon-
ceived notions of the sort of woman
who was trying to blackmail Greg.

"Suppose you tell me all about it,"
I said as gently as I could. "I'm a —
a very good friend of Greg's. He'd
want me to help you."

She pressed a delicate, blue-veined
hand against her forehead. "I can't
... I don't understand it very well,
myself. Tom and I were married
five years ago. . . ."

But I can't reproduce her story, in
the way she told it — haltingly, timid-
ly, filled with pauses and gaps which
I had to fill intuitively.

She had been a stenographer when
Greg married her. She must have been
pretty then, in an unassuming way.
Wildly in love with Greg, she hadn't
minded paying the bills for their
apartment while he studied music, for
there was nothing in the world she
wanted so much as to see him become
famous. When he made up his mind
tc leave New York and come to Cali-
fornia, she followed, uncomplainingly;
and in Los Angeles she got another
job. But things didn't go well. Cali-
fornia wasn't the land of opportunity
Greg had thought it was. She began
to lose her health, but she struggled

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on, saying nothing, until the inevitable
breakdown came.

"I — I don't remember much after
that," she said in meek apology. "Only
a sort of nightmare existence. They
told me, later, that I'd had a complete
nervous breakdown. But, anyway,
that was about two years ago, I guess.
I've been in a sanitarium since then."

IN a sanitarium, without any news
' of Greg. He might have vanished
from the face of the earth, as far as
she knew. I could only imagine her
life there, as a charity patient in a
state institution. But at last they
told her she was well again, and let
her go, almost penniless, into the
world. She could do nothing but
search Hollywood and Los Angeles for
traces of the man she knew as Thomas
Boerland. She might have searched
forever, if she had not happened to
meet a reporter who knew that
Thomas Boerland was Gregory Dean.
And it was this reporter who, tomor-
row, was going to publish the news of
Gregory Dean's destitute wife.

"They say he divorced me — but I
didn't know. I was never told. I
can't understand why. ... It can't be
legal, can it, if I wasn't told?"

She was pleading with me now, as
if I had been Greg himself.

"Perhaps not," I said. "But if you
contest the divorce — at least, before
you see Greg — don't you know it will
ruin his career?"

She sat up straight. "Oh, but I
wouldn't want to do that! I wouldn't
hurt him — not for anything, not for
anything at all. The only thing I've
ever wanted was to see him again — "
Her voice broke. "He's my husband!"

Then, for a while, there was silence.

I felt numb and sick. Everything she
said had painted a new and horrible
picture of Greg for my eyes — and
everything she said had its deadly
parallel in my own relations with
him. She had sacrificed for his suc-
cess— so had I. He had lied to her —
and to me. And in spite of it all, she
still loved him and wanted him, while
I — Did the parallel continue, even
there? I didn't know — but I couldn't
believe that Greg could really be
guilty of such inhuman treatment.

I roused myself. "The first thing
we have to do," I said firmly, "is to
get you into a decent place."

She looked around the room in be-
wilderment. "But I've no money — "

"Don't worry about that," I said.
Greg had given me a generous check,
and it gave me a grim sort of pleasure
to spend it on his other wife.

I called Ralph, and together we
packed her few poor possessions, and
got her into the car and then to a
quiet furnished apartment house on
Third Street, near Hollywood. After
we'd fed her and put her to bed, Ralph
drove me back to my own apartment
while I told him the whole story.

HE listened in silence and without
looking at me, his eyes glued on
the traffic ahead of the car. It was im-
possible to read his thoughts, .but
when I'd finished he chuckled rue-
fully. "We had things doped all
wrong, didn't we?" he remarked,
"making her the villainess."

"I'm afraid so," I said — miserably
aware of what my words implied:
that if Beatrice Boerland was not the
villainess, then Greg must be the vil-
lain. "Ralph," I went on hurriedly,
"I was just wondering — could you get

that reporter not to run his story? At
least until we've talked to Greg?"

"Oh?" He glanced at me quickly.
"Trying to save Greg's skin?"

"No," I defended my request. "All I
want now is to help that poor woman.
But if the story came out, then we'd
have nothing to hold over Greg ex-
cept his marriage to me. And I don't
want to use that."

I CAN'T blame yen for that," he
1 agreed. He sighed deeply. "Oh, well,
I might have known it. A reporter
shouldn't have any friends. Sure, I
can get him to kill the story — but I'll
have to swap. I'll have to give him a
scoop I dug up all by myself, that I
was going to use on my broadcast."

"Ralph, you're a darling."

"I wish I thought you meant that,"
he said. "If I get that story killed,
will you call Greg long distance and
tell him to come right back here?"

My thoughts flew to Greg. All those
years of struggling, of trying to get
somewhere in radio and the movies —
and now, just when he was on the
brink of success, must I force him to
cancel the tour that was to have
brought him so much?

"It doesn't seem fair," I said. "Can't
we wait until the tour is over?"

"No," Ralph said with a determined
shake of his head. "This is something
that has to be settled right away."

"Yes," I agreed with a sigh. "I sup-
pose you're right. I'll call him."

So, after Ralph had called his re-
porter friend and got him to agree
not to print the story, I picked up the
telephone and called the hotel in New
York where Greg was staying.

Buzzes, clicks, the voices of the
operators, dead silence — and then his

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72

voice was there, at my ear. My heart
throbbed at the memory of that voice
— the magic it had had for me once.
This was not the long-distance call I
had wanted to make to him.

"This is Kay, Greg," I said, trying
to speak steadily.

"Why, darling — this is sweet of
you — "

"No," I said, "I'm afraid it isn't.
Greg, you've got to come back. Right
away. I've just talked to — " it was
hard to get the words out — "to your
wife. She's ill, and poor, and she
needs you."

I heard him gasp. Then he said
tensely. "I can't come back. You know
better than to ask — You didn't tell
her — anything, did you?"

"Are you coming back?" I asked,
choosing to ignore his question.

"I can't! I've got a contract for five
appearances a day here."

WELL," I said, speaking slowly and
distinctly, "I think you'd better
come, Greg. Get out of the contract
somehow. Because I don't think your
divorce from your first wife is legal.
So we're not married. And — I didn't
want to tell you until you got back
here — but I'm going to have a baby.
I think you'd better come home."

"My God!" he murmured.

"When can you get here?"

"I'll catch the morning plane," he
promised.

Ralph watched me as I hung up.
"Think he'll come?" he asked.

"I think so." Weariness was over-
coming me; an unseen hand seemed
to be pressing my eyelids down.

Strange, I remember thinking . . .
something must have happened to
the lights . . . they were growing dim
. . . and dimmer . . . and Ralph's face
was receding into the distance.

I remember thinking that — and then
I stopped thinking.

I was being cradled in strong arms,
lifted and carried in them through
the air — as if I were flying. Against
my cheek I felt the roughness of
tweed . . . and in my dream I felt
so safe, so secure. Oh Greg, Greg,
you've come back, you're with me
again, you do love me ... I whispered
his name.

Then I felt myself being lowered,
and the arms were no longer around
me. My eyes opened. Ralph was
leaning over me, in his face a look of
brooding tenderness.

"No, it's not Greg," he said with
a little smile. "But don't worry —
he'll be here soon. . . . You still love
him, don't you?"

I turned away, pressed my cheek
against the pillow of the sofa where
I was lying. "I don't know, Ralph,"
I confessed miserably. "I — I just can't
believe he could do such a terrible
thing to that woman ... I keep
thinking there must be a mistake."

But there was no mistake. T learned
when Greg arrived in Hollywood.

"I've made an awful mess of
things," he said abjectly. "I know
it — I've known it for months. I had
no real right to marry you — I knew
I'd got my divorce without Beatrice's
knowledge or consent. But I loved
you so. I couldn't let you go. And
I thought Beatrice would be in . . .
that place . . . for the rest of her life."

I looked at him — at his handsome
face, at the dark rings of sleepless-
ness and worry under his eyes, at the
thumb and forefinger tugging ner-
vously at one ear — and I saw him as
a child, incapable of directing his own

life. He was not strong, not wise. He
could not look ahead. And in spite
of all this, knowing his weakness, I
still loved him.

"She wants you back, Greg," I re-
minded him. "She's lonely and ill, and
completely lost in the world without
you. You've treated her abominably."

"I've got you to think of, too," he
went on in a lower tone. "You —
and the baby."

"Oh — " I said. "I can get along
somehow." But even as I spoke I felt
a warm surge of happiness. Since I
met Mrs. Boerland, I had sincerely
been more worried over her problems
than over my own — but it was inex-
pressibly comforting to know that I
was still important to Greg.

"But I don't want you to get along
somehow," he said with concern. "Lis-
ten, darling — I have an idea. Just
give me a little time. I'll send you
out of town — to New York, say — to
have the baby. In the meantime, I'll
get lawyers busy here, to find out a
way of freeing me from Beatrice, and
providing for her. Those things can
always be fixed, you know, if you
get a smart lawyer. I suppose it'll all
come out in the papers, that I'm mar-
ried to Beatrice, but I don't care about
that any longer. Just as long as you
aren't dragged into it. And then we
can get married again — really mar-
ried, this time."

His face was alight with new hope,
his eyes begging me to believe him.

"I've learned my lesson," he in-
sisted. "I'm going to get things all
straightened out this time. Please,
Kay! Just give me time! I've treated
you badly, I know. But you've got
to give me a chance to make up for
what I've done."

"I will, Greg," I said. For I wanted
to believe.

He seized my hand and put it to his
lips, then jumped up. "Now I'll have
to run. I'll see my lawyer and then
I'll come back and we can have din-
ner together." He looked at his watch.
"I'll be back in about an hour."

When he had gone, I stood in the
middle of the room, aimlessly gazing
around me.

I SHOULD have been happy. I hon-
estly believed that Greg would try,
now, to straighten out the mess that
had been made of three lives — his,
mine, and Beatrice Boerland's. I had
been assured once more of his love,
by his eagerness to take me to New
York, care for me.

Yes, I should have been happy. But
I wasn't.

A knock on the door interrupted
me as I was trying to make a list of
the things I must do before I could
leave Hollywood. It was Ralph.

He came in, looking around the
room curiously. "Isn't he here?"

"Greg? He's been here." And then,
more and more haltingly as I watched
his stony face, I told him what we
had decided to do.

He made an impatient gesture
when I finished. "This has got to
stop," he said. "I don't believe a word
of it. Kay, if you let him talk you
into going to New York, he'll let you
down. I know it!"

I couldn't believe my eyes or my
ears. In a flash the kind, easy-going
Ralph I'd always known had changed
into a ragingly angry stranger.

He put both hands on my shoulders
and drew me close, looking down into
my face. "I love you, and I'm not
going to sit back and let you throw

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yourself away on that rotter!"

With a tremendous effort of my will
as well as my body, I twisted away.
"He isn't a rotter!" I cried. "He's
made mistakes, but he's sorry now,
and he's going to repair them. He
promised me, just an hour ago!"

HE was lying to you — and if you
weren't deliberately pulling the
wool over your own eyes, you'd know it ! "

Suddenly I realized we were stand-
ing there in the middle of the room,
shouting at each other at the top of
our voices. I said more quietly,
"Ralph, let's not quarrel. I'm sorry
that you — that you think you love me.
And you know I'm terribly fond of
you. But — Greg is the father of the
baby I'm going to have. I want to be
with him when the baby is born."

"It isn't possible," he insisted. "Greg
will never acknowledge that baby —
or you either. Oh, he may think he
will, now. Maybe he's being per-
fectly honest when he promises to
free himself of his wife and marry
you. But I'll bet he's just playing for
time — stalling because he doesn't
know what else to do. And when it
comes to the showdown, he'll leave
you high and dry."

"I can't believe he'd do that to me!"
I exclaimed.

"If you like," he said quietly, "I'll
prove it. Just as soon as Greg gets
back here."

Half an hour later Greg knocked on
the door, and when I opened it he
rushed in eagerly — to stop short at
sight of Ralph.

"Oh— hello, Mont," he said. "Glad
to see you."

"Let's skip the formalities," Ralph
said, "Kay told me about you two
being married, and about the baby."

Greg cast a reproachful glance at
me but said nothing, and Ralph
went on:

"And I found out something today
that ought to make things a lot easier.
There's a law in this state that makes
it possible for you to go before a
judge and swear that you married
Kay in good faith, not knowing that
your other divorce wasn't legal. The
judge can then declare the baby —
yours and Kay's — legitimate, and an-
nul your rnarriage to Kay. Later, if
you succeed in divorcing your first
wife, you and Kay can remarry."

"Isn't there one thing you've for-
gotten?" Greg asked slowly. "How
about Kay? I didn't want to drag
her name into this mess."

But my relief at hearing that there
was a way to end our troubles quick-
ly, without waiting for long months
of suspense and uncertainty, was so
great that I burst out:

I WON'T mind, Greg. It
■ hurt me — after all, it woi

wouldn't
would all be
legal and aboveboard— "

Greg shook his head. "No, my plan
is better," he said. "It's better for
Kay to go to New York."

"But suppose you can't?" Ralph
insisted. "Suppose it takes longer
than you think to free yourself of
your first wife? Suppose she puts up
a fight? Then Kay's left in New York,
with a baby on its way or already
born, and no husband."

"It won't take that long," Greg said
stubbornly. "And there won't be any
trouble about getting the divorce."

"Are you sure of that?" Ralph
asked. "Or are you just kidding your-
self, because you don't want to ad-
mit publicly that you married Kay
when you already had a wife?"

"I resent that!" Greg flashed at him.
"I don't think I have to explain my
reasons to you — for anything!"

"Maybe not to me — but you should
to Kay," Ralph answered. "Look
here, Greg, this isn't a romantic movie
you're playing a part in. This is real
life, and things aren't going to turn
out right for you just because you
want them to. You've got to get your
teeth into the situation and do some-
thing about it. Don't you know the
hell that Kay would go through, sit-
ting in New York, wondering what
was going to happen, waiting and
waiting — with no assurance in the
world that you'd ever be free so you
could marry her again? You say
there won't be any trouble about get-
ting a divorce from Beatrice, but I'm
not so sure. You're in a spot there,
too. As far as I can see, you haven't
any grounds at all for divorcing her,
and she isn't the kind that'll let you
go without a struggle. But if you'd
do as I say, you could at least make
sure of Kay's security!"

We waited for Greg's answer. I had
a cold feeling in the pit of my
stomach. I knew now that Greg's
next words would tell me plainly
whether he loved me or his career.

"No," he said sullenly. "I won't do
it. If Kay loves me — she'll just have
to trust me, and wait."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I guess you
were right, Ralph. Greg, I'll let you
work things out by yourself. Take
all the time you like. But when you're
finished — I won't be waiting for you."

ALL this happened a month ago. I
1 have been in Dune, the little town
where Greg and I were married, since
then. I came here on Ralph's advice,
to secure a quiet annulment of my

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marriage, and after the court had
freed me I stayed on for a while, un-
willing to return to Hollywood. It is
peaceful here in the midst of the
desert, and I am living with the prin-
cipal of the little school and his wife.
They are kind and understanding, and
although they must be curious about
me, they never ask questions. Before
I leave, I will tell them everything.
I've spent the long hours in writ-
ing down what happened to me, in the
hope that, once these memories have
been transferred to paper, they will
leave my thoughts.

There is only one memory I want
to keep. Ralph's face, bending over
me as I lay on the sofa. I'll never
forget that. I couldn't if I wanted to.

It's three o'clock now, on a Satur-
day afternoon, and I'm glad I have
finished — because in a few minutes
I'll see Ralph's noisy little car come
scuttling up the road from the west.
I want to watch for it, and I want
to be dressed in my best when I see it.

For a very special reason. . . . To-
day is my wedding day, and Ralph
is the bridegroom.

The End

Interrupted Wedding

(Continued from page 36)

..State..

— cars — accidents — none of it seemed
to make sense.

"But Mrs. McCreagh — why don't
you tell her you weren't driving?"

"She knows. I'm sure she knows.
But she doesn't care. She's a mad-
woman, Alice. All she cares about is
that I've got money. Don't you see,
darling, it's a vicious, horrible net?"

VES, I saw. It was a net. Around
* him, and around me. And, in a mo-
ment of intuition, I saw that instead
of helping Bob, my presence hindered
him.

But there must be some way out!
Innocent people, surely, couldn't be
trapped this way. If I could only put
my hand out, grasp the missing key
to the puzzle ... it must exist.

"If you really want to help me,"
Bob was saying, "you'll go home.
Only, whatever happens, believe in
me. Things — " he tried to smile —
"may not be as bad as they look. I
may be back for you in no time at all.
But right now I've got to stay on and
I've got to stay on alone."

"I'll go — right away," I said. "And
I promise, Bob — whatever happens,
— I'll still be waiting."

Quickly he kissed me. "Dearest . . .
darling, good bye," he said.

I walked down the dusty street
toward the railway station. And now
I knew that in spite of his false op-
timism, Bob had lost all hope. If the
net had been a real one, made of rope,
Bob could have burst through it with
his glorious strength; but it was a net
of lies, a gossamer net whose strands
had been spun by Mrs. McCreagh.

Somewhere that net had its weak
point — but where?

There wasn't another train east for
I three hours, so I stepped into the
shadowy drug store for a cool drink.
It was empty except for the clerk,
and he was hungry for conversation.
It wasn't hard to lead our casual talk
to Bob Borden and Georgia McCreagh.

"Nice fella, Borden," the clerk said.
"We all liked him real well when he
was working on our new bridge a
while back. But I must say Mrs. Mc-
Creagh gave the town the surprise of
its life yesterday when she said Bob
had come back to marry Georgia.

"Around here," the clerk was con-
tinuing lazily, "we always figured
Georgia and Sam Burton would get
hitched."

I set my glass down carefully on the
marble counter, my hand shaking. Of
course! Here was the weak spot in the
web, the key to the puzzle — Sam
Burton. "Is he a Harmony man?" I
asked casually.

"Sure — works at the garage down
the road."

74

Careful not to hurry, I paid my
check and strolled out of the store —
but my thoughts were racing ahead
of me, to the ugly garage on the
corner.

It seemed deserted when I got there.
I peeked into the littered interior;
from somewhere in the back came a
sound of pounding. Then, going closer,
I saw the figure of a young man in
dirty overalls, bending over a tire.

"Are you Sam Burton?" I asked.

He straightened up and turned to
look at me. I don't know what I'd ex-
pected— a wicked-looking brute, I
suppose — but he was only a sandy-
haired, blue-eyed boy, about twenty-
two, with an unhappy mouth.

"Yes," he said, cautiously.

"I'm Alice Drake," I said. "I'm the
girl who was being married to Bob
Borden two days ago, when Mrs. Mc-
Creagh stopped the wedding."

"Yeah?" he said. "I didn't know
about that." He bent once more to the
tire.

"Won't you help me?" I cried above
the sound of his renewed hammering.
"They're saying now that Bob's going
to marry Georgia McCreagh."

He dropped the hammer with a
clatter. "Look here, lady," he said
angrily, "I don't know what you're
talking about. It's none of my busi-
ness who marries who."

I burst out at him: "It is your busi-
ness! You're in love with Georgia
yourself — and you were driving the
car the night she was hurt!"

WHO told you that?" And now I
saw that he wasn't sure of him-
self at all — he was only a frightened,
unhappy boy.

"Nobody," I said. "I guessed it."

"Well, it — it isn't true," he mum-
bled. Somehow, I knew he was lying.

"You're afraid to speak the truth!"
I accused him. "Well, I'm not. I'm
going up to the court house right now
and lodge a complaint against you!"

For a second I was afraid my bluff
wouldn't work — for it had been sheer-
est, most desperate bluff. But as I
turned to go, his grimy hand grasped
my arm.

"Lady — don't do that!"

"Will you tell me the truth then?"

He gulped. "Yes. I was driving the
car, all right. Bob hired it, and pre-
tended to Mrs. McCreagh that he was
taking Georgia out — just so Georgia
and me could see each other without
Mrs. McCreagh knowing. I was driv-
ing, but I was so glad to see Georgia
I guess — I guess I was looking at her,
not the road . . ."

"And then when I saw Georgia
lying there, after the accident — I lost
my head. I thought she was dead. I

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didn't know what to do. And Bob said
for me to go home and he'd take care
of everything."

"Come with me!" I cried. "We've
got to tell Mrs. McCreagh!"

And then, with his next words, I
realized for the first time how much
harm the wrong conception of no-
bility can do. Until then, Mrs. Mc-
Creagh had been my enemy, with her
evil strength — -but now I saw that the
real enemy was Sam Burton, with his
weakness that made him willing to
destroy himself — and Bob — and me —
and the girl he loved.

"No!" he said stubbornly. "I'm not
telling anybody else but you. I want
Georgia to marry Bob. She's got to
have doctors, and treatment, and I
can't give them to her. So I won't do
anything to break up that marriage."

I felt helpless, bound hand and foot.
Salvation was so near — the whole
puzzle was spread out, solved if this
stubborn man with his twisted ideas
of chivalry would only let it be solved.

"You're a fool!" I told him. "How
happy do you suppose Georgia's going
to be, married to a man she doesn't
love? It doesn't matter how well he
can take care of her — she'll be miser-
able! And you'll be miserable, too —
and Bob — and me! Four lives torn to
pieces — just because you won't tell the
truth — because you want to dodge the
responsibility of marrying a crippled
girl and taking care of her — "

Suddenly his eyes were blazing in
the pallor of his face. "You take that
back!" he said tensely. "I'm not
dodging any responsibility!"

YOU are! You are! If you weren't,
you'd tell the truth!"

There was a long silence, there in
the dusty garage. I saw his jaw mus-
cles working. "All right," he said at
last. "You win. If you can fight this
way for the guy you love, I guess I
can fight for Georgia."

Together we set out for Mrs. Mc-
Creagh's.

She opened the door for us herself
and, though she tried to bar his way,
Sam brushed past her into Georgia's
room.

"Sam's going to marry Georgia him-
self, Mrs. McCreagh," I told her. "And
he's going to tell the truth, if you
make any more trouble."

Her hand went to her throat. Her
pale eyes stared into mine. Then they
dropped. She turned and went silent-
ly out of the room.

The door of Georgia's room was
flung open, and Bob came out. One
sight of his face told me that the
nightmare was at an end.

"How did you find out about Sam?"
he demanded.

"I'll answer that question later
on," I said. "Right now, Bob Borden,
I should think you'd have the decency
to take me home to our minister, so
he could finish the ceremony he began
the other day. Remember?"

Bob didn't answer. He sat down and
began writing a check. "Just a min-
ute," he said. "I've made myself re-
sponsible for Georgia's doctor bills.
And I'm going to see about a better
job for Sam later on. But right now
I want to leave this, for them — for a
wedding present."

He tucked the check in Georgia's
door and came back and folded me in
eager arms. "What's all this nonsense
you're talking about going back home
to be married?" he asked. "Just as if
I'd wait that long? Just as if there
weren't ministers in Harmony?"

Keep |nacpfo.n.t£ty ^ne&k
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75

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47

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FARR'S FOR GRAY HAIR

Is Your Husband Really a Bargain?

{Continued from page 19)

Your Husband's Box Score

23 No's — He's too perfect to be
human.

18-23 No's — Aren't you sometimes
afraid of him?

12-18 No's — He's a real bargain.

9-12 No's — No bargain, but worth
the money.

5-9 No's — He begins to look doubt-
ful.

0-5 No's — You have our sympathy.

Don't grade yourself on this next
quiz. Just answer its questions,
marking down a yes or no after each
one. And when you've finished, com-
pare your answers with those on the
first quiz. I'll wager that you'll find
a fault in yourself to correspond with
at least half of your husband's faults.

1. Do you make an effort to take
an interest in your husband's work,
and listen attentively to his troubles?

2. Are you careful never to accept
invitations to see people that your
husband doesn't find congenial?

3. Do you budget your household
and personal allowances, and keep to
the budget?

4. Do you see to it that your rela-
tives, including your parents, do not
enter your home or your life any
more than is absolutely necessary?

5. Are you careful to give him his
way in small things which make his
life more pleasant, even though they
aren't really any of his business —
the way you keep the house or the
color of your nail polish?

6. Do you make a real effort to keep
your mind keen and alert, well-in-
formed on all the subjects which in-
terest him, so that you won't be left
behind while he forges ahead?

7. Do you make a point of telling
him how handsome he looks when-
ever he's just had a haircut and put
on his best suit?

8. When he takes one drink too
many, do you let next morning's
headache be his only punishment, or
do you add a few reminders of his sin
on your own account?

9. When you're out in the car to-
gether, do you do too much "back seat
driving?"

10. Are you careful to give him the
impression that no matter how much
you love the children, you love him
a great deal more, and that the chil-
dren are something that belong to
you both, as partners?

11. Realizing that men don't like
anything that cramps their style, can

you enjoy yourself at a party without
making him dance attendance on you?

12. Though you are convinced that
golf (or baseball or some other hobby
of his) is silly, do you humor his en-
thusiasm for it, and find some per-
sonal interest of your own which you
can pursue while he's on the links?

13. Are you always ready on time
when the two of you are going some-
where together, or do you make such
a practice of being late that you give
him an excuse to dawdle too?

14. If your husband doesn't like to
look at shop windows, are you consid-
erate enough to do most of your win-
dow-shopping when you are alone?

15. When your husband talks about
the girls he used to know, do you re-
member that you're the girl he mar-
ried?

16. Do you flatter him by deferring
to his taste in women's clothes, hav-
ing them sent home on approval so
he can see them before you plunk out
the cash?

17. Do you see to it that there are
plenty of ash trays around the house,
and that they are all large enough to
do their duty properly, remembering
there is nothing a man hates as much
as a postage-stamp size ash tray; and
if he smokes a pipe, do you provide
him with a special big ash tray with
a post for him to knock the pipe
against?

18. Do you tactfully and subtly re-
mind him that a birthday or wedding
anniversary is imminent a week or so
before it is due, thereby sparing him
the embarrassment of forgetting it?

19. Have you complained so often
about the amount of work you do at
home that he's developed an immu-
nity to the subject, and doesn't hear
you any more, out of self-defense?

20. Do you use reasonable judg-
ment at night in telling him the
events of your day — or do you just
tell all endlessly?

21. Do you respect his likes and
dislikes in the way of friends, and
make arrangements to see people he
doesn't like at times when he's busy
somewhere else?

22. Do you make a note after every
argument you have with him that
such-and-such a subject is a dan-
gerous one, to be avoided if possible?

23. Do you give him the trust you
expect him to give you, so that if he
comes home later than you expect
him, you take it for granted that he
had good and sufficient reasons for
the delay, even if he doesn't explain
them at once?

"TRUE OR FALSE?"

1. FALSE.

ANSWERS

Loretta Young played with Don Ameche in "The Story of Alexander Gra-
ham Bell." In this scene, Alice Faye played with Don in "Alexander's Rag-
time Band."

2. FALSE. Seersucker is a thin striped fabric.

3. FALSE. They're made of cotton.

4. FALSE. He played the detective, Nick Charles. The title role of the scientist

was played by Edward Ellis.

5. FALSE. It's a type of couch usually found in bedrooms. The phrase literally

means "long chair."

6. FALSE. He is the master of ceremonies of the "True or False?" program. Walter

Hagen is the golf professional.

7. FALSE. A "dead mike" is a disconnected microphone.

8. TRUE. It is a very tender steak. (This name, which is of American origin, is said

to have originated when Charles Dickens was served an excellent steak
during his tour of America by a tavern keeper named Porter.)

9. FALSE. Parchesi is a parlor game. Parmesan cheese is often used as a garnish.
10. TRUE. It's a short jacket, with or without sleeves. It's also a Spanish dance.

76

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This Old Treatment Often
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Frequent or scanty passages with smarting and
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An excess of acids or poisons in your blood, when
due to functional kidney disorders, may be the cause
of nagging backache, rheumatic pains, leg pains, loss
of pep and energy, getting up nights, swelling, puffi-
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*\

Eleanor Roosevelt —
Radio's Favorite Guest

(Continued from page 17)

before November, 1932, when the
National Broadcasting Company made
a date with her. She was then just
the wife of one of the presidential
candidates. But when the calendar
had swung around to the appointed
time, the American people had made
her their First Lady.

She kept her date with NBC,
though. She appeared in their studios
at exactly the hour arranged weeks
before. When she arrived, the studio
looked like an over-active movie set.
Newsreel cameras leered at her from
every angle. Newspaper cameramen
with flashlight bulbs, set to explode,
crouched and weaved in and around
microphones. But they didn't disturb
Mrs. Roosevelt's gentle poise.

AFTER the broadcast, she posed for
'^as many pictures as the photog-
raphers wanted. They used hundreds
of feet of film and bulbs. It was hot in
that studio, too. But she just patted
her forehead with a tiny handkerchief,
smoothed her hair and took whatever
poses the boys wanted. After they
were all finished, Margaret Cuthbert,
head of NBC's Women's Department,
walked over to Mrs. Roosevelt and,
very apologetically, said:

"Mrs. Roosevelt, I hate to ask you
to take more pictures — but NBC
would like to take some of you in our
own studio. Would it be asking too
much to come down to our photo-
graph department now?"

The First Lady smiled: "Miss Cuth-
bert, if you're worried because you
think those pictures which were just
taken are not good, that doesn't
matter. But if you want other pic-
tures of me taken by your own pho-
tographer, I'll be glad to do it."

And because Miss Cuthbert said
NBC would like to have its own
photographs, Mrs. Roosevelt went un-
complainingly through another thirty
minutes or so of posing under hot
blinding studio lights.

After working with her for almost
seven years, the networks still marvel
at the down-to-earth simplicity and
understanding of the First Lady. She
is far easier to reach, for example,
than most radio or Hollywood stars.
To obtain her for a program, both
NBC and CBS usually write her
directly at the White House. Within a
day or so, an answer, in which she
either accepts the invitation or ex-
plains why she can't, comes back. CBS
sometimes, too, contacts her through
its Washington department but .that's
only for convenience's sake.

A few months ago Miss Cuthbert
wanted her for a program. She knew
that Mrs. Roosevelt was in New York.
When she is in Manhattan alone she
usually stays at the apartment of
Melvina Thompson, her assistant.

There is no way of reaching Miss
Thompson's apartment by 'phone. But
an intimate of the White House had
told Miss Cuthbert that all important
messages would be delivered to Miss
Thompson by the florist who has a
shop near her apartment. The NBC
executive asked the neighborhood
flower dealer to pass on her request
to Miss Thompson. In five minutes,
Miss Cuthbert's office 'phone rang. It
was not Miss Thompson calling back
— it was Mrs. Roosevelt herself!

7 SECOND

MYSTERY

STORY

HERE'S HOW she does it. She's
learned the secret many busy peo-
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around with you.You'll always find
it refreshing and restful. ^

Beech -Nut

GOING TO THE N. Y. WORLD'S FAIR ?

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there. If you're driving, we would be delighted
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Beech-Nut products are made.

SEPTEMBER, 1939

77

NEW THRILLS

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WERY often Mrs. Roosevelt appears
" on the air at the request of various
organizations and charities. They, too,
write directly to the White House.
Even if it means keeping on the go
night and day, she does her best to
help every worth while cause — from
national charities to local youth or-
ganizations. Since 1932, she has been
heard on NBC 95 times and almost as
often on CBS.

Once she agrees to speak for an
organization, the networks are called
by the group and asked for time on
the air. From then until the broad-
cast, one letter to Mrs. Roosevelt giv-
ing the time, place and subject is
enough. She has never been late for
a program, has never missed a cue,
has never run over the time set aside
for her.

There was the time three years
ago when Mrs. Roosevelt was in
New York to appear as mistress of
ceremonies on a peace program. It
was an important broadcast and its
subject was close to the heart of the
First Lady. When she arrived, eight
minutes before broadcast time, she
seemed as gracious and collected as
always. She looked particularly
lovely that night in a black gown.

She spent her eight minutes learn-
ing the names and background of the
eight people she was to introduce. It
was a half-hour program and she
conducted it perfectly. After it was
all over, officials rushed up to con-
gratulate her. Her explanation of why
she had to hurry away caused them to
look at her with a new kind of ad-
miration and respect. On her way to
the studio a telegram had come tel-
ling her that her sons James and
Franklin had been in an automobile
crash in Boston. She still had no idea
how badly they were hurt. Yet there
was no time to find out — she had con-
cealed a mother's burning anxiety to
do what she could for a great hu-
manitarian cause.

All network special events men
have worn their nerves ragged won-
dering whether a scheduled speaker
will show up at the last minute. They
have long since ceased worrying about
Mrs. Roosevelt. She has never can-
celled a broadcast which she has
promised to make. Usually, too, when
the networks are dealing with some
unusual personage they have to bother
about escorts and special studios. But
with the First Lady, the broadcasters
forget all their worries.

She comes to the studios alone. No
state troopers hovering in the back-
ground, no anxious brood of secre-
taries. A cab drops her at one of the
entrances and she boards any elevator
that happens to be ready to go up.

Usually, she broadcasts from the
network studios in New York or
Washington. Most of the broadcasts,
naturally, come from the capital.
When some special occasion doesn't
permit the using of CBS's station
WJSV or NBC's WRC-WMAL there,
the pick-up is made from the White
House. The Old Diplomatic Reception
Room has been permanently wired for
radio equipment and is always used
for the President's fireside chats.
Microphones are set up there for his
wife, too. Occasionally, though, her
voice is picked up from her sitting
room or the portico and then the radio
engineers merely string a few extra
feet of wire down the White House
halls.

When in New York, she uses any
one of the NBC studios that is most

78

convenient. But, over at CBS, they
have a special room for visiting dig-
nitaries. It's called, by an odd coin-
cidence, the Blue Room and was de-
signed by Mrs. William S. Paley, wife
of the CBS president. The Blue Room
is completely different from every
other radio studio. It looks exactly
like a comfortable, luxurious living
room. When Mrs. Paley originally de-
signed it, everything in it was a sooth-
ing shade of blue. She re-decorates
fairly often, though, and now it has a
combination of blue, gray and green
colors.

The idea of the Blue Room, obvi-
ously, is to immediately chase away
any symptoms of mike-fright. There
is even a framed picture which can
be swung into place to conceal the
small control room from nervous
eyes. No one has yet caught the First
Lady with a case of air-jitters, but
CBS likes to have her use its special
Blue Room, anyhow.

Mrs. Roosevelt possesses one radio
virtue broadcasters always admire:
she is able to speak ad-lib — without
notes or script — perfectly. Carleton
Smith, NBC's Washington presiden-
tial announcer, recalls one occasion
when the First Lady turned the page
of her script — and found the next
page missing. She ad-libbed perfectly
until a harried production man finally
found the absent section.

DACK in February, 1936, Mrs. Roose-
'-' velt appeared as mistress of cere-
monies on America's Town Meeting of
the Air. The discussion that night was
to center around the youth problem —
"Young America Looks Forward."
There were four other speakers. The
first three talks were rather dull and
audience and listeners had settled
down to a listless sort of attention.
But interest perked up when Mrs.
Roosevelt introduced Mrs. Eugene
Meyer, staunch Republican and a
bitter enemy of the Roosevelt admin-
istration. Mrs. Meyer spoke caustically
and pulled no punches. As she lashed
out at the National Youth Adminis-
tration and the WPA, sections of the
audience booed. Mrs. Roosevelt stood
up and waved down the booers with
her hands. She did this three times.
During most of Mrs. Meyer's attack,
the First Lady took notes.

George Denny, conductor of the
program, looked a little worried dur-
ing the talk. He hadn't quite antici-
pated such hectic events. He kept his
eye on Mrs. Meyer and, as soon as
she finished he rushed over to sign
off the program as gracefully as pos-
sible. But Mrs. Roosevelt beat him to
the microphone. She clasped Mrs.
Meyer's hand and publicly thanked
her for her suggestions. After Denny
had signed off, she told Mrs. Meyer
that she had carefully made notes
and would carry a report back to
Washington.

There were seasoned newspapermen
in that audience. They were even
more stunned than Mrs. Meyer.

As Mrs. Roosevelt started to leave
the auditorium, a policeman came up
to her:

"Mrs. Roosevelt, there's a tremen-
dous crowd out front waiting for you.
But I've cleared the back way and
you can get right away."

Her answer is a complete revelation
of the character of the simple, unas-
suming woman who is America's First
Lady. She smiled as she said:

"Oh, Spinach — I'm going the front
way."

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

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SEPTEMBER, 1939

Facing the Music

{Continued from page 40)

DYNAMITE IN RHYTHM

DYNAMITE in rhythm is the best
way to describe the powerful
musical hi-jinks concocted by Glenn
Miller, latest of the swing scions to
shoot up like a World's Fair comet in
the favor of the nation's jitterbugs.

This syncopated strength was not
inherited overnight. It is the pent-up
musical emotion garnered through the
years by the slim, bespectacled wes-
terner who looks like Benny Good-
man and talks like Don Bestor.

Glenn is not new in the band busi-
ness. Most of his thirty years have
been spent in it.

Around radio row Glenn is rated
as a musician's musician. The Nor-
vos, Nelsons, Nobles knew him but
you didn't. Tucked behind a shiny
trombone was Glenn, his head spin-
ning with arrangements and plans
that were years ahead of their time.

The futuristic arrangements that
Glenn devised were carefully tucked
away in the back of his long head.
The mechanical ones were sold to
Goodman, Dorsey, Casa Loma, and
others.

The big-shot bandleaders always
took Glenn into their confidence. He
was a good listener. The assorted
maestros liked that type. Glenn was
sympathetic and more than that,
awfully helpful.

"Glenn, if I could just find a good
tenor sax man what a band I would
have," was a typical plaint that
reached Miller's ears.

Stamping out a burning cigarette,
Miller would answer softly: "I'll see
what I can do about getting you
Tony."

Next day Tony would be working
for a new band.

MILLER'S miraculous ability to spot
ace musicians in orchestras spread
across radio row. He was enormously
helpful in organizing the Dorsey
Brothers band, enlisted Ray McKin-
ley, the drummer, Skeets Herford,
tenor sax, and Don Mattison, trom-
bone. When Ray Noble came to the
United States he could not bring his
English-born musicians. So Ray
sought out Miller, the band-maker,
made him key arranger and assis-
tant leader. Glenn accepted, started
his methodical tour of Lindy's, Dave's
Blue Room, rehearsal halls and
broadcasting studios, and formed
Noble's American band.

Miller stayed with Noble several
years. Then he went back to radio
work as a trombonist.

His reputation grew but strictly in
the profession. He was still just a
good trombonist in a very neat tuxedo
to the average dancer.

Most bandleaders will tell you that
they got the idea to lead their own
band out of a clear blue sky, and
quicker than you can say "Paul
Whiteman" they were waving a baton.

Not Miller.

"I've always wanted to lead a band
— but lead the kind of a band that
would mean something. I could have
started ten years ago. So what? It
would never have meant a thing and
I'd still be playing every honkey tonk
this side of Passaic. I kept thinking
about it, working it out in my mind.
The arrangements I couldn't sell other
leaders because they sounded too

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revolutionary I kept for myself. Any
musical tricks I concocted became my
own secret."

That secret began after Glenn left
the University of Colorado, a timid
student from the mid-west. Glenn
worked his way through school play-
ing in a band.

It seems every good musician has
worked at some time or other with
Ben Pollack. Glenn was no exception.
He played alongside Gene Krupa and
Benny Goodman. Pollack came east
from California and Glenn went with
him. In those pre-swing days Glenn
was already playing real swing. Few
knew it. The great Bix Beiderbecke
knew and he hired Glenn to work
with him on phonograph records. So
did the Dorseys, Casa Loma, and Red
Nichols.

ABOUT a year ago Glenn organized
'his own band. This time grateful
bandleaders whom Glenn had helped,
played turn-a-bout. Goodman recom-
mended Hal Maclntyre, an alto man,
and he was the first to join the 15-
man personnel. "Chummy" Mac-
Gregor, a fine composer and pianist,
was next. "Texas" Beneke, a come-
dian and tenor sax star, came next to
form the nucleus. They are still with
Miller.

Although the style of the band was
perfected shortly and Glenn soon had
a library of important arrangements,
his unit was far from ready for the
big-time. He played such places as the
Paradise Restaurant where the floor
show always over-shadows the band-
stand, Atlantic Ci+v, Asbury Park,
and Wildwood, N. J.

Bookers showed mild interest so
Glenn kept polishing. Effort was
placed on the brass section and
rhythm department. Lovely, blonde
Marion Hutton, sister of jitterbug
Betty, and Ray Eberle, whose brother
Bob sings with Jimmy Dorsey, were
hired.

Last winter Glenn returned to the
Paradise. But this time he had a radio
wire, the oasis in the floor show
desert.

Styled directly as a dance band,
Glenn's versatility made it possible
for jitterbugs as well as dance fans
to acclaim this music. The power shot
like a bolt from coast to coast. His
five-man sax section — the "saxotones"
— in which the clarinetist takes the
lead — is the star style item, and the
one that got people talking about
Miller.

For the "pretty tunes," as Miller
calls them, he innovated the "brass
choir," — a combination of three trum-
pets and three trombones.

All saxotone and brass choir tunes
are arranged by Miller. But that's
hardly enough. Bill Finnegan, a Jer-
sey killer-diller, supplies other ar-
rangements.

The important dates followed
quickly.

Then to Glenn came the plum sum-
mer spot in the east — Glen Island
Casino. To up-and-coming bandlead-
ers Glen Island has more tradition
than Buckingham Palace. From this
roadside retreat in New York, the
Dorseys, Casa Loma, Ozzie Nelson and
Larry Clinton went on to major vic-
tories. If you're a good boy they give
you five broadcast shots a week.
Buckingham Palace can give you only
the Changing of the Guard.

Off the bandstand Glenn is more
like a college professor. I guess you
have to blame his glasses for that im-
pression. He is married to the girl he

80

"fell for" on the college campus.

Unlike most bandleaders I've met,
Miller's favorite form of dancer is the
jitterbug, but he won't play for them
all night.

Plans for the future are particu-
larly rosey. He goes into the Para-
mount theater, New York, in mid-
September. Now you can hear him
over NBC from the Glen Island Ca-
sino in Westchester, New York. That
man you see engaging Miller in long
and serious conversations between
dance sets, is from an advertising
agency representing a large cigarette
company.

The initials missing in Glenn Mil-
ler's name are T.N.T.

OFF THE RECORD
Some Like It Sweet

Whistlin' In the Wildwood; Boom

(Decca 2449) Guy Lombardo — The kind
of tunes Lombardo plays best.

In the Middle of a Dream; You Grow
Sweeter (Victor 26226) Tommy Dorsey
— Jack Leonard blends his baritone
with the Dorsey trombone for a smooth
doubleheader in wax.

A Fool and His Honey are Soon
Parted; You Grow Sweeter (Brunswick
8359) Eddy Duchin— The Radio Mirror
popularity winner shows off Oscar
Levant's latest tune. The composer is
known to radio listeners for his "In-
formation Please" puns.

How Warm It Is the Weather; My
Heart Ran Away (Vocalion 4819)
Mitchell Ayres — An inventive band
fashions warm weather rhythms on a
better than average tune. Nice croon-
ing by Mary Ann Mercer.

Lady Needs a Change; Honorable
Mr. So-and-So (Victor 26242) Gray
Gordon — Brightest lyrics of the month
on the front side. The reverse strikes
these ears like that old favorite, "Bill."

And the Angels Sing; S'posin (Decca
2413) Bing Crosby — Now listen to Bing
carol this hit tune and throw in a
sentimental oldie for good luck.

Yours for a Song; I Can Read Be-
tween the Lines (Vocalion 4818) Red
Norvo — The stilted, serious vocalist
Terry Allen comes through like a Boy
Scout on these two tunes. Sensible
rhythms by xylophonist Norvo.

Some Like It Swing

Sheik of Araby; Persian Rug (Bruns-
wick 8370) Jack Teagarden — A swing
Sheik that has no connection with
Valentino, but is certainly as torrid.
Watch this Teagarden trombone troupe.

Rose of Washington Square; I Never
Knew Heaven Could Speak (Decca
2464) Bob Crosby — A fine example of
solid swing, fringed with Dixieland
tempo and professional warbling by
Marion Mann.

Runnin' Wild; But It Didn't Mean a
Thing (Bluebird B10269A) Glenn Mil-
ler. The swing sides of the month.
Dancing dynamite.

Snug As a Bug; You're So Indiff'rent
(Bluebird B10215) Art Shaw. Not the
top-drawer Shaw but still acceptable.
Tony Pastor contributes a jig-saw puz-
zle lyric. Plenty of clarinet ranges.

Rock, Rock, Rock-a-bye Baby; How
Much You Can Suffer (Decca 2414)
Andrew Sisters — The World of Tomor-
row mother will probably swing her
offspring to sleep like the Andrew Sis-
ters. A jitterbug lullaby that will bring
down, cradle, house, and the neighbors.

Opus y4 ; Sugar (Victor 26240) Benny
Goodman — The Goodman Quartet comes
out of hiding for a neat rendition remi-
niscent of past efforts. Not for dance
enthusiasts.

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What's New from Coast to
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(Continued from page 6)

busy dating up every pretty girl he
meets.

ife * *

Mary Mason, who plays Nancy, Dr.
Susan's niece in the CBS serial, Life
and Love of Dr. Susan, has discovered
a new kind of skeleton in her closet.
One of those firms which make a
specialty of investigating family trees
has found out that Mary's ancestry
goes back to Welsh kings of the Fifth
Century — and also that one of her
forebears was burned in New Eng-
land as a witch. Mary says it can't be
hereditary — she never has any de-
sire to ride a broomstick around
Hallowe'en time.

* * *

Pat Friday, the seventeen-year-old
singer who is on Bing Crosby's pro-
gram while the Old Groaner takes his
vacation, was such a sensation after
her first appearance on the show that
she'd hardly gone off the air when
agents and managers began besieging
her with contracts. She turned them
all down, which was right in the Pat
Friday tradition — because she started
out by turning down Bing himself.

Bing happened to be in a Beverly
Hills night club one amateur night,
and heard Pat then. After her song,
he asked her if she'd like to be his
guest on the Kraft Music Hall — and
Pat said no thanks, it would take too
much time away from her studies at
the University of California. Bing,
startled and very much intrigued, sent
his brother and manager, Everett, to
renew the attack. Pat still insisted
that she'd do nothing to interfere with
her school work, but finally she said
she'd sing for them during the sum-
mer vacation, and that's the basis on
which they finally signed her up for
fourteen weeks. Then her radio debut
was delayed three weeks because she
had a cold — but Larry Crosby pointed
out that this was a good omen because
Bing's own radio debut, back in the
old days, had been delayed precisely
that length of time for precisely the
same reason. And look where Bing
is now.

Here are two more things you'd
like to know about the people on the
Kraft Music Hall. Lucille Ball, a
recent guest star, mystified every-
body by demanding that two of the
funniest lines in the script be cut out,
or she wouldn't go on the air. She had
her way, to everyone's mystified dis-
gust— and then revealed that she'd
undergone an appendicitis operation
only ten days before, and knew that
if the lines were left in the audience
would laugh, and they'd make her
laugh — and that would hurt her side
. . . Bazooka-tooter Bob Burns has
been ordered by his physician to con-
fine his practicing on the famous in-
strument to ten minutes a week. It's
so hard to play that it puts a dan-
gerous strain on his heart, the doctor
told him. On the other hand, maybe
the doctor is only a lover of good
music.

This never happened to me, and
now that I know its significance, I'm
glad it didn't. Edgar Bergen used to
study osteopathy — which, in case
you're not up on your medical terms,
(Continued on page 83)

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SEPTEMBER, 1939

81

The beauty-wise woman will
see that her hands are well
groomed. Joan Edwards, who
plays and sings for Paul
Whiteman, tells how it's done.

IF you really want to know about
a woman, watch her hands, not
her face. Are they well groomed?
Youthful? Smart? Interesting? If
she is really beauty-wise, they are.

Meet Joan Edwards, concert pian-
ist, singer, and all-around musician.
There is a regular girl for you! She
was born and bred to music. Her
father is a music publisher, and her
uncle is the famous Gus Edwards.
After a thorough training in har-
mony, theory, and general musical
principles, she went to Hunter Col-
lege. While she was there, in addi-
tion to a full college curriculum, she
directed the glee club and broadcast
regularly. Now you may hear her
lovely voice over the radio, with the
Paul Whiteman hour, on the Ches-
terfield program, over CBS.

Hands? Joan has very definite
ideas about hands. Hers are the mu-
sician's hands, beautifully formed,
flexible and expressive. She al-
ways carries hand lotion or hand
cream with her, and frequently rubs
down her subtle, powerful pianist
fingers. They are not pointed fingers
(creative artists seldom have that
type). Long nails and piano keys
do not go together.

If Joan could do as she pleases,
she says she would wear her nails

Dr. GRACE GREGORY

long, and color them with all the
smartest shades — a different color to
harmonize with every costume.

One of the most alluring touches
in modern beauty culture is the col-
oring of the nails in jewel-like tints
that accent the hands. Only, if you
are going to call attention to your
hands, be sure to do it correctly.
There are a wide variety of beauti-
ful shades of nail polish from which
to choose. Keep several in your
manicure kit, and select the right
one for the right occasion. In gen-
eral, the natural shades are best for
the older woman and for the work-

RADIO MIRROR

a-day manicure. The deep, rich
shades of red are charming for
dress-up at any time, and especially
for evening, provided you select the
one that goes best with your cos-
tume and your coloring.

Hands that are accented by color-
ful polish must be exquisitely kept.
Use a water softener and a mild
soap whenever your hands go into
water. Keep a hand cream or hand
lotion ready for use afterwards. And
in cutting, shape the long nails so
that they taper the fingers without
going to a claw-like extreme.

CUTICLE CARE

M EVER, never cut the cuticle! To
do so makes it harsh and ragged,
and is quite unnecessary. If you
use hand lotions or hand creams as
frequently as you should, the cuticle
remains soft, and is easily pushed
back with an orange-wood stick.
There is a special cream for cuticle
softening, which should be used
generously whenever you manicure.
After the cuticle has been gently
pushed back, dip the orange-wood
stick into cuticle remover, and get
rid of any bit of skin that may have
clung to the nail. Do not try to
scrape away cuticle with a metal
remover. You will bruise the nail.

8?

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

(Continued from page 81)

is the science of treating diseases by
manipulating the patient's bones. He
still uses this knowledge on himself.
When he's tired he takes the top of his
head in his left hand, his chin in his
right, and gives his head a sudden
twist that makes every bone in his
spine crack loudly and frightens spec-
tators into conniption fits. Edgar
claims the process relaxes his throat
muscles and helps him in his job of
making Charlie McCarthy talk, but
the truth is he uses it more often dur-
ing interviews and conferences as a
signal to his secretary, Mary Harahan.
When Mary sees him grab his head
and chin, and hears a crack, she
knows that he's calling for help —
he's tired of talking and wants her to
break things up, on any pretext, and
give him a chance to get away.

NEW ORLEANS— Years ago when
Beverly Brown was a teacher in an
Iowa country school house he cer-
tainly didn't dream that some day
he'd be drawing on his experiences for
radio. Yet today listeners to New
Orleans' WWL know Bev as the kind
and patient master of The Little Red
School House, heard every Saturday
night.

There aren't many programs like
The Little Red School House, which
is built on the theory that Saturday-
night listeners would appreciate
something a little "different." Its
broadcasts vividly depict the happen-
ings in any little school house of
seventy-five years ago, when boys
and girls trudged barefoot to study,
carrying tin dinner buckets, pencil and
slate, McGuffey Readers and Blue
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calico and overalls. The listeners
write in, giving school-day experi-
ences of their own, and a cash prize
is awarded for the best incident
broadcast each week.

After Bev stopped teaching he
drifted into dramatic work, and be-
came director of the Atlanta Little
Theater. In the line of duty, about
eight years ago, he was called on to
read a script in the character of Santa
Claus, over the air. He was so real-
istic that a department store hired
him to publicize old Saint Nick, and
since then he's spent six months of
every year writing and acting in
Santa Claus scripts which are re-
corded and broadcast all over the
United States, Canada and Mexico.
Besides, he is WWL's official continu-
ity director.

Bev's intimate friends call him
"Baldy," and he loves work and cig-
arettes. He doesn't indulge the latter
hobby, though, because he swore off
lor a while and discovered he began
gaining weight he badly needed.

CINCINNATI— One of the country's
oldest radio stations celebrated its
birthday here recently. It is WSAI,
which has been continuously on the
air since 1923. Founded by the Ameri-
can Playing Card Company, WSAI
was later purchased by the Crosiey
Corporation, its present owner, and
Powel Crosiey, Jr., president of the
company, was one of the principal
speakers on the anniversary program.

The master of ceremonies on the
show was Stewart Finley, youthful
WSAI announcer, who was just four
years old when the station broad-
cast its first program back in 1923!

SEPTEMBER, 1939

*Romance for Andrea
Leeds and David Niven
in the Samuel Goldwyn
production "THE REAL
GLORY." Her soft hands
appeal! Read (below)
how Jergens helps you.

Sun, Wind, Wafer often make HANDS
look older. Worth while to prevent this

You can have "Hollywood Hands" —
thrillingly soft, smooth as satin! Just
don't let wind and water dry out the skin.

Supplement the depleted natural mois-
ture by using Jergens Lotion. So marvelous
for helping beautify your
hands. Many doctors — to
help soften harsh, rough skin
— use 2 of the very ingredi-
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Regular use of this fragrant
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Lor/ort

NEW! For Smooth Complexion —
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skin. 500,250, IOC, at beauty counters.

No stickiness! Such a simple, quick way to
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Only 50& 25& 10^, — $1.00 for the extra
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CUPID'S
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See — at our expense — how Jergens Lotion helps you have
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Name-

Street-

City-

^State.

83

Left, canned salmon plays the main role in these attractive
canapes. Below, a meal in itself, Curried Salmon in Cabbage.

MAKE I

I'VE never been sure whether or
not the belief that fish is a brain
food is really founded on fact,
but here is one fact I am sure of:
the brainiest women of today — the
wisest housewives and the smart-
est hostesses — have set the seal of
their approval on one kind of fish —
rich, tender, rosy canned salmon.
They are serving it in a variety of
ways — as it comes from the can, ice
cold and garnished with lemon
slices; in sandwiches and salads, or
in the form of the curried salmon in
cabbage pictured above.

Men, too, prefer salmon. Conrad
Nagel, well known Hollywood star,
now master of ceremonies on the
Alec Templeton program, over NBC,
makes a point of serving hot sal-
mon hors d'oeuvres with cocktails.
They're called Cockleburs and you'll
see them impaled on toothpicks on
the little wooden fish, above. He also
serves cold canapes, called Salmon
Tempters and Canape Royale.

COCKLEBURS

Vz can salmon

Vz cup crushed potato chips

V4 tsp. mustard

Speck of cayenne pepper
2 eggs (separated)

Vz cup flour
Wz cups bread crumbs

Flake salmon and combine with
potato chips, mustard, cayenne and
egg yolks. Form into small balls.
Roll balls in flour, dip into slightly
beaten egg whites, then roll them in
bread crumbs. Fry in- deep fat un-
til golden brown. Serve hot.

84

By MRS.
MARGARET SIMPSON

y2

SALMON TEMPTERS

can salmon

cup mayonnaise

tbl. lemon juice

tsps. minced green pepper

tbl. minced pimiento

tbl. minced sweet pickle
Flake salmon and blend to a
smooth paste with mayonnaise. Add
lemon juice, pimiento, green pepper
and pickle. Spread on toast which
has been cut into small stars. Gar-
nish with pimiento strips and slices
of stuffed olives.

Radio's Conrad Nagel knows the
secret of savory hors d'oeuvres.

RADIO MIRROR

CANAPE ROYALE
To the recipe for salmon tempters,
above, add one teaspoon Worces-
tershire sauce. Spread mixture on
small toast rings and garnish center
with hard-cooked egg yolk (sieved),
pickled pearl onions and parsley.
CURRIED SALMON IN CABBAGE

1 can salmon

1% cups white sauce

2 tbls. lemon juice

1 tsp. curry powder
Vz cup buttered crumbs

1 medium cabbage

2 tbls. butter or margarine
Flake the salmon, reserving a few

good sized bits for a top garnish.
Saute salmon lightly in butter or
margarine. Add lemon juice. Add
curry powder to hot white sauce
and combine with sauteed salmon.
Remove coarse outer leaves from
cabbage and cook in briskly boil-
ing salted water for fifteen minutes.
Remove center leaves, drain, and
stuff with salmon mixture. Top with
salmon bits and buttered crumbs
and bake in hot oven for ten min-
utes or until crumbs are brown.
TOMATO JUICE
These hot days you can't serve
anything better than a delicious
ice-cold tomato juice cocktail. For
additional zest and sparkle, add a
few drops of lemon or lime juice to
the tomato juice. And for a long,
cooling drink, try mixing tomato
juice with an equal quantity of dry
ginger ale. It's a grand combination,
guaranteed to quench a stubborn
thirst.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Honeymoons Need Not End

(Continued jrom page 11)

For another, lucky enough to be a
couple of extroverts, they undoubted-
ly have never in their young lives
over - dramatized themselves and
probably never will, which means
that whatever difficulties come their
way will be kept in proper propor-
tion. For a third, to them career,
besides being the pleasant source of
a good income, doesn't mean a thing.
They will — and do — work hard and
conscientiously but they will never be
ridden by purely selfish ambition.
And it seems to me that these three
factors alone contrive a pretty firm
foundation for any marriage.

TAKE their honeymoon — which
' wasn't a real honeymoon at all.
Many a young married couple would
have found that period a real hurdle
— but the Halls took it in their stride.

It coincided, you see, with a per-
sonal-appearance tour which Frances
had signed up for and couldn't get
out of. The bride was playing five
shows a day at the New York Para-
mount, with Jon always introduced
at the last of her act, so they had al-
most no time to themselves. Yet they
never once thought about whether or
not they were having it tough. It
simply didn't occur to them to feel
sorry for themselves. Frances had
signed for the tour; it was up to her
to keep her bargain and make the best
of it. Besides, they were together,
which was what really counted.

At the Paramount, Frances told me,
she first began to appreciate what a
very special guy she had married.
The first act was at ten in the morn-
ing and the crowd of fans outside the
theater was always so big that to get
through was really an ordeal. Con-
sequently, once she was in the thea-
ter, Frances stayed there until after
the last show (close to midnight) and
Jon, unwilling to leave her alone,
stayed with her. Sometimes, he'd
brave the fans and go out and buy
them a coke or a candy bar, but most-
ly he sat around in her stuffy little
dressing room, never uttering a word
of complaint.

And sometimes at the close of her
act, when the fans would over-run
the stage, threatening to mob Fran-
ces, Jon would put his arm around
her and get pretty mad at their
friendly but robust attentions. "I
know they mean well," he'd mutter,
"but you're so little." Well, of course,
she is — a regular half-pint, although
just this month she managed to tip
the scales at a hundred.

Today, a year later, if you ask
Frances if she's still as happy as she
was then, she'll say, "Of course. Why
shouldn't I be?"

They live in Beverly Hills, in an
attractive house, Italian in motif,
with a lovely garden which they have
made themselves. They have a couple
of servants to take care of them. But
theirs isn't an "ordered" household.
They get up in the morning when
they feel like it. They eat breakfast
when they feel like it. They do every-
thing else because they happen to feel
like it. Although he's under contract
to Goldwyn, Jon hasn't appeared in
pictures since "Hurricane," and Fran-
ces' radio appearances don't demand
a lot of her time. So all they have
to do, practically, is to do as they
please. . . . Which they accomplish
with the utmost grace.

SEPTEMBER, 1939

Neatest Trick of the Month!

VANILLA ICE CREAM — CREAMY SMOOTH AND THRIFTY!

(For Automatic Refrigerator)

Mix Eagle Brand Sweetened Condensed Milk, water,
and vanilla. Chill. Whip cream to custard-like con-
sistency. Fold into chilled mixture. Freeze in freezing
unit of refrigerator until half-frozen. Scrape from
freezing tray and beat until smooth, but not melted.

Replace in freezing unit until frozen. Serves 6. (With this recipe you can make two

batches of ice cream from one can of Eagle Brand.)

% cup (% can) Eagle Brand

Sweetened Condensed Milk
% cup water
1% teaspoons vanilla
1 cup whipping cream

• Only 3 ingredients . . . only 1 cup of cream ... no cooking . . . only 1 stirring! Yet it's
creamy-smooth and free of ice splinters! But remember— evaporated milk won't— can't
— succeed in this recipe. You must use Eagle Brand Sweetened Condensed Milk. Just re-
member the name Eagle Brand.

BEAUTIFUL SILVERWARE PREMIUMS! SEE LEAFLET ON CAN.

EDECI "Mirir DC^IDCC" 68 recipes Just as astonishing
rKEC! IVlAUll KEllrCj as the one above! Pies! Cook-
ies! Candies! Ice Creams! Sauces! Salad Dressings! Puddings!
All made by sheer magic! Address The Borden Company, Dept.
MWG-99, 350 Madison Ave., New York.

Name_

Street.

City.

.State-

(Print name and address plainly — paste on penny postcard)

MAKE $2.00 — WRITE ABOUT THE ADS

Look through the advertisements in this issue of Radio and Television Mirror, pick out the one you like or dislike. Then
write us a letter telling why. You do not need to praise the ad. but your letter must be frank, must contain original
suggestions or criticisms. Or, if you prefer, write us about the pi oduct itself; whether vou like it or dislike it, and why.
Your letter need not be of more than fifty words. Fancy composition is not important. The Macfadden Women's Group
will pay S2.00 for all letters accepted. Addrpss letters to:

Advertising Clinic, MACFADDEN WOMEN'S GROUP, 122 East 42nd Street, New York, N. Y.

FREE

ENLARGEMENT

Just to get acquainted, we will beau-
tifully enlarge any snapshot, photo,
Kodak picture, print or negative to 5x7
inches FREE — if you enclose this ad
with 10c for return mailing. Informa-
tion on hand tinting in natural colors

with a FREE frame, sent immediately. Your
original returned with your free enlargement.
Look over your pictures now and send your
favorite snapshot or negative today as this free
offer is limited. DEAN STUDIOS, Dept. 287,
118 N. 15th St., Omaha, Neb.

For Strong, Happy
Babies

If your baby isn't thriving, ask your doctor
about Horlick's the Original Malted Milk.
Thousands of physicians and grateful mothers
have attested to its successful
use as a diet for infants. It's
been famed throughout Amer-
ica for over 50 years. For sam- .
pie send 3 cent stamp to Dept. ^
MWG-9,Horlick'sMalted Milk
Corp., Racine, Wis., or Mon-
treal, Can.

Horlick7^

The Original Malted Milk

85

WONT SLip

<ck)-«ne/)cb time

scLu'2)e£onq

gasagggBEaza

EEC

Show popular exclusive 21-card $1 Christmas Assort-
ment and make 50c on each sale. Four other assort-
ments. Personal Cards, with name, sell fast, pay big.
Write for samples at once. I

Waltham Art Publishers, Oept. 233 I
160 N. Washington St., Boston, Mass.r

OLD LEG TROUBLE

Easy to use Viscose Method heals many old
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swollen legs and injuries or no cost for TRIAL.
Describe your trouble and set FREE BOOK.
R. G. VISCOSE METHOD CO.
140 N. Dearborn Street, Chicago, Illinois

IF YOU HAVE

GRAY HAIR

and DON'T LIKE a

MESSY MIXTURE....

then write today for my

FREE TRIAL BOTTLE

As a Hair Color Specialist with forty years' European
American experience, I am proud of my Color Impartef
for Grayness. Use it like a hair tonic. "Wonderfully
GOOD for the scalp and dandruff; it can't leave
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my free trial bottle and book telling All About Gray Hair.
ARTHUR RHODES, Hair Color Expert, Dept. 27, LOWELL, MASS.

BUNIONS/0)

ENLARGED OR TENDER JOINTS m W

New Amazingly Quick Relief! ^ -^

Stop needless suffering! Get the New SVPE R-SOFT
Dr. Scholl's Zino-pads. Quickly relieve tormenting
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Lift shoe pressure. Soothe,
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Don't come off in bath. Cost |
but a trifle! Sold everywhere.

D?Scholls Zinopadi

Be a RADIO Technician

Learn at Home — Make Good Money

Get facts about job opportunities in Badio and those
coming in Television. Read how I train you at home for
Badio and Television, Hundreds of men I trained have
good Radio jobs or their own Radio businesses. Many
make $5, $10, $15 a week extra fixing Radios in spare
time while training. Established 25 years. Mail coupon
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• J. E. SMITH, President, Dept. 9JT 5

; National Radio Institute, Washington, D. C. -:

: Send me your 64-page book FREE. (Please write •

5 plainly.) :

; AGE :

; XAME

[ ADDRESS

• CITY STATE.

I drove out there one day a few
months ago with a mutual friend. We
weren't expected and we found a
most entertaining situation. Decid-
ing that the servants had been having
a difficult time of it, "picking up after
us and never being able to serve
meals on time and being waked up
in the middle of the night to fix sup-
pers and things," they had given the
pair of them an extra day off and
were themselves cooking, at three
o'clock in the afternoon, a veritable
Thanksgiving dinner — not that it was
anywhere near Thanksgiving.

JON was attending to the roast pig,
*' very small and succulently appe-
tizing when slid out of the oven for
basting. Frances was making York-
shire pudding, not because it goes es-
pecially well with pig but because she
loves it and makes a very delicious
variety. Later they would whip up a
salad and Jon would display his tal-
ents as a gravymaker. No, they hadn't
planned to have company — unless we
would stay? They were very polite in
asking us, but somehow we sensed
that here was a situation in which
four would be a crowd, and begged
off. As we left, we heard a peal of
laughter and saw Jon chasing Frances
out of the back door, apron tied
around his middle, gravy spoon in
hand. Apparently, she had "insulted"
him and he was bent on revenge.

They scarcely ever "step out,"
young Mr. and Mrs. Hall. True, be-
fore he became a Benedict, Jon was
something of a night-clubber, a gay
young blade in a modest way. But
marriage has changed all that. For
one thing, neither of them is inter-
ested in drinking. For another,
neither understands the high-geared
intensity characteristic of Hollywood
at play.

"People work so hard at having a
good time," Frances said to me. "It
would wear me out."

And yet, don't get the idea that Jon
and Frances have settled down to
fireside and slippers — yet. It is just
that their special brand of fun is dif-
ferent. Not long ago, Jon waked
Frances in the middle of the night.
"What do you say we drive down to
Palm Springs? It ought to be kinda
nice making the trip by moonlight."

So Frances hopped out of bed and
they set out, stopping at a hot dog
stand for breakfast. Spent three
days at the Springs, not at a swanky
place like the Desert Inn, but at a
pretty little auto camp — and almost
laughed themselves sick riding those
crazy little motor scooters.

On the day I called to collect sta-
tistics on the Langford-Hall mar-
riage, I asked Frances privately to
describe her happiest memory to date.

She had to think a minute. "I'm so
darned happy all the time," she said.
But after a minute she went on: "I
guess it was the day before last
Christmas. I had been down to the
store and Jonny didn't hear me when
I came in. I remember stopping in
front of the door between the hall
and the living room and seeing him
sitting before a card table, his back to
me. The table was piled high with
things and he was wrestling with a
package — trying to wrap it up in tis-
sue paper and tie it with ribbon . . .
Yes, the things he had there were
Christmas presents for me and some-
how, seeing him trying patiently,
clumsily, to wrap them up himself,
made a lump come into my throat.
. . . And I thought, 'Frances, you are
a very lucky girl. Frances, you have
everything.' And I suddenly knew I
was so happy I had better pinch my-
self to make sure it was real."

Nor have the Halls ever had a
quarrel. Not even a tiff or tiny dis-
agreement. "Jonny wouldn't fight if
I would," Frances said. "Besides,
what is there to fight about? We
don't flirt. We don't drink too much.
We don't get on each other's nerves.
We have enough money to support
us nicely. We are young and healthy
and in love . . . For the love of mike,
why should we fight?"

"And what about children?" I said.
"Will you have a family?"

Frances spoke first. "Me — I'd like
to," she told me tentatively. "But
Jonny — "

Jon interrupted. "Well — " he said
stumblingly, blushing but determined,
"well, I don't think so. You see, she's
— you see, a thing like that is — well,
it's hard and sometimes dangerous
and — " He was finding it tough go-
ing. "She's so little!" he finished half
defiantly, as if daring me to dis-
agree. But of course I didn't. I liked
him for his fierce protectiveness.

WHEN I took my leave they walked
to the gate with me. They said
Frances' mother was coming to lunch
and that they thought they'd hide in
the hedge and snap some candid cam-
era pictures of her as she arrived.
Photography is a hobby of theirs. So
I left them crouched there in the
shrubbery, giggling like a pair of
school kids.

And as for me — well, I drove back
to Hollywood, feeling pretty glad
about knowing two such people . . .
pretty strong and proud from having
come into contact with such happi-
ness . . . and pretty much disposed to
sneer at the next divorce headlines
I read, and say, "That's all very well
— but I know a story worth ten of
that!"

ANSWERS TO THE SUMMER SCHOOL QUIZ

1. Wrong. She carries her papoose on her back.

2. Very big.

3. You would wear it in the hair.

4. Igloo.

5. Wrong. It is a snake.

6. You would eat an avocado.

7. Plymouth Rock.

8. Wrong. They were called "Lilliputians".

9. In a garden. (It is a vegetable).

10. Hockey. The others are parlor games.

11. A. Curds and Whey. B. Christmas Pie: C. Tarts.

12. Wrong. He was an Italian (Corsican).

13. Rosalie, Margy, Suzanna.

14. A. Japan and China. B. Holland. C. Italy (Venice).

86

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROH

CTU7Z 7Zj&(jU

? KALAMAZOO

NEW STYLE • NEW BEAUTY • NEW FEATURES • NEW VALUES

You're tired of old style stoves — you de-
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Over 150 Styles and Sizes — Glorious new
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You'll find new ways to prepare better foods
with the "oven that floats in flame."
Factory Prices — Easiest Terms— You won't
believe your eyes when you see these Factory
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But it is. That's because we sell direct from
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Factory Guarantee.

Mail Coupon. Get this beautiful New
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\

I'll

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MAIL COUPONJODAY

Kalamazoo Stove & Furnace Company
469 Rochester Avenue, Kalamazoo, Mich.

Dear Sirs: Send FREE FACTORY CATALOG.
Check articles in which you are interested:
□ Combination Gas, Coal and Wood Ranges
D Coal and Wood Ranges D Gas Ranges

D Electric Ranges □ Coal and Wood Heaters
D Oil Heaters □ Oil Ranges □ Furnaces

Name..

(Print name plainly)

Address..

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Pfi. Vs?*sr •«•;«>£ *\vT*"
~ -?->» :"n:<*Vv Vis

It's a date**W

k

. the cigarette that's different from all others

It's the RIGHT combination of mild, ripe,
home-grown and aromatic Turkish tobaccos
. . the world's best . . that makes Chesterfield
the milder and better-tasting cigarette . .

A HAPPY COMBINATION for

MORE SMOKING PLEASURE

Copyright 1939, Liggett & Myers Tobacco Co.

USA

nno lELEvision

<7

I0t

MAC 1*001 N
l»HC AIIOM

WB£*

let Blondie
>'* Newest Hit

Sfietiai!

Complete Words

and Music of
Johnny Green's
Newest Hit Tune
in This Issue

etuam* WOMAN IN LOVE h, KATHLEEN NORRIS

Read Radio's Enthralling Novel of Lost Innocence

WIFE AGAINST MOTHER

The Story of a Forbidden Marriage
told by the Woman in White

IT'S EASY TO HAVE

Regardless of your age, there's a very simple way
to make your eyes appear much larger, more
luminous — your eyebrows truly graceful and ex-
pressive — your lashes a vision of long sweeping
loveliness. It takes just about three minutes to
give yourself this modern Maybelline eye make-
up. And it's so natural-looking — never obvious.

First, blend Maybelline Eye Shadow lightly
over your eyelids and note the subtly flattering
effect. Next, form trim, tapering brows with the
Maybelline Smooth-marking Eyebrow Pencil.

It's perfectly pointed and just soft enough for
best results. Then darken your lashes to the very
tips with Maybelline Mascara. Either in Solid
or Cream-form, it goes on beautifully — is tear-
proof, non-smarting, harmless. Now your own
mirror will show you the thrilling difference.

At any age, your eyes will be noticed and
admired when you use Maybelline Eye Beauty
Aids — the eye make-up in good taste. Prove it,
today! Attractive purse sizes at all 10c stores.
Just be sure to insist on genuine Maybelline.

Maybelline Solid-form Mascara in
stunning gold-colored vanity, 75c.
Refills, including new brush, 35c.
Shades — Black, Brown, and Blue.

Maybelline Eye Shadow in six
glamorous shades — Blue, Gray,
Blue-gray, Brown, Green, Violet.

Maybelline Cream-form Mascara
(easily applied without water) in
dainty zipper case. 75c. Shades —
Black, Brown, and Blue.

Maybelline Smooth-marking Eye-
brow Pencil. Black, Brown (and
Blue for eyelid liner).

BEAUTY AIDS

Her trim tennis dress first drew his eye
but it was her smile that won him completely!

Your smile is your own priceless possession ! Guard it with Ipana and Massage!

Sleeveless tennis dress of white
pique with zipper closing and
brief, contrasting bolero.

Don't take chances with "Pink Tooth Brush"— Ipana and
massage helps to promote healthier gums, brighter smiles!

A LITTLE GIRL" tennis dress, snowy-white
against sun -bronzed skin, can stop
almost any man's glance. But it takes a bright
and sunny smile to hold him for keeps!

Not even perfect style sense can win for
the girl who ignores the warning of "pink
tooth brush." For a dull, pathetic smile soon
discounts other charms.

Avoid this tragic neglect. Remember no
other aid to charm is more important than
care of your teeth and gums. For on them
depends the beauty of your smile.

Never Ignore "Pink Tooth Brush"

If your tooth brush shows a tinge of "pink,"
it's your cue to see your dentist at once! It may
not mean anything serious. Often, he will

tell you that your gums have become lazy
from lack of vigorous chewing— and you
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helpful stimulation of Ipana and massage."

For Ipana is designed not only to clean
teeth thoroughly but, with massage, to help
the gums as well. Every time you brush your
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Get a tube of economical Ipana at your
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IPANA TOOTH PASTE

IPANA

REG.USW.OFK *

1D0THPASTE

V PI ' ii8wsroL-MvERs@y

NEW YORK

USED ALWAYS BCTUC

am i . n

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VOL 12 No. 6

MtXXOR

ERNEST V. HEYN
Executive Editor

BELLE LANDESMAN.
ASSISTANT EDITOR

FRED R. SAMMIS
Editor

Woman In Love Kathleen Norris 1 2

Beginning a compelling novel of lost innocence

Why Be a Flop as a Hostess? Elsa Maxwell 16

Advice from America's biggest party giver
Wife Against Mother 18

Introducing radio's fascinating heroine, the Woman in White
Bing's Girl Friday. . Kirtley Baskette 21

Her first name's Pat — 1 939's singing find
Meet the Bumsteads! Kay Proctor 22

Blondie and Dagwood come to life
Cathleen Kay Van Riper 24

A tender story of a lonely child, broadcast oy Virginia Weidler
Don't Give in to Motherhood Gladys Hall 28

Love your children — but "neglect" them, too — says Joan Blondell
Special! Preview of a Hit Johnny Green 30

Words and Music of a sparkling new song

Comedy Cavalcade 36

Five great comedians in a holiday broadcast
Backstage Wife Hope Hale 38

Continuing radio's drama of a dangerous love
Excuse It, Please Heywood Broun 41

I was a guest on Information Please

What Do You Want to Say? 3

Hollywood Radio Whispers George Fisher 4

What's New From Coast to Coast Dan Senseney 6

Facing the Music Ken Alden 1 0

Radio's Photo-Mirror

Swinging into Campus Style 27

Two On The Aisle 32

Fairest of the Fair 34

Inside Radio — The New Radio Mirror Almanac 42

What Do You Want to Know? 62

We Canadian Listeners. Horace Brown 65

Beauty's Smile Dr. Grace Gregory 84

Put The Bee on Your Spelling 85

Dressing Up an Old Favorite. : Mrs. Margaret Simpson 86

COVER — Penny Singleton by S. Wechsler

(Courtesy of Columbia Pictures)

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR, published monthly by Macfadden Publications. Inc.. Washington and
South Avenues. Dunellen, New Jersey. General Offices: 205 East 42nd Street, New York, N. Y. Editorial and
advertising offices: Chanin Building, 122 East 42nd Street, New York. Bernarr Macfadden, President; Wesley
F. Pape, Secretary; Irene T. Kennedy, Treasurer; Walter Hanlon, Advertising Director. Chicago office: 333
North Michigan Avenue. C. H. Shattuck. Mgr. San Francisco office: 1058 Russ Building. Lee Andrews. Mgr.
Entered as second-class matter September 14, 1033. at the Post Office at Dunellen, New Jersey, under the
Act of March 3. 1879. Price in United States. Canada and Newfoundland $1.00 a year. 10c a copy. In U. S.
Territories, Possessions, Cuba, Mexico, Haiti, Dominican Republic, Spain and Possessions, and Central and
South American countries, excepting British Honduras, British, Dutch and French Guiana, $1.50 a year;
all other countries $2.50 a year. While Manuscripts, Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's
risk, every effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompanied by sufficient 1st class postage,
and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to be sure to retain copies of their contribu-
tions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters for the "What Do You Want to Say?"
department will not be returned, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter contributed.
All submissions become the property of the magazine. (Member of Macfadden Women's Group.)
Copyright, 1930, by the Macfadden Publications, Inc. The contents of this magazine may not be printed,
either wholly or in part, without permission.
Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Company, Dunellen, N. J.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

WHAT DO YOU
WANT TO SAY?

FIRST PRIZE

IN THE GOOD OLD SUMMERTIME

A lot of radio fans have been
moaning because favorites are being
taken off the air for their annual
summer vacation. I, for one, think
this annual summer lay-off is a good
thing.

First, it is a good avoider of
monotony — Jack Benny's feud with
Fred Allen has a fresher sound after
a few months' rest.

Second, the summer lay-off of the
stars gives unknowns and beginners
the well-earned chance they other-
wise wouldn't have if the stars were
hogging the airlanes the year 'round.

So, thanks to summer for bringing
new programs and stars.

John C. Treuden,
Milwaukee, Wise.

SECOND PRIZE

ALL ALONE!

After the children were married,
my father and mother moved to a
little farm by themselves. I was feel-
ing so sorry for them because I
thought they would be lonely after
living in town so long.

I visited home and was really sur-
prised at the happiness they got out
of life — thanks to radio.

In the evening when all the work
is done, they sit in their comfortable
chairs, mother knitting, listening to
their favorite radio programs. They
are as well informed of world events
as anyone living in the city. So they
really haven't changed, only they are
getting old and enjoy staying at home.

What a blessing for people who stay
at home to have such a wonderful,
priceless gift, as a radio.

Mrs. N. R. Taylor,
Dickinson, Texas
(.Continued on page 78)

THIS IS YOUR PAGE!

YOUR LETTERS OF OPINION WIN

PRIZES

First Prize $10.00

Second Prize $ 5.00

Five Prizes of $ 1 .00

Address your letter to the Editor,
RADIO MIRROR, 122 East 42nd
Street, New York, N. Y., and mail it
not later than Sept. 27, 1939. All
submissions become the property of
the magazine.

Boy Friend? Even the
girls dodge dates with Ann!

Ann could have dates galore
if she'd guard her charm with MUM!

ONE DAY is just like another— to Ann.
No one drops in to see her. Men
never take her out. Even the girls avoid
her!

What would you do— if you knew a
girl lovely in other ways — but careless
about underarm odor? Of course you'd
avoid her, too! Nobody wants to be
around a girl who neglects to use Mum!

Too bad the girl who offends this way
so rarely knows it herself! No one likes
to tell her, either. Nowadays you're ex-
pected to know that a bath is never
enough! A bath removes only past per-
spiration, but Mum prevents future odor

before it starts. Hollywood says Mum . . .
nurses say Mum . . . you'll say Mum once
you've tried this pleasant, gentle, de-
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MUM GIVES THOROUGH UNDERARM CARE

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More women use Mum for
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TAKES THE ODOR OUT OF PERSPIRATION

OCTOBER, 1939

HOLLYWOOD

DIO WHISPERS

By GEORGE FISHER

■ Listen to George Fisher's broad-
casts every Saturday night over Mutual.

IS IT going to be the altar for John
Conte, handsome radio an-
nouncer, and Ann (OOMPH)
Sheridan? It would seem so to me
judging from the fact that John has
been Ann's exclusive boy friend for
two months, and they are seen to-
gether frequently at Hollywood's
nightspots. And just a short time
ago, John was pinch-hitting for
Tony Martin by squiring Alice Faye
places in Tony's absence.

* * #

The Voice of Experience (Dr. M.
Sayle Taylor) came to Hollywood
this summer with no fanfare, and
leased most of an entire floor in one
of the office buildings near Holly-
wood and Vine. His office has no
number on it and his telephone
number is guarded with deep, dark
secrecy, because the airlane veteran
doesn't want to be bothered by
those seeking charity. He dispenses
thousands of dollars but wants to do
it in his own way. "The Voice" will
broadcast from Hollywood's KHJ
over Mutual this fall.

* * *

Harry Kronman, author of most
of the Big Town scripts, will take
his romantic troubles to a preacher,
this September: the lucky girl is
Gladys Taylor — a non professional!

* * *

Edward G. Robinson and his wife
are en route from the Continent,
where they vacationed between pic-
tures and radio broadcasts. Eddie
returns to Big Town September
19th! * * *

Martha Raye passed up a vaca-
tion this summer to sing with hubby
Dave Rose's orchestra at Billy Rose's
original Casa Manana, Fort Worth,
Texas. They'll visit with Elliott
Roosevelt while in Fort Worth and
make guest appearances over El-
liott's own Texas State Network!

* * *

Hollywood is whispering that Gill
and Demling, comics on the Joe E.
Brown show, are writing a Broad-
way play, which will star Brown
and the comics, too!

(Continued on page 68)

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

. . . but "Lysol' can help correct it!

Do you neglect his Home? He may for-
give indifferent housekeeping, if you aren't
indifferent about keeping yourself attractive.

Do you neglect his Food? He may for-
give uninteresting meals and poor cooking,
if you yourself are sweetly fresh.

Do you neglect his Comfort? He may for-
give carelessness about his clothes, if you're
careful about your own person.

Do you neglect his Pride? He may for-
give you for embarrassing criticism, if you
are above reproach yourself.

Do you neglect his Expenses? He may

even forgive extravagances, if they help to
make you more attractive.

BUT.. .do you
neglect yourself?

MOST HUSBANDS
CAN'T

FORGIVE THAT

* 'Carelessness about intimate cleanliness.
Make it a regular habit to use "Lysol" for.
feminine hygiene. Avoid this one neglect!

Carelessness about feminine hy-
giene, say many doctors and
psychiatrists, may be the cause of
many marriage failures.

The intelligent modern woman uses
"Lysol" for this important habit of
personal cleanliness. You ought to use
"Lysol" in your routine of intimate
hygiene.

For a full half-century, "Lysol" has
earned the confidence of thousands of
women, hundreds of doctors, nurses,
hospitals and clinics. Probably no
other product is so widely used for
this purpose. Some of the reasons why
"Lysol" is so valuable in feminine
hygiene are . . .

I —Non-Caustic . . . "Lysol", in the proper
dilution, is gentle and efficient, contains no
harmful free caustic alkali.

2— Effectiveness . . . "Lysol" is a powerful
germicide, active under practical conditions,
effective in the presence of organic matter
(such as dirt, mucus, serum, etc.).

3 — Spreading . . . "Lysol" solutions spread
because of low surface tension, and thus vir-
tually search out germs.

A — Economy. . ."Lysol" is concentrated, costs

1 889 -50th ANNIVERSARY- 1939

only about one cent an application in the
proper dilution for feminine hygiene.

5 — Odor . . . The cleanly odor of "Lysol"
disappears after use.

6— Stability . . ."Lysol" keeps its full strength
no matter how long it is kept, how often it
is uncorked.

What Every Woman Should Know
SEND COUPON FOR "LYSOL" BOOKLET

Lehn & Fink Products Corp.

Dept. R.M.-910, Bloomfield, N. J., V. S. A.

Send me free booklet "Lysol vs. Germs"
which tells the many nses of "Lysol".

/Varae_
Street_
City

.State _

Copyright 1939 by Lehn & Fink Products Corp.

FOR FEMININE HYGIENE

OCTOBER, 1939

LIPSTICK

PARCHING

• If you want lips of siren
smoothness— choose your lipstick wisely!

Coty "Sub-Deb" does double duty. It gives
your lips ardent color. But— it also helps to
protect lips from lipstick parching. It helps
lips to look moist and lustrous.

This Coty benefit is partly due to "Theo-
broma." Eight drops of this softening ingre-
dient go into every "Sub-Deb" Lipstick. In
seven fashion-setting shades; 50tf or $1.00.
"Air-Spun" Rouge in matching shades, 50$.

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Eight drops of""Theobroma**go into every "Sub-Deb" Lip-
stick. That's how Coty guards against lipstick parching.

WHAT'S NEW FROM COAST TO COAST

Abbott and Costello, the mad comedy stars of Kate Smith's show, cele-
brate ten years of theatrical partnership as well as wedded happiness —
Mr. and Mrs. Lou Costello (left) and Mr. and Mrs. Bud Abbott (right).

EDGAR BERGEN isn't going to like
this, but here's how you can tell
whether you are looking at the
real Charlie McCarthy or a substitute
Charlie. (That is, assuming you're
ever lucky enough to get a good look
at either of them.) The substitute
Charlie, carved since the little man
became a national institution, needs
a haircut badly. His hair where it
shows under his silk hat is bunchy
and ragged; the number-one Charlie's
is neat and smoothly clipped. Also,
number-two Charlie has a nail in his
right temple. You can just see it,
nestling in the hair, if you look
closely.

* * *

That was a pretty nice present Bob
Hope's sponsor gave him, along with
a contract renewal that brings the
Hope antics back to the air on NBC
for another year. When the sponsor
found out Bob didn't know exactly
what he'd do for a vacation, he
handed the comedian round-trip
tickets to Europe, first-class, for him-
self and Mrs. Hope — plus a letter of
credit for $2,500 to cover expenses.
Mr. Sponsor must agree with a few
million radio fans that Bob did a
wonderful job last season.

* * *

Did you know that when Don
Ameche sings he has more than a
little difficulty in keeping his voice
on key? That's the reason a violinist
from the orchestra always stands
right next to him during his solos,
playing the melody into Don's ear.
He even goes along if Don does a
broadcast or two in New York.

* * *

Jim McWilliams, who used to sail
an eight-dollar catboat on Lake Erie
when he was a small boy, has just
paid about $62 a foot for a new and
ultra-seaworthy fishing boat for use
in the waters of Chesapeake Bay, near
his Virginia Beach home. He's named
it the C-A-I-B— for Colgate's Ask It
Basket.

An airplane fight caused a traffic
jam one hot summer day at the cor-
ner of Madison Avenue and Fifty-
second Street in New York. From
overhead, in the bright summer sky,
came all the sounds of a big dog-
fight in the air — planes zooming and
roaring, machine-guns rat-a-tatting,
crashes, whines. But not a plane was
in sight. When traffic was nicely
jammed up, the noises stopped. It
was only the CBS sound-effects de-
partment, on the third floor of the
building there, trying out a new
record of an airplane fight, and leav-
ing all its windows open because of
the heat — quite unaware of the havoc
it was causing.

* * *

John Hix was caught once — but
now he spares no expense in checking
the accuracy of every statement he
makes on his Strange as It Seems
program, the new show Thursday
nights on CBS. In the early days of
his career, he used the tale of a
marvelous homing pigeon. Seems that
this pigeon, a resident of Baltimore,
was released in Minneapolis during a
storm, and that the storm blew its
feathers off. Weeks and weeks later,
it turned up in its Baltimore loft, un-
daunted— but with calluses on both
feet. Since he published that remark-
able story as a fact, John has learned
to be more skeptical.

* * *

Now that Bing Crosby's vacation
is about over, his pet Irish setter is
soon going to have a chance to show
off his favorite trick again. Every
Thursday night, while Bing is on the
air, the setter stays quietly in the
house, listening. The minute the
broadcast is over, the dog whips out
of the house and goes to the garage.
He recognizes his master's singing and
talking voice, and knows that a few
minutes after the radio is switched
off Bing's car will drive up to the
garage. The dog's always there,
waiting.

By DAN SENSENEY

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Jackie Cooper has grown up, and
proof of that is the presence in the
radio studio, whenever he does a
broadcast, of several of his pals.
"Until I grew up," Jackie explains, "I
couldn't invite any of my friends to
a broadcast because they'd wave
their arms at me while I was reading
dramatic lines. Or they'd throw spit-
balls or talk out loud. Now we've all
grown up and they don't do that any

more."

* » *

James Melton didn't object to hav-
ing everyone know that he collects
old automobiles as a hobby, because
he thought the publicity might help
to find a few choice specimens, but
now he's beginning to wonder if it
was a good idea after all. Two young
owners of an antique Model T Ford
drove up to his home recently when
Melton wasn't there, and while they
waited for him to return they went
into his garage to inspect the collec-
tion. They had a pretty good time,
too, trying out all the springs and
horns (and breaking one horn),
knocking tools off shelves, and leav-
ing the hoods up on most of the cars.
When Jimmy showed up, walking
right into the midst of the mess they'd
made, they were surprised because he
was in no mood to buy their car from
them.

* * *

Lawrence Tibbett always stands on
his head before a broadcast. So does
Robert Regent, who plays Peter Brad-
ford in The Life and Love of Dr.
Susan, the CBS serial. Seems it's
part of Yogi practice, and produces
mental health and physical poise.

Movie star Johnny Mack Brown
Is on CBS' Under Western Skies.

Vincent Lopez, the orchestra leader,
did his best to cool off people during
the summer months. He played swing
arrangements of Alaskan Indian
rhythms. Most popular of the new
dance tunes from up north is the "Ice
Worm Wiggle," or "Ku Tu Wu Yeh,

Cheechakos."

* * *

Joan Tompkins, young ingenue on
the CBS serial, Your Family and
Mine, is making a terrible prediction.
She says that television make-up will
be all the rage with the girls this fall
— and if she's right, every man in the

country is due for a shock. Television
make-up is copper colored, and people
who wear it look like Indians.

* * *

LITTLE ROCK, Ark.— He gives
thousands of Bibles away, receives as
many as 1200 fan letters in a single
day, has no sponsor, and doesn't make
a cent of money out of his program.

This unique radio star is Uncle Mac
of Station KLRA at Little Rock, who
in private life is the Rev. James Mac-
Krell, pastor of All Souls Church at
Scott, a suburb of Little Rock. He is
thirty-six years old, married, the
father of three children, and he quit
a hundred-dollar-a-week commercial
job to found the Bible Lover's Re-
vival, heard every day on KLRA at
6:30 a.m. His salary as pastor of the
church is $100 a month, and he does
not retain a cent of the $2,000 it costs
every month to run his program.

The purpose of the broadcast is to
encourage Bible reading and to fur-
nish free Bibles to anyone not finan-
cially able to purchase one. Recently
Mac mailed out 350 Bibles in one day,
to persons in thirty-six states.

Uncle Mac was born in a poor dis-
trict of Houston, Texas, and for the
first fourteen years of his life saw the
underprivileged side of existence ex-
clusively. Then his family moved to
the boom oilfield town of Goose
Creek, where life was wild and un-
restrained and lawless. He entered
the ministry at twenty, serving stu-
dent pastorates while taking a cor-
respondence course in theology.

Five years later, though, he quit the
ministry and became an announcer in
radio. It was after he became suc-
(Continued on page 8)

rffaa c4aM*t, a&l/ Petuifc - ««" come with

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READ CHARMING MRS. CONNORS' BEAUTY ADVICE:

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April 28, 1939 (Mrs. Vincent f. Connors)

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Yet Camay costs so little! Get
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&£*rj

^m

*^v

THE SOAP OF BEAUTIFUL WOMEN

OCTOBER, 1939

Your OPPORTUNITY of 1939

$25 000 00

TRUE STORY MANUSCRIPT CONTEST

Three Special
$1,000 Bonus Prizes

During the three months beginning Sep-
tember 1 and ending November 29, 1939,
fifty men and women are going to be made
richer to the extent of fifty big cash prizes
ranging from $250 up to $2500 in the great
true story manuscript contest now being
conducted by Macfadden Publications, Inc.

In addition there will be three special
bonus prizes of $1,000 each, one to be
awarded to the best true story received in
each of the three months of the contest
term.

Here is opportunity indeed for you per-
sonally. It would be a great pity not to
take advantage of it. Somewhere in your
memory may be waiting the very story
necessary to capture the big $2500 first prize
which with the $1,000 bonus prize that goes
with it automatically would net you $3500
just for putting into words something that
already exists in your mind. By all means
start writing it today. Even if your story
should fall slightly short of priie winning quality
we will gladly consider it for purchase at our
regular rate provided we can use It.

In writing your story, tell it simply and
clearly just as it happened. Include all
background information such as parentage,
surroundings and other facts necessary to
give the reader a full understanding of the
situation. Do not be afraid to speak plainly
and above all do not refrain from writing
your story for fear you lack the necessary
skill. A large percentage of the nearly
$600,000 we have already paid out in prize
awards for true stories went to persons
having no trained literary ability.

No matter whether yours is a story of
tragedy, happiness, failure or success, if it
contains the interest and human quality
we seek it will receive preference over
tales of less merit no matter how skillfully
written they may be.

Judging on this basis, to the best true
story received will be awarded the great
$2500 first prize, to the second best will be
awarded the $1500 second prize, etc.

If you have not already procured a copy
of our free booklet which explains the
simple method of presenting true stories
which has proved to be most effective, be
sure to mail the coupon today. Also do
not fail to follow the rules in every par-
ticular, thus making sure that your story
will receive full consideration for prize or
purchase.

As soon as you have finished your story
send it in. Remember, an early mailing
may be worth a $1,000 bonus prize to you
regardless of any other prize your story
may receive. Also, by mailing early you
help to avoid a last minute landslide, in-
sure your story of an early reading and
enable us to determine the winners at the
earliest possible moment.

-COUPON

RM-10

Macfadden Publications, Inc., Dept. 39C
P. O. Box 629, Grand Central Station
New York, N. Y.

Please send me my free copv of your booklet en-
titled "Facts You Should Know Before Writing
True Stories."

Name

Street

Town State

(Print plainly. Give name of state in full.)

PRIZE SCHEDULE

1st Prize $2500.00

2nd Prize 1500.00

3rd Prize— 3 at $1000 each. . 3000.00

4th Prize— 15 at $500 each.. 7500.00

5th Prize— 30 at $250 each. . 7500.00

50 Regular Prizes. .$22,000.00
3 Bonus Prizes of $1000 each 3,000.00

Total $25,000.00

CONTEST RULES

All stories must be written in the first person
based on facts that happened either in the lives
of the writers of these stories, or to people of their
acquaintance, reasonable evidence of truth to be
furnished by writers upon request.

Type manuscripts or write legibly with pen.

Do not send us printed material or poetry.

Do not send us carbon copies.

Do not write in pencil.

Do not submit stories of less than 2500 or more
than 50,000 words.

Do not send us unfinished stories.

Stories must be written in English.

Write on one side of paper only. Do not use
thin tissue paper.

Send material flat. Do not roll.

DO NOT WRITE ANYTHING ON PAGE ONE
OF YOUR MANUSCRIPT EXCEPT YOUR FULL
NAME AND ADDRESS IN YOUR OWN HAND-
WRITING, THE TITLE AND THE NUMBER OF
WORDS IN YOUR MANUSCRIPT. BEGIN YOUR
STORY ON PAGE TWO. WRITE TITLE AND
PAGE NUMBER ON EACH PAGE BUT NOT
YOUR NAME.

Print your full name and address on mailing
container.

PUT FULL FIRST CLASS POSTAGE THERE-
ON. OTHERWISE MANUSCRIPTS WILL BE
REFUSED OR MAY NOT REACH US.

Unaccepted stories will be returned as soon as
rejected, irrespective of closing date of contest.
BUT ONLY IF FULL FIRST CLASS POSTAGE
OR EXPRESSAGE HAS BEEN ENCLOSED WITH
SUBMITTAL. If your story is accompanied by
your signed statement not to return it. it it is
not acceptable, it will not be necessary to en-
close return postage in your mailing container.
We do not hold ourselves responsible for any losses
and we advise contestants to retain a copy of
stories submitted.

Do not send us stories which we have returned.

As soon as possible after receipt of each manu-
script, an acknowledgment or rejection notice will
be mailed. No corrections can be made in manu-
scripts after they reach us. No correspondence
can be entered into concerning manuscripts sub-
mitted or rejected.

Always disguise the names of persons and places
appearing in your stories.

This contest is open to every one everywhere
in the world, except employees and former em-
ployees of Macfadden Publications, Inc., and
members of their families.

If a story is selected by the editors for imme-
diate purchase, it will be paid for at our regular
rate, and this will in no way affect the judges in
their decision. If your story is awarded a prize,
a check for the balance due, if any, will be mailed
after the decision of the judges which will be final,
there being no appeal from their decision.

Under no condition submit any story that has
ever before been published in any form.

Submit your manuscripts to us direct. Due to
the intimate nature of the stories, we prefer to
have our contributors send in their material to us
direct and not through an intermediary.

With the exception of an explanatory letter,
which we welcome, do not enclose photographs or
other extraneous matter except return postage.

This contest ends Wednesday, No-
vember 29, 1939.

Address your manuscripts for this
contest to Macfadden Publications,
Inc., Dept. 39C, P. O. Box 629, Grand
Central Station, New York. N. Y.

(Continued from page 7)
cessful in this profession that he gave
it up and returned once more to the
church.

In spite of the very early hour that
his program is on the air, it is one
of the most famous in the southwest.
Once each year listeners come to-
gether in Little Rock for a rally.
They come not only from Arkansas
but from all sections of the United
States to the big brick tabernacle of
the Central Baptist Church, in crowds
that rival those at a football game or
a Hollywood premiere.

* * *

SCHENECTADY, N. Y.— It was an
influenza epidemic that brought
Colonel Jim Healey to radio — the
luckiest influenza epidemic in the
world, as far as he was concerned,
because now he is the newscaster of
WGY, Schnectady, every Monday,
Wednesday and Friday evening at
7:30, sponsored by an oil company.

Back in 1930 Colonel Jim was Sun-
day editor of the Albany Times-
Union. The paper had a news spot on
WGY, and when the epidemic sent
both regular broadcasters to their
beds, the managing editor asked
Colonel Jim to fill in for them.

Healey happened to have ideas of
his own about news broadcasts. He
felt that the bare bulletins should be
interpreted and interspersed with
philosophy, opinion, comment and
even poetry. Interpretation of news
bulletins is generally practiced now-
adays, by all our famous commen-
tators, but then it was a new idea,
and when Colonel Jim started doing
it, listeners approved at once. Within
two months the editor-commentator-
philosopher had a commercial pro-
gram. In 1933 he was hired by his
present sponsor.

Colonel Jim was born in Albany in
1894 and attended Christian Brothers'
Academy and Manhattan College.
During the World War he served as
sergeant-major, and then returned tr
take up newspaper work. He's still a
reporter at heart, but his radio pro-
grams and the speaking engagements
to which they have led have forced
him to retire from active newspaper
work.

* * *

CINCINNATI— If listeners are still
on the lookout for new variations on
the quiz program idea, they ought to
tune in two of WSAI's shows. One
comes from the dance floor of the Old
Vienna Restaurant in Carew Tower,
and the other from various Greater
Cincinnati neighborhood theater
lobbies.

Bandstand Baseball is the one from
the dance floor. A baseball diamond
is laid out on the floor, with the
microphone at home plate. Contest-
ants step up to the mike to answer
questions about baseball, asked in
musical fashion by the band. The
questions are rated singles, doubles,
triples and home runs, according to
their difficulty, and an announcer
describes the activities in play-by-
play manner, as if he were announc-
ing an actual diamond battle.

When a contestant answers a ques-
tion correctly, the announcer shouts
the number of bases he gets, and the
player runs to the proper base and
stands there while another member of
his team takes a turn at the micro-
phone. A "hit" by the next player
advances the first one a base, just as
in ordinary baseball. Each team has
(Continued on page 78)

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

WHEN Ed Mason, WLW's farm
specialist, left a small station in
Missouri last November to join the
staff of the Nation's Station in Cincin-
nati, he regretted leaving behind so
many friendly people, and shed an
honest tear at having to give away
Red and Rowdy, "the two best coon
dogs in the Ozarks." It's this same sin-
cerity, remaining with him in Cincin-
nati, that has made him WLW's ace
reporter of anything that has to do
with farms or farming.

Ed was born on a farm and almost
all his life has been a farmer. He
talks the farmer's language, knows
the farmer's problems, and thinks the
same way a farmer does.

He was born in Ringgold County
in southern Iowa twenty-eight years
ago, and attended a rural school two
miles away from his home, walking
down the dirt road night and morning
like the farm boy in picture books.
The high school was eight miles away,
and when he entered it he rode horse-
back to and from his studies. During
the summers and after hours on
school days he worked on his father's
farm along with the hired men.

Somehow, though, he found time to
take part in lots of school activities —
debating, dramatics, track and basket-
ball and football. It was football that
started him on the road to radio, for
in one game he received a severe leg
injury that kept him out of school
for more than a year, and during his
convalescence he began listening to

He's WLW's rural reporter —
Ed Mason, farm specialist.

radio and studying Iowa farm prob-
lems. It occurred to him that one way
to solve the problems was by using
radio to disseminate information and
education.

Later, he graduated from the Uni-
versity of Iowa, where he'd been a
writer and farm editor for station
WSUI, on the University campus. In
1937 he joined KFRU, Columbia,

Missouri, specializing in all farm
broadcasts, and then went to WLW.
Among his many broadcasts at
WLW are Everybody's Farm every
Saturday morning; Truly American,
which he writes; the six- weekly
three-hour Top o' the Morning pro-
grams, on which he is the commercial
announcer; and the two-hour stage
and radio show, Boone County Jam-
boree, which he writes and produces;
as well as numerous special events.
Listeners coast-to-coast heard him
this summer when the sudden and
disastrous flood hit Morehead, Ken-
tucky, and WLW sent him there to
bring out the first radio story of what
had happened.

ANOTHER of his programs, just re-
cently started, is the R.F.D. Mail-
box, heard every day except Sunday
at 7: 15 in the evening. It's a news pro-
gram especially for farmers, made up
of letters Ed receives from fans which
tell him of soil, crop and general
farm conditions in different localities.

Ed's greatest ambition, like that of
most radio stars, is to own and live
on a farm, and work quietly in the
out-of-doors. His reason, however, is
different from most — he wants to go
back to farming in order to get more
first-hand material for his broadcasts.

When Ed has a day off he likes to
go hunting or fishing. But when he
does, it's always in farm country
where he can lean on the fence and
talk to the man who owns the land.

JM WT

W -» J iv A

i

- .^w

L - 4§t)3l

1

mmam SMMMMH

J — » Stmu

ADA: ''You look almost
ecstatic."

ANN: "I am. This new Lis-
terine Tooth Paste with
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JANE: "Quit smoking, Jim?
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JIM: "No. Just that new
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Luster-Foam. Sure gets after
fresh stains."

MOTHER: "No serious cavities? Do you suppose
Luster-Foam in the new Listerine Tooth Paste
has something to do with it?"
DENTIST: "It's a fine dentifrice, Mrs. Jenkins."

MAN: "Am I crazy or are we spending less
money for tooth paste?"

WIFE: "Less, my dear. That new Listerine Tooth
Paste with Luster-Foam goes so far! It's sim-
ply amazing."

* Energizing agent gives a dainty

"bubble bath" for cleansing teeth

a new thrilling way

The new formula Listerine Tooth Paste with
Luster-Foam detergent looks no different. But,
when it comes in contact with saliva and brush,
what a miracle of cleansing takes place!

That magic Luster-Foam detergent forms into
a dainty aromatic "bubble bath" (20,000 bub-
bles to the square inch) of
amazing penetrating power.
Hence its super-cleansing
ability.

How important this is
when some authorities say
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and back of the teeth ... on the bite surfaces, —
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And what a wonderful feeling of stimulation
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'/4 POUND

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P.i. LISTERINE TOOTH POWDER
ALSO COKTAINS LUSTER-FOAM

OCTOBER, 1939

In the midst of the swing craze, Sammy Kaye stuck to
sweet music — and prospered. Above, reading downward,
the band, Sammy Kaye himself, and The Three Barons, vo-
calists— Charlie Wilson, Tommy Ryan and Jimmy Brown.

FACING k MUSIC

BY KEN ALDEN

THE Johnny Green blessed event
should have arrived by the time
you read this. Johnny's wife is
the former Betty Furness, movie
siren.

* * *

Flushed with his success as a band-
leader on the Phil Baker CBS series,
chorus-master Lyn Murray will play
a series of one-nighters in September.
Murray replaced Harry Salter on the
Baker broadcasts. The latter had
other commitments.

* * •

Al Kavelin, who turned up with a
bright idea in musical effects known
as "Cascading Chords," was signa-
tured to a 10-year managerial con-
tract by the Music Corporation of

America.

* * *

Horace Heidt settled $25,000 on his
ex-wife in a recent Renovation.

* * *

Gray Gordon, now playing via NBC
from the Westchester Country Club,
will be heard commercially this fall
on electrical transcriptions.

* * *

Ruby Newman who has played at
more White House receptions than
any other batoneer, including the
Rodsevelt-Clark and Roosevelt-Cush-
ing nuptials, says that President
Roosevelt's favorite tunes are "Home
on the Range," "Yellow Rose of
Texas," and "Boots and Saddles."
Jimmy Roosevelt's favorite is "Why
(Continued on page 75)

10

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

"UNTIL I TRIED LISTER IN E ANTISEPTIC I
wouldn't have believed there was
anything chat would really get rid
of dandruff."

Mr. Jack CarUtto, Pittsburgh, Pa.

"THANKS A MILLION FOR USTERINE! It is
the only dandruff treatment for me
from now on."

Mrs. G. A. Marion, Ml. Airy, N. C.

"I BEGAN USING USTERINE a few weeks
ago. Now, with continued daily
applications, I am absolutely free
from dandruff."

Mr. Elmo Howell, Bexar, Ala.

"ALL I CAN SAT IS, you have underestimated the wonderful
effects of Listerine Antiseptic. In a short time my hus-
band was relieved of his dandruff and is his cheerful self
again."

Mrs. R. Swatison, Chicago, III.

Easy, delightful home treatment

cleaned up symptoms in 3 to 4

weeks in many cases.

If remedy after remedy has failed to give
you real relief from ugly, itching dandruff
. . . do not be discouraged. The most pleas-
ant, stimulating dandruff treatment you
have ever tried — Listerine Antiseptic and
massage — is now z.proven success as shown
by test after test . . . and countless letters
from all parts of the country corroborate
its brilliant results.

Kills the Dandruff Germ

Recently, the most intensive dandruff re-
search ever undertaken brought to light a
startling fact . . . dandruff is a germ afflic-
tion. It is caused by the tiny "bottle-
bacillus," Pityrosporum ovale. And Lis-
terine Antiseptic kills this stubborn germ!

Time and again, in laboratory and clinic,
Listerine has shown a positive record of
dandruff control. It has killed Pityros-
porum ovale in laboratory cultures ... it

has banished dandruff symptoms in clini-
cal tests on human beings.

In one typical test, 76% of a group at a
New Jersey clinic who were told to use
the Listerine Antiseptic Treatment twice
daily showed either complete disappear-
ance of, or marked improvement in, the
symptoms within a single month.

Don't Delay

If you have the slightest evidence of dan-
druff, don't wait until it assumes serious
proportions. Start today with Listerine
Antiseptic . . . the same Listerine you keep
on hand as a germicidal mouth wash and
gargle. Feel the invigorating tingle as you
massage ... as Listerine Antiseptic strikes
at the seat of the trouble, the germ itself.
And even after dandruff may be gone,
enjoy an occasional treatment to guard
against possible infection.
Lambert Pharmacal Co., St. Louis, Mo.

LISTERINE

THE TREATMENT

MEN: Douse Listerine Antiseptic on the scalp
at least once a day. WOMEN: Part the hair at
various places, and apply Listerine Antiseptic
tight along the part with a medicine dropper,
to avoid wetting the hair excessively.

Always follow with vigorous and persistent
massage with fingers or a good hair brush.
But don't expect overnight results, because
germ conditions cannot be cleared up that fast.
Genuine Listerine Antiseptic is guar-
anteed not to bleach the hair or affect
textute.

The safe Antiseptic

OCTOBER, 1939

11

BY KATHLEEN \ ORRIS

twet
0/ #%£ tammcC'

Part I.

DID Mother Laurence send for
you yesterday and go into her
specialty dance about being a
good, true, fine woman worthy of
Saint Bride's?" Pauline van der
Venter asked suddenly. Tamara
Todhunter only laughed a little
shocked laugh, but Helena Frost an-
swered carelessly:

"She talks that way to all the
graduates, doesn't she? I imagine
she always does. Yes, she gave me
quite a little monologue."

"Oh, now, no fair! I like Mother
Laurence," Tamara said suddenly
and shyly. "She was awfully sweet
to me all the time I was at Saint
Bride's."

"I can't stand the woman!"
Helena said, in her negligent, su-
perior way. She stifled a yawn. "I
always hated her," she said, the
words stopping another yawn. "How
long were you at Hell Hole, Ta-
mara?"

"Five years. My mother brought
me there when my father died, and
I've been there ever since."

"Vacations and all?" Helena
asked.

"Well, all except one. My Aunt
Tamara was at Lake Louise that
year, and I went there to be with
her."

"The only Tamara I know is some
actress named Tamara Townsend,"
Helena said.

"That's Tarn's aunt; didn't you
know that?" Pauline asked.

"No! Is that so?" The splendid
Helena was interested for a mo-
ment. "Didn't she — " she hesitated
— "didn't she die?" she asked, in a
lower tone.

"Last year, yes. She was killed
in a motor accident in Florida."

"What was her big play, now?"

12

Illustrations
Carl Mueller

" 'The True Lie.' It played a
whole year in New York, and Aunt
Tee — we called her Aunt Tee — had
gone down to Florida in January for
a rest, and was killed."

"Your mother's an actress, too,"
Pauline encouraged Tamara.

Copyright 1934, 1935 by Kathleen Norris.

"Well," Tamara said hesitatingly,
"Mother was. But I don't believe
she's been acting lately. She — she
keeps house for my brother and
sister; they're both on the stage."

"Your brother and sister are?"
Helena demanded, surprised.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

■ At last, radio brings listeners the
works of America's favorite writer!
Here, in its original novel form, is
the story now on the air — the drama
of convent-bred Tamara, rudely
thrust into the bitter world of reality

Originally published by Doubleday, Doran & Co.

"With your face, you'd
be wonderful in pictures,"
Mayne Mallory told Tamara.

"Lance and Coral, yes. They may
not," Tamara added, in strict hon-
esty, "they may not be acting now,
but they're both actors."

"Like the Barrymore family,"
Helena said, in admiration.

"Not exactly. At least we're not

at the top," Tamara explained hon-
estly, with a fine wrinkle between
the dark clear wings of her eye-
brows. "But the whole family's
been in the profession, always, I
guess. My aunt, and my father —
my father was Billy Todhunter — "

"Where does your mother live,
Tamara?" Helena asked.

"I don't know San Francisco at
all, I've never seen their apart-
ment," Tamara said. "But I know
the number — two twenty-two Turk
Street."

Helena laughed.

"Oh, no, you don't know the num-
ber, my dear!" she said lightly.
"That isn't it; nobody lives 'way
down on Turk Street, except per-
haps people who aren't anybody!"
Helena said. "You've got that
wrong. Are you going on the stage
too, Tamara?" she asked.

"I think my mother rather ex-
pects me to. But Mother Laurence
said she earnestly advised me not
to, and that she was praying for me
not to, and that it was a terrible
life for a girl," Tamara explained,
in her soft reedy voice that had so
many notes of appeal and indeci-
sion in it.

In her pleated white skirt, blue-
jacket's blouse, and flying silk scarf,
Tamara Todhunter had been con-
spicuously the beauty of Saint
Bride's; she would be conspicuously
the beauty wherever she went. Just
as Helena's blue and gold and scar-
let coloring did not add up into
loveliness, so Tamara's mysteriously
did; her purple eyes were deeply
set, her wide mouth showed fine big
square teeth when she smiled, and
when she brushed the dark gold of
her loosely waved hair severely
from her low forehead, as she had
done in the dusty, weary heat of the
Seattle to San Francisco train this
afternoon, she wore an air of fresh-
ness and sweetness like that of a
baby.

The train had left Benicia behind
now, and was running southwest.
Villages were thickening on both
sides; in the shabby late afternoon
light everything looked rather gray
and ugly. They were passing bay-
windowed cottages with radio an-
tennae on their roofs; apartment
houses set at odd angles against
empty lots between straggling, ad-
vertisement-plastered fences; boys
were screaming like wild birds as
they swooped about corners. A hot
sun was setting off toward the hazy

OCTOBER, 1939

13

BY KATHLEEN

Part I.

DID Mother Laurence send for
you yesterday and go into her
specialty dance about being a
good, true, fine woman worthy of
Saint Bride's?" Pauline van der
Venter asked suddenly. Tamara
Todhunter only laughed a little
shocked laugh, but Helena Frost an-
swered carelessly:

"She talks that way to all the
graduates, doesn't she? I imagine
she always does. Yes, she gave me
quite a little monologue."

"Oh, now, no fair! I like Mother
Laurence," Tamara said suddenly
and shyly. "She was awfully sweet
to me all the time I was at Saint
Bride's."

"I can't stand the woman!"
Helena said, in her negligent, su-
perior way. She stifled a yawn. "I
always hated her," she said, the
words stopping another yawn. "How
long were you at Hell Hole, Ta-
mara?"

"Five years. My mother brought
me there when my father died, and
I've been there ever since."

"Vacations and all?" Helena
asked.

"Well, all except one. My Aunt
Tamara was at Lake Louise that
year, and I went there to be with
her."

"The only Tamara I know is some
actress named Tamara Townsend,"
Helena said.

"That's Tarn's aunt; didn't you
know that?" Pauline asked.

"No! Is that so?" The splendid
Helena was interested for a mo-
ment. "Didn't she—" she hesitated
— "didn't she die?" she asked, in a
lower tone.

"Last year, yes. She was killed
in a motor accident in Florida."

"What was her big play, now?"

'"The True Lie.' It played a
whole year in New York, and Aunt
Tee— we called her Aunt Tee— had
gone down to Florida in January for
a rest, and was killed."

"Your mother's an actress, too,"
Pauline encouraged Tamara.

"Well," Tamara said hesitatingly,
"Mother was. But I don't believe
she's been acting lately. She — she
keeps house for my brother and
sister; they're both on the stage."

"Your brother and sister are.
Helena demanded, surprised.

HAB.O AND mnBlOH W»«»

"Lance and Coral, yes. They may
not," Tamara added, in strict hon-
esty, "they may not be acting now,
but they're both actors."

"Like the Barrymore family,"
Helena said, in admiration.

"Not exactly. At least we're not

_ "$ith your face, you'd
be wonderful in pictures,"
Mayne Mallory told Tamara.

at the top," Tamara explained hon-
estly, with a fine wrinkle between
the dark clear wings of her eye-
brows. "But the whole family's
been in the profession, always, I
guess. My aunt, and my father—
my father was Billy Todhunter—"

■ At last, radio brings listeners the
works of America's favorite writer!
Here, in its original novel form, is
the story now on the air— the drama
of convent-bred Tamara, rudely
thrust into the bitter world of reality

"Where does your mother live
Tamara?" Helena asked.

"I don't know San Francisco at
all, I've never seen their apart-
ment," Tamara said. "But I know
the number— two twenty-two Turk
Street."

Helena laughed.

"Oh, no, you don't know the num-
ber, my dear!" she said lightly.
"That isn't it; nobody lives 'way
down on Turk Street, except per-
haps people who aren't anybody!"
Helena said. "You've got that
wrong. Are you going on the stage
too, Tamara?" she asked.

"I think my mother rather ex-
pects me to. But Mother Laurence
said she earnestly advised me not
to, and that she was praying for me
not to, and that it was a terrible
life for a girl," Tamara explained,
in her soft reedy voice that had so
many notes of appeal and indeci-
sion in it.

In her pleated white skirt, blue-
jacket's blouse, and flying silk scarf,
Tamara Todhunter had been con-
spicuously the beauty of Saint
Bride's; she would be conspicuously
the beauty wherever she went. Just
as Helena's blue and gold and scar-
let coloring did not add up into
loveliness, so Tamara's mysteriously
did; her purple eyes were deeply
set, her wide mouth showed fine big
square teeth when she smiled, and
when she brushed the dark gold of
her loosely waved hair severely
from her low forehead, as she had
done in the dusty, weary heat of the
Seattle to San Francisco train this
afternoon, she wore an air of fresh-
ness and sweetness like that of a
baby.

The train had left Benicia behind
now, and was running southwest.
Villages were thickening on both
sides; in the shabby late afternoon
light everything looked rather gray
and ugly. They were passing bay-
windowed cottages with radio an-
tennae on their roofs; apartment
houses set at odd angles against
empty lots between straggling, ad-
vertisement-plastered fences; boys
were screaming like wild birds as
they swooped about corners. A hot
sun was setting off toward the hazy

west; it glittered in the windows
of a thousand modest homes on the
rising hills behind Berkeley; it
spilled through the low branches of
oaks like poured fire.

Oakland, and good-byes to Helena.
On the boat there was another part-
ing, this one almost without words.
Tamara was looking for Lance, and
Pauline was absorbed by an elderly
woman and a handsome little boy
of ten, who carried her off upstairs.
There was no Lance to be found.
Tamara felt somehow a little chilled,
although of course her brother
would meet her at the San Fran-
cisco ferry after the twenty-minute
trip. She hadn't seen him for five
years. Would she know him?

CULLS circled the boat; other
boats came and went with toots
and whistles; the gray waters of the
bay were moving in briskly from
the Gate, and when the Piedmont
finally made her pier, waves
churned busily among the rocking
piles and washed with noisy slaps
against her hull.

The lean boy in the slouched felt
hat was Lance. Tamara knew him
at once, surrendered her baggage
and herself to him, and gave him a
kiss. They made their way through
the surging crowds at the ferry to
a taxi, and Lance gave the street
number: "Two two two Turk." She
had been right after all, and Helena
wrong, and Helena had lived all her
life in San Francisco, Tamara
thought amusedly.

"How's Mother?"

"She's fine. She said to tell you
she'd have come if she hadn't had
a cold."

"Oh, I'm sorry she has a cold."

"Oh, 'snothing," Lance said. Ta-
mara had felt her heart sink a little,
chill a little, upon first finding him,
she could not quite think why, or

Over a local station, "\
in Love" is already being
broadcast as a daily serial,
and preparations are now be-
ing made to put another of
Kathleen Norris' popular nov-
els on a network from coast
to coast during the fall and
winter months. For all those
who aren't fortunate enough
to hear the current broad-
casts, Radio Mirror is happy
to present the original novel
by Mrs. Norris, in serial form.

would not think why. Now she
asked herself if he had said " Tisn't
nothing." But no, Lance wouldn't
say that.

"Coral home?"

"Sure; where would she be?"
Lance needed a shave; that was it.
That was partly it, anyway. And
his clothes needed pressing; that
was partly it, too. And his hair
looked rather long and straggly;
perhaps he was playing a poet's part
or something.

"Are you working, Lance?"
"Hell, no," he said mildly enough,
but Tamara winced at the un-
familiar word. "Nobody's workin',"
Lance added, and there was no mis-
take about it this time, he distinctly
dropped the final g. "They say there
are seven thousand actors — darn
good troupers, too — walkin' up and
down Broadway lookin' for jobs,
and askin' their friends for a dime
to buy a sandwich," he said.

"That's awful. I know things are
bad there."

"They ain't as bad as they are
here," Lance said morosely. "Well,
what do you think of the city? Some
city!"

Tamara did not answer at once.
She was studying the great gore of
Market Street as they drove along:
handsome big buildings, handsome
big shops; everyone going home at
this hour; motorcars moving toward
the ferry in streams, and the pink
fog coming down over the steep,
strange hills and dropping soft veils
over the roofs.

They turned into one of the gores
that ran at a northwest angle from
Market Street, and stopped in a
horrid neighborhood of shabby
hotel doorways, garages, candy and
delicatessen shops, cigarette and
fruit stands. The sidewalks were
full of people. For a moment Ta-
mara's heart failed her.
"Is this it?"

"Sure. It's the fifth floor, Apart-
ment Five B," Lance said. "You
work the elevator yourself. Tell
Ma I'll be home for dinner, late.
Listen, Tarn, got any money?"

She opened her purse willingly
enough; she could even manage a
faint maternal smile. But her soul
was sick within her. Lance picked
the only large bill from the little
sheaf she produced.

"Can you let me have a twenty
until tomorrow night? Honest, can
you? . . . Say, you're keen, Tarn.
All right, see you in the movies!
Wait a minute, I'll put these in the
elevator for you."

Tamara had worked automatic
elevators at school; she pressed
number five with a firm gloved
thumb. Once she swallowed delib-
erately and felt the swallow, some-

how, tingle in her eyes, but she was
smiling when she stumbled through
a dark upper hallway and rang the
buzzer to apartment number Five
B. She could hear voices all about,
and something sizzling and steam-
ing; the thick close air was scented
with dust and the odor of frying
onions, carbolic acid and old carpets,
and wash-day operations in laundry
tubs. She was home.

"That you, Tarn?" called a voice
she knew from behind the door.
"It's open, honey!"

Tamara went into a small sitting-
room that had two draped and cur-
tained windows looking into Turk
Street. Through the dirty glass and
looped lace, and past the chenille
fringes, sunset light was streaming.
There was no fog yet this far up-
town; every ugly detail of the ugly
room was illuminated by the hard-
est and least merciful light it ever
knew.

Tamara set down her bags, went
to the couch, sank down beside it
and took her mother into her arms.
After their kiss they looked at each
other. The girl had an impression
of uncorseted softness, perfume,
hair artificially reddened and curled
into a mop beneath which the gray-
ing straight wisps were protruding,
powdered face, loose painted mouth,
magnificent eyes filled with laugh-
ter, amusement, affection, and wel-
come, and pudgy soft small hands
whose nails were painted dark red.

HER mother wore a colorless non-
descript garment that had per-
haps once been a nightgown of
peach satin, with bows on the shoul-
ders and lace at the breast. Over
this was a draggled thin silk kimono
of a creamy ground splashed with
great red poppies and black dag-
gers. She lay in innumerable cush-
ions, all limp and dirty; satin pil-
lows, baby pillows showing faintly
pink and blue under soiled linen
cases, velvet pillows. Beside these
on the couch was a once-elegant
cover of pale green satin, and a
woolly Canadian plaid.

"Lance meet you, lover?" Mrs.
Todhunter said.

They exchanged brevities. Had
the graduation been lovely? And
had the trip been hot? And how
was Coral?

At last Tamara asked, "where do
I sleep, Mother? I'll take my things
in and get unpacked."

"In the back room, lover. You
can have the lounge, or you can
double up with Coral. Lance sleeps
on this."

Tamara went into the bedroom;
there were three rooms in the
apartment, unless one counted the
dining alcove that occupied one side

14

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRBOB

of the kitchen as a separate room.
There was also a small bathroom
smelling of wet wood and scented
soaps, and the bedroom.

The bedroom was dark; after a
few moments Tamara got accus-
tomed to the gloom in there, and
emptied her smaller bag, and found
room for her large one under the
big double bed. There were already
boxes and bundles under the bed;
the one shallow closet was bursting
with clothes; the one strip of wall
that had neither windows nor doors
in it was embellished with a row of
hooks from which more clothing
hung. All about the mirror on the
dresser photographs of men were
stuck at angles; the dressing table
itself was closely littered with pots
and jars, cigarette boxes and ash-
trays, brushes, jewelry, small
articles of apparel. Kid and satin
slippers, discolored and twisted and
collapsed, were in a row on the
table; the room was in complete dis-
order and the bed not made.

AN odd expression came into Ta-
i mara's face as she set about
what superficial ordering and
straightening might be immediately
accomplished. It was a look of in-
tense seriousness and resolution.
Steadily, without stopping, she
moved chairs, hung garments on
hooks already bulging with gar-
ments, made the dreadful bed and
plumped the sodden pillows. She
hung up her coat and hat; washed
her face.

But she felt bewildered and
shocked and surprisingly babyish —
ready for tears. She felt like a
traveler making his way cautiously
across a bog in the dark. Each step
might indeed be tested, but there
was no definite hope of reaching
safety and security after all the
steps.

Coral came in, and the sisters
kissed each other and laughed nerv-
ously as they sat talking awkward-
ly of trifles; after five years they
could not be easy with each other
all at once. Tamara felt another
shock when she saw Coral. It might
be only Coral's strangeness, she
might get over it, but she seemed
talkative and shallow and affected,
somehow. The words did not come
to Tamara, but she felt their mean-
ing. A tremendous and desolating
sense of disillusionment in her sister
swept over her. This was not the
gay successful young actress she had
pictured as laughing over fan letters
in her dressing room, evading un-
welcome callers at the stage door.

"How d'you think Mama looks?"
asked Coral. "She's been deathly
ill. I didn't write you, I'm the worst
letter writer . . ."

OCTOBER, 1939

Tamara had the thrill of watching a play from the wings.

Inasmuch as her sister had never
written her at all, Tamara could not
politely deprecate this.

The sisters went into the kitchen
together, and Tamara had her first
meal at home. She was presently
to discover that all her meals would
be like this one, eaten casually from
paper bags, from bowls in the ice-
box, from the saucepans and coffee
pots on the gas stove. No table was
ever set in the Todhunter house,
and no meal was ever served. Each
member of the family ate when and
what he liked; the coffee pot sim-
mered on the pilot light all day.
Coral hospitably assisted her in'

finding food, sat watching her as
she ate. But Coral ate nothing her-
self; she was going out later to
dinner.

"Mama, want anything?" she
presently shouted.

Mrs. Todhunter came heavily to
the kitchen door.

"I don't believe I'll have any-
thing," she said. "I may go out
later with Ray; he phoned awhile
back. My check hasn't come and
I'm flat! I'm going to have Cutter
go see Jesse."

Jesse Straut was known only
vaguely to the girls as the man who
(Continued on page 54)

15

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Editor's Note: Elsa Maxwell says she resents
her reputation of being the world's biggest party-
thrower, because she weighs only two hundred
pounds. However, thafs not quite what the title
means. In a world where you can make a pro-
fession of almost everything, she has made a
profession of giving parties — and has grown
famous for it. Whenever some social leader wants
to entertain at a particularly amusing or impor^*
tant affair, she calls in Elsa, who gets a brilliantly
novel idea that immediately makes this party
into something the guests think and talk about
for days afterwards. Elsa gave her own secrets
for successful party-giving on a recent NBC In-
side Story broadcast, from which the following^
article was prepared. The Inside Story, sponsored
by Shredded Ralston, is heard on NBC's Blue
network Tuesday nights at 10:30, E.D.S.T.

HATEVER else a party is, it ought to be
run. If it isn't fun, for everybody con-
cerned, there's no excuse for having it.
That seems to be an easy enough rule to re- '
member, but I think a lot of people forget it.
And usually the person who does the forgetting
is the hostess. She doesn't have time to remember
to have fun, because she's too busy worrying.

Are you one of these anxious hostesses? Do
you fret before every party you give, worrying
about "how it will go off," wishing it were over

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You'll have the whole town talk-
ing if you're brave enough to
follow the shocking rules of the
world's most famous party giver

looking on the whole thing as a terrible ordeal?
Don't be ashamed if you are. There are so
many women in the same boat with you that I've
learned to recognize an expectant hostess as soon
as I see her. She always has a far-away look in
her eye, a crumpled list in her hand, and a tend-
ency to shy when spoken to unexpectedly. She
won't be happy until the last guest has gone home
and she can kick off her shoes, throw herself
down in the nearest chair, and sigh, "Thank
goodness, that's over."

And Pm willing to bet her party will be an
awful flop.

The hostess who dreads her own party is licked
before she starts. All too often you can pick out
the host and hostess at a party — they're those
Iwo miserable-looking people with their fingers
crossed. They don't look like that at a party
that's going over with a big bang, though. Then
they're the merry-looking couple who are ob-
viously having twice as much fun as anyone else.
-_ When you give a party, you're a salesman, and
nothing else. A salesman can't get anyone to buy
a product he doesn't believe in himself — and a

-hostess can't persuade other people to have a
good time if she's miserable. You have to sell
the party — so put some enthusiasm into it. The
guests will soon follow your lead.

■«v Oh, I know what you're thinking. "How about
those people who just {Cont'd on page 51)

^^^ J°y O'fl*. Sr-

A mother's selfish love forbade
their marriage — but radio's fas-
cinating heroine, the Woman in
White, solves one of humanity's
most heart-perplexing problems

EVEN in the midst of our first frenzied activ-
ity, while Dr. Jarrett and I struggled to
save the life of the fragile, white-haired
woman in the big four-poster bed, I knew that
something was wrong. There was an oppres-
siveness, a sense of strain and uneasiness about
the atmosphere of that gloomy, old-fashioned
house on Lake Shore Drive — even more than
could be accounted for by the fact that in it
a woman was creeping painfully back from the
brink of death.

I had time, too, while I handed the doctor his
instruments and prepared injections, to wonder
fleetingly how in the world anyone could possibly have
taken such a large quantity of sleeping tablets. And
in the middle of the afternoon, too! That morning,
her son said, the glass vial in the medicine closet had
been full, or almost so — and now at least thirteen
tablets were missing.

But Mrs. Gray was my first case, and for a while I
was almost inclined to believe that my doubts were

18

merely my own fevered imagination. My first case!
There was magic even in the words. So often in my
training days, tingling with weariness after a day in
the hospital, I had lain awake, dreaming of this mo-
ment when I would be caring for my first patient. So
often I had wondered, "Will I be worthy, in that first
test?"

For I knew that nursing was not merely a matter

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

THE ADVENTURES OF KAREN ADAMS. THE WOMAN IN WHITE. WRITTEN BY IRNA PHILLIPS AND SPONSORED
BY PILLSBURY FLOUR, ARE HEARD MONDAYS THROUGH FRIDAYS OVER THE NBC-RED NETWORK

of taking temperatures, smoothing pillows, keeping a
neat chart for the doctor to see, administering medi-
cine at the proper times. All this was important, but
there was more —

"A good nurse, Karen," the Superintendent had said
to me once, "never forgets that every patient has a
soul as well as a body, and that sometimes — often —
the soul is sicker than the body. It will be your job,
much more than the doctor's, to cure your patients'
souls — to look into the inner lives of the people you
are called on to help."

Strange words, from the practical, brisk Miss Curtis!
But I had never forgotten them. And now, with my
very first patient, I was to learn their truth.

I had my first inkling of what was really wrong
after the doctor had left. Mrs. Gray, though still in
a deep stupor, was out of danger. Her son, Donald,
and his wife had entered the room and were standing

OCTOBER, 1939

by the bed looking down at the quiet, pale face. It
seemed to me that Donald looked not only frightened
but faintly guilty as well — and that his wife's concern
was mingled with a strange sort of defiance.

"It won't be long now before she's conscious," I said,
hoping to cheer them up.

Instead, I saw a quick, secret glance pass between
them. "Perhaps I'd better leave, then," young Mrs.
Gray said.

"Oh, no," I reassured her. "I'm sure she'll want to
see you."

"And I'm sure," the girl remarked firmly, "that she
won't." With that, she turned on her heel and went
out of the room.

To my surprise, I saw that her husband was im-
mensely relieved. Handsome, tall and well-built
though he was, there was still something about Donald
Gray that I couldn't quite define. It wasn't

19

weakness, exactly. Immaturity,
perhaps — a little-boy quality that
immediately awoke the protective
instinct of any woman.

"You're quite sure she'll be all
right?" he asked anxiously.

"Of course, Mr. Gray. The doc-
tor wouldn't have left if he wasn't
sure."

I SUPPOSE he had to talk to some-
I one. The burden of guilt he felt
on himself was too much for any
man to bear without confession.

"She took those tablets on pur-
pose, Miss Adams," he said tensely.
"She wanted to die — because she
found out this morning that I was
married."

"Oh, you must be mistaken — " I
began, but he paid no attention to
me.

"Two years we've kept it a secret
from her — all because I was afraid
something like this would happen.
Miss Adams — " his tortured eyes
burned into mine — "have you any
idea what it means to live with
someone who loves you so much
that she depends on you entirely —
builds her whole life about you —
wraps you in love as if — as if love
were a chain, so that you can't
move?"

"Yes," I said to comfort him, "I
think I understand."

"Gladys and I have gone through
two years of agony — wanting to tell
her, and not daring to. And then,
this morning, she found out. One
of our friends told her. If she should
die—!"

In my pity for him, I wanted ter-
ribly to help. But at the moment,
all I could do was say:

"You mustn't think of that, Mr.
Gray. Just remember that she'll
be well soon, and then perhaps you
can make her understand."

"I don't know," he said wearily.
Then anxiety sprang once more into
his face. "Miss Adams — you don't
think she'll try it again, do you?"

"No, of course not. And anyway,
I'll always be with her."

"Thank you," he said. "And
thanks for letting me talk to you.
You see . . . Gladys is almost at the
end of her rope, too. We don't even
seem to be able to talk to each other
about this business any more."

And remembering the look of
defiance in the girl's pert little face,
I could believe him.

If it hadn't been for that talk with

Donald Gray, before his mother re-
covered from her coma, it would
have been several days before I
learned the reason for the strange-
ness of that house. My patient,
when she woke, didn't even seem to
know, at first, that I was in the
room.

"Where's my son?" she asked
weakly. "Donald! Will you please
ask my son to come to me?"

But I had already sent Donald out

of the room, and I had some hot
coffee ready for her. "Here, drink
this," I urged. "It will make you
feel so much better."

Her bright blue eyes, shrewd
even in their weakness, lingered
briefly on my face. "I don't care
whether I feel better or not," she
said flatly. Her hands moved in an
aimless way over the covers. "But
I must see Donald. ... I must talk
to him . . . we have to decide. . . ."

Without the coffee, which she re-
fused to drink, drowsiness was over-
coming her once more. "I feel so
sleepy," she murmured. "Please
bring Donald . . . right away. . . ."

Her eyelids fluttered down. For
another moment or so her lips
moved feebly, and then once more
she was asleep. In all that huge
house there wasn't a sound.

I moved quietly around the room,
straightening up. My mind was go-
ing in circles. A secret marriage —

an unwanted daughter-in-law — a
mother whose love was slowly de-
vouring her son. At first, I had
been all sympathy with Donald, but
now — Even in the few seconds that
Mrs. Gray had been conscious I had
seen how pitiful she was, how
securely trapped by emotions she
could not control.

Mrs. Gray made a beautiful re-
covery— a remarkable recovery, in
fact. Within two days the doctor
announced that there was no further
need for either his services or mine.
But just then Mrs. Gray made an
unusual request. She begged me
to stay on for a while longer.

"I'm not really myself yet," she
said in explaining. "Even though
I am out of danger, I'd be so thank-
ful if you'd stay, Miss Adams. Not
as my nurse, entirely, but — well,
more as my friend. I — I feel unsure
of myself. And I do feel terribly
alone, since — " her eyes misted with
tears — "since I learned about Don-
ald's marriage. In another day or
so Donald and I must decide several
things, and I'd feel so much better
if you'd stay."

"Of course I'll stay," I assured
her.

That afternoon, I met Donald in
the downstairs hall. He had spent
nearly all of the two days since my
arrival at home, seeing his mother
whenever he was allowed to do so,
and he was showing the strain of
worry and fatigue. I hadn't seen
his wife since that first afternoon;
she had left the house then and
hadn't returned.

Donald greeted me with a smile.
"Mother tells me you're staying on
for a while," he said. "I'm very
glad. I — -I want you to help me, if
you will."

Under other circumstances, it
would have seemed strange to hear
this tall young man asking me to
help him; now I saw nothing un-
usual. How could he fight that
fragile woman upstairs, bound to
him by ties of love and duty and
affection?"

"I hope I can help," I said simply.

"You see," he stumbled on in em-
barrassment. "I've tried to talk to
Mother the last day or so — to make
her understand that I'm a man, not
a boy, and have a right to a wife
and home of my own. But she only
says over and over, that Gladys
tricked me into marriage — that
she's sure (Continued on page 70)

20

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Below, don't be fooled by Pal Friday's air
of attention as she listens to Bing Crosby
run over a song. She's probably busy wonder-
ing how to work out that problem in chemistry.

■ A seventeen -year-old
co-ed is the summer's
biggest radio hit — but
if it hadn't been for
those sorority sisters —

By KIRTLEYBASKETTE

WOULDN'T believe it if I hadn't seen it hap-
pen. I mean the case of Helen Patricia Friday.
Not that Pat Friday isn't good. She is — un-
believably good. So good that she's a nugget of
pure gold found in the Beverly Hills by one Bing
Crosby, Prospector. But that's the point. How in
the world could a modest taffy-haired college
Freshman who never in her brief life seriously
thought of singing for a living become overnight
the sensation of no less a program than Bing's
Kraft Music Hall? (And two or three movie com-
panies, too, wistfully looking for new talent.)

How could she have such poise? Such a sweet,
strong, even voice? Such personality? Such pres-
ence of mind? How could this utter novice to
radio, as innocent of microphone technique as a
canary, successfully take over the job of luring
melody-minded listeners to tune in the Kraft show
all summer long while Bing is on vacation?

Well, there's only one answer to all those ques-
tions: I don't know, but (Continued on page 66)

21

■ She's Penny Singleton — who
sends motor cops off about
their business, manages to be
neighborly even in Hollywood,
washes her own windows, and
calls her husband "Scroggs"

A PERT-FACED blonde was spinning her inex-
pensive coupe down one of Hollywood's main
boulevards at an extra-legal clip the other day
when she spied a motor cop stationed at the next
corner. Slamming the brakes she pulled the car to a
stop alongside of his motorcycle.

"Officer," she announced in a matter of fact voice,
"I'm in an awful hurry. Would you mind going off
on some other street to watch for speeders?"

The cop stared in astonishment, then roared with
laughter at the unbelievable impudence of the re-
quest.

"Okay, Blondie, you win!" he said and rode off
around the corner out of sight whilo Penny Singleton
continued her dash to the CBS studios and a rehearsal
of the new Camel show heard on Monday night.

Even Chic Young, the creator of the Blondie of the
comic strip could not have tied that one. But Penny,
who created the character on the screen in the Colum-
bia Pictures series and now with Arthur Lake as Dag-
wood is bringing the funfest to radio audiences, saw
nothing extraordinary in it. It was, she insisted, the
sensible and logical thing to do!

Everything she does seems logical to Penny, what-
ever her friends may think. Even things like worry-
ing herself into a fine state of nerves over the baby
of an unknown fan in Philadelphia who got the
measles. Or flying cross country with only a bottle
of spring tonic, a pair of scissors, a spool of black
thread and a package of No. 9 needles for luggage.
Or blithely discarding her established stage and screen
name of Dorothy McNulty for the unknown monicker
of Penny Singleton a month before she married the
handsome young dentist, Dr. Lawrence Scroggs Single-
ton. Or, for that matter, insisting on calling him
Scroggs in preference to Lawrence.

Strangely enough, by the time she has finished tell-
ing you about them, they seem logical to you too.
There is something about her wide-eyed approach to
life that defies argument because she makes it work
so beautifully. Take the example of her first stage
appearance at the age of eight years.

The children of her neighborhood in Philadelphia
were talking about an amateur contest to be held at
a certain theater. The admission price was a nickel
and the first prize was five shiny dollars.

"I decided to sing They Called Her Frivolous Sal
which my father, a newspaperman, had taught me,"
Penny related. "By the time I got to the first Sal
the audience started to laugh. It made me mad, so
I stepped up to the footlights and told them off. I
said they shouldn't laugh at me that way because I
wanted to win the $5.00 so (Continued on page 87)

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

By KAY PROCTOR

A RTHUR LAKE half tumbled into the room in much
/\ the same breathless fashion Dagwood Bumstead
* V makes the morning eight-ten.

"Gosh I'm sorry I'm late," he apologized, "but
Charlie Chan bit one of the neighbors and I was in a
jam again."

Charlie Chan, he went on to explain, is an untrust-
worthy little Pekingese which belongs to his wife and
at present is the chief bone of contention in the modest
Lake household. If he had his way, the wretched
little beast would be booted out toot sweet but you
know how women are about such things. You have
to humor them if there's to be any peace around the
place.

And as if that wasn't enough to harass a man,
Patricia Van Cleve, his wife, wasn't speaking to him
that morning. It seems they were entered in a jitter-
bug contest which was a cinch for them to win when
the management ups and makes him one of the judges!
Nothing could convince Pat he hadn't fenagled it on
purpose just to take a bow!

"Women are the darndest!" he concluded unhappily.

To make matters worse, he continued, he and Pat
had discovered they were $14.65 over the budget in
the Entertaining and Miscellaneous division and there
had been a few connubial words about that. And to
top it off, they both had planned to use the one family
car that afternoon, Pat to go to a kitchen shower for
a bride and Artie to get down to the CBS studio for a
scheduled script conference for next week's Blondie
show.

In other words, he was sorry he was forty-five min-
utes late for an appointment.

On first meeting you are apt to think Artie Lake
is putting on a swell act. It's too pat to be true. It's
the sort of thing you read about in books and see
every day on the screen. It is incredible, you argue
with yourself, that anyone with his years of experi-
ence in knocking around the world could be so ill
at ease with a stranger, so inarticulate in expressing
his thoughts, so uncertain of himself, so perfectly the
shy young man who giggles nervously and fumbles
with a key ring to mask his embarrassment. It is im-
possible, you tell yourself, that any man of his age,
be it 25 or 35, could be so supinely content with life
and so unaffected by the major problems of the world
today. Peter Pans, you say, went out with bustles.

After a while it dawns on you it is not an act. After
a while you realize you are witnessing a minor miracle
— a fictional character come to life.

Whether Chic Young had Artie Lake in mind when
he first created the comic strip character of Dagwood
Bumstead, husband of (Continued on page 88)

OCTOBER, 1939

■ And he's Arthur Lake — who

dotes on jitterbug contests,
loves to keep folks guessing
about his age, and cheerfully
admits that he has no goal in
life except spending money

The river spoke to her too. It said,
"Comef Cathleen. You're so tired . . ."

V

'

THEIR "conversation" had started
I with Cathleen's school report
■ card, gone on to the way she
talked, and ended, for a climax,
with the bowl of white lilacs be-
neath her mother's portrait.

"I wish you'd drop the habit of
speaking like your nurse," Allan
Bradford was saying. "You're thir-
teen now, Cathleen, and it's time
you were learning to express your-
self correctly. It's ridiculous for an
American school-girl to be talking
in an Irish brogue. . . ."

And then his eyes had fallen on
the flowers, and the weary exasper-
ation in his face hardened suddenly
into fury.

"Who put that bowl of lilacs
there?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Cathleen said.

■ The tender story of a father who had to be
taught there is no loneliness in all the world
like that in the hungry heart of a child

From the radio drama by Kay Van Riper, first presented* over CBS on the
Texaco Star Theater, with Virginia Weidler In the role of Cathleen Bradford.

Illustration by B. Rieger

From each side of her bent head
short braids dangled; she caressed
the scuffed toe of one shoe with the
sole of the other.

"You're lying, Cathleen. ... I
told you never to touch anything in
this room. It was presided over by
your mother — and I want no addi-
tions made to it."

Cathleen raised her head for one
swift glance about the perfectly
appointed, gracious room, as if look-
ing for some trace to be left there
of the mother she had never seen.
"A bowl of flowers!"

Allan Bradford's legs were long;
they carried him across the room in
two strides. He plucked the flowers
out of their bowl and threw them
violently into the wastebasket. And
then the roaring in his ears ebbed

away, as swiftly as it had come, so
that he could hear his daughter's
heart-broken sobs:

"They were for her! May's her
month — Oh, I hate you!"

"Please go to your room now," he
said quietly. "I'm — sorry about the
flowers. You don't understand."

"Yes, father." Cathleen's teeth
clamped down hard over her lips,
over the words.

"And about your school — " He
hesitated, trying to find words. Al-
ways, when he talked to Cathleen,
he was trying to find words for what
he wanted to say — and failing. "See
if you can't do better," he finished
lamely.

"Yes, father."

When she had gone, he sat for a
while watching the dusk rob color

24

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

sfcy':

,'V

» H

■

I jUffii

from the room. It wasn't that he
didn't love the child. . . . Or was
that the trouble, after all? Could
you love that which had taken the
life of one so beautiful?

"Cathleen!" he cried into the
darkness, meaning not his daughter,
but her mother. The name itself
was a constant barb, thrust into his
heart. He would never have called
the child Cathleen, if — she — hadn't
begged him to, that night just be-
fore she died.

He knew he must forget all that.
It was over, and from tonight he
was starting afresh. Hope Cabot
would be here soon — tall, cool as a
breeze from her native New Eng-
land, quietly wholesome — and this
was the night he would ask her to
marry him. He must not be unfair
to her: he must not remember, too
much, what was past.

Would she accept him? He be-
lieved she would. She was not
young, but she was strong and
courageous; she would not shrink
from a household like this, with a
man like a tree half- shivered with
lightning, and the very air sick with
the hatred of a bitter child.

The butler stood in the doorway.
"Miss Hope Cabot," he announced.

WHEN the door banged in the
nursery, Nora said to Cathleen,
"Well — and that must be relieving
of your feelings considerably."

"A bang, Nora, can be relieving of
the feelings," Cathleen told her
somberly, "but not of a deep pain
in the heart."

Nora's broad Irish face was un-
impressed. "Ah," she remarked, "so
you and your dear father were
speaking out again?"

"School, school, school! I hate
school. They never teach anything
that interests you — the teachers are
all ugly to look at — and who's there
to talk about what's in my head?"

"Aaaah!" said Nora. "And if I

haven't dropped my thread!"

Resignedly, Cathleen retrieved
the errant spool. "Why do you mend
my middy blouses?" she com-
plained. "Why can't you be letting
them rot like the bones of the ship-
wrecked at sea?"

"So you did get that book out of
the library!" Nora said accusingly.

"Why can't girls always wear
pink organdy dresses . . . with white
tulle veils . . . and a train of vio-
lets . . . ?" Cathleen wandered to the
window, looked out to the purple-
gray flood of the Hudson flowing
past Riverside Drive and the Park-
way. Soon the stars would be
out. . . . "And in my hair," she went
on, "that great star. Nora, did I tell
you the star visited me last night?"

"And what did he say?" mur-
mured Nora, still sewing.

"First he just shimmered. With
gold. Like the sky after sunset. And
then he said, 'Why Cathleen — if you
aren't as beautiful as your dear
mother whom I've just visited not
ten minutes ago!' " She paused,
then, her voice a-brim with grave
conviction: "That's what he said,
Nora."

"And then what did you say?"
Nora asked, in a voice that seemed
curiously muffled, as if she had a
frog in her throat.

"Why, I sang him a song. Like
the one my mother used to play."
She pronounced the difficult words
carefully: "Claire — de — Lune, by
De-bus-sy. Isn't that right, Nora?"

"Aye — and like a wild sweet bird
she sang that Frenchman's song, her
white hands drifting on the piano
keys like flowers on a stream."

Cathleen's own hands beat to-
gether in rapture — for this was a
ritual, and she knew what came
next. "And then, sometimes she'd
say, Nora — "

"She'd say," Nora took up the
tale, " 'Now I'll be singing for our
lonely Irish hearts a Gaelic song,

written by another Frenchman long
ago.' " Rocking back and forth in
her chair, the sewing forgotten in
her lap, Nora crooned:

"Ta ribin o mo cheadhsearc ann
mo phoca sios — "

"There is a ribbon from my only
love in my pocket deep," sang
Cathleen, her eyes far away on some
dream land; "and the women of
Europe, they could not cure my
grief, alas!"

"It's time you were going to bed,
Mavourneen," Nora said abruptly.
"For tomorrow's the fine day you go
to the dentist."

"What!" Blazing, Cathleen
snapped back to the present. "Sat-
urday afternoon is mine. Everybody
in the world knows it's mine! I
won't go, do you hear me, I won't
go!"

"Your respected father said — "

"To hurt me, to hurt me, that's
all! I won't gol"

"Now then," Nora said sternly,
"to bed!"

THE NEXT afternoon she was al-
most late, and all because she
had to pretend to Nora that she was
going to the dentist's. The clock in
the jeweler's window next door said
exactly three when she hurried into
the little music store on Madison
Avenue, and Mr. Ted looked up
from behind the counter and said,
"Well, Cathleen, I was afraid you'd
passed us up today."

"Oh, no! I wouldn't!" Cathleen
said in a shocked whisper.

Mr. Ted, who waited on her every
Saturday afternoon, led her to one
of the sound-proof booths in the
back of the store. "And how's your
father today?" he asked.

"He's better," she told him
primly. "I brought him some white
lilacs yesterday, and he just smelled
and smelled them, and then he
smiled — you know, I've told you
about my father's dear smile — and

OCTOBER, 1939

25

ABOUT VIRGINIA WEIDLER: The eleven-year-old star of "Cath-
leen" has been in the movies since she was three, but in spite
of all that professional experience, she's still a normal, healthy
girl, a little on the torn-boy side, and passionately interested
in her pets — a lovable dog named Laddie, and two love birds.

then he said, 'Well, Cathleen dar-
ling, how did you know they were
just what I wanted?' "

"He must get tired of lying in
bed all the time," the young clerk
said sympathetically. "I hope some
day he'll walk in here with you,
well and strong."

"I hope so too, Mr. Ted," Cathleen
agreed.

"He's lucky to have a little
daughter like you."

Her eyes sparkling, Cathleen
said, "That's what he says. He al-
ways puts his arm around me when
I read to him and says, 'You're
Daddy's girl — ' "

Ted March raised the lid of the
big electric phonograph and put in
a new needle. "Well," he asked,
"what music does your father want
you to hear today?"

"Some — some De-bus-sy, today.
And—"

She paused, to let him know that
something important was coming.

"And — he gave me the money to
buy the album! So now you can
make a ten dollar sale! Isn't that
wonderful?" She burst into excited
happy laughter, and in a second he
joined her, so that the little cubicle
rang with their merriment.

"Because it's my birthday, and
he says he wants me to have what-
ever makes me happy!" Cathleen
explained. "He's so — so understand-
ing, my father is. ..."

Ted March said quietly, looking
down at her radiant little face
(funny, she was such a homely little
thing, really, but right now she was
almost beautiful): "He must be a
swell guy."

"And now, please," Cathleen said,
with a breathless note in her voice,
"Can we begin our wonderful Sat-
urday afternoon?" Quickly she

drew three chairs up in a row facing
the phonograph, and perched her-
self on the middle one. "There. Here
I am in the middle, with — my
mother on one side and my father —
on the other."

Almost reverently, Ted placed
the phonograph needle at the edge
of the whirling disk, and tiptoed
from the room at the first notes of
"Claire de Lune."

But Cathleen paid for her won-
derful - Saturday afternoon that
evening.

YOU may as well stay," Allan
Bradford said to Hope Cabot;
"you may as well see at first hand
the family group. From Childhood —
nothing but waywardness, wilf ull-
ness, secretiveness — until she's
grown into what they call a 'prob-
lem child.' "

"I have no faith in such labels,"
Hope said crisply, in her deep, rich
voice. "Allan, dear, you're taking
this thing much too seriously."

"Stealing — deliberate disobedi-
ence? Can you take them too seri-
ously?" he asked bitterly. "Well,
we might as well get it over. I'll
have Nora send her in here."

But before his finger touched the
bell, they heard another sound —
the melody of "Claire de Lune" be-
ing played fumblingly, inexpertly,
on the piano in the music room.
Allan's face went chalky.

"Her mother's piano! She's been
forbidden — " He flung open the
door to the hall. "Stop that!" he
shouted.

The melody was silent, on the
middle of a note.

"Come in (Continued on page 59)

ABOUT KAY VAN RIPER: Ten years ago the author of "Cathleen"
graduated from the University of Minnesota and headed at
once for Hollywood — not because she had any movie ambitions
but just because its balmy climate appealed to her after years of
Minnesota blizzards. She arrived with just $40 in her pocket, and
her first move was to audition for a dramatic part on Station
KFWB. To her own intense surprise, she got the job, and from
acting she drifted into radio writing, working so hard and en-
thusiastically at it that she became responsible for many of
the station's best programs — as well as its publicity agent!
Her most famous series during that time was English Coronets,
dramatizations of the lives of British rulers, in which she also
played leading roles. It was this program which led a Metro-
Goldwyn-Mayer talent scout to give her a movie writing con-
tract. At first she had the contract but nothing else; nobody
gave her anything to do. Then she was put to work on an un-
important play called "Skidding"; she finished the script and
it went into production — to emerge as the fabulously success-
ful "The Hardy Family." Kay has been writing steadily about
the Hardys ever since, doing a few radio plays, like "Cathleen,"
in between times because she still loves writing for the air.

26

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROH

s'*^"

+

Radio helps you se-
lect your college
clothes! Take a peak
at the modish out-
fits Helen Carroll,
of the famous Mer-
ry Macs, heard on
the Fred Allen show
and the Hit Parade,
recommends for the
well-dressed co-ed.

Start the day with a song in your
heart — and on your sweater (above) .
The white angora-embroidered musi-
cal notes are on a ground of blue.
A "must" is this wool plaid sports
jacket (left), with a pleated skirt.

■A

4<

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vCYc

of *>©„ *"*s f

OCTOBER, 1939

rf>es,

Photos exclusive to Radio Mirror by Robert K. IVeitzcn

The fitted British tweed sport coat
is the thing for the first crisp fall
days. Helen's is green (above).
Left, a smart black and white sheer
wool dress, with a fitted Danger Red
jacket. All these styles were espe-
cially designed for Helen Carroll,
and can be purchased in leading
stores of the country. They bear the
label, "The Merry Macs Swing Style."

27

ON'T GIVE

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YOU AND your husband are at
a party. You've just had your
hair done, your gown is a new
one, the room is full of interesting
people, the music is wonderful.
You've been looking forward to
this evening, because it's your first
night out since Baby was born. You
ought to be having the time of your
life.

But you aren't.

You are perfectly miserable, you
can't keep your mind on what
people are saying to you, and you
wish to goodness you were home.

There's only one reason for your
misery, and it's a very little — but
a very important — one. You can't
get your mind off that precious bun-
dle of humanity at home. Is King
Baby perfectly safe? Is the nurse
you have staying with him while
you went to the party really re-
liable? Is he covered lightly enough
if it's a warm night, warmly enough
if it's chilly? Is everything all right
with him? .

And just at this point you catch

28

sight of another young mother who
seems to be enjoying herself hugely,
not a thought of her baby in her
mind. And you think resentfully,
"I don't see how she does it! Has the
woman no heart?" But the thought
brings you little comfort, and the
party is spoiled and pretty soon you
go home. And after that you and
your husband don't go to any more
parties. You stay home, comforting
your dullness with the thought that
you're doing your duty and being a
good mother and placing your in-
fant's welfare before your pleasure.

But are you?

Joan Blondell Powell, devoted
mother of Norman and Ellen, says
you're not.

"New mothers should not be too
devoted to their babies!" she told
me. Excessive, twenty-four-hour -
a-day devotion to babies is bad,
without qualification — bad for the
mother, for the father, and for the
babies themselves. I know — how
well I know!" Joan added ruefully,
"that this over-absorption in our

babies is the most difficult habit
young mothers have to break. All
the more difficult because we don't
really want to do anything about it!"

Joan flung out a hand in a de-
spairing gesture. "I know what hap-
pens to a mother who lets herself
be simply eaten by her babies. I
know because of what's happened
to me. I have to fight, continually,
because I'm one of those mothers
who believes instinctively that no
one but myself can really take care
of my babies. If I spent a million
a year on nurses, tutors, and gov-
ernesses, I'd still think that unless
I pinned on the baby's diaper the
pin would stab her!

"And it's all wrong! I shouldn't
feel that way, and I know it. When
you have a baby your life, your own
life, is apt to stand still while you're
watching and waiting for the baby's
next little sign of progress. My life
did. At first I'd find myself think-
ing, 'In six more days Ellen may
walk ... I'd better not plan to do
anything, I'd better not leave the

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIBROR

IN TO

By GLADYS HALL
Love your children — but
learn to "neglect" them
too! Read Joan Blondell
Powell's amazing recipe
for a really happy and
successful parenthood

house for fear I won't be here at
the precise moment!' Then it was,
'Soon now she'll say her first word
and I'd better be here for that!'
Now it's, 'Any minute she'll begin
to play with Normie and I couldn't
miss that!' Next I'll be thinking
that soon she'll be ready to go to
kindergarten and since she'll leave
me so soon I'd better stay with her
every minute. ...

WHICH is all fine and dandy,
except that one day I'll come
out of the cloud of talcum powder
and the coma of watchful waiting to
the realization that the baby is
practically to have a baby of her
own and that I've spent my whole
life living her life, while the years
have passed me by."

Joan ended her outburst without
the little half -laugh which had ac-
companied its beginning, and I knew
that she was talking of a very real
and serious problem in her life —
a very real problem in every young
mother's life, whether she realizes

OCTOBER, 1939

it or not. (And many mothers, un-
happily, are not as clear-sighted as
Joan.) Her last words sketched,
vividly, the picture of the woman
who has given herself with a kind
of selfless ecstasy to her children,
letting that ecstasy blind her to
what is really best for the children,
to her duty to herself and to her
husband — and then finds, too late,
that her devotion is unwanted, un-
welcome.

And yet, our very surroundings
symbolize the other side of the pic-
ture. We were sitting in the living

Fink Photo

room of the chintzy, homey, com-
pletely delightful Blondell-Powell
house in Hollywood. It was an
afternoon when Joan was "between
servants," and the babies were, to
put it literally, under foot. In the
course of our talk Joan tripped over
a couple of marbles left on the floor
by small Miss Ellen Powell, aged
eleven months; Dick, coming in the
front door, tripped over a broken
bicycle left there by young Mr.
Norman Powell, aged four; Joan
rescued Miss Ellen from eating two
marbles; (Continued on page 63)

29

YOU BROUGHT ME TO MY SENSES

Music by
JOHNNY GREEN

Words by
BENNY DAVIS

*

Johnny Green, maestro and star
of the Philip Morris programs,
and composer of this new melody.

■ Radio Mirror introduces the newest song
sensation — by the composer of such hits
as "Body and Soul," "Coquette," and the
current favorite, "You and Your Love"

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RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

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If you are lucky enough to
get two of these tickets, you'd
hurry along famous 45th
Street to Columbia's Radio
Theatre No. I (above).

■
Left, you hand your ticket
to the courteous page-boy
and try to find a good seat
way down in front — if you
can. Better come early.

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CBS,

H

Above, you become one of a most unusual crowd of people — people from
every state in the union. You applaud as announcer Charles O'Connor
steps upon the stage (right) and welcomes you to the Columbia Playhouse.
He makes you feel at home and tells you to relax and enjoy yourself.

*t

IN ordinary times, it isn't too easy
to get a ticket to a radio broad-
cast— but all this summer, as
crowds from out of town poured
into New York to visit the Fair, the
coveted bits of pasteboard have been
scarcer than ever. So Radio Mirror
presents this picture-visit to one of
the popular broadcasts — the Philip
Morris program, Johnny Presents.
If you're lucky enough to visit it,
the pictures will add to your
pleasure; if you're not, we hope
they'll make you feel as if you'd
been there. Like most CBS pro-
grams, Johnny Presents is broadcast
from a regular Broadway theater,
leased by the network. Playhouse
Number One, the theater we visit
this Friday night, is a busy one, in
use every night but Wednesday. It's
just off Times Square. So hurry
for this half hour of exciting music
by Johnny Green with vocal ar-
rangements by Ray Bloch and those
thrilling dramas produced and di-
rected by Jack Johnstone.

This is Johnny the call-boy,
with two cardboard replicas
behind him on the miniature
stage from which he steps at
the beginning of the program.
■

Right, maestro and star
Johnny Green is a composer
as well as an accomplished
pianist — as you can tell
from his song on page 30

mem*

Photos by David Scott, CBS staff photographer

While you're getting yourself comfortably seated in the air-conditioned
theater, the cast is preparing for the broadcast. Left, Johnny Green rushes
through the backstage alley to open the show, and the girls of Ray
Bloch's Swing Fourteen (above) pretty up in their dressing room.

PyHrT El^ /%, ** /u V*x %

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l^^>>.

AX

■%&•:'

If you are lucky enough to
get two of these tickets, you'd
hurry along famous 45th
Street to Columbia's Radio
Theatre No. I (above).

■
Left, you hand your ticket
to the courteous page-boy
and try to find a good seat
way down in front — if you
can. Better come early.

K

A

r<*

IN ordinary times, it isn't too easy
to get a ticket to a radio broad-
cast— but all this summer, as
crowds from out of town poured
into New York to visit the Fair, the
coveted bits of pasteboard have been
scarcer than ever. So Radio Mirror
presents this picture-visit to one of
the popular broadcasts — the Philip
Morris program, Johnny Presents.
If you're lucky enough to visit it,
the pictures will add to your
pleasure; if you're not, we hope
they'll make you feel as if you'd
been there. Like most CBS pro-
grams, Johnny Presents is broadcast
from a regular Broadway theater,
leased by the network. Playhouse
Number One, the theater we visit
this Friday night, is a busy one, in
use every night but Wednesday. It's
just off Times Square. So hurry
for this half hour of exciting music
by Johnny Green with vocal ar-
rangements by Ray Bloch and those
thrilling dramas produced and di-
rected by Jack Johnstone.

if

This is Johnny the call-boy,
with two cardboard replicas
behind him on the miniature
stage from which he steps at
the beginning of the program.

■
Right, maestro and star
Johnny Green is a composer
as well as an accomplished
pianist — as you can tell
from his song on page 30

®

CBS

RADIO'S
PHOtO-
MfRROR

Above, you become one of a most unusual crowd of «~. I
every state in the union. You applaud mZ Pe°ple-people from
steps upon the stag. ,„,,„) ^^^%^^^ O'Connor
He moW you feel at Lme and tells you "o rel« «1 ° yh

- ■ .-,. louse,
relax and enjoy yourself.

~

PI-fM ij Ptrid Sill. ( US iltf IhmUtnfklr

While you're getting yourself comfortably seated in the air-conditioned
theater, the cast is preparing for the broodcost. Left, Johnny Green rushes
through the bockstoge alley to open the show, and the girls of Ray
Bloch's Swing Fourteen (above) pretty up in their dressing room.

One at a time they step before the
NBC television camera, while Jack
Frazer (right) announces them. \

Above, Eleanor Troy turns on the
personality, holding up her iden-
tifying number. Right, contestants
could wear either street clothes or
show costumes. Left, a cute little
model in Mexican dress that certain-
ly was never made for a rear view.

IT took three days of telecasting
and the combined efforts of near-
ly a dozen judges to pick the first
Queen of Television — Caryl Smith,
tall, brunette and twenty-one, of
Seattle, Wash. NBC sponsored the
contest on the grounds of the New
York World's Fair, limiting it to
employees of the Fair.

According to the judges, Caryl
Smith possesses, more than any of
the hundred entrants, television's

mysterious "X-Appeal" — a mixture
of beauty, charm, pleasant voice,
graceful carriage and the "oomph"
Hollywood has been talking about.
Caryl's an actress, working this
summer in the Fair's Amazon show,
where she plays The Girl on the
Wheel. Before that, she toured
with Gertrude Lawrence in "Susan
and God." She's 5 feet 8 inches tall
and weighs 123 pounds. Her prize
was an RCA television receiver.

RADIO'S
PHOTO-
M^RQR

I

IT took three days of telecasting
and the combined efforts of near-
ly a dozen judges to pick the first
Queen of Television— Caryl Smith,
tall, brunette and twenty-one, of
Seattle, Wash. NBC sponsored the
contest on the grounds of the New
York World's Fair, limiting it to
employees of the Fair.

According to the judges, Caryl
Smith possesses, more than any of
the hundred entrants, television's

mysterious "X-Appeal" — a mixture
of beauty, charm, pleasant voice,
graceful carriage and the "oomph"
Hollywood has been talking about
Caryl's an actress, working this
summer in the Fair's Amazon show,
where she plays The Girl on the
Wheel. Before that, she toured
with Gertrude Lawrence in "Susan
and God." She's 5 feet 8 inches tall
and weighs 123 pounds. Her prize
was an RCA television receiver.

IE ii

That smile caught the judges
eyes, too. That's why Caryl
Smith (above, left) was chosen
the Fair's Television Queen.
Above, right, finalists await
their turn before the cameras.

Below, the Fair's tattooed lady poses in the Court
of Centaurs, while (left) judges tune her in on a
television set in the RCA Pavilion. The scene trav-
eled more than fifteen miles to the receiving set,
from the Fair to the transmitter in New York and
back again, although the contest was being held
less than a mile away. The judges, left to right, are
John Gannon, advertising agency art director, Syd
Hydeman, magazine art director, and McClelland
Barclay and Russel Patterson, famous illustrators.

Pitfurn by William Hmtuilrr, NBC.

^,

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One at a time they step before the
NBC television camera, while Jack
Frazer (right) announces them.

Above, Eleanor Troy turns on the
personality, holding up her iden-
tifying number. Right, contestants
could wear either street clothes or
show costumes. Left,' a cute little
model in Mexican dress that certain-
ly was never made for a rear view.

PmVdk

■ It's refreshing — try this special dog-
days broadcast and you're bound to
laugh yourself into a cooling breeze

The kid everybody wants
to get rid of — and every-
body enjoys — Baby Snooks,
as played by Fannie Brice.

LATE summer's dog days make you
want to loll around and be en-
■ tertained — but where are those
rip-roaring funsters that help you
shoo your blues away and make you
forget the heat? They've been en-
tertaining you all winter — and it's
not an easy job to make millions of
people laugh every week. So what
happened? They got tired and

36

needed a rest. Because we knew
you'd miss them, we're presenting
this special March of Dimes broad-
cast which was presented by Holly-
wood in honor of the President's
birthday, starring those mad
comedians, Bob Hope, Baby Snooks,
George Burns and Gracie Allen,
with Eddie Cantor as master of
ceremonies.

If you like to laugh, you'll read
and treasure this, one of radio's
most novel programs. Our thanks
go to Vick Knight, the producer of
the March of Dimes broadcast, for
his help in making the script avail-
able.

And here comes Eddie Cantor.

Eddie: Good evening, ladies and
gentlemen — this is Eddie Cantor,
whose privilege it is to introduce
tonight some of the greatest per-
sonalities in the entertainment
world.

And it's a real pleasure to present
our first guest star — that kid every-
body wants to get rid of — Fanny
Brice as Baby Snooks! Tonight,
Daddy Snooks, played by Hanley
Stafford, is in a bad way. He went
to a stag affair at his lodge last
night, and is now trying to recover
from the horrible after-effects of
the wassail bowl. He is resting in
his study as Baby Snooks enters.
Let's hear you groan, Daddy.

(And Daddy does groan, long and
loud. )

Baby Snooks: Hello, Daddy.

Daddy: Oh, you're here. Go away,

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

CA^LfABf

Snooks — Daddy's trying to rest. My
head's splitting.

Snooks: Why is your head split-
ting, Daddy?

Daddy: Because — because I work-
ed too late in the office last night.

Snooks: Oh! Ho wwas the smoker,
Daddy?

Daddy: All right, you little
snooper! So I went to a smoker
and don't ask me to tell you what
a smoker is, and don't bother me
at all — just get out of here.

Snooks: Awight. (Daddy goes on
groaning, and suddenly Snooks
yells:) DADDY!

Daddy: Owww! What do you
want?

Snooks: How'd you get sick?

Daddy: Well, at this party last
night there was so much — so much
smoke that it got into my lungs and
caused this headache. Now do you
know what's the matter with me?

Snooks: Uh-huh. You got a
hangover!

(Daddy tries to answer that one,
but he's too weak. Instead he just
says: )

Daddy: Snooks, please leave me

OCTOBER, 1939

Burns and Allen put their heads to-
gether for one of the funniest skits
they ever broadcast. Below, Bob Hope
(with his dog) in a ferocious mood.

alone for a half hour. Just one half
hour. Please.

Snooks: Awight . . . Daddy?

Daddy: Ohhhh! Now what is it?

Snooks: Where did you go last
night?

Daddy: To my lodge. It was our
annual smoker.

Snooks: Did you take Mummy?

Daddy: NO!

Snooks: Why?

Daddy: Because no women were
allowed there — only Elks!

Snooks: Then why did you go?

Daddy: Because I'm an Elk.

Snooks: Wahhhhhhhhhhh!

Daddy: What are you hollering
about now?

Snooks: 'Cause I think you're
crazy.

Daddy: What's crazy about me
being an Elk? A lot of people are
Elks. My boss is not only an Elk —
but he's a Lion, a Moose, and an
Eagle.

Snooks: (Very interested.) How
much does it cost to see him?

(That crack adds a couple more
shooting pains to Daddy's head, and
after a (Continued on page 73)

Continuing the fascinating story of a dangerous love, adapted by Hope
Hale from the popular NBC serial sponsored by Dr. Lyons Tooth Powder

When should a woman cease fighting for her husband's love? Mary
knew Catherine was winning Larry away and yet when she learned —

The story thus for:

MARRIAGE at first had meant
the most complete happiness
Mary Noble had ever known. A
stranger in New York, she had con-
quered where so many others had
failed, by becoming the bride of
Larry Noble, Broadway's handsome
matinee idol. But Mary soon learned
that she must fight for her hus-
band's love, for women did not
cease to seek him even after mar-
riage. Yet never had she had an
adversary like Catherine Monroe.
Catherine, one of Washington's
social leaders, entered Mary's life
in the guise of a friend, offering to
back the play in which Larry Noble
hoped to make a successful Broad-
way comeback after several dis-
astrous years; but Mary realized
almost at once that Catherine's in-
terest was not entirely in Larry as
an actor. In Washington, where
they went to try the play out, Mary
witnessed a murder that was com-
mitted in Catherine's house, and
when she described the murderer
to the police Catherine rebuked her
sharply for dragging her into un-
necessary publicity. When she saw
that Larry was taking Catherine's
part in the argument, Mary, dis-
illusioned by his disloyalty, left him
and stayed at a hotel. The next day
two men, pretending to be detec-
tives, lured her into the country and
made an attempt upon her life, pre-
sumably to silence her concerning
the murder she had seen. She was
rescued from the leaky boat in
which they set her adrift on the
Chesapeake, but during her con-
valescence from shock and exposure
Catherine wormed her way more
fully into Larry's confidence. At
last Bill Wicart, a Senator from the
West, warned Mary that she must
get Larry away from Catherine if
she did not want him to be seriously
harmed. Catherine, he told her, was
suspected of being part of an in-
ternational spy ring. Mary tried to
laugh off his fears, but upon arriv-
ing at the theater she saw Catherine
and Larry in the wings. Catherine,
whispering to Larry, was handing
him a folded piece of paper.

MARY swayed, clutched the
prop of a piece of scenery to
keep from falling. What she
had just witnessed was in itself a
frightful confirmation of all Senator
Wicart's warnings. Those warnings
that she had tried to tell herself

Ken said, "You've everything but the knowledge of
your own value. Marriage has taken that away."

were sheer melodrama! Yet here
was Larry, her husband, plainly
under the spell of Catherine Mon-
roe, plainly her confidant and —
perhaps her dupe.

As she watched, the scene ended.
Catherine's eyes came away from
Larry's, and saw Mary and Bill
Wicart standing there. "Look,
Larry!" she began. "The lost are
found—"

But Mary gave her no oppor-
tunity to say more. Quickly she
stepped toward her husband and
Catherine. "May I talk to you a
moment, Larry — in your dressing
room?" she asked in a low voice.

Catherine stared — then said
brightly, "Heavens! I'm late. Will
you drop me at my hairdresser's,
Bill?"

A moment later Mary closed the
dressing room door behind her and
Larry. "Larry," she said, "don't you
think this has gone far enough?"

The face he turned to her was
hostile. She stifled her pain and
distress at those frowning brows,
the bitter curve to his lips. No

longer was it a question of their
love, hers and Larry's. That was
gone; she had said goodbye to it.
But somehow, she had to save him
from the material harm Catherine
would do to him. For all doubts had
vanished from her mind — Bill
Wicart was right. Catherine Mon-
roe was a professional spy.

"Please, Larry," she hurried on,
"I don't want to quarrel with you —
only to warn you. You mustn't — oh,
you mustn't! — get mixed up in what
Catherine's doing. This spy busi-
ness— "

"Who told you that?" he asked
sharply.

"Bill. He has good reason to be-
lieve that's what she is. And he's a
Senator — he ought to know."

"No doubt. But in this particular
case he doesn't." Larry's tone was
curt, forbidding. But perhaps he saw
the misery in her eyes, because the
next moment he said more kindly,
"I'm sorry, Mary. Probably Cather-
ine's actions do look suspicious. But
they're not what they seem. And I
can't explain. ... In another day or

OCTOBER, 1939

two — maybe in a few hours — you
and Wicart will both find out how
mistaken you are."

"Oh, don't you see that's just the
way she would want you to think!"
Mary pleaded. "She's probably even
told you she's not really working
with this gang, but just gaining their
confidence so as to trap them!"

LARRY bit his lip, and Mary knew
■ that her random shot had gone
home. "I — I can't talk about this,"
he said lamely.

"I don't care whether you talk
about it or not!" she cried out. "I
just don't want you mixed up in it.
You're an actor. You've got a play
due to open soon. If you get any
deeper with Catherine and her — her
work — Why, I — I'll do something
about it myself!"

"Mary! If you make any trouble
now it may cost Catherine her life!"

"How?" she said quickly. "Then
you do know—"

He shrugged, wearily and impa-
tiently. "I can tell you this, Mary-
Catherine has been working with
Baron Zenoff's gang in order to
round up the whole spy ring for the
Government."

"I don't believe it! She's just fool-
ing you, leading you around to suit
her own plans — "

And at that instant, watching
Larry's face, Mary knew that she
had failed. Rage smouldered behind
his dark eyes, but his voice was
level as he said: "Please give me
credit for some judgment, Mary,
even if I am your husband! And
since you're here, will you take
charge of rehearsal for me? — the
cast ought to be getting here
now. I may be back before you're
through."

"Larry!" Oh, this was fear, now,
that she felt — real, stark fear.
"Where are you going?"

Ken Griffin plays the part of
Larry Noble in Backstage Wife.

"Out," he said briefly. With swift,
sure movements he was changing
into street clothes. As if she hadn't
been there at all, Mary thought
dully. And in a moment, without
another word, he was gone.

Where had he gone? Where?
Where? All through the rehearsal,
all through the lonely, anxious
hours that followed, that question
drummed through Mary's brain.
That his errand was in connection
with Catherine Monroe and her ac-
tivities, she could not doubt. Re-
peated telephone calls to Catherine's
home brought her nothing but the
information that neither Catherine
nor Larry was there.

Throughout the night she lay
awake in her hotel room, pictures
flashing through her overwrought
imagination. The picture of Larry
and Catherine, standing close to-
gether in the wings of the theater
. . . the picture of Bill Wicart's grave
face . . . the picture of Larry in
danger, in disgrace, perhaps — but at
this thought she turned again in the
tumbled bedclothes — dead.

Morning came at last, and with it
the newspaper, dropped at her door
by a thoughtful hotel management.
There, staring up at her from the
front page, were the headlines:
"Spy Ring Trapped!" — and under-
neath, the photographs of two
people. "Hero and Heroine of Zenoff
Espionage Scandal." Catherine . . .
and Larry.

Unbelievably, it was true. Her
hands trembling, she read the ex-
citedly-worded newspaper account

— learned how Catherine, on the
afternoon before, had kept a crucial
assignment with Baron Zenoff. Zen-
off, growing suspicious of her, had
been on the point of taking her life.
But in the meantime, Larry, worried
by her absence, had called Secretary
of State Woring's private telephone
number, which Catherine had given
him (so that was what was on that
folded paper! ) and had arrived with
help just in time to save Catherine's
life and jail the entire spy ring.

At first, she could feel only one
emotion — overwhelming, joyous re-
lief that Larry was safe. It was only
later, as she read more of the news-
paper story, grasped more fully its
implications, that confusion and ap-
prehension came.

She tried to tell herself that she
was glad Catherine had been vindi-
cated, proud of Larry, happy that
his judgment had been right. But
she knew it was a lie. Woman-like,
her mind had asked only one ques-
tion: "Will Larry forgive you for
being wrong — for quarreling with
him when he needed your help and
sympathy?"

SHE must know the answer to that
question at once. She tried to
call Larry on the telephone, but
Catherine's butler told her that Mr.
Noble was sleeping and could not
be disturbed. Well, she could under-
stand that, and she waited impa-
tiently for the time to come when
she could see him. He did not come
to rehearsal at the theater — a re-
hearsal that buzzed with talk of his
exploit. It was late in the afternoon
before, at last, he arrived. Grate-
fully, she realized that he was alone.

Once more they talked in Larry's
dressing room. Only a day had
passed since their last conversation
there. Only a day, but it seemed a
year. For now everything was
changed.

"I was wrong, Larry," she said
humbly. "You were a better judge
than I."

"Don't blame yourself," he said
gently. "You couldn't know." He
was, she saw, tired and yet exhil-
arated. Danger, met and conquered,
had sapped his body but strength-
ened his spirit. "You know," he
rushed on, "this business is going to
boom the play. The publicity, I
mean." (Continued on page 7 9)

"Never again!" swears this well known writer who made the
mistake of matching wits with the Information Please experts

NEVER again will I sit smug
and snug in front of my radio
and say, "Why can't the bums
answer that one?" For I have been
a guest on Information Please and
was I good and lousy!

I can testify that nobody slipped
me so much as a comma, let alone a
question, before the fun began. All
the slips were my own and in the
error column. Indeed, the manage-
ment of Canada Dry was very kind.
As the last notes of the program be-
gan to die away there was some
commotion in the back of the room
among the patrons. I understand
that they were forming a posse and
it seemed to me that I caught the
word "rail" and the phrase "tar and
feathers." One of the officers of the
corporation spirited me away down
a back stairway and shipped me to
Stamford in a plain sealed envelope.

When I got home all the members
of my family had gone to bed and
pulled the covers over their heads.
They have never mentioned the
matter to me, but I understand they
are making a valiant and pathetic
attempt to convince the neighbors
that papa must have got hold of a
bad oyster just before he went on
the air. With touching loyalty they
maintain that the old man couldn't
have been as terrible as all that had
he been in his right mind.

All I can say for myself is that I
meant no harm and that I did it
only for the dough with which I
had hoped to buy Connie a bonnet
for Christmas. She doesn't want it
now. Indeed, she did depart from
her charitable reticence long enough
to say, "Don't buy me a hat with
your Information Please money. It
would gag me."

Would that my good angel had
done the same for me when I was
first asked to appear as a guest upon
that famous program.

During the final week my terror
mounted. I prayed steadily for
laryngitis but all I got was a light
case of palsy. Of course, I had
known that the program was one of
the most popular on the air but I
had not realized just what that en-
tailed.

Relatives whom I hadn't seen for
years called up on the telephone in
those last few days to ask how I was
feeling. There was even a postcard

OCTOBER, 1939

By
HEYWOOD BROUN

Copyright, 1939, by Connecticut Nutmeg, Inc.

Heywood Broun, famous columnist,
who learned what mike-fright is.

from Aunt Carrie asking for a ticket
to the studio. And that was queer
because the police have had her on
the list of missing persons ever since
she disappeared ten years ago with
Uncle Clarence's Buick, a reliable
chauffeur, thirty-one dollars in cash
and my grandfather's gold watch.
Aunt Carrie said that if it wasn't
any trouble she would like to have
an extra pair of seats for two of her
girls. I don't know whether she
has married or opened some sort of
business establishment. Aunt Carrie
always was impulsive. She sent her
address and the directions, "knock
three times and say that you're a
friend of Minnie's" But I didn't
mail her any tickets. I knew that
my relatives were all behind me and
I wanted to keep them there and not
have them out front gaping.

I WAS scared right up to the min-
ute Mr. Fadiman, the interlo-
cutor, looked in my direction and
said, "Mr. Broun." Then I was petri-
fied. It was a combination of mike
fever and stage fright.

A friend of mine who had once
been through the mill and come
away with nothing but a slight con-
cussion tried to reassure me the
night before I walked that long last

mile. "You're probably right in as-
suming that you don't know any of
the answers, Heywood," he said.
"But what of it. All you need do is
to throw in a couple of wisecracks."

But when I sat there, stripped
down to my intellectual nakedness,
I might as well have been told to
toss in the Grand Central Station
and Grant's Tomb. A numbness
started in my toes and settled in my
head. Two hours after it was over,
and I had rubbed myself with
alcohol, I did think of something I
might have said.

But even if I had scored that
triumph I doubt if it would have
been sufficient to get me by. In ad-
dition to having a phobia about the
popping of ginger ale bottles I also
jump whenever a cash register
rings. During such times as I was
trying to answer questions on In-
formation Please it almost seemed
as if the bells of St. Mary's had gone
into swing.

Naturally, this was by no means
the first time I ever flopped as a
public entertainer. Once upon a
time I appeared in a show (under
my own management, naturally)
called "Shoot the Works." But after
the first night my ineptitude got
around only by word of mouth. I
made an awful chump of myself
during eight performances a week
for seven weeks but those who wit-
nessed the sad spectacle would not
have extended from the last row to
the box office even though I had
laid them in the aisles.

BUT after Information Please
there is no remote hamlet to
which I can flee. I do not dare go
into the drugstore at Bull's Head to
buy a book or venture into Ye Tav-
ern for a headache powder. Even
the Fuller Brush man turns and
runs for his life when he hears my
voice saying, "Come in," as I answer
his friendly knock.

I have had my cot moved to the
hen house. It's pretty cold in there
during some of these chilly nights,
but I find more warmth among the
fowl than I will ever be able to get
in any human habitation from now
on. The Rhode Island Reds look on
me with sympathy and commisera-
tion because they, too, know what it
is to lay an egg.

41

Eastern Daylight Time

a

<ttkl

ESS

ui<
tfl

8:00
8:00

8:30
8:30

9:00
9:00
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12:C0

1:00
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5:00
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7:00
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6:00
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7:00
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2:00
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3:00
3:00

Peerless Trio
Organ Recital

Tone Pictures
Four Showmen

8:00
8:00
6:00

8:30
8:30

9:00
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9:30
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10:30
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9:00
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10:00
10:00

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Blue:

NBC-Red:

8:30

NBC-Blue:

NBC-Red:

8:45

NBC-Red: Animal News

9:00

CBS: From the Organ Loft

NBC-Blue: White Rabbit Line

NBC-Red: Turn Back the Clock

9:15

NBC-Red: Tom Teriss

9:30

CBS: Aubade for Strings

NBC-Red: Sunday Drivers

10:00

CBS: Church of the Air

NBC-Red: Highlights of the Bible

10:30

CBS: Wings Over Jordan
NBC-Blue: Russian Melodies
NBC-Red: Children's Hour

11:00

CBS News and Rhythm

11:05

NBC-Blue: Alice Remsen

11:15

NBC-Blue: Neighbor Nell

11:30

CBS: MAJOR BOWES FAMILY
NBC-Blue: Southernaires
NBC-Red: News

11:45

NBC-Red: Vernon Crane's Stor, Book

12:00 Noon

NBC-Blue: RADIO CITY MUSIC

HALL
NBC-Red: Walter Logan Music

12:30 P.M.

CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle

NBC-Red: On the Job

1:00

CBS: Church of the Air
NBC-Blue: Waterloo Junction
NBC-Red: Norman Cloutier Orch.

1:30

NBC-Red: Sunday Symphonette

2:00

CBS: Democracy in Action
NBC-Red: Sunday Dinner at Aunt
Fanny's

2:30

NBC-Red: University of Chicago
Round Table

3:00

CBS CBS Symphony

NBC-Red: Chautauqua Symphony

3:15

NBC-Blue: Bookman's Notebook

3:30

NBC-Blue: Allen Roth Presents

NBC-Red: Name the Place

4:00

CBS So You Think You Knjw

Music
NBC-Blue: National Vespers
NBC-Red: Ranger's Serenade

4:30

NBC-Red: The World is Yours

5:00

NBC-Red: Jimmy Shields

NBC-Blue: News from Washington

5:15

NBC-Blue: News

5:30

NBC-Red: The Spelling Bee

6:00

NBC-Red: Catholic Hour

6:30

CBS. Gateway to Hollywood

NBC-Red: Grouch Club

7:00

CBS: Alibi Club

NBC-Red: The Aldrich Family

7:30

CBS: Musical Playhouse
NBC-Blue: Radio Guild
NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon

8:00

CBS: Orson Welles (Sept. 10)
NBC-Blue: NBC Symphony
NBC-Rtd: DON AMECHE, EDGAR
BERGEN

9:00

CBS. Ford Show

NBC-Blue: HOLLYWOOD PLAY-
HOUSE

NBC-Red: Manhattan Merry-Go-
Round

9:30

NBC-Blue: Walter Winchell
NBC-Red: American Album oi
Familiar Music

SUNDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

9:45

NBC-Blue:

Irene Rich

10:00

MBS: Goodwill Hour

NBC-Red: Hour of Charm (Sept. 17)

10:30

CBS. H. V. Kaltenborn

NBC-Blue: Cheerio

11:00

CBS: Dance Orchestra

NBC Dance Orchestra

■ Stars of Hollywood Playhouse: Gale Page and Jim Ameche.
Tune-In Bulletin for August 27, September 3, 10, 17 and 24!

August 27: A quartet of new orchestra openings to add variety to your late-night dance-
music listening: Al Donahue's band with Paula Kelly at Manhattan beach, on Mutual.
. . . Bill Marshall at the Surf Beach Club, Virginia Beach, and Mike (Music Goes
Round and Round) Riley at Auburn Park, Auburn, N. Y., both on NBC. . . . and Bill
Bardo at the Rice Hotel, Austin, Texas, on CflS.

September 23: The last day of the Davis Cup Tennis finals at Marion, Pa. — on CBS with
Ted Husing announcing. . . . And the second day of the National Air Races at
Cleveland — NBC broadcasts this event.

September 10: Orson Welles brings his Mercury Playhouse back to CBS for Campbell's
Soup tonight at 8:00.

September 17: Phil Spitalny and his all-girl Hour of Charm orchestra start a new
broadcasting season tonight, at a new time — 10:00 on NBC-Red.

September 24: And another favorite program returns — the Screen Actors Guild show
on CBS at 7:30. . . . What you mustn't forget today: Daylight Saving Time came
to an end at midnight, and in many localities your network programs will be
heard an hour earlier.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Woodbury's
Hollywood Playhouse, starring Gale Page
and Jim Ameche, on NBC's Red netwo:!<
at 9:00, Eastern Daylight Time, with a re-
broadcast reaching the west coast at
8:00, Pacific Time.

Phonograph records are used to re-
hearse this dramatic program. On Wed-
nesday evenings before the broadcast, the
cast gathers at NBC's Studio C in Holly-
wood Radio City for the first reading of
the week's script. After the play has been
read twice, some corrections are made and
it is gone over once more, this time for a
recording. On Thursday Gale Page and
Jim Ameche come into the office of Jay
Clark, the director, to listen to the records
and learn how to perfect their roles before
Sunday, when the whole afternoon before
going on the air at 5:00 is devoted to
more rehearsals.

Because of the difference in time be-
tween New York and Hollywood, the first
broadcast is held late in the afternoon,
and then the whole cast leaves the studio
to eat dinner together at either the Brown
Derby or The Tropics, returning in time
for the Coast show at 8:00.

Twenty-four-year-old Jim Ameche is one
of Don Ameche's younger brothers, and
could easily be called a vest-pocket edition
of Don. He not only resembles his brother
in looks, but has the same mannerisms and
temperament and acting ability.

He and Gale Page are enthusiastic over
each other's ability and enjoy working with
each other. While Jim is fussing over a
sound turntable during a lull in the re-
hearsal, Gale will always be found in a
corner of the studio, knitting. She knits
incessantly in her spare time, following a
popular Hollywood custom.

Rehearsals for the Hollywood Playhouse
are informal and chatty, but not the broad-
cast itself. Once the show goes on the air
everything is dignity. The feminine star —
Gale in the summer, guest stars in the fall
and winter — invariably wears an orchid;
and the men don't go in for any of the
slacks-and-sport-shirt attire so popular in
many a Hollywood radio studio. After
Charles Boyer returns in October, to re-
sume his place as star of the program,
he will personally choose his leading ladies
— a privilege that radio grants to few
actors, no matter how important they are.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

ERNO RAPEE — orchestra leader on the Musical Playhouse,
CBS at 7:30 — and when that show goes off the air Sept.
17, he'll be back directing the Sunday-noon concerts of
the Radio City Music Hall Symphony. Hungarian-born
Rapee has been in radio for 19 years, was a great friend
of Roxy, and is the composer of several hit songs. He's
married, and lives in an apartment in midtown New York.

INSIDE RADIO-The New Radio Mirror Almanac

42

BADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

12:30

1:15
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8:00
8:00

8:30
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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

8:30

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade

9:00

CBS: Richard Maxwell

NBC: News

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15

CBS: Meet the Dixons

9:30

CBS: Manhattan Mother

NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

NBC-Red: Life Can be Beautiful

10:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

NBC-Red: The Man I Married

10:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

NBC-Blue: Josh Higgins

NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Blue: Jack Berch

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00

CBS: It Happened in Hollywood

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

CBS: Donna Curtis (Sept. 11)

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon

CBS: Girl Interne

12:15 P.M.

CBS: When a Girl Marries

NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent

NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour

NBC-Red: Time for Thought

12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs

1:15

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful

NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over

1:30

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

1:45

CBS: This Day is Ours

NBC-Red: Words and Music

2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters

NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

2:15

CBS Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine

NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

2:45

NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches

3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone

NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45

NBC-Red: Midstream

5:00

NBC-Red: The O'Neills

5:30

NBC-Blue: Affairs of Anthony

5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00

CBS: News

6:05

CBS: Edwin C. Hill

6:45

NBC-Blue. Lowell Thomas

7:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy

NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang

7:15

CBS: Lum and Abner

7:30

CBS: Blondie

MBS: The Lone Ranger

NBC-Red: Larry Clinton

8:00

CBS: Tune-Up Time

NBC-Red Tommy Riggs (Sept. 4)

8:30

CBS: Howard and Shelton

NBC-Blue: True or False

NBC-Red: Voice of Firestone

9:00

CBS: LUX THEATER (Sept. 11)

NBC-Red: Doctor I.Q.

NBC-Blue: Magic Key of RCA

9:30

CBS. Guy Lombardo

NBC-Red: Horace Heidt

10:00

NBC-Red: The Contented Hour

MONDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

■ Vocalists Ford Leary and Mary Dugan . . . and maestro Clinton.
Tune-In Bulletin for August 28, September 4, 11, 18 and 25 !

Augus! 28: Those two old gentlemen from Pine Ridge are back again tonight — Lum
and Abner, on CBS at 7:15, from now on every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

September 4: Betty Lou and Tommy Riggs return to the air tonight at 8:00, and NBC-Red
is +he netwoik. . . . Van Alexander's band opens at Murray's in Tuckahoe, N. Y., to be
heard on Mutual . . . The National Air Races are on NBC this afternoon.

September II- Here's a new daily serial starting today. It's called Donna Curtis, and
it's on CBS at 11:15. . . . And good news to everybody is that vacation days are over
for the Lux Theater — it returns to CBS at 9:00 tonight. . . . Guy Lombardo's program
changes time to 10:00 tonight — a half-hour later than before.

September 18: Tommy Dorsey's orchestra opens at the Eastern State Exposition — and
you can hear his sentimental swing on NBC.

September 25: Lots of new programs today: Jack Armstrong on NBC-Red at 5:30
P.M. . . . Tom Mix on NBC-Blue at 5:45 ... The Carters of Elm Street on NBC-Red at
12 noon. . . . And Alec Templeton starring in his own program on NBC-Red at 9:30.
. . . Also, the American Legion convention begins in Chicago, and the networks will
broadcast it.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Larry Clinton's
Musical Sensations, on NBC's Red network
at 7:30, Eastern Daylight Time, rebroad-
cast to the west at 6:30, Pacific Standard
Time — sponsored by Sensation Cigarettes.

Getting to NBC's studio 3-A every week
to broadcast this program is a complicated
business for Larry Clinton and the boys
in his band. The schedule isn't the same
two weeks in succession, particularly in the
summer. All through the hot weather the
Clinton band has been playing two-or-
three-night engagements out of town, rush-
ing back to New York for the Monday
broadcast, squeezing in a day of solid re-
hearsal to catch up on new numbers, find-
ing time somewhere for another day of
recording — and then dashing out of town
for another dance engagement.

Larry Clinton is a dignified, dark-
mustached musician who looks a good deal
like a young college professor and not at
all like the expert in swing that he is. He
does all his own music-arranging for the
program, and at least half his present
fame is due to his cleverness at arranging
melodies into a distinctive dance tempo.
He's the lad who first thought of swinging

the operatic aria "Martha," and of chang-
ing such classics as Debussy's "Reverie"
and Tschaikowsky's "Romeo and Juliet"
into dance numbers. Besides re-arranging
the classics, he composes many tunes him-
self, and every Monday night the band
plays at least one new Clinton song —
usually of the swing variety. He can and
does play every instrument in the band
except the violin — which he studied when
he was a boy.

Of the vocalists on the Sensations pro-
gram, all but two are regular members of
Clinton's band. These two are the Frazee
sisters, Jane and Ruth, who appeared as
guests on the first show and made such a
hit they were signed permanently. Ford
Leary, Mary Dugan and Terry Allen, the
other vocalists, travel with the band on
its road tours and appear with it in night
spots. Ford Leary, the hefty swing-singer
who doubles on the trombone in the band,
is the fellow who first popularized the song
"Shadrach." Mary Dugan, only eighteen
years old, was entirely unknown until Larry
heard her sing a few months ago and hired
her on the spot — while Terry Allen, his
newest singer, used to be with Red Norvo.

SAY HELLO TO...

FRANCESCA LENNI — who plays Millicent Pennington in
the CBS serial, Your Family and Mine, at 2:30 this after-
noon. This is her first big radio job, but she comes to
if with plenty of theatrical experience. Born in Kansas
City, she moved to New York when she was four, and
was interested in dramatics all through school. After
graduation, she spent two years working in Summer stock.

Complete Programs from Aug

OCIOBEH, 1939

43

Eastern Daylight Time

u

E
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a

K
<
O

z
<

H

VI

u

El

3

<

a.

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.3:00

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'00
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3:l5
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8:00
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7:00
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9:00
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8:00

NBC

8:15

NBC

8:30

NBC

9:00

NBC

9:05

NBC-

9:15

CBS

9:30

CBS:

NBC-

9:45

CBS:

NBC-

10:00

CBS:
NBC-
NBC-

A.M.
Red: Gene and Glenn

Red: Hi Bays

Red: Do You Remember

: News

Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

Meet the Dixons

Manhattan Mother
Red: Family Man

Bachelor's Children

Red: Life Can be Beautiful

Pretty Kitty Kelly

Blue: Story of the Month

Red: The Man I Married

;-::»

10:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

NBC-Blue: Josh Higgins

NBC-Red- John's Other Wife

10:30

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Red Woman in White

11:00

CBS: Mary Lee Taylor

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

CBS: Donna Curtis

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

CBS. Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon

CBS: Girl Interne

12:15 P.M.

'US When a Girl Marries
NBC-Red: The O'Neills
12:30

CBS: Romance oi Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: The Trail Finder
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

CBS: Life Can be Beautiful
1:30

CBS: Road of Life
NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
1:45

CBS: This Day is Ours
NBC-Red: Fed. Women's Clubs
2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob
2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter
2:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches
3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin
3:15

NBC- Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
3:45

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
NRC-Red: The Guiding Light

00
NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas
4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade
4:45

NBC-Red: Midstream
5:00
NBC-Red: The O'Neills

:30
NBC-Blue: Affairs of Anthony
5:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie
6:00

News

CBS.

6:05

CBS: Edwin C. Hill

6:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00

CBS: Amos 'n' Andy

NBC-Blue: Easy Aces

NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang

7:15

CBS: Jimmie Fidler (Sept. 12)

NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen

NBC-Red: Quicksilver Quiz

7:30

CBS: HELEN MENKEN

8:00

CBS: EDWARD G. ROBINSON
(Sept. 19)
7:00 NBC-Blue: The Inside Story
7:00 NBC-Red: Johnny Presents

8:30

7:30 CBS: Walter O'Keefe
7:30 NBC-Biue: INFORMATION PLEASE

9:00

:00 NBC-Blue: Artie Shaw
:00 NBC-Red: Battle of the Sexes

9:30

:30 CBS: Bob Crosb"
:30 NBC-Blue TRUE STORY TIME
:30 NBC-Red: Alec Templeton

10:00

9:00 CBS: Hal Kemp
9:00 N Hi '-Hiii, •■ If I Had the Chance
9:00 NBC-Red: Bob Hope (Sept. 26)

10:30
9:30 CBS: H. V. Kaltenborn
9:30 NBC-Red: Uncle Walter's Doghouse

■ Helen Menken, Joseph Curtin, Tommy Donnelly. Janice Gilbert.
Tune-In Bulletin for August 29, September 5. 12, 19 and 26!

August 29: A good bet for tonight; the dramatic True Story program with Fulton Oursler

on NBC-Blue at 9:30.
September 5: Those friendly comedians, Fibber and Molly McSee, are back on the air

again, beginning tonight — NBC-Red at 9:30.
September 12: Gossip Jimmie Fidler brings you the Hollywood low-down again, starting

tonight at 7:15 on CBS.
September i9: Two more new programs — one a return of an old favorite, the other

brand new! First, Edward G. Robinson in Big Town at 8:00, next Walter O'Keefe at

8:30, both on CBS.
September 26: Tonight's returning prodigal is comedian Bob Hope, on NBC-Red at

10:00, with Skinnay Ennis' orchestra, Jerry Colonna, and in addition — Judy Garland.

. . . The American Legionnaires in Chicago are parading today, and if you listen

to the networks you'll feel almost as if you were right there.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Second Hus-
band, starring Helen Menken, on CBS at
7:30, sponsored by Bayer Aspirin.

Miss Helen Menken is a perfectionist,
which probably accounts for the fact that
she is one of the few stars of stage or
screen who has been able to make and
retain an equal success on the air. Long
hours of rehearsal go into every broadcast
of Second Husband, and even then she's
seldom quite satisfied with her own per-
formance. Everyone else is, though.

Rehearsals for Second Husband start on
the Friday afternoon before the broadcast,
when scripts are distributed to the mem-
bers of the cast. They gather in a small
CBS studio and read their parts over a
few times, then take the scripts away to
study them over the week-end. On Mon-
day there's another rehearsal, at which
director Stephen Gross begins to coach
the actors in voice inflections, timing, and
so on. On Tuesday afternon, in CBS
Playhouse Number Two, the final, intensive
work begins, climaxed by a dress rehearsal
with the orchestra. Even after this, though,
the actors gather around a long table and
work until after five making tiny changes.

Broadcasting Second Husband is almost
like putting on a regular stage play, with
the curtain rising at the beginning of the
show and falling at its end, and all the
actors taking curtain calls in response to

applause. Helen is very intense at the
microphone, and amplifies her lines with
gestures of her expressive hands and with
real laughter or tears or anger.

Vic Arden's orchestra, which supplies the
music between scenes of the play (called
mood-music around the studios) sounds on
the air like a bigger band than it is. It
consists only of five pieces and the direc-
tor— two violins, a trumpet, a trombone,
and a Hammond organ. The snatches of
music it plays usually have very strange
titles — they're named after the emotions
they are intended to convey to the listener
— "Dramatic Tension," "Dramatic Neu-
tral," "Hurry Number One," "Apassionata
Number Two," and "Rhythmic Agitato."

Many of radio's best actors have ap-
peared in Second Husband at one time
or another, but here are the regulars —
the members of the cast who are in nearly
every week's broadcast: Joe Curtin as
Grant Cummings, the "second husband,"
Carleton Young as Bill Cummings, his
brother, Arline Francis as Marion Jennings,
Brenda's secretary, William Podmore as
Edwards, the butler, Jay Jostyn as Ben
Porter, and Janice Gilbert and Tommy
Donnelly as Fran and Dick, Brenda's two
children. During broadcasts, all the actors
sit in a line across the stage, like old-time
minstrels, getting up and walking to the
microphone on their cues.

44

SAY HELLO TO . . .

BABS — the feminine third of the Smoothies vocal trio,
on Hal Kemp's Time to Shine, CBS at 10:00 tonight. Her
real name is Arlene Johnson, and she's a Minneapolis
girl. She came to New York to sing with the Twin City
Foursome, but after some time of working on unsponsored
programs the Foursome broke up, and Arlene, discouraged,
went back to Minneapolis. She'd hardly left New York
when the Smoothies, Charlie and Little, began trying to
find her, wanting to offer her a job with them. One of
Arlene's friends heard of the search and told them where
she was — and she's been the Smoothies' Babs ever since.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

ttfeVUND THE FOOTLIGHTS

QUESTION TO MISS WRIGHT:

How important is a good complexion
to a girl who wants to go on the stage?

ANSWER:

"I'd say it's one of the first
requirements. Using Pond's 2 creams
has done a lot for me, I know. The
Cold Cream is marvelous for
removing stale make-up — it gets my
skin clean and fresh. A healthy skin is
so important to me that I'm glad
to be able to give it extra care — with
'skin-vitamin' in Pond's Cold Cream."

QUESTION TO MRS. ROOSEVELT:

Why are you interested in having
Vitamin A in this cream?

ANSWER:

"Because if skin hasn't enough
Vitamin A, it gets rough and dry.
Vitamin A is the 'skin-vitamin.'
And now I can give my skin an extra
supply of this important vitamin
just by using Pond's."

QUESTION TO MISS WRIGHT:

What do you do to guard your skin
against sun and wind?

ANSWER:

"That's where my 2nd cream comes
in. When I've been outdoors, I
always spread on a light film of
v Pond's Vanishing Cream. This single
application smooths away roughness
in no timel"

QUESTION TO MRS. ROOSEVELT:

Do you find that your powder goes
on more becomingly when you use
two creams?

ANSWER:

"Yes I — I believe in first cleansing and
softening the skin with Pond's Cold
Cream. Then my second step is a quick
application of Pond's Vanishing Cream
to smooth away little roughnesses. That
gives powder a lovely soft look"

Between Rehearsals — Muriel often relaxed
on picturesque Provincetown wharf. Above, a
litter of kittens has discovered her retreat.

Fir

For Her Scrapbook — Like every budding
player, Muriel eagerly collects clippings and
pictures. Below, an amateur snaps her with
boy friend.

♦Statements about the "skin- vitamin" are based upon
medical literature and tests on the skin of animals
following accepted laboratory methods.

POND'S .-^.

'■J^A\\ POND'S, i

SEND FOR

TRIAL

BEAUTY

KIT

Pond's, Dept.8K:Vl-CVK,Crinton, Conn.
Rush special tubes of Pond's Cold Cres
Vanishing Cream and Liquefying Cre
(ijuicker-melting cleansing cream) and
different shades of Pond's Face Powdei
enclose 10^ lo cover postage and packing

^/i/na

_Slate_

Copyright, 1939, Pond's Extract Comf

UJ<

OH

12:30

1:15
7:00

10:30

I 10:00

8:15
3:15

8:30
8:30

8:45
9:00

3:15
9:15

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9:30

10:00
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1:15
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11:4£
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12:00
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2:00

7:00
3:00
7:00

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3:30
7:30

7:30
4:30
7:30

5:00

8:00

8:30
6:00

Four Showmen
Do Your Remember

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn
8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys
8:30

NBC-Blue:
NBC-Red.
9:00

CBS: Richard Maxwel.
9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB
9:15

CBS: Meet the Dixons
9:30

8:30 CBS: Manhattan Mother
8:30 NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

8:45 CBS: Bachelor's Children
8:45 NBC-Red: Life Can be Beautiful

10:00

9:00 CBS Pretty Kitty Kelly
9:00 NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
9:00 NBC-Red: The Man I Married

10:15

9:15 CBS: Myrt and Marge
9:15 NBC-Blue: Josh Higgins
9:15 NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30

9:30 CBS: Hilltop House
9:30 NBC-Blue: Jack Berch
9:30 NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

9:45 CBS: Stepmother
9:45 NBC-Red:' Woman in White
11:00

10:00 CBS: It Happened in Hollywood
10:00 NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
10:00 NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

10:15 CBS: Donna Curtis
10:15 NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
10:15 NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

10:30 CBS: Big Sister

10:30 NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
10:30 NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

10:45 CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
10:45 NBC- Red: Road of Life
12:00 Noon
CBS: Girl Interne
12:15 P.M.
11:15 CBS: When a Girl Marriei
11:15 NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30

11:30 CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
11:30 NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
12:45

CBS: Our Gal Sunday
1:00

CBS: The Goldbergs
1:15

12:15 CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
12:15 NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over

1:30

12:30 CBS: Road of Life
12:30 NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

1:45

12:45 CBS: This Day is Ours
12:45 NBC-Red: Words and Music
2:00

1:00 CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
1:00 NBC-Blue: Roy Shield Revue
1:00 NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

2:15

1:15 CBS: Dr. Susan
1:15 NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30

1:30 CBS: Your Family and Mine
1:30 NBC-Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

NBC-Red: Betty Crocker
3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin
3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
3:45

2:45 NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
2:45 NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

4:00

3:00 NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
3:00 NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas
4:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade
4:45

NBC-Red: Midstream
5:00

NBC-Red: The O'Neills
5:30

NBC-Blue: Affairs of Anthony
5:45

NBC-Red: LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE
6:00

CBS: News
6:05

CBS: Edwin C. Hill
6:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas
7:00

6:00 CBS: Amos 'n' Andy
6:00 NBC-Blue: Easy Aces
6:00 NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang

7:15
6:15 CBS: Lum and Abner
6:15 NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen

7:30
6:30 CBS: People's Platform
6:30 MBS: The Lone Ranger

8:00
7:00 CBS: Phil Baker
7:00 NBC-Red: ONE MAN'S FAMILY

8:30
7:30 CBS: CHESTERFIELD PROGRAM
7:30 NBC-Blue: Hobby Lobby
7:30 NBC-Red: Tommy Dorsey

9:00
8:00 CBS: TEXACO STAR THEATER

(Sept. 13)
8:00 NBC-Red: What's My Name

9:30
8:30 NBC-Red: George Jessel
9:00 NBC-Red: KAY KYSER'S COLLEGE

WEDNESDAYS HIGHLIGHTS

■ Noel Mills and Ed Jerome broadcast When a Girl Marries.
Tune-In Bulletin for August 30, September 6, 13 and 20 !

August 30: Abe Lyman's band opens at the Chez Paree in Chicago, and NBC is right

there with a wire to bring you the music.
September 6: Have you listened yet to Meet the Dixons, starring Barbara Weeks and

Dick Widmark, on CBS every day at 9:15 A.M.?
Septembe. 13: That good variety show, the Texaco Star Theater, is back tonight on

CBS at 9:00, with Frances Langford, Kenny Baker, and Ken Murray.
September 20: Most of America's radios will be tuned in tonight to the championship

fight in Detroit between Joe Louis and Bob Pastor. Bill Stern announces, and the

right wave-length is that of your nearest NBC station.

ON THE AIR TODAY: When a Girl
Marries, by Elaine Sterne Carrington, on
CBS at 12:15 today and every day except
Saturday and Sunday, sponsored by the
Prudential Insurance Company.

The average person can't understand
how a writer can turn out a daily serial
script, day after day, year in and year
out, with never a break. Elaine Sterne
Carrington has reduced the whole job to a
science. She works from Monday morning
through Thursday noon, starting at seven
in the morning, not doing just one script
a day, but trying to do as many in one
working day as she can. She keeps about
three weeks ahead of the broadcasting
studio at all times — that is, the episode of
When a Girl Marries that you hear today
was written by her three weeks ago. Be-
sides When a Girl Marries, of course, she
also writes Pepper Young's Family.

An exceedingly vigorous person, Mrs.
Carrington hates to lie in bed late in the
mornings, but when occasionally she gets
behind in her work she forces herself to
stay there, dictating to her secretary, until
she has caught up. It's a form of self-
discipline.

All of her scripts are dictated by Mrs.
Carrington to a secretary, typed out and
then gone over once more by the author;
then mailed from her Long Island home to
the advertising agency in New York which
produces the program. All summer long
Mrs. Carrington stays at her country home
on Long Island, refusing flatly to come to

town. In the winter she and her husband
and two children, Patricia and Bobby,
move to their house in Brooklyn. Mr.
Carrington is a prominent New York at-
torney, and the two children, 14 and 10,
are editors of their own magazine, "The
Jolly Roger," which has a subscription list
of 300, mostly to celebrities. Other im-
portant members of the Carrington coun-
try home are the police dog Flash, the cat
Red Davis, and a young goat named Alci-
biades, who loves to eat cigarette butts.

In New York, when Mrs. Carrington's
scripts arrive, they are interpreted by a
cast that includes Noel Mills as Joan Field;
Joan Tetzel as her sister, Sylvia; Irene
Winston as Eve Topping, Joan's best
friend; John Raby as her sweetheart, Harry
Davis; Ed Jerome and Frances Woodbury
as her father and mother; Marion Barney
as Mrs. Davis; Bill 0umn °s Tom Davis,
and Michael Fitzmaurice as Phil Stanley —
who is the closest thing to a villain When
a Girl Marries has. There isn't much melo-
drama in Mrs. Carrington's plots, because
she believes in real-life characters who
might be the people next door.

Noel Mills, Joan Tetzel and Irene Wins-
ton are three of radio's prettiest young
actresses, and having them all in one
program creates a field-day for CBS studio
attaches. At any rehearsal you'd be sur-
prised at the number of technicians, en-
gineers, page boys and even vice presi-
dents who find errands to take them into
Studio 3.

46

SAY HELLO TO . . .

JOAN BANKS — the beautiful blonde star of This Day Is
Ours, the CBS serial heard at 1:45 this afternoon and
every afternoon except Saturday and Sunday. To her
role of Eleanor MacDonald, Joan brings both radio and
stage experience. On the air she has played with Helen
Menken and Kate Smith, and in Her Honor, Nancy James.
Joan is a native New Yorker, and has lived in West-
chester County since she was two. She drives her own
car to and from the studios in New York every day. Be-
neath those blonde tresses there's a substantial store
of brains — she's a student of philosophy in spare time.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

MODESS ANNOUNCES NEW COMFORT FOR YOU... "MOISTURE ZONING!"

Women have always had this haunting worry

when wearing a sanitary napkin — "Am
I all right?" They've had to ask friends,
or seek a mirror to be sure. Could a nap-
kin be devised which would help to re-
lieve that worry?

Women have often had this discomfort —

a charing when walking or dancing — be-
cause the moist outer edges of the napkin
rubbed against tender flesh. Could a nap-
kin be devised whose edges would stay
dry for a longer time?

Scientists Set tO WOrk to defeat these
two handicaps to women's freedom and
comfort. Experiment followed experi-
ment. Test followed test. At last, after
years of research ... a discovery and its
perfection . . . !

Today— Miracle ModeSS! At any dealer's,
you can now buy the new Miracle
Modess. Its unique new feature — "Mois-
ture Zoning" — acts to zone moisture —
hold it inside the pad. The edges of the
napkin stay dry, soft, chafe-free, longer
than ever before !

Yes, Miracle Modess is a miracle of
comfort! Its downy "fluff -type" filler

makes it SOFTER.Its"Moisture Zoning"
keeps edges dry longer! And in addition,
Modess is SAFER. For "Moisture Zon-
ing" gives greater absorbency — and this,
with Modess' moisture -resistant back-
ing, helps you forget to worry.

Today, buy the Napkin of Tomor-
row— Modess. In the same blue box. At
the same low price.

AGAIN MODESS IS FIRST!

FIRST WITH "FLUFF -TYPE" FILLER

Modess was first to use
a downy-soft "fluff-
type" filler — entirely
different in construc-
tion from "layer-type"
napkins! The result?
Greater comfort —
Modess starts softer
and stays softer.

FIRST WITH MOISTURE - RESISTANT BACKING'

Modess was first to use
a "Stop-back" of mois-
ture-resistant material,
to guard against strik-
ing through.

NOTE THE BLUE UNE

Modess has a colored
thread along back of
pad so you'll wear back
AWAY from body.

AND NOW FIRST WITH "MOISTURE ZONING"

Modess again is first —
with "Moisture-Zon-
ing," wh ich keeps edges
of napkin dry and chafe-
free longer than ever
before. Get Miracle
Modess today. In the
same blue box at the
same low price.

OCTOBER, 1939

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7:30
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7:00
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8:00
8:00
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Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

8:30

NBC-Red: Do You Remember

9:00

NBC: News

9:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

9:15

CBS: Meet the Dixons

9:30

CBS: Manhattan Mother

NBC-Red: The Family Man

9:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

NBC-Red: Life Can Be Beautiful

10:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

NBC-Red: The Man I Married

10:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

NBC-Blue: Josh Higgins

NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

10:30

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

10:45

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Red: Woman in White

11:00

CBS: Mary Lee Taylor

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: David Harum

11:15

CBS: Donna Curtis

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

11:30

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

11:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

NBC-Red: Road of Life

12:00 Noon

CBS: Girl Interne

NBC-Blue: Southernaires

12:15 P.M.

CBS: When a Girl Marries

NBC-Red: The O'Neills

12:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent

NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour

NBC-Red: American Life

12:45

CBS:

1:00

CBS:

1:15

Life Can Be Beautiful

Our Gal Sunday
The Goldbergs

CBS:

1:30

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

1:45

NBC-Red: Words and Music

CBS: This Day is Ours

2:00

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters

NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

2:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

2:30

CBS: Your Family and Mine

NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

2:45

NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches

3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

3:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

3:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45

NBC-Blue

NBC-Red

4:00

NBC- Blue

NBC-Red

4:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

4:30

NBC-Blue: Rhythm Auction

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

4:45

NBC-Red: Midstream

5:00

NBC-Red: The O'Neills

5:30

NBC-Blue: Affairs of Anthony

NBC-Red: Billy and Betty

5:45

CBS: March of Games

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00

CBS: News

6:05

CBS: Edwin C. Hill

6:45

NBC-

Ted Malone

The Guiding Light

Sunbrite Smile Parade
Backstage Wife

8:00
8:00

9:00
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7:00

CBS:
NBC-
NBC-
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CBS:
NBC-
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CBS:
NBC-
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CBS:
NBC-
8:30
CBS:
NBC-
9:00
CBS:
NBC-
NBC-
10:00
CBS:
NBC-

Blue: Lowell Thomas

Amos 'n' Andy
Blue: Easy Aces
Red: Fred Waring's Gang

The Parker Family (Aug. 31)
Blue: Mr. Keen

Joe E. Brown

Blue: Jack Joy Orch.

Ask it Basket

Red: RUDY VALLEE

Strange as it Seems
Blue: It's Up to You

MAJOR BOWES

Blue: Toronto Symphony

Red: Good News (Sept. 7)

Workshop Festival

Red: KRAFT MUSIC HALL

DAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

■ Bill Demling, Frank Gill, Paula Winslowe, Joe, and Harry Sosnick.
Tune-In Bulletin for August 31, September 7, 14 and 21 !

August 31: The CBS Workshop play festival, at 10:00 tonight, has something extra special
— an original play by poetess-wit Dorothy Parker, called "Apartment to Let."

September 7: The new season really gets under way, as the Maxwell House program
returns tonight, with Baby Snooks, Connie Boswell, and Meredith Willson's orchestra,
all on NBC-Red at 9:00. . . . Florence George is the guest star on tonight's Kraft
Music Hall, NBC-Red at 10:00. . . . Tony Galento bares his chest and fights Lou
Nova tonight in Philadelphia, with Bill Stern describing the fight over NBC. . . .
Ted Husir.g brings you the first day of the National Singles Tennis Championship
matches, on CBS.

September 14: Don't forget John Hix's Strange as it Seems on CBS at 8:30 tonight.

September 21: Better listen to Rudy Vallee tonight at 8:00 on NBC-Red — this is his
next-to-last broadcast for a long, long time.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Joe E. Brown, on
CBS at 7:30, Eastern Daylight Time, and
7:30, Pacific Standard Time, sponsored by
Post Toasties.

Here's a gay and frankly slapstick show
that has anticipated television to such an
extent that the cavernous-mouthed Joe
E. Brown sometimes dresses up for the
broadcast. To watch him cavorting around
the stage of the CBS Vine Street Theater
in Hollywood, wearing a red shirt and a
blonde wig in his attempt to look like
Cigarette, the sweetheart of the regiment,
is to be dissatisfied forever after with
mere sound radio.

All the comedy scripts for Joe are writ-
ten by Frank Gill and Bill Demling, assisted
by Carl Heinzinger and Joe Twerp. Crazy
as they are on the air — for they also
broadcast on the show — Gill and Demling
are really a canny pair of business men,
and this year celebrate their twelfth anni-
versary of successful radio partnership.
They write according to rules they've laid
down for themselves: no "home work" or
shop talk at home, no unnecessary night-
long or week-end sessions of work, but a
businesslike schedule of office hours.

They're always working on two programs
at once — the one they complete on Friday
and broadcast the following Thursday, and
the script that's begun on that same Friday
and developed during the following week.

It sounds complicated, and would be for
anyone less methodical than they.

Sometimes Joe can't be cornered to do
any rehearsing because he's busy at a
movie studio. That's an old Hollywood
difficulty, and long ago the producers
of this program figured out a way to avoid
trouble with it. As it happens, Joe has
worked so long with Gill and Demling that
he knows just about how they want their
lines to sound when he reads them. So a
stand-in for Joe attends the rehearsals,
while Joe himself studies his script at
home and on the movie lot, and is letter
perfect by the time he arrives for his
broadcast. It's nice work if you can do it.
You've probably wondered who some
of the other actors are in the comedy
sketches, but it should be no surprise to
learn that they're those stand-bys of so
many programs originating in Hollywood
— Paula Winslowe, Lurene Tuttle, Gale
Gordon, Blanche Stewart, Frank Nelson.

Joe E. Brown's local fans can have a
double dose of his foolishness if they like,
because his broadcast always has a "pre-
view" before a regular studio audience on
Tuesday, two days before the program it-
self. The preview, in its general outline,
is much like the completed show, but there
are always a lot of minor changes and
additions made between Tuesday and
Thursday.

SAY HELLO TO .

ALEXANDER KIRKLAND— who has played the role of a
doctor on the stage and on the air so much he can almost
swap shop-talk with any real physician. His greatest
stage success was as the hero of the play, "Men in White,"
and now he is Dr. Halliday in Life and Love of Dr. Susan,
on CBS this afternoon at 2:15. Alexander — known as Bill
to his friends — was born in Mexico City, of Spanish and
Irish parents, and stayed there until he was 14 years old,
when he came to America for school. He always wanted
to be an actor, but had to persuade his parents first.
He's been in the movies, with Norma Shearer and others.

48

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

LADY ESTHER SAYS-

' Join the Revolt aqainst Heavy Creams
.and keep your Accent on Youth !

"Trust to youth to break away from
tradition! Go to schools and colleges, talk
to women under 25— and you'll find a re-
bellion against heavy, waxy creams! \outh
today demands a lighter cream!"

"Why cling to heavy creams that require tug-
ging and pulling of delicate facial muscles (which
can hasten that aged look) . . . waxy creams that
leaveskin shiny? My 4-Purpose Face Cream works
just the opposite— puts your accent on youth!"

"Our rapid, modern living gives yourface cream
more work— a different kind of work to do. Heavy,
waxy creams aren't as efficient in removing im-
bedded dirt; that's why modern girls have swung
to my cream as the one cream for their skin."

Life's delightful moments are made up of tender glances, whispered
words— romantic interludes which can be yours with a radiant skin! But
be sure to give your skin "young skin care." Help it be beautiful always
and you'll face your mirror as you face the world— with a lovely face,
gay with happiness, contented in your success.

Lady Esther 4-Purpose Face Cream has its wonderful following be-
cause it is a modern cream. It goes on lightly and easily, thoroughly re-
moves imbedded dirt— leaves your skin feeling gloriously smooth and
fresh. Won't you please follow the test I suggest below, and see if Lady
Esther 4-Purpose Face Cream isn't the one cream for you?

lady Esther urges you to make Ms "Cleansing Tissue Test" NOW

FOR the sake of your own appearance
... to help keep yourself from looking
older than you really are.. . make this amaz-
ing "Cleansing Tissue Test"!

First, cleanse your skin with cream
you're at present using and remove it
thoroughly with cleansing tissue.

Then do the same— a second time— with
Lady Esther Face Cream. Now, wipe it off
well and look at your cleansing tissue.

Thousands of women are amazed... yes,
shocked then and there ... to discover dirt
upon their second tissue. They see with

their own eyes that my 4-Purpose Cream
removes minute, pore-clogging matter
many other cold creams FAIL TO get!

For, unlike many heavy, "waxy" creams
—Lady Esther Face Cream does a thorough
cleansing job without any harsh pulling
of delicate facial muscles and tissues. It
cleans gently, lubricates the skin, and
(lastly) prepares your skin for powder.

Prove this, at my expense. Mail me the
coupon and I'll send you a 7-day tube of
my Face Cream (with my 10 new powder
shades). Put more accent on your youth!

( You can paste this on a penny postcard) (48)

Lady Esther,

7134 West 65th St., Chicago, 111.

Please send me your generous supply
of Lady Esther Face Cream; also

ten shades of Face Powder, FREE and postpaid.

FREE

( If you live in Canada, write Lady Esther, Toronto, Ont. )

OCTOBER, 1939

49

Eastern Daylight Time

u

,0

h

8:00 A.M.

S

Hi

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

Q

ui

ui

8:15

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

9:00

<

<

8:00

CBS: Richard Maxwell

a

8:00

NBC: News

<

9:05

c

8:05

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUE

</>

9:15

U

8:15

CBS: Meet the Dixons

C

9:30

o

8:30

CBS: Manhattan Mother

<r

8:30

NBC-Red: The Family Man

a.

9:45

8:45

CBS: Bachelor's Children

8:45

NBC-Red: Life Can Be Beautiful
10:00

12:00

8:00

9:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly

8:00

9:00

NBC-Blue: Story of the Month

8:00

9:00

NBC-Red: The Man 1 Married
10:15

12:15

8:15

9:15

CBS: Myrt and Marge

8:15

9:15

NBC-Blue: Josh Higgins

8:15

9:15

NBC-Red: John's Other Wife
10:30

12:30

8:30

9:30

CBS: Hilltop House

8:30

9:30

NBC-Blue: Jack Berch

8:30

9:30

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill
10:45

1:15

8:45

9:45

CBS Stepmother

8:45

9:45

NBC-Red: Woman in While
11:00

7:00

9:00

10:00

CBS: It Happened in Hollywood

9:00

10:00

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin

9:00

10:00

NBC-Red: David Harum
11:15

10:30

9:15

10:15

CBS: Donna Curtis

9:15

10:15

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

9:15

10:15

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones
11:30

10:00

9:30

10:30

CBS: Big Sister

9:30

10:30

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

9:30

10:30

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown 1
11:45

10:15

9:45

10:45

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories

9:45

10:45

NBC-Red: Road of Life
12:00 Noon

8:00

10:00

11:00

CBS: Girl Interne

12:15 P.M. i

8:15

10:15

11:15

CBS: When a Girl Marries

8:15

10:15

11:15

NBC-Red: The O'Neills
12:30

8:30

10:30

11:30

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent

8:30

10:30

11:30

NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour

8:30

10:30

11:30

NBC-Red: Women in a Changing

World
12:45

8:45

10:45

11:45

CBS Our Gal Sunday
1:00

9:00

11:00

12:00

1 BS The Goldbergs
1:15

9:15

11:15

12:15

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful

9:15

11:15

12:15

NBC-Red: Let's Talk 11 Over
1:30

9:30

11:30

12:30

CBS: Road of Life j

9:30

11:30

12:30

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
1:45

11:45

12:45

CBS: This Day is Ours

9:45

11:45

12:45

NBC-Red: Words and Music
2:00

12:00

1:00

CBS- Doc Barclay's Daughters

10:00

12:00

1:00

NBC-Blue: Women in America

10:00

12:00

1:00

NBC-Red: Betty and Bob
2:15

1:15

12:15

1:15

CBS: Dr. Susan

10:15

12:15

1:15

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter
2:30

12:30

1:30

CBS Your Family and Mine

10:30

12:30

1:30

NBC-Red: Valiant Lady
2:45

10:45

12:45

1:45

NBC-Red: Betty Crocker

3:00

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

11:00

1:00

2:00

3:15

11:15

1:15

2:15

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
3:30

11:30

1:30

2:30

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

3:45

11:45

1:45

2:45

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone

11:45

1:45

2:45

NRC-Red: The Guiding Light
4:00

12:00

2:00

3:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

12:00

2:00

3:00

NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
4:15

12:15

2:15

3:15

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas
4:30

12:30

2:30

3:30

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade
4:45

12:45

2:45

3:45

NBC-Red: Midstream
5:00

4:00

NBC-Red: The O'Neills
5:30

1:30

3:30

4:30

NBC-Blue- Affairs of Anthony
5:45

4:45

NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie
8:00

2:00

4:00

5:00

CBS: News
6:05

5:05

CBS: Edwin C. Hill

6:45

5:45

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas
7:00

7:00

9:00

6:00

CBS: Amos 'n* Andy

7:00

5:00

6:00

NBC-Red: Fred Waring's Gang
7:15

7:15

5:15

6:15

CBS. Lum and Abner
7:30

7:30

6:30

6:30

MBS: The Lone Ranger

8:00

6:00

7:00

NBC-Red: Cities Service Concert

8:30 1

7:30

6:30

7:30

CBS: Johnny Presents

4:30

6:30

7:30

NBC-Blue: Joe Penner (Sept. 6)
9:00

5:00

7:00

8:00

NBC-Blue: Plantation Party

7:00

8:00

NBC-Red: Waltz Time
9:30

5:30

7:30

8:30

CBS: FIRST NIGHTER

8:30

7:30

8:30

NBC-Red: Death Valley Days
10:00

6:00

8:00

9:00

CBS: Grand Central Station

6:00

8:00

9:00 NBC-Red: Lady Esther Serenade
10:30

6:30

8:30 9:30 i l;s. Bob Ripley 1

50

Il'u. '!! zV,

■ First Nighter Bret Morrison, Les Tremayne and Barbara Luddy.
Tune-In Bulletin for August 25. September 1, 8, 15 and 22 !

August 25: Both CBS and NBC broadcast the Women's National Open Golf Champion-
ship matches this afternoon. . . . Blue Barron's orchestra opens at the Terrace Beach
Club, Virginia Beach, on CBS. . . . Woody Herman and his great band open at the
Glen Island Casino, replacing Glen Miller, broadcasting on NBC.

September I: Just for tonight, you can hear Artie Shaw playing from Hershey Park, Pa.,
over CBS. . . . Glen Gray opens at the Canadian National Exposition, broadcasting
on MBS and NBC.

September 8: If you wanna buy a duck, the person to apply to is Mr. Joe Penner, who
returns to the air tonight at 8:30 over NBC-Blue.

September 15. Johnny Presents, on CBS at 8:30, is a bright variety show for tonight.

September 22: After a long run, Death Valley Days goes off the NBC air. Tonight —
9:30 on NBC-Red— is its last broadcast.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Campana's
First Nighter, starring Barbara Luddy and
Les Tremayne, on CBS at 9:30, Eastern
Daylight Time.

On Thanksgiving Day, 1930, the First
Nighter program had its initial broadcast.
Since then, except for one very short sum-
mer period when the entire cast were
granted vacations at the same time, "Mr.
First Nighter" has transported his audi-
ence once each week through the teeming
Broadway throngs to the mythical "Little
Theater off Times Square" where they have
heard the debut of an original play.

In the nine years the program has been
on the air, all scripts have been bought
in the open market, many of them from
wholly unknown writers. This in itself would
be enough to set First Nighter apart from
other radio shows, nearly all of which are
written to order by experienced authors. If
you'd like to try your hand at doing a
half-hour play for Barbara Luddy and Les
Tremayne, write to Aubrey, Moore, and
Wallace, Inc., 230 N. Michigan Avenue,
Chicago, and they'll send you suggestions
for meeting their requirements.

When the scripts come in to the agency
they are submitted at once to an impartial
play jury which reads them without know-
ing the author's name, thus assuring an
equal chance for the established writer
and the newcomer who has not previously

had his work accepted. Plays that the
jury selects are turned over to Joe Ainley,
producer of the program.

At a First Nighter rehearsal you're likely
to see Barbara Luddy and Bret Morrison
(who is "Mr. First Nighter") appearing in
riding clothes. Both are enthusiastic about
riding, and recently Bret presented Bar-
bara with a horse of her own. Barbara
usually perches on a high stool at the
microphone, which makes her look tinier
than she actually is, and Les Tremayne
stands behind her, usually with a hand on
her shoulder, reading from the same
script. Other members of the cast (who
usually change from week to week) use a
different microphone.

Les, like Barbara, is an outdoor enthu-
siast, and comes to rehearsals in all kinds
of sports outfits. One of his interests is
aviation, and now and then he appears in
flying togs. And usually, because he is
an ardent collector of rare books, he will
have a newly acquired volume with him.

Everybody on the program takes his or
her duties rather seriously. After all, they
remember, it was the First Nighter that
launched such stars as Don Ameche and
Gale Page, and it was on this program
that Mme. Schumann-Heink did her first
dramatic role — which led to a movie con-
tract. With such high marks to shoot at,
the cast doesn't let down for a minute.

HELLO TO...

JACK JOHNSTONE— the director and writer of the dra-
matic portion of tonight's Johnny Presents program, CBS
at 8:30. Jack was born in Vineland, N. J., in 1906, and
studied abnormal psychology in college. Until 1929 he
worked as an executive in a hospital for the insane, but
was offered a chance to do radio production instead,
and accepted. Buck Rogers was one of his first shows, and
he is still producing it, as well as the dramas on both
Johnny Presents programs. He likes golf, fishing, ten-
nis and bridge, collects miniature liquor bottles and
flintlock pistols; has one wife, one child, and one dog.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Why Be a Flop as a Hostess?

(Continued from page 17)

won't fit into a good time — who just
stand around like sticks until they
get on everyone else's nerves and
nobody can relax?"

I've had my tussles with them in
my years as a hostess, too. But the
reason my parties are successes is that
I won't let anyone spoil them. I know
how to handle those frozen-faced
bozos. Before every party I buy a
few good popular novels and some
tickets to the movies. When I see
anyone who looks as if he isn't enjoy-
ing himself I go up to him and say:

"Now, Mr. Brown, I know just how
you feel. You're not enjoying your-
self one bit. Which would you rather
do — go home to bed with a good book,
or go see that simply marvelous movie
down the street?"

Perhaps that's too drastic a method
for you to use — it isn't for me, but
I'll admit I can see drawbacks to it.
But, if you're giving a dinner party,
you can dispose of people like that
just as easily. Don't make the mis-
take of putting a bore next at table to
a lively person — put all the bores to-
gether, and then they'll be so busy
boring each other they'll have a won-
derful time.

EVEN better — don't invite people you
don't want to invite. If you owe
some couple a dinner, but don't want
to ruin your party by having them
there, simply call up a caterer and
order a good dinner sent in to them.
No use having them come to your
house and spoil the fun.

Fun! That's the word you've got
to remember. And don't ever let the
dignity or importance of your guests
make you forget it. The most im-
posing people in the world like to act
silly now and then.

I've entertained celebrated people
and royalty all over the world — me,
plain Elsa Maxwell! — and I've always
found that they're really easier to
entertain than Mrs. Jones next door.
And, although it's the elaborate and
expensive parties that get into the
newspapers, these celebrities can have
just as good a time at a cheap one.

The most successful party I ever
gave was in London, in 1920. Those
present were Gertrude Lawrence,
Beatrice Lillie, Noel Coward and
Princess Helena Victoria, the daugh-
ter of Queen Victoria.

And it cost me just thirteen shillings
sixpence. In other words, three and
a half bucks.

That was all I could afford. I was
living in a couple of rooms which
were actually the top half of a stable
and carriage shed. Some friends had
loaned them to me. I happened to
meet Princess Helena Victoria and
she was a sweet and charming lady
of about fifty-five, so in a moment
of insanity I invited her to dinner.

What a spot I was in when I came
to my senses! All I had in the world
was the three-fifty, and to make
things worse the Princess sent her
lady in waiting to find out from me
all the details of the dinner. Was it
formal or informal, and things like
that.

I did some of the best double-talk-
ing I've ever done in my life, and the
lady in waiting finally left feeling
pretty vague about the whole thing.
Then I sent out for coffee, some eggs
(Continued on page 53)

OCTOBER, 1939

"SH-S-SH, SUSAN! THE BRIDE'S ON THE GRIDDLE!"

SUSAN: "Good grief, don't tell me it's
that meddlesome Mrs. Palmer gossiping
about the bride's wash again?"

MATILDA: "It is, and I wish the cat would
get her tongue. But no use wishing, so
put on your bonnet, Susan. We're going
to stop the gossip!"

SUSAN: "It's a shame and a pity, Timo-
thy, because the poor girl works like a
beaver. But her weak-kneed soap leaves
dirt behind. That's why her clothes are
always chock-full of tattle-tale gray."

MATILDA: "So we're going to send her a
flock of Fels-Naptha to show her how its
richer golden soap and lots of gentle naftha
make all the dirt scat. Don't tell a soul,
but slip ten bars into her next grocery
order and we'll pay for it."

COPR. 1939, PELS & '

BANISH "TATTLE-TALE GRAY" WITH FELS-NAPTHA SOAP!

TUNE IN! HOBBY LOBBY every Wednesday night. See local paper for time and station.

51

u

1
p

Q
<

a
z
<
i-

5<P

u

<
a.

8:00
8:00

8:15
8:15

8:30

8:45

9:00
9:00
9:00

9:30
9:30

8:00
8:00

10:00
10:00

8:30
8:30
8:30

10:30
10:30
10:30

8:15

11:15

9:30
9:30
9:30

11:30
11:30
11:30

10:00
10:00

12:00
12:00

10:30
10:30

12:30
12:30

11:00

1:00

11:30

1:30

12:00

2:00

12:30

2:30

1:30

3:30

1:45

3:45

2:00
2:00

4:00
4:00

2:05
2:05

4:05
4:05

2:30
2:30
2:30

4:30
4:30
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3:00
3:00

5:00
5:00

3:30

5:30
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4:00

6:00

4:30
8:00

6:30
6:30

8:00
7:00

7:00
7:00

7:00

5:30

7:30

5:45
6:00

7:45
8:00

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Blue: Cloutier's Orch.

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

8:15

NBC-Blue: Dick Leibert

NBC-Red: Hi Boys

8:30

NBC-Red: Musical Tete-a-tete

8:45

NBC-Blue: Tony. Juanita, Buddy

9:00

NBC: News

8:05
8:05

8:15
8:15

8:25
8:30
8:45

9:00
9:00

9:15
9:15

9:30
9:45

10:00
10:00
10:00

10:30
10:30

11:00
11:00

11:30
11:30
11:30

12:30
12:30
12:30

1:00
1:00

1:30
1:30

2:00
2:30
3:00
3:30
4:30
4:45

5:00
5:00

5:05
5:05

5:30
5:30
5:30

6:00
6:00

6:30
6:30

7:30
7:30

8:30
8:45
9:00

9:05 i

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB

NBC-Red: Texas Robertson

9:15

CBS Fidler's Fancy

NBC-Red: Cloutier's Orch.

9'25

CBS: News

9:30

CBS: Hill Billy Champions

9:45

NBC-Red: The Crackeriacks

10:00

NBC-Blue: Morin Sisters

NBC-Red: The Wise Man

10:15

NBC-Blue: Amanda Snow

NBC-Red: No School Today

10:30

NBC-Blue: Barry McKinley

10:45

NBC-Blue: The Child Grows Up

11:00

CBS: Dorian Quartet

NBC-Blue: Ross Trio

NBC-Red. Chautauqua Symphony

11:30

NBC-Blue: Our Barn

NBC-Red: Armchair Quartet

12:00 Noon

NBC-Blue: Romanelli Orchestra

NBC-Red: Manhattan Melodies

12:30 P.M.
CBS: Lee's Pretend
NBC-Blue: Farm Bureau
NBC-Red: Call to Youth

1:15

NBC-Red: Calling Stamp Collectors

1:30

CBS: What Price America
NBC-Blue: Little Variety Show
NBC-Red: Words and Music

2:00

NBC-Blue: Morton Franklin Orch.

NBC-Red: Kinney Orch.

2:30

NBC-Blue: Indiana Indigo

NBC-Red: Golden Melodies

3:00

NBC-Red: Matinee in Rhythm

3:30

NBC-Red: Roy Eldridge Orch.

4:00

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

4:30

NBC-Red: Laval Orchestra

5:30

NBC-Red: Summertime Swing

5:45

NBC-Red: Bruce Baker Orch.

6:00

CBS: News

NBC-Red: Kaltenmeyer Kinder-
garten

6:05

CBS: Instrumentalists

NBC-Blue: El Chico Revue

<,:.'!; r^,; - n 1,-,in-,J.."S

6:30

CBS: This Week in Washington
NBC-Blue: Renfrew of the Mounted
NBC-Red: Art of Living

7:00

CBS: Americans at Work

NBC-Blue: Message of Israel

7:30

CBS: County Seat

NBC-Blue: Uncle Jim's Question Bee

8:00

NBC-Red: From Hollywood Today

8:30

NBC-Blue: Brent House

NBC-Red: Avalon Time

9:00

CBS: YOUR HIT PARADE
NBC-Blue: National Barn Dance
NBC-Red: Vox Pop

9:30

NBC-Red: Arch Oboler Plays

9:45

CBS: Saturday Night Serenade

10:00

NBC-Red: Benny Goodman

■ Arch Oboler directs Ann Shepherd and Raymond Edward Johnson.
Tune-In Bulletin for August 26, September 2, 9. 16 and 23 !

August 26: The Newport Casino Invitation Tennis finals are on NBC-Blue today, with

Bill Stern describing them. . . . CBS has Ted Husing describing the finals of the

National Doubles Tennis matches from the Longwood Cricket Club.
September 2: Labor Day week-end — the last holiday of the summer — starts today. . . .

And to celebrate there are: Air races — the National air races from Cleveland, on NBC.

Horse races — Saratoga Cup in New York, over CBS from 4:30 to 5:00.
September 9: Harry James and his band open tonight at the Sherman Hotel's College

Inn in Chicago, with a CBS wire.
September 16: CBS has Ted Husing talking from the North Shore Country Club near

Chicago, where the National Amateur Golf playoffs are being held.
September 23: Art Mooney and his orchestra open at the Henry Grady hotel in

Atlanta, broadcasting on CBS.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Arch Oboler's
Plays, on NBC-Red at 9:30, written and
directed by Arch Oboler.

NBC really took Shakespeare seriously
when it began this series of dramatic half-
hours. In it, "The play's the thing," and
no mistake. Some of radio's most original
and provocative writing goes into the un-
sponsored thirty minutes between 9:30 and
10:00 tonight.

Arch Oboler first gained fame as the
writer of the spooky Lights Out series at
midnight on NBC. Hollywood was im-
pressed, and gathered him to its bosom —
but Arch soon broke loose and returned to
New York, where he is perfectly happy
writing and directing a play a week. He
could make a lot more money in the movie
capital, but he prefers to stay where he
can write exactly what he wants to write.

There's never any doubt in his mind
about how he wants his plays produced,
either. A mild-mannered and comfort-
able sort of person away from a radio
studio, he becomes a stern taskmaster at
rehearsals. Actors in his plays soon learn
to leave at home their ideas of how a
part should be done. Arch knows how he
wants it done, and that's enough. He's al-
ways right, too, as you'll agree when you
listen to one of his perfect productions.

Other writers and many an actor listen
in religiously every Saturday night, and

famous actress Nazimova was so impressed
that after turning down many a guest
starring spot on the air she called Oboler
and asked him to let her be in one of his
plays. She wouldn't take a fee, either.

Time means nothing to Arch. Seeing
that his program doesn't run past the
allotted half-hour is the only detail to
which he pays no attention; that's the
job of NBC production engineer Whitney,
who holds the stop watch. Usually, though,
the play has been rehearsed so carefully
that it runs off exactly on time. Arch is
passionately interested in musical back-
ground and sound effects. Muriel Pollack,
the NBC staff musician who supplies organ
music for the plays, is so well-educated in
the literature of music that she can think
of a phrase or a melody for any mood
Arch wants to create, and play it off from
memory for him to hear. Frequently he
demands sound effects that the technicians
have never been required to create before,
and probably never will again. For in-
stance, once he wanted the sound of a
person being turned inside out. They
finally solved that by stripping a wet
rubber glove off a man's hand, held close
to the microphone.

Not a very tall man, Arch likes to direct
rehearsals standing on top of a table. He
won't permit any studio audiences — says
they distract the actors and the director.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

LUCILLE LONG — the brown-haired, blue-eyed contralto on
tonight's National Barn Dance, NBC-Blue at 9:00. Lucille
is the daughter of a Copley, Ohio, physician, and studied
organ, piano and voice when she was a child. She
detests strawberries and red nail polish — because the
first money she ever earned was picking strawberries.
She has sung on the air in London, Madrid and Paris, and
is still studying music under two teachers, one popular
and one classical — and though she prefers classical
music she thinks the popular variety is improving. She
often rehearses while she's riding in a bus or taxicab.

52

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

(Continued from page 51)

to hard boil, some cheese sandwiches
and some bottles of beer. Beer and
cheese for the Princess Victoria! But
I couldn't afford caviar.

Then I telephoned Beatrice Lillie,
Noel Coward and Gertrude Lawrence.
They were friends of mine, and in
those days they weren't very well
known, but they were never dull. I
knew I could depend on them to help
me keep things moving.

Well, the Princess arrived in state,
just as I was in the midst of boiling
eggs and making coffee. In between,
I'd rush over to the piano and sing a
song, or play something. Then, when
the coffee was about to boil over, I'd
rush back to the stove and Noel or
Gertie or Bea would have a go at the
piano.

But the Princess was swell. She'd
never been out after eleven o'clock in
all her life, and she stayed until three
in the morning. I think she must have
enjoyed herself.

A good way to tell how your party
is going, incidentally, is by the time
the guests start to leave. If they stay
until midnight you're doing all right.
If they stay until two, you've really
got something. If they don't go home
until six, your party's a sensation!

WITH Princess Victoria I didn't
even have to go through the zero-
hour that afflicts almost all parties.
That's the first few minutes of the
evening. You know — after all the
guests have arrived and you're won-
dering how to get things started.

Just remember this. People com-
ing to a party still have the haze of
their day's work around them. You
have to cut through that haze and
get them to be human again.

Suppose, for instance, you invited
the postmaster of your town to a party.
One way to break the ice with him
would be to go up and say:

"Hello, Harry. Have you read any
good post-cards lately?" That ought
to knock him off his dignity.

The important thing at all parties
is to get everybody feeling easy with
everybody else — get the starch out of
some of the stuffed shirts. If you have
to invite people who are on the stuffy
side, then give a costume party. Stuffy
people always look better stuffed into
a costume, anyhow.

Men, of course, hate costume par-
ties— that is, most of them do. I real-
ize that, and so once when I gave a
very large party at a New York hotel
I didn't say anything about costumes
in the invitations. I simply had the
lights turned out after the party had
got under way, and in the darkness
handed everyone a costume made of
crepe paper, telling them to put them
on. When the lights went up again
everyone was in costume and wearing
a mask. The men couldn't find their
own wives, but they certainly had fun
looking.

There's really no excuse for you if
you can't give a party that's fun. It's
so easy! Because money has abso-
lutely nothing to do with the success
of a party. What really counts is the
spirit you put into it. With the right
spirit and a few dollars your party
will be a success. With the wrong
spirit and a million dollars — -it's
bound to be a flop!

OCTOBER, 1939

"Lets duck... here comes that
nosey pest again ! "

How Esther raised
her baby the modern way. . .
in spite of a snoopy neighbor

1. NEIGHBOR: Well, well, well ... if it isn't

our new mother . . . Did you take my advice

about your baby, dear-r-r-R-R?

ESTHER: No, I didn't. I thought it was too

old-fashioned.

2. NEIGHBOR: Why. . .what do you MEAN! I
know something about children. I raised five of
them, didn't I?

ESTHER: Yes, but you did it the hard way!
Me . . . I'm following modern methods.

3. NEIGHBOR: Modern methods? Bosh!
ESTHER: It's not bosh. It's common sense.
My doctor tells me that babies should get
special care ... all the way from special baby
food to a special baby laxative.

4. NEIGHBOR: Special laxative? My dear!
That's putting it on!

ESTHER: It is not! If a baby's system is too
delicate for adult foods ... it can also be too
delicate for an adult laxative! *

5. ESTHER: That's why the doctor told me
to buy Fletcher's castoria. It's made es-
pecially and ONLY for children. There isn't a
harmful ingredient in it. It won't upset a
baby's stomach, and it works mostly in the
lower bowel. It's gentle and safe!

6. BOB: Oh boy! . . . you sure told off that old
snoop about Fletcher's Castoria . . . but why
didn't you tell her how swell it tastes, too?
ESTHER: I should have! I wish she were here
to see how the baby goes for it . . . the old
buttinsky!

C&iA^f^^H CASTORIA

The modern — SAFE — laxative made especially and ONLY for children

53

:■:.'■ -v.-

WHY DIDNT
SOMEONE
TELL ME

ABOUT THIS MARVELOUS
SPAGHETTI BEFORE?

If saves me
time and work,
has a much better
sauce than I can make

• "I always cooked my own spaghetti until I
discovered Franco-American. But now we have
Franco-American all the time and love it. Its
cheese-and-tomato sauce has the one I used to
make beaten a mile. Imagine, they actually use
eleven different ingredients in it!"

Yes, eleven! Luscious tomato puree, brim-
ming with garden-fresh flavor. Selected Ched-
dar cheese from America's finest dairies. Savory
spices and seasonings subtly blended to give
delicate, piquant flavor. And you can enjoy
this superb spaghetti any time, at a moment's
notice. No cooking or fussing, simply heat.

Serve Franco-American as main dish or side
dish. Combine with left-overs and less expen-
sive meat cuts. A can holding three to four por-
tions costs only 10c. Here's a "millionaire's
dish" for less than 3c a portion! Order now!

Franco-American
SPAGHETTI

MADE BY THE MAKERS OF CAMPBELL'S SOUPS

Setutfat, FREE %ecc/!>e 7&oA

Campbell Soup Company, Dept. -;.?i0

Camden, New Jersey. Please send me your free recipe

book: "30 Tempting Spaghetti Meals."

Name (print)-

Address-
City

_State_

Woman in Love

(Continued from page 15)

had been for a brief space their
mother's second husband. Jesse, for
this experience of wedded happiness,
was supposedly paying his recent
wife forty dollars a week. Tamara
now learned that he was not doing so
with that regularity that Willette
considered her right.

"I oughtn't to do this," Mrs. Tod-
hunter murmured, breaking a date
from a block that was still half
wrapped in paper. "I'm going out
with Ray. Poor fellow; he's trying
awfully hard to get a job."

"That'll leave Tamara alone then,"
Coral said. "D'you care? Or are you
tired and want to go to bed?"

"I really am tired." Tamara made
herself finish a bowl of canned soup
and felt better. Her heart trembled
at the thought that they would let her
be alone the first night, but the hot
food reinforced her courage, and she
could smile. Of course they didn't
love her; they hardly knew her.

PRESENTLY, Coral was dressing;
■their mother, magnificent in a
smart hat with a whorl of aigret about
it, a loose beaded black silk coat, and
high-heeled shoes with white kid
saddles and toes, was just leaving.
She walked mincingly in the tight
shoes; her rather full soft face was
carefully made up now, and she
looked quite handsome.

"Got any money, Coral?"

"Got a five, but it's all I have got."

"I have money," said Tamara.
"There, in my bag. Aunt Tee used to
send me an allowance, and I never
used it."

"I'll see you get this back at the
end of the week," Mrs. Todhunter
said. "And I wouldn't go out tonight
but that this man — he used to be a
good friend of your father, he's one
of the best managers in America to-
day— is feeling so down and out. Tell
Lance, if he makes coffee, we'll have
to have another pound. Good-bye,
girls, be good, now. It's nice to have
you home again, Tarn."

After she was gone, Tamara, half
sitting and half lounging on the bed,
asked her sister, simply:

"What do we live on, Coral?"

"Oh, everything," Coral answered
vaguely, painting her fingernails care-
fully with crimson. "I'm probably go-
ing to begin rehearsing on Monday."

"That's fun!" the younger sister
said, brightening.

"It's no part at all; I oughtn't take
it," Coral said absently. "But I'll get
sixty a week, and it all helps."

"Sixty a weekl"

"That isn't so much. When I was
in pictures," Coral mused on, squint-
ing at her bunched fingertips, "I got
two hundred and fifty. If Jesse'd only
pay up we could at least pay the
rent!" she added.

"Are we behindhand with the
rent?"

"Only about four months. And
there are people in this house that
haven't paid for a year," Coral said.
"Oh, Lord, there's Houston!" she ex-
claimed, as there was a sudden ring
at the doorbell. "Go and talk to him!"

Tamara obediently went into the
sitting room and did her best to talk
to Mr. Houston Hickey. She saw in-
stantly that she bored him terribly
and that he preferred absorption in

54

his own thoughts to anything she
could say.

It seemed forever until Coral came
out, stunning in rouge, jewels, black
velvet.

"Houston, you met my sister?" Co-
ral said.

"Listen," the man said, rising, "this
party isn't at the Spreckles', you
know."

"Well, what you want me to look
like? One of the waitresses?" Coral
countered promptly. They went away
without a good-night to Tamara; she
could hear them squabbling as the
elevator jerked its heavy way down-
stairs. Almost immediately after-
ward, while she was trying to decide
between going to bed and writing a
long letter to Mother Laurence, and
determined that whichever she did
she positively would not cry, her
brother came in. He wanted nothing
but black coffee.

"I have certainly got a lollapaloo-
za," he muttered, putting his elbows
on the table and his head in his hands.
"I was taking a girl to dinner — sud-
denly the whole thing went bla-a-a."

"Oh, too bad!" Tamara said, from
the other end of the kitchen table,
where she sat watching him, her chin
in her palms. Could Lance possibly
mean that he had been drinking? she
thought nervously.

"I started this yesterday. When I
met you at the ferry today I couldn't
stand up, that's God's truth," Lance
said.

"I'm so sorry!"

"Where's Ma?"

"She went out to meet some man
named Ray."

"That's right; she had a date. Coral
go out?"

"With Mr. Hickey."

"H'ckey, huh? What j'ou think of
him?"

"Not much," Tamara said briefly,
and Lance laughed.

"Coral says she may begin rehear-
sals Monday."

"In what?" he asked skeptically.

"She didn't say."

I'LL bet she didn't say! If she lands
anything in three years I'm in the
wet-wash business!" Lance said
amusedly.

"Oh, Lance, why?"

"Because she can't act — she can't
act — she can't act!" the man said.

"Coral can't?"

"Naw-w-w. Never could. She's got
a pretty face, that's all she's got. Her
voice don't screen worth a cent."

"Oh, I didn't know that," Tamara
said, dashed. "I thought — I thought —
and Coral can't act? I'm so sorry!"

"None of us can act," Lance said,
impatiently, darkly. "When Coral gets
on the stage she's rotten — she's lousy."

"She thinks she can act," Tamara
submitted anxiously.

"Oh, sure, we all think we can!"
Lance said. "Except me, I don't," he
added. "Barker said to me the other
day, 'Lance, I'll be damned if you
aren't the only one I know in the pro-
fession who knows how rotten he is!'
That's why," Lance ended simply, "I
always can get a part."

"Oh, can you?" Tamara said, tre-
mendously relieved. Lance could get
parts, anyway! "Are you playing in
anything now, Lance; have you a job?"

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Lance glanced up. His handsome
young face was flushed and dark; he
scowled faintly over his coffee cup.

"I could have," he said.

"Oh, well then, that's all right!"
Tamara said. Instead of answering
her, her brother looked at her steadily
for some minutes, with his eyes a
little sunken in his colorless face.

"What j'come home for?" he asked.
Tamara widened her eyes; her color
fluctuated a little.

"Why — why, I graduated," she of-
fered, a cold wind again blowing over
her heart. "What — what else could
I do?"

"I say, what j' you come home for?"
Lance repeated, in drunkenly quiet
stubbornness. It was as if he were
challenging her and she trying to
evade him.

"Well — Mother wrote me to. I
mean, it was taken for granted,
wasn't it?"

"And you're always going to do
what you're told to do, is that it?"
Lance continued, in the same quietly
contemptuous manner. Tamara had
never seen an intoxicated man at such
close range before, and she felt a little
frightened and a little sick. But al-
most immediately Lance locked his
arms before him on the table, and
was saying, "Oh, my God, it's all so
damn' silly!" put his head down
comfortably and began to snore.

T HE morning came in with fresh
' blankets of fog, and Tamara, awak-
ening, lay staring about her cau-
tiously; a move might rouse either
her mother or her sister; she was
anxious not to disturb them. An hour
went by: they both slept on soundly.

In her thoughts Tamara was writ-
ing a letter to Mother Laurence.
"Don't think I've forgotten, dearest,
dearest Reverend Mother, all that you
told me about the realest duty being
the nearest one, and the influence of
one single fine life being like a lighted
lamp. But when all one's family is
older, entirely set in their different
ways, quite satisfied with vulgarity
and cheating and dirtiness and lazi-
ness and disorder . . ."

She could not quite say that, of
course. She must soften the story
somehow for sheer pride. But she
could at least give Reverend Mother
a pretty good idea of the situation.
And then, perhaps Mother Laurence
would send for her, let her be assist-
ant German instructress, perhaps.

But, she never wrote that particular
letter for, amazingly, the day slipped
by, and the next day, and the one
after that. The idle summer days
blended together for Tamara, and she
lost track of them. Sunday was no
lazier than the others; they were all
formless and empty and yet oddly
pleasant. The four members of the
Todhunter household slept as late as
they liked, they dawdled over break-
fast interminably, sometimes joined
by friends who like themselves were
in the most fascinating and madden-
ing of the professions, and sometimes
alone. For a while Tamara attempted
to keep the kitchen in some sort of
order; but very soon she gave it up
and let matters drift as the others
did. Mushrooms and blackberries,
broilers and figs and artichokes came
home from Willette's casual market-
ing tours and were cooked and eaten
exactly when and how the individual
member chose. Nobody ever criticized
another's management, and nobody
expected anything but the slipshod,

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56

easy system upon which Willette's
house was run.

In spite of herself Tamara was ab-
sorbed in the new atmosphere, and
presently she began to enjoy it. There
was nothing wrong, she told her
convent-trained conscience, in dis-
order and irregularity, and if one had
absolutely nothing to do there was no
reason for one's jumping out of bed
for a cold plunge and exercise every
morning at seven.

The theatrical underworld made
use of the house, and she enjoyed
contact with it, too. Chorus girls, in-
digent old actresses, ambitious young-
sters looking for their first parts, all
came and went easily in the crowded
little rooms, and Tamara listened to
them all and watched them all.

r\OLORES QUINN came downstairs
^ one day, and Tamara had the
other angle of the picture. For Dolores
was unquestionably as established
and successful as these others were
vague and unplaced. Just why the
actress should choose to live in the
Valhalla in rooms like their own, Ta-
mara could not understand, but evi-
dently Dolores was well pleased with
her apartment on the ninth floor. She
had a husband, a linoleum salesman
of astonishing beauty; Tamara had
seen him sometimes in the halls and
had supposed him to be nothing short
of a star. But no, Leander could not
act for an elk's tooth, Dolores ad-
mitted frankly. She was six years
older than he; she was in fact much
older than Tamara had supposed her
to be from her pictures, but in her
middle thirties she had an enthusi-
astic public and a long contract, and
she found no fault with the world.

Dolores did not like Coral, but she
grew very fond of Tamara, and
laughed at her, and invited her to
her dressing room. Tamara had the
thrill of watching a play from'
the wings, and of having tea with the
star on matinee afternoons.

One of the agreeable features of
the Todhunters' home regime was
that no one either knew or cared at
what hours the members of the family
came or went. Tamara could stay in
bed all day, working cross-word puz-
zles and poring over movie and stage
magazines, and no one commented,
much less criticized.

So she could loiter in Dolores's
dressing room as long as she liked
on a winter afternoon. The price of
this privilege was the obligation to
profess an unbounded admiration for
Dolores's talents and to display an un-
limited interest in Dolores's affairs.

In the early winter after Tamara's
return home, Dolores had a real suc-
cess in "Romance," and Tamara could
honestly be enthusiastic. Dolores had
always dreamed of playing Juliet, the
Duke of Reichstadt, and Magda; now
she redoubled her importunities to
Markisohn to be given the chance at
one or all of these plays.

"You'd be marvelous in 'L'Aiglon,'
Dory," Tamara said.

"Well, I don't know whether I
would or not," Dolores said modestly,
frowning at her image in the mirror
as she carefully creamed her face.
"I'm funny, like that. Until I'm actu-
ally on the stage the opening night
I'm scared to death!"

"Of all people to be scared!"
Tamara said amusedly.

"Yes, you are scared, Dory. You'd
show 'em how scared you were if
anyone tried to cut out ten lines of
your part!" Maynard Mallory said.

Maynard was in pictures. He had
come up to San Francisco from Holly-
wood especially to see his old friend
Dolores in her success; Tamara had
met him several times. Without being
a sensational film favorite himself he
was well known; his name was al-
ways listed first after the big stars.
He supported at various times the
best of the women favorites and
played leads in "all-star" productions;
he had the usual affectations when he
was talking with persons of his own
profession, but aside from that he was
genuinely simple and amusing and
friendly, and Tamara liked him.

"When you going to give Tarn here
a part?" Mayne asked.

Dolores glanced at her in the
mirror.

"Whenever she wants it," she said,
in a voice rather cooled by the change
of topic.

"Which will be a long time,"
Tamara laughed.

"Don't like the stage?" Maynard
asked, arching his dark brows as he
raised both fine hands to his mouth,
lighting a cigarette.

"Well — too many people in it — "
Tamara stammered, laughing and
flushing.

"Yes, but you can say that about
anything. The thing is," the man
said, "that with your face you'd be
wonderful in pictures. And you have
a short nose, turned up a little. That's
one thing you've got to have."

"Not turned up much," Tamara
pretested, studying it in a big hand
mirror.

"I want that when you're through
with it," Dolores said, bored. Tamara
was quick to sense her change of
mood.

"Sandwiches?" she asked, reaching
for the telephone.

"I can't. I went to that devilish
lunch. I'm stuffed."

"I'm starving," Mayne said. "I'll
take Tamara to dinner." He kissed
the top of Dolores's head for goodbye.

TAMARA and Mayne walked out
I through the empty, echoing theater,
into a grimy, late-afternoon street
upon which papers and chaff were
idly blowing in a cool November
wind.

"Where do you like to eat, Tarn?"
Mayne said. '

"Oh, anywhere."

"St. Francis? It's only quarter to
six, they'll still be having tea dancing
there," the man mused. "Let's see,
where shall we go? Where'd you go
last time a handsome man took you to
dinner?"

"Nowhere," Tarn answered, pretty
in her buttoned-up fur collar and
brimmed dark hat, with her rosy
cheeks squared in a wide smile.
Mayne looked at her suddenly.

"How d'you mean you didn't dine
anywhere the last time you went
out?"

"Because there wasn't never no last
time, mister. This is my first step
down." Tamara said, with her joyous
youthful giggle.

"Honest? No fooling? For heaven's
sake!" Maynard commented. "Then
we'll have to make it memorable.
Where've you been all this time?"

"In a convent in Canada. I just got
home in June."

"Well, we've got to celebrate to-
night. I'll tell you, we'll go out and
have dinner with Persis and Joe. You
know her, you know Joe Holloway?"

"I don't know either."

"You ought to. She writes wonder-

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

ful poetry — nobody's recognized it
yet, but it's the best poetry any
American woman — Here, we'll take
a car and drive out there." Mayne
said, signaling to one of the drivers
who were waiting in a fringe along
the south front of the square.

Tamara felt suddenly very young
and awkward. She did not feel equal
to amusing this magnificent cavalier.
Smiling, settling herself comfortably
in the big seat, she told herself that
he didn't have to do this — he didn't
have to suggest it — he must want to.

"I see you have a habit of talking
to yourself. What's on your mind?"
the man said. "So you're just out of
the convent, are you?"

"I graduated in June."

"I see. That makes you — "

"Nineteen last week."

"And did you like the convent?"

"Some things I liked," Tamara an-
swered vaguely. "But of course there
were other things I didn't like so
much. It was lovely, part of it."

"But they were pretty strict?"
Mayne asked with enjoyment.

"Well — I guess they have to be.
Some of the girls — " She left it un-
finished.

"Wild, eh?"

"Well, I know one boarder was
expelled this term, just before she
graduated. It would have to be pretty
bad to have them do that," Tamara
said seriously, her round eyes fixed
upon him. "It broke her heart. She
told Mother Laurence she was going
to kill herself."

CARRYING on with a boy, huh?"
Mayne asked, with a sober ob-
lique glance.

"She sent him letters by one of the
day scholars."

"Ha!"

"And then she told Sister Teresa
that she wanted to practice the Aren-
sky waltz that she was playing with
Refugio Barrios for Commencement,
and Sister Teresa let her go up to the
music rooms at night, and he was
there."

"How'd he get in?"

"During the day some time, and hid
under the music press, they think."

"Thev couldn't allow things like
that. Their whole school would go to
pot."

"That's what Mother said. But
Eleanor's dress was made and every-
thing. She cried, and her mother
cried. Her mother had promised her
a new car if she graduated."

"She'll graduate in a very different
school if she doesn't look sharp,"
Mayne said, so significantly that
Tamara laughed out joyfully. He had
shown more sympathy already in her
school experiences than Coral. Lance,
and her mother had extended to her
in five long months.

The driver stopped at the Taylor
Street address, a ramshackle wooden
building precariously perched on a
hill. Tamara and Mayne climbed two
nights of stairs to the big upper
studio of the Holloways.

In the Holloways' studio Tamara
was conscious of tremendous slanted
skylights, of spaciousness and shad-
ows, easels and canvases, littered
draperies and tables and odd chairs.
Persis was a dark, frail-looking wo-
man in a blue smock; there was a
hearty square girl called Lucile, who
had a deep voice, and another very
small woman named Mabel. And
there were six or seven men, among
them Joe Holloway in his painty
apron, with kind eyes twinkling

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above a Vandyke beard. They all
seemed delighted that Mayne had
come, and they made Tamara heartily
welcome; presently Persis opened a
door, and everyone straggled across
a roof to another enormous room,
where there was a long dining table,
and many chairs, and an adjoining
kitchen.

Tamara was by this time in a
seventh heaven of delight; she never
had been with people she liked so
well, or in such an enchanting at-
mosphere. Their lazy talk seemed to
her brilliant; everyone was talking
all the time; they hardly gave each
other a chance to finish a sentence,
and yet there was a sense of keen
appreciation among them.

An elaborate dinner was immedi-
ately under way; the preparations
were not formal, but Tamara thought
she had never seen and smelled and
tasted such delicious food.

And she soon discovered that
everyone here adored Persis; she was
the moving spirit of the whole group.

THE clock struck eight. The salad
' leaves now glistened brightly with
oil, and the fragrance of the bubbling
chicken was almost more than hunger
could bear. French bread had been
toasted in black ridges; everything
anyone had ever thought of as eatable
was on the table; sticky, soft pressed
figs, a third of a chocolate cake, cold
artichokes. Everyone helped himself
as rapidly as possible; voices were
thicker now, and the wine and bread
and salad circulated steadily.

"Agreed," said Pete loudly, "that
Mayne's girl is a comely wench!"

"And hath a pretty wit," the man
they called Gedge added. "Hast not,
my chuck?"

Tamara laughed and flushed hap-
pily. She loved being here, even
though she felt very dull and stupid
among them all. She loved being
called Mayne's girl, loved glancing at
him to catch his half-serious smile
upon her when Pete used the word.

"Where do you find these girls,
Mayne?" Joe asked. He sat next to
Persis, who did not speak much, but
smiled at them all with her long eyes;
and now and then she and Joe leaned
over the laden plates to kiss each
other. Tamara found this oddly
pleasant to see, considering that their
little boy was from his portrait at
least ten years old.

"I'll never tell you," Mayne said.
"That is our horrid secret, isn't it,
Tarn?"

"Tarn from now on is my favorite
name," Gedge said loudly, and Tarn
laughed again.

After dinner — it was by now ten
o'clock — they made a feint of- piling
dishes and pots in the sink, then
abandoned it.

Now the lights in the studio were
low, and there was an open fire.
Mayne got up from a long deep couch
when the women came in, and drew
Tamara to sit down beside him on it,
with Pete on her other side. The
others scattered themselves about
comfortably; cigarettes were lighted,
and Adams came in with a tray of
glasses and bottles.

Then in the soft light began an
hour to be forever an enchanted
memory to Tamara. Someone played
the piano, played beautifully; Bill —
she did not know his last name —
stood up and sang "Mandalay" and
"Oh, give me something to remember
you by," and it was all she could do
to keep back the tears. Little Mabel

58

went to the piano and fingered one or
two melodies tentatively before
settling down to chords, runs, more
chords, ballad-like snatches, and the
final question, "Well, who was it?"

"Adriana!" they all said together,
and Adriana, who seemed to be a
reporter, or to have some connection
with a newspaper, nodded her head
thoughtfully. "You're smart, Mabel,"
she said. "About halfway through I
began to have a distinct suspicion that
it was I — me — I — me — for heaven's
sake someone say which it is!"

The talk raged immediately about
the question as to whether a person
look badly or looked bad — whether
lurid meant bright red or dull gray —
whether the use of "like" for "as" by
the British didn't in itself constitute
good grammar.

Mabel interrupted this by crashing
with incredible force into the Valky-
ries' Ride; Tamara felt the big fingers
of Mayne's fine hand cover her own,
and she let them stay. The hour was
too crystal perfect to break by any
prudishness now. After a while she
realized that she was leaning against
his shoulder, and that he had moved
a little to make her head comfortable
there. It wasn't important; everyone
else had relaxed into quiet and
friendliness and utter felicity; nothing
would have been sillier or more child-
ish than to sit erect and gather one's
hands primly into one's lap.

Quite suddenly at midnight the
thing broke up; Tamara and Mayne
came out into the cold sweet air of
the winter night and walked a little
while, looking for a taxi. The girl
was silent; her mood dreamy, ecstatic.

"Nice people," Mayne said, on a ris-
ing note.

"Oh, nice people! They're marvel-
ous," Tamara echoed, in her little-
girl voice of awe.

"So that your first dinner wasn't
so formidable?" Mayne asked.

OH, it was marvelous!" Words had
actually failed her, and she could
only echo the inadequate phrase.

"We'll go there again." They were
in a taxi now, and in a few minutes
had reached the Valhalla, and Mayne
courteously escorted her upstairs to
her mother's very door. Further it
was not possible to invite him, for
Lance was audibly asleep on the sit-
ting-room couch. So Tamara said her
grateful good-nights in the dark hall-
way and raised to his, eyes that shone
with appreciation of her wonderful
evening. "I'll see you tomorrow,
somewhere. Come into Dolores's
dressing room before the show," the
man whispered, with his good-byes.
Tamara nodded, opened the door be-
hind her noiselessly, slipped into the
silent apartment. Her mother did not
awaken, her sister did not even stir
as she undressed in no clearer light
than that which came from the street,
and crept into her place.

It was midnight, but for a while Ta-
mara, tired as she was, could not
sleep. She lay awake thinking, re-
membering, smiling in the dark.
Never in her life before had she
known one moment of the ecstasy
that was flooding her whole being.

Casually, lightly, Mayne Mallory
has entered Tarn's lije, bringing with
him a glimpse of a beautiful new
world she had not known existed —
and bringing, too, drama and heart-
break and tragedy. Don't miss the
second chapter of this compelling
novel in next month's Radio Mirror.

FADIO AND TELEVISION MIREOR

Cathl

een

(Continued from page 26)

here," Allan said.

"Allan — please," Hope warned him.
"Remember, she's only a child."

"I know — but the rosewood pi-
ano. The last touch on it was — her
mother's — "

And then Cathleen was standing
before them, head drooping sullenly,
eyes wary.

"You have been expressly forbidden
to play your mother's rosewood piano,
Cathleen," Allan said. "And" — for a
moment his control broke — "Good
God! With the one melody — I suppose
Nora's responsible for telling you that
your mother used to play that for me.
Why did you disobey me?"

"Must we be talking," Cathleen
asked, "in front of strangers?"

"Drop that Irish way of talking, I
tell you! Miss Cabot is scarcely a
stranger to you. Furthermore, she's
going to be my wife."

"Oh!" That was all Cathleen said.

"Of course," her father said wearily,
"Dr. Ames telephoned that you hadn't
kept your appointment with him. I
could understand that — it's Saturday
afternoon — -you felt resentful . . . But
this money business — that my daugh-
ter should steal — "

"Steal?" Cathleen asked tonelessly.

NORA admitted you brought home
an album of records, costing ten
dollars. And we know that in my desk
drawer here, the household money is
kept. There was ten dollars there this
morning. Now it's gone, Cathleen.
Only you and I and Nora have been
in here. It adds up to one thing,
doesn't it?"

"Yes," Cathleen said.
. "Oh, I don't know," Allan said in
sick helplessness. "What punishment
is there — to make you understand
that you're becoming a habitual liar
— and now, a thief?"

"Yes!" Cathleen said again, but this
time she drew the word out until it
became a hiss.

He buried his face, convulsively, in
his hands. "I can't punish you! After
all, you're your mother's daughter.
Just — go away — "

For the first time, emotion came to
Cathleen's face. In horror, she whis-
pered to Hope: "He's crying!"

"Yes."

"Ohhhh . . ." She stepped toward
him, half raised her hand as if to
touch his bowed head, then let it drop.
The pity and amazement ebbed from
her eyes, and slowly she turned to
the door.

But before she could reach it, it
flew open. Nora stood on the thresh-
old, a crumpled green bill in her
shaking fingers.

"I knew, sir — I knew my wee lamb
could never have done it!" she cried.
"Since you talked to me, we've been
searching the rubbish pile — and look,
sir, amongst some old papers — this
cursed ten dollar bill!"

Allan's silver-grayed head had lift-
ed, and he was staring, not at the
bill, but at Cathleen. "But why didn't
you deny it, child?"

"I don't know," Cathleen said
vaguely.

"Perhaps," Hope suggested gently,
"she couldn't find words, Allan — just
as you can't find words to talk to
her — "

"I can always understand my father,
Miss Cabot," Cathleen said firmly.

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"I wish he could say as much for
you," Allan observed with a wry
smile. He motioned Nora from the
room. "Well, I'm so relieved. But tell
me — where did you get the money for
the album?"

"I've been saving and saving," Cath-
leen spoke to the floor. "And I sold
my leather brief case Aunt Morgan
gave me. And — " Her head came up;
she looked him bravely in the eye.
"And then I broke open my pig bank!"

Suddenly Allan laughed. "Great
Guns! What do you say to a child like
this?"

"I'd tell her I admired her spirit,"
Hope said briskly.

"Yes. Her spirit . . . her mother's
spirit, rather. Cathleen . . ."

"Yes, sir." \

"By way of apology — would this
help fill the pig bank?"

CATHLEEN gave a strange half
moan of delight as she saw the
crisp ten-dollar bill he was holding
out to her.

"There," her father said in embar-
rassment. He gave her a quick, ner-
vous kiss on the forehead. "Run along
now, it must be your dinner time."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, Cathleen — " as she was leav-
ing the room. "Cathleen — I won't
scold. But why did you open the rose-
wood piano?"

Cathleen didn't turn around. "It's
my birthday" she said. "I was pre-
tending it was a gift from my mother."
She closed the door behind her.
* Nora was in the hall. "Ah, and so
he gave you the ten dollars," she re-
marked joyfully. "Well he might, re-
spected father of yours though he is!
And how will you spend it?"

"Spend it!" Cathleen said in scorn.
"This? I'll never spend it — I'm going
to wrap it up in my best lace hand-
kerchief and dream on it every night.
And he kissed me!" She pressed" her
hand to her forehead. "Right there!
Nora, Nora — I bought some yellow
daffodils — do you suppose Father'd
like them for his den?"

"Aye," Nora said tenderly, "and I
think he would."

Faster than the May wind Cathleen
ran down the hall, up the stairs to her
own bedroom; whipped the daffodils
and their vase from her dressing
table; down again, to the hall —

"Wee gold daffodils," she whispered
to herself, "to warm my father's eyes.

Little gold spring nymphs." The door
to the den, where she had left her
father and Hope Cabot, was still
closed — they must still be there. "Shall
I say, 'Father, I've brought you some
flowers'? Or shall I not say a word —
just open the door, very quietly, like
a little mouse — "

"I'm sorry," she heard Hope's voice.
"But I can't marry you, Allan."

"But I warned you about the child!"

"You don't understand."

Her father's voice had never been
so hard. "Oh yes, I understand. On
this very same night — thirteen years
ago — she cost me the life of my young
love. So it's fitting that tonight she
should kill my other love for me!
What kind of a devouring young she-
wolf is she — "

The door, closing, cut off further
sound. And long after Cathleen had
run away, out of the apartment, down
to the street, the yellow daffodils sat
in their vase on the floor, where she
had left them.

The trees and the stars and the
river talked to her on her way. Such
friendly, calm, good voices they had
— because, of course, they understood.
They understood why she couldn't
stay in the apartment any longer,
and why she'd had to run away, up
Riverside Drive and across it and
down under the Parkway until she
was close to the river.

"Where are you going, Cathleen?"
asked a tree; and she answered, "I
don't know, green tree. I've walked
and walked, and still I don't know."
And the sky asked, "Why do you
hurry so, Cathleen?" but all she could
say was, "I don't know, dark sky."

DUT the river spoke to her too. It
u said, "Come, Cathleen. You're so
tired, Cathleen, because your heart is
heavy."

"You've caught some stars in you,
river."

"I know, Cathleen."

"Do they know my mother?"

"Yes, Cathleen . . ."

"Oh! Oh! The star called me beauti-
ful— not a wolf at all!"

"Come to me, Cathleen," the river
beckoned.

But when she obeyed, it was not
kind to her, but cold and dark, so that
she screamed, once, before it pulled
her down into its chilly heart.

It was late at night before they
called Allan Bradford to the hospital.

On their recent visit to New York, Burns and Allen and Eddie
Cantor and Ida got together between broadcasts at La Conga.

60

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Waiting in the hall outside, pacing
back and forth, he met a dark young
man with a white, concerned face.
"Is she in there?" he asked.

"Who?" Allan asked.

"The little girl— Cathleen. But I
suppose I couldn't see her. I'm only
here because the police wanted to
talk to me. They found the sales slip
from my store in her pocket."

"The sales slip?" Allan asked.

"Yes. I'm the guy that sold her
records. She came in every Saturday
— her father used to send her, to hear
some music."

"Her — father sent her?"

"Why, yes. Do you know him? Has
anything happened to him — is that
the reason she tried to — ?"

"No," Allan said, "that's not the
reason."

"I never saw a kid so crazy about a
guy. He was sick, and it was enough
to break your heart — she'd come in
and draw up three chairs, pretending
her dad was on her right, her mother
on her left . . ."

The door into Cathleen's room
opened. "Mr. Bradford — you can come
in now," said the nurse.

Dazedly, Allan turned away. "I
don't know your name — but thank
you — for being more kind to my
daughter than her father's been."

CATHLEEN'S little body scarcely
disturbed the covers of the hos-
pital cot, but her piteous eyes filled
his vision as he entered the room.

"I tried, Father ... I tried to go
away." A sudden pain seemed to seize
her. "Ah — wolf, you said — wolf!"

"It wasn't true, darling — I didn't
mean to say that. It was just that I
was so stupidly blind I lived behind a
rough wall of my own making."

"Like — like the Sleeping Beauty?"

"Well — if you like," Allan said with
something that might have been either
a sob or a laugh. "Except that I'm
scarcely that."

"You could be," Cathleen said
eagerly. "Sort of like one, father."

"I'm — ashamed, baby," he whis-
pered. "I — " Somehow he managed to
control himself. "I never knew your
hands were so beautiful, Cathleen,"
he said tenderly. "Just like your
mother's. Won't you have fun playing
the rosewood piano for me? And we'll
listen to thousands of records to-
gether; and buy carloads of white
lilacs. Will you like that?"

Cathleen's eyes, so big in the white
face, regarded him doubtfully. "It's
wishing I am I could believe you, but
I thought — I heard Miss Cabot say — "

Quickly he interrupted her: "Noth-
ing about you. She was trying to tell
me what a fool I was, and I couldn't
understand. But that's grownup talk.
All you must do now is to go to sleep,
and know we all love you."

In a cautious, uncertain whisper,
she asked, "Do — you?"

"Most of all!"

"Ah!" she sighed. Sleep was dim-
ming her eyes now; she felt warm and
safe, with the warmth and safety the
river had promised. Here was her
father beside her, he loved her . . .

"And will you come and meet a fine
friend of mine?" she asked. "And
when we get to the record store, and
he sees you, will you put your arm
around me and say, 'This is her
Daddy's girl'?"

"Yes. Of course, dear."

"Because," Cathleen said drowsily,
"it's a wee doubt I've had sometimes
that he might not be believing me . . ."

OCTOBER, 1939

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62

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?

Pretty Elspeth Eric who plays the part of Joyce Jordan on
CBS' Girl Interne, usually spends her week ends at the beach.

WHEN Elspeth Eric, known to
radio listeners as "Joyce Jordan
— Girl Interne," takes a day off
from her Columbia network program
(heard Mondays through Fridays at
12:00 noon) she spends it at the beach.
The pretty radio actress cannot afford
to take chances on an overdose of
sunshine and is usually to be found
under a yard wide hat which, by the
way, we think is quite attractive.

Miss Eric studied at Bradford Acad-
emy and is a graduate of Wellesley
College. She was one of the original
members of "The Barnswallows"
stock company there . . , first job was
switchboard operator in a bank at the
age of fourteen . . . salary was $7.00.
After graduating from college, she
worked as social secretary, clerk in a
book store, and acted as hostess.
Elspeth (which is the Scotch contrac-
tion of Elizabeth) started her stage
career in the Woodstock Summer
Theater and made her radio debut
in New York in 1934.

Miss Eric is five feet three and one
half inches, weighs 105 pounds, has
fluffy blonde hair and blue eyes.

Jean Ciliberti, Philadelphia, Penna.

— Bess Johnson was born in Keyser,
W. Va. She is five feet nine and one
half inches, weighs 135 pounds, has
blonde hair and blue eyes.

Mrs. R. Landers, Stratford, Ont.,
Canada — Virginia Clark was born in
Peoria, Illinois, October 29. Her
family moved to Little Rock, Ark.,
where she attended school and then
entered the University of Alabama.
She majored in dramatics with the
idea of becoming a famous actress.
This desire prompted her to leave
Alabama after a year and go to
Chicago, where she studied at the
Chicago School of Expression for
three years. She completed her course
and looked for a job for weeks until
she was finally "allowed" to work on
a local Chicago station for nothing.

Several months later she received a
salary of $15.00 a week. Success, as it
sometimes does, knocked at Virginia's
door when she won a local magazine
contest for the most representative
and popular radio actress in the
Chicago area. As a result, she was
auditioned for the part of Helen Trent
in The Romance of Helen Trent and
won, over seventy-seven competitors.
Miss Clark has brown eyes, is five
feet four and a half inches, weighs
125 pounds.

James Rooker Myers, Baltimore, Md.
— Jessica Dragonette is not broad-
casting now and we do not know
whether she intends to return to the
air in the near future or not.

Because of the many requests still
coming in, I must repeat that we
cannot furnish pictures of stars to our
readers, since we do not have a
service covering this.

FAN CLUB SECTION

Persons wishing to join the Motion
Picture Fan Club of America and
clubs wishing to register, please com-
municate with Pat Mealie, President,
538 East 138th Street, New York City.

To my knowledge, no fan club has
been organized for Hal Kemp. If I'm
wrong, I'd appreciate word from our
readers.

Florence C. Carroll, President of the
Enoch Light Fan Club is anxious to
increase its membership. If you're in-
terested in joining, Miss Carroll may
be reached at 34-50 43rd Street,
Astoria, New York.

There is a Kate Smith Fan Club and
Katherine Caruthers of 8502— 89th
Avenue, Woodhaven, New York, will
be glad to furnish details to prospec-
tive members.

A Joe Penner Fan Club has now
been organized and Sid Vousden,
President, is anxious to build up its
membership. Address Mr. Vousden,
the Joe Penner Club, 34 Strathmore
Boulevard, Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Don't Give In to Motherhood

(Continued from page 29)

rescued Norman from a Gene Autry
dive off the back of a divan; rushed
out to interview a couple, cook and
butler, who might be relied upon not
to feed the babies fried pork chops
when their mother was busy at the
studio. And in the midst of all this,
there was Joan, stoutly maintaining
that "Mothers should not be too de-
voted to their babies!"

"The only way you can train your-
self not to let all the little things drive
you mad — is to keep on reminding
yourself of all the millions of people
in the world who have been babies
and who have managed, quite success-
fully, to become adults!

"To be able to take your children
casually and comfortably is not only
good for you, it's good for them. I
honestly believe it is as dull for the
kids as it is for the mothers if we are
with them all the time. Children
may, and usually do, put up a howl if
their mothers and fathers are going
out. But actually, in their hearts, I
think they like it.

"I know that Normie is never so
flatteringly interested in us, so' stimu-
lated and merry, as when we are
dressing to go out for dinner. And
the next day he always asks us what
we had to eat, who was there, was
Jack Benny there, Tarzan, the Lone
Ranger? Children are sensitive to
atmosphere — and all children love
gayety.

"Try it some time! Let the kids
stick around while you're dressing to
go out. Watch their bright, interested
eyes. It will make you feel better
about going!

MOTHERS should train themselves
from the very beginning to be
away every so often. It has to be ac-
cording to each mother's circum-
stances, of course. For those of us who
can afford it, I think we should go
away one week-end in every six,
starting when the baby is one month
old! I think we should try to manage
a two-week or month-long trip, at
least, every year. It's only kindness
on our part not to let the children get
too dependent on us.

"Mothers who can't manage week-
end excursions and long vacations
should go to the movies once or twice
a week, spend a day every now and
then with a friend, while some trust-
worthy high school girl stays with the
babies. And if they can't manage even
that, let them take a walk around the
block every night, stay out an hour
or two, just walking around — just so
they're away, just so they're out! For
once you get the habit of staying with
a child every instant, that habit gets
you in a strangle hold from which
at first you can't and then you don't
want to escape.

"If it's humanly possible, every
woman should have a career apart
from her children, even if she doesn't
have to earn money, even if she only
goes to night-school to learn play-
writing or flower-arranging. A mother
who spends all her time with her chil-
dren ends up by becoming not only
a deadly bore to herself and to her
husband, but a deadly bore to the
children as well!

"My family might remark that I'm
a fine one to talk," Joan admitted,
"because I've been ridiculous at times.

OCTOBER, 1939

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63

There I stood — staring at the rows
of medals on the General's chest —
too dazzled to speak. Suddenly —
"Can that be a package of Beeman's
in your hand?" whispered the Gen-
eral. His smile outshone the medals
when I managed to stammer, "Y-yes!
Have a stick?"

"That flavor's refreshing as a cool
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eral declared. " Snappy as a band on
parade! Give me Beeman's every
.time for real pep and tang! Miss —
you deserve a medal!" And he made
me one then and there — out of Bee-
man's shiny foil!

**/l>S VIGESTION

64

I still am. But it only proves that I
know how difficult the problem can
be.

"For instance, I'd be at the studio.
At least, there was the body, make-
up and all. But I was not at the
studio, not all of me. I was half there
and half at home. I'd be studying my
script and, more often than not, I'd
be seeing the baby's formula instead
of my lines, wondering whether the
new nurse had remembered to de-
crease the water and increase the
milk that morning.

"Or I'd be on the set and, between
every take, I'd telephone the house
and if I heard Ellen or Normie crying
in the distance — then for the next
three scenes all I'd hear would be that
crying!

ON the set of 'Good Girls Go to
Paris,' I had one scene, a long
silent shot where I'm looking at
Melvyn Douglas, reading a telegram
as I gaze, registering He really loves
me — and as this emotion overcomes
me, the tears run down my face. Well,
the tears ran down my face, all right.
But I was thinking of the cook I'd had
to fire that morning because she'd
served Normie fried pork chops the
day before. It was those darned pork
chops, not Melvyn's studio passion for
me, that were the tear-jerkers!

"It's been the same at home. Dick
wants me to go to Honolulu with
him. He says, and he's right, that
while we're still young we should
go places, travel. We keep talking
about going, making plans to go, all
the time putting it off because we'd
be uncomfortable putting an ocean
between ourselves and the children.
And if we took them with us, it would
mean taking a nurse along, plus about
ten trunks for all their toys and para-
phernalia. Being picture people, we'd
have to stop at a good (and expen-
sive) hotel, and with such a retinue
it would mean taking a whole floor,
until by the time we were through
it would cost us a fortune to take the
trip.

"Up to this summer, I've been away
from Normie once, just once, for
longer than three days. That was

when Ellen was on her way and I
went to Chicago with Dick while he
made personal appearances. I was
pretty much all right in the daytimes
but oh, when night fell! Most young
mothers will know what I mean when
I say that then I began to suffer ago-
nies! And the minute Dick was asleep
I'd put the telephone under the bed-
clothes in my twin bed and call my
mother here in Hollywood — she was
staying with Normie while we were
away. All the calls consisted of was
me crying into the receiver and
Mother saying, 'What's the matter
with you? I haven't taken my eyes
off Normie since you left. Do remem-
ber that I am his grandmother and
that I love him as much as you do!'

"And when we got home there was
Normie, all blissful and beaming and
blooming, and I felt pretty silly, so
silly that I'll never act so silly again.
That incident gave Dick and me our
great idea, as a matter of fact, for
Dick asked Mother if she'd come and
live with us and take charge of the
babies. So I've solved my most press-
ing problem. I've won part of the
Battle of the Babies. I'm going to
win the rest of it this summer, too!
It's going to feel like cutting off my
right arm, but I'm convinced that it's
the best thing for all of us! Dick and
I are going to New York, to play in
summer stock there, and to spend
some time at Saratoga Springs."

So when you read, some time this
summer — and I hope, for Joan's sake
that she hasn't weakened and you do
read it — about the Blondell-Powell
appearance in an Eastern summer
stock company, you'll know that it
has a deeper significance than appears
on the surface.

It will mean a good many things.
That Joan is keeping her individuality
as a person, and not letting it be sub-
merged by the mother-instinct. That
she is fighting — successfully — to re-
tain her sense of proportion. But
most important, that she is deter-
mined to let Norman and Ellen Powell
grow up to be strong and indepen-
dent, free of apron-strings, free of the
cloying kind of affection. That, it
seems to me, is well worth the doing.

Lum and Abner donned their "Sunday-go-to-meetin1 " clothes in
honor of their contract renewal for their CBS thrice-weekly show-

RADIO AND TELEVISION IVEIRROR

WE CANADIAN LISTENERS

By

HORACE

, ......,.....■■. .. . ... ...-. "..:. . .. . ■■ .. .

TEN MUSICAL MAIDS. . . . Here
you have a half-hour of good enter-
tainment every Friday night at 9:00
EDST over the CBC national chain by
the first all-girl show ever to hit
Canadian airwaves. In the group are
the girls' vocal trio, Vida Guthrie,
Doris Ord and Doris Scott, the two
former doubling as a two-piano team;
Blanche Willis, blues singer; the vio-
lin trio, Reva Ralston, Margaret Ing-
ram, and Pauline Lewin; Muriel
Donnellan, harpist; Kathleen Stokes,
organist, and Marjorie (Midge) Ellis,
hostess.

VIDA GUTHRIE ... a very wide-
awake young lady, who was born in
1909 at Kenora, Ontario, and came of
a musical family . . . after a bit of
high school and study at the Toronto
Conservatory of Music, Vida audi-
tioned in 1920 at Saskatoon, Sask., and
went to work in radio that year.

DORIS ORD ... is a petite, brown-
haired lassie with brown eyes ... a
Westerner of 23 years' standing
. . . went on CKY, Winnipeg, at the
age of eight . . . she started in radio
after musical study at Toronto and
London as staff pianist for WBB,
Winnipeg . . . met Vida Guthrie in
'34, and they teamed up on many's
the commercial . . . staff artist at
CJRC from '36 until she and Vida
teamed up last year.

DORIS SCOTT . . . describes her-
self as a "singer of popular songs,"
which is rather modest for this little
blonde lady with the distinctive man-
ner of putting over a melody . . .
Toronto-born, the year of the Armis-
tice, she was educated at private
schools, and started in radio at old
CKNC on the "Gaiety and Romance"
show in 1933 . . . first came to fame
on the "Up to the Minute" series.

BLANCHE WILLIS . . . another
Westerner, who was born in 1913 at
Portage La Prairie, Manitoba . . .
the blues singer of Ten Musical
Maids . . . her mother was an organ-
ist and pianist and orchestral con-
ductor; her father, who now manages
a theater at Winnipeg, has produced
a number of musical shows.

KATHLEEN STOKES ... is one of
Canada's best known peddle-pushers,
from her solo and orchestral work in
the heyday of vodvil at Shea's Thea-
ter, Toronto, where she had contin-
ued feature billing . . . theaters led
her naturally to radio . . . did sus-
taining on CFRB, Toronto, from 1928
to 1933 ... has played for BBC in
England. . .

MURIEL DONNELLAN ... the
harpist of Ten Musical Maids ... a
Londoner by birth, she is another of
the "Maids" who came of a musical
family; both were pianists . . . her

fifteen-year old son Billy is carrying
on the tradition; critics say he has a
real future as a violinist . . . broad-
cast for seven years with the well
known Rex Battle ensemble from the
Royal York Hotel to the NBC net . . .
is first harpist with the Toronto Sym-
phony Orchestra and the Promenade
Symphony Orchestra.

MARGARET INGRAM ... of the
violin trio. . . hails from another mu-
sical family . . . her sister plays the
cello, one brother the trumpet, an-
other brother the clarinet . . . she's a
native of St. Thomas, Ontario, from
twenty-four years back ... is a new-
comer to radio, as this is her first pro-
gram . . . graduate of Alma Ladies'
College, St. Thomas.

PAULINE LEWIN ... of the violin
ditto . . . another blonde and blue-
eyed Toronto lass of 19 summers . . .
after high school in Windsor, Ontario,
got into radio at Windsor with the
Trowell String Quartet, doing weekly
half-hours in 1935 for the CBC and
Mutual chains.

MARJORY F. (MIDGE) ELLIS . . .
the hostess of Ten Musical Maids,
where her soft, soothing voice adds
the last touch necessary to this all-
girl program, and proves that Canada
has some women radio announcers
worthy of attention . . . Midge both
sings and acts for radio . . . was born
in Vancouver, B. C, in 1913.

MARRIAGE CAN STAY
ROMANTIC

IF. THROUGH THE YEARS, YOU GUARD
AGAINST DRY, LIFELESS "/VUDDLE-AGE" SKIN !

i know how id feel if i were a man.

and my wife let her. skin &et dry,

lifeless and old-looking ! that's why

i'm so careful about my complexion

and never use any soap except

palmolive!

I WELL YOUR MARRIAGE CERTAINLY HAS
I STAYED ROMANTIC, AND I'VE NEVER SEEN

A LOVELIER COMPLEXION ! BUT WHY IS
/ PALMOLIVE SO GOOD FOR GUARDING
( AGAINST DRY SKIN ?

BECAUSE PALMOLIVE IS MADE WITH OLIVE
AND PALM OILS, NATURE'S FINEST BEAUTY

AIDS. THAT'S WHY ITS LATHER IS SO

DIFFERENT, SO GOOD FOR DRY, LIFELESS

SKIN ! IT CLEANSES SO THOROUGHLY YET

SO GENTLY THAT IT LEAVES SKIN SOFT

AND SMOOTH. ..COMPLEXIONS RADIANT!

OCTOBER, 1939

65

OUCHJVE POPPED
A RUN-AMBIT'S
EDNA'S FAULT

{\'\L BE NEXT!

WHY DOESN'T

SHE USE iUX?

Luxing saves E-L-A-S-T-l-C-l-T-Y
and cuts down RUNS

I Wash stockings after each wear- O Don't rub with cake soap or
ing in lukewarm Lux suds. This ^ use soaps containing harmful
saves elasticity, cuts down runs. alkali. These weaken elasticity.

3 After Luxing, rinse well. Shape and
dry away from heat. Keep the thrifty
BIG box of Lux handy always.

o far-Lux is thrifty

there are the facts.

And when you add to Pat's unprece-
dented success certain other facts,
you have something even more re-
markable. Because Pat's main inter-
ests in life, even now that she's a star,
are her sorority house at the Univer-
sity of California at Los Angeles and
her sisters in the bond of dear old
Alpha Xi Delta. Her primary concern
remains her college course in Home
Economics. Her greatest bug-bear is
her struggle with chemistry. Her
greatest good time is cooking. She
simply doesn't realize what it means
to be famous.

IN short, that Friday night when
Bing Crosby discovered her (yes, it
was a Friday night — silly, the way
truth out-gags fiction) he discovered
a real natural, any way you look at it.

Friday, you see, is college night in
Hollywood. Each week, after the eve-
ning fish has been duly gulped, hun-
dreds of Southern California campus
stags hustle out of their homes, hunt
up their co-ed dates and descend in
noisy herds to take over the better
night spots, while the more sedate and
possibly stuffy citizens of Hollywood
hug their hearths to avoid being tram-
pled in the collegiate rush. It was
just luck that Bing Crosby happened
to be at the Victor Hugo cafe the night
Pat Friday stepped modestly up to
the microphone there and nodded to
band leader Griff Williams.

Now, the only reason Pat was there
was because her sorority sisters made

66

Bing's Gir! Friday

(Continued from page 21)

her go. Pat had a habit of leading the
sisters in a few harmony sessions of
sorority songs after chapter meeting
on Monday nights, and she had taken
a few singing lessons from a Los
Angeles teacher named Adele Lam-
bert, but other than that she didn't
consider herself a singer.

Her sorority sisters, however, didn't
hold with any of this "born to blush
unseen" stuff. They thought Pat was
good, and so when they heard of
Griff Williams' talent contest at the
Victor Hugo it was, "Pledge Friday,
get over there and do your stuff — and
no back-talk — or you know what!"
Pat knew what, so she went — and of
course she won, although all the am-
bitious collegiate crooners, hoofers
and gobble-pipe players of U. C. L. A.,
U. S. C. and Loyola were in there
pitching.

She also talked to Mr. Bing Crosby,
who said he liked her voice, but while
this was very pleasant it didn't con-
sole Pat any for having to give up the
prize the Victor Hugo offered its con-
test winner. Said prize was a two-
week engagement in the Cafe, which
Pat couldn't accept because she was
under age.

Bing Crosby has never before made
a practice of demanding or even re-
questing talent on his Music Hall
show. He's always left the hiring and
firing to the advertising agency and
the producer. As far as he has ever
gone in dictating the personnel has
been to say to his bosses, "I saw a
good act at such-and-such a place the

other night. You might look it over
for the show." Something as casual
as that.

But with Pat Friday, Bing knew he
was right. So he broke his rule of
non-interference and went to bat for
his discovery. The agency wasn't so
sure, especially when Pat's family
lawyer stood up for a sizable check.
Pat didn't need the money, he said,
and if the Music Hall wanted her
they'd have to make it worth while.
This was when they first considered
her for a guest spot only. It might
have come to nothing at all. But Bing
stepped up. "Get her on," he advised.
"If she's as good as I think she is,
you won't mind paying her the
money!" Bing never spoke truer words.

MOT only is the advertising agency
'^ which produces the Music Hall
glad to make out Pat's weekly check,
but more than one Hollywood movie
company yearns to do likewise. Yearns,
be it remarked, quite fruitlessly.

Not long after Pat's debut on the
air, a major studio executive whose
underlings had been trying franti-
cally to reach her and talk contract,
hied himself over in person to the
NBC air temple and invaded Kraft re-
hearsals. Luring Pat ouside into the
hall, he inquired, somewhat exasper-
ated, why in the world she hadn't
called at the studio in response to his
many summonses?

"Oh," replied Pat Friday, wide-eyed
and serious, "I couldn't. I was taking
my chemistry exam!"

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROB

And anyway, movies are absolutely
out, as far as Pat is concerned. Radio
fits in well enough with her plans for
the future, mainly because next fall
when she's eighteen, she can drive a
car back and forth from Westwood to
rehearsals. If she couldn't, radio might
well lose out because with Pat, school
comes first.

THAT decision — the one concerning
' movies — is very typical of the Friday
character. Pat's mother is a widow,
who has worked for sixteen years in
the administrative offices of the Los
Angeles Board of Education. I haven't
met her, but from knowing Pat I can
be sure that she knows how to bring
up a growing girl to be level-headed
as well as charming.

Pat maintains a good C-plus aver-
age in college, but last term a final
exam caught up with her and she
flunked chemistry. It seared her soul.
This term she took no chances. Be-
fore the importance of finals, even her
Kraft singing debut dwindled into
comparative unimportance. She had
an eight o'clock final in French on the
morning of her first air date. She
stayed up all Wednesday night and
crammed, took the quiz Thursday
morning, rehearsed in the afternoon
and faced that awful coast-to-coast
mike without a chance for even a nap.

Fortunately for Pat, she's young,
healthy, and has no nerves. Her music
teacher got nervous indigestion and
had to go to bed, but outside of a
nosebleed twenty minutes before the
red light, Pat went on cool as a cu-
cumber. With Pat so extremely mike-
green, everybody was pretty anxious
about her ability to handle her dia-
logue and when, after her singing

spot, they saw her toss away her
script, the control room gang fainted
dead away.

But when Pat Friday realized what
she had done she didn't waste a
second or turn a hair. What she did
was snatch Bing Crosby's own script
out of his amazed fingers and make
Bing read over her shoulder! The
Kraft Music Hall gang aren't worried
much about Pat Friday any more.
They figure a girl who can think that
fast before a mike on her first time
out is panic-proof and fluff-proof for
keeps. And they figure further from
the telegrams and letters that have
poured in raving about Pat that she is
worth considering for keeps, too.

Incidentally, there's an amusing
sidelight to Pat's radio hit which
you'll very likely never hear about
from the gentleman in question —
Rudy Vallee. Rudy prides himself —
and rightly — on his ability to pick
new talent. But in Pat's case he really
missed the boat.

Because, before Bing could get
around to using Pat on a guest spot,
Rudy, whose program is staged by the
same agency, jerked her out of a
classroom one day and auditioned her
for his show. She sang "I Surrender,
Dear," and when it was over Rudy
shook his head. He said it was very
nice, but Pat sounded entirely too
much like Kate Smith.

As a matter of fact, Pat's voice
travels in just about the same register
as Kate's, but right there the resem-
blance stops.

Pat Friday is petite, five feet two,
eyes of blue — only she insists they're
gray. Her hair is ash blonde, un-
retouched, and she swears it is
mousey. Her figure is on the stocky

side, her face is round and full. She
uses no make-up and goes in for
typically collegiate clothes — tweeds,
little round felt hats, sweaters and
skirts, and snoods.

She likes the boys — says she falls
in and out of love every week — but
thinks they're really only worth while
"as a means of getting around — as
yet." She thinks her stout legs are
much too big. But the future will take
care of a lot of things like that.

In the midst of her radio fame, she
still intends to finish her college
course and get a teaching degree.
Right now, she'd much rather be the
head of Alpha Xi Delta or president
of her class than the number-one at-
traction on the air.

CHE spent her first Kraft check for
*^ a fancy pearl sorority pin. And
after her debut show, all the sisters
having listened in, Pat sped out to the
campus, lugging her big basket of
Kraft cheese, dashed into the sorority
house kitchen and started whipping up
a mess for a celebration midnight feed
with the girls. That's still her idea of
Heaven.

In fact, there's only one big tragedy
in Pat's life today. That's the fact
that she's no longer a guest star on the
Kraft Music Hall.

Guests all get a mammoth compli-
mentary basket of assorted cheeses.
Pat still sighs with wistful longing
when she thinks of the things she did
with that cheese in the kitchen. All
those souffles, soups, and tasty tid-bits
she whipped up.

"But now that I'm a regular mem-
ber of the show," wails Pat, "all I get
is a check. No more nice cheese."

It's really quite sad.

N.R.G. is energy— the pep and
power to get going and keep
going at work or play.

Baby Ruth — the big, pure,
delicious candy bar is rich in
food -energy because it's rich
in Dextrose, the sugar your
body uses directly for energy.
Enjoy a bar of Baby Ruth today
— and every day. It's fine candy
and fine food!

CURTISS CANDY COMPANY, CHICAGO, ILL.

OCTOBER, 1939

Hearts beab taster, pulses throb, when you wear Park & Xiliord s [No. 3

rerlume! rLxotic ... provocative ... this mystic iragrance whiskers hove .

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$1.00

Other famous
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odeurs: Lilac/
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venture, i\o. 12}
and Cherish.

'U??Z£

C E N I U R Y

Bald-headed Lud Gludskin, music
maestro of the Dick Powell show, isn't
satisfied to take orders in person from
his boss, Tiny Ruffner, so the band-
leader built a new home right next
door to Ruffner's house- — where Tiny
can shout his orders from window to
window!

Dick Powell, who has tried his hand
at everything, is now going into the
oil business. Dick bought 500 acres
of oil property in Texas — and is
spending the summer there watching
the gushers bring in his "black gold."

* * *

Ray Noble, the English band leader,
is playing in the wilderness of Den-
ver, at Eilitch's Gardens.

* * #

Jackie Cooper plans a "first shave
party," wherein a selected group of
young friends will witness the cere-
monies attendant upon Jackie's shav-
ing his first beard. His "Clambake
Cats" orchestra will devote a musical
selection to the party, entitled: "I've
Got You Under My Chin."

* * *

Outside of composing and improvis-
ing odd musical numbers, Alec Tem-
pleton's pet recreation is swimming.
He can be found at the beach or some
private pool in practically every spare
moment. Alec is a fine swimmer in
spite of his blindness.

* * *

I think Bob Hope should be sharp-
ly criticized for declaring he intends

68

Hollywood Radio Whispers

(Continued from page 4)

to adopt a British baby boy, during
his vacation in London. Must we re-
mind Bob that "charity begins at
home?"

Una Merkel is limping around these
days because of a bad bruise sustained
falling down a flight of steps while
carrying a pail of water to fill her

bird bath.

* * *

Scared out of a year's growth by a
school of whales playing peek-aboo
with their boat "Moonglow" during
a recent cruise off San Clemente,
Frances Langford and Jon Hall relate
a harrowing story of a narrow escape
from disaster when one of the playful
whales almost sideswiped the boat.

Betty Jane Rhodes, "The First Lady
of Television," recently won a fine
compliment from Darryl Zanuck,
headman of Fox films. Zanuck de-
clared, after hearing her sing, that
she was the most promising young
starlet in Hollywood — and he person-
ally was going to see to it that she
got a break in big time pictures!

With Jimmie Fidler off the air for a
short summer vacation, Hollywood
will have to take its heart-to-heart
talks from your reporter; and does
Hollywood burn while we're on the
air — -and is it fun!

* * *

Maxine Gray, one-time Hal Kemp
singer, has the unusual distinction of

having appeared on television pro-
grams on both coasts. Maxine, a reg-
ular feature of the Don Lee telecasts
in Hollywood, was signed by RCA to
feature in a series of dramatic shows
in Eastern television programs. Max-
ine and Tommy Lee, headman of Don
Lee, are said to be preacher material!

* * *

Lum and Abner have still not
signed for a motion picture, but four
different studios are bidding for their
services. Before they'll sign, the radio
characters want to see a finished
script. To appear in the wrong film
might end their careers as radio com-
ics, say they wisely.

* * *

When Kay St. Germain, the singing
star, returned from New York where
she has been appearing in a radio
show, she told her pals at NBC about
two girls she met in New York who
were really grand persons and with
whom she enjoyed many delightful
parties. They were socialites Cobina
Wright, Jr., and glamour-deb Brenda
Frazier. In fact, Kay passed up a nice
trip to Europe as the guest of Cobina
Wright, just because of her work in
Hollywood.

* * *

When Jack Benny left for his vaca-
tion, the NBC telephone operator at
Hollywood Radio City received an
urgent call from a Los Angeles wo-
man who demanded the address of
the Bennys' Beverly Hills home. It
seems she wanted to take care of

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Charmichael, Jack's polar bear, while
they were vacationing.

* * *

Hero worship doesn't exist just
among youngsters, but stars have
their heroes, too. Donald Dickson,
star baritone of the Charlie McCar-
thy hour, is one of Hollywood's most
ardent hero worshippers and the ob-
ject of his idealism is none other than
Lawrence Tibbett. Dickson never
missed a broadcast of "The Circle,"
which starred Tibbett, and even
though he watched the broadcast
from the glass enclosed client's booth
after Tibbett's numbers, Dickson
would applaud wildly!

* * *

Pat Friday is one radioite that
comes to work on the street car. In
San Francisco or New York, this
wouldn't be such a novelty, but in
Los Angeles it is. The pert U. C. L. A.
sophomore whose vocals are being
featured on Bing Crosby's show, lives
in Westwood and travels to the stu-
dios via car and bus!

* * *

Backstage at the CBS Playhouse, in
Hollywood, any Friday afternoon
you'll find Johnny Mack Brown, a
native of Dotham, Alabama, and a
true son of the south, practicing and
trying to develop a southern accent.
Strangely enough, Johnny, who is
starred in the radio series, Under
Western Skies, got the part primari-
ly because of the accent, which he is
supposed to have. Producers didn't
know, however, that Johnny has been
taking diction lessons for the past six
months, trying to rid himself of the
accent for a film role. He did such

a good job of it, that it's taking plenty
of study to get back the accent for his
weekly broadcasts.

NEW YORK TO HOLLYWOOD
NOTES

Jerry Danzig, popular WOR special
events man and station executitve, is
writing for motion pictures on the
side. . . . Fred Weber, headman of the
rapidly growing Mutual Network, will
have travelled ten thousand miles by
air upon the completion of his next
trip to Hollywood. On radio business,
Weber flies to Washington, Chicago
and other points every week. . . . Be-
nay Venuta is still one of radio's
oldest and best song stylists! ... Is
Leon Janney, the new CBS radio star,
married to Wilma Francis, New York
show girl?

TAKE A BOO:

Clem McCarthy for your too-
breathless race calls. Bob Hope for
being such a highhat. Edgar Bergen
for allowing yourself to put on SO
much weight — what will Charlie's
fans think?

TAKE A BOW:

Walter Winchell, for sticking strict-
ly to politics in your broadcasts — al-
most every other item is political.
Willet Brown for presenting "found-
lings" to a radio audience. Cecil De
Mille for conducting the best dramatic
shows on the air!

Artie Shaw, the lucky stiff, made
himself one hundred and twenty-five
thousand dollars for his picture,
"Dancing Co-ed!"

Barbara Stanwyck deserves a heart
salute! On the weekend that she had
planned to start her honeymoon, Bar-
bara gave up her time to make a guest
appearance on the Children's Home
Society for Foundlings Hour, titled:
"Nobody's Children" over Mutual.
Barbara not only appeared on the
show, but placed one of the children
in a film home as well.

Who would be the ideal "date"
among the Hollywood radio and film
stars? If left up to the mannequins
and models of Los Angeles, Dick
Powell would be their favorite escort.
Marie Chapelle, one of Hollywood's
fairest models, recently presented
Powell with a certificate naming him
the favorite "boy friend" of more than
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I didn't really want to leave my
mother. That's ridiculous, of course
— I begged Gladys to marry me for
months before she'd consent, and I
never had any intention of leaving
mother. But she gets so intense and
excited, I'm afraid to be too insistent.
I'm afraid she might — "

He stopped. I knew what he meant.
He meant that she might make an-
other attempt on her life.

"Can't your wife talk to her?" I
asked, but he shook his head.

MOTHER refuses to see Gladys.
I've tried — Miss Adams, it comes
down to this. Mother wants me to ask
Gladys for a divorce."

"Oh, no!" I cried in quick horror.
"You mustn't do that!"

"Of course I won't," he answered.
"But — but Gladys and I can't go along
the way we have been for the last
two years, either. I've got to consider
her, too. She has a right to a home,
not the miserable little apartment
downtown where she lives now. All
this time she's been a good sport,
using her maiden name, risking her
reputation because we were seen to-
gether too much. Now she's getting
tired of it, and I don't blame her. We
■ — we aren't like a husband and wife
any more — we're like two strangers
who don't even like each other very
much. If Mother doesn't acknowledge
Gladys soon, I'm afraid — I'm afraid
our marriage will go on the rocks."

He wasn't asking for sympathy; he
didn't want it. But I could see how

70

Wife Against Mother

(Continued from page 20)

miserable he was, torn between two
deep loyalties, two loves that he
couldn't reconcile.

"I'll try," I promised. "I'll see what
I can do."

But it wouldn't be easy, I found out
that evening.

Donald had gone out, after a dinner
which he shared with his mother in
her room. Whether or not he was
with Gladys I don't know — but cer-
tainly Mrs. Gray must have thought
he was. She was nervous and restless
as she sat in her chair by the fireplace,
asking me to read to her and then
stopping me in the middle of a chap-
ter, beginning to talk and then falling
suddenly silent. Outside a cold wind
off the lake howled around the house,
and she shivered, although the room
was quite warm.

"I hate winter," she fretted. "This
is the first winter Donald and I have
ever spent in Chicago — usually we
go south. But Donald felt this year
that business conditions were too bad
for him to leave. ... Of course," she
added after a barely perceptible
pause, "I know now that wasn't the
real reason."

I hesitated. This, if I dared take it,
was the opening I had been waiting
for. I drew a deep breath and said:

"You know, Mrs. Gray, I met your
daughter-in-law."

Instantly, her pretty, soft face
changed its expression, became
flushed and angry. "She's been here?"
she asked.

"Oh yes. She seems like a very

charming young girl."

"Indeed? I'm sorry I can't agree,
Miss Adams. I simply can't approve
of her action in marrying Donald,
secretly, behind my back. If they
had only told me, come to me for
my advice and help, instead of being
so — so furtive! And I blame her for
it entirely."

"But, Mrs. Adams, isn't it possible
that Donald kept it a secret himself,
just because he was afraid of hurting
you?" I didn't dare tell her that I
had talked to Donald — her over-
wrought nerves would immediately
accuse him of disloyalty.

She shook her head decisively. "No,
my dear, that's not the reason. Of
course Gladys knew I would not ap-
prove of Donald marrying her, so
she persuaded him to keep it a secret."

THERE was simply no arguing with
' her. In all other ways Mrs. Gray
was kind, tolerant, thoughtful of
others, but in anything concerning
her son she became illogical and self-
ish and as hard as rock.

She must have seen something of
my thoughts in my face, for she said
in a softer tone, "It must be difficult
for you, a young woman, to realize
how I feel. But, Miss Adams — let me
tell you something. Twenty years ago,
when Donald was only a little boy,
Mr. Gray was killed in a traffic acci-
dent. Since then, Donald has been my
whole life, my only reason for living.
Nothing else has meant anything to
me. Every plan I've made, has been

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

made for him. I wanted him to
marry, of course — but not so soon!
Haven't I the right to expect a few
more years of love and affection from
him, now that he's grown up?"

She was almost convincing. Her
reasoning was false, but her unhap-
piness was terribly real. No matter
what her faults, she was suffering. I
couldn't add to that suffering, just
then, by saying any more.

But the next afternoon, as two
events came one on the heels of the
other, the whole intolerable situation
was brought swiftly to a head. The
first event was Gladys' visit.

rNONALD was upstairs with his
'-' mother, and I was sitting in the
living room when she arrived. I sim-
ply looked up, to see her standing in
the doorway, pale and small, yet furi-
ously determined.

"Why — hello, Mrs. Gray," I said
startled.

"Don't you call me Mrs. Gray!" she
snapped. "Call me Miss Watson, or
Gladys, or anything — but not Mrs.
Gray. I'm so sick of that mockery I
could die! ... I suppose Donald is
upstairs with his mother?"

"Why . . . yes. I'll tell him you're
here if you — "

"Don't bother," she interrupted.
"I'm going up there."

"I wouldn't do that," I said gently.
"It wouldn't be wise, right now."

"She's as strong as I am," Gladys
laughed shortly. "I think she's just
pretending to be sick, to get Donald's
sympathy. And it seems to me I'm
entitled to a little sympathy myself.
I'm married to Donald — but all I get
is the consideration you'd give an old
shoe."

"Gladys!"

Neither of us had heard Donald
come into the room.

She whirled to face him, and visibly
made an effort to regain her poise.
"I'm sorry, Donald. I — I didn't know
what I was saying."

He came farther into the room,
running his. hand through his already
rumpled hair. "I know," he said
heavily. "Sometimes I think nobody
in this family — except Miss Adams —
knows what he's saying."

"Donald," Gladys said in a soft, de-
termined voice. "I came here this
afternoon to see your mother. I
wanted to tell her that she's ruining
your life — making you into a molly-
coddle, a weakling. But somehow I
don't think that would do any good.
I'll tell you something, instead."

"We've been through all this be-
fore, Gladys — can't you wait a while?"

"I've waited two years, Donald. Two
years, with only half a husband. Now
I'm not waiting any longer. You
must tell your mother that I'm com-
ing to this house, to live as your wife.
And you must tell her that today."

The words were brave enough, but
there was a suspicious quiver behind
them, the brightness of tears in her
eyes. Gladys Gray wasn't by any
means the strong-willed young lady
she was trying to seem; she was driv-
ing herself to this bitter scene.

"But — I can't, Gladys!" Donald pro-
tested. "At least, not — not today. Of
course, I see that something has to
be done. But Mother still isn't well,
and — and I haven't figured out ex-
actly what I can say to her — maybe,
tomorrow — "

"Tomorrow! For two years that's
the only word I've heard. I've gone

to sleep with it pounding through my
brain. But — tomorrow never comes,
Donald! Not with you. Because
you're afraid!"

"It isn't a matter of being afraid — "
he began.

She walked to the door, silently.
Then, her hand on the knob, she
turned. "I'm sorry," she said. "But
it still goes. You must tell your
mother — today — that I'm coming here
to live. Or I won't be your wife any
more."

"Gladys! Perhaps if we saw her to-
gether!— "

"If you want me, you'll know where
to reach me."

He would have followed her into
the hall, but I held him back.

It was with a heavy heart that I
left Donald and went back upstairs
to my patient. If I could only find
the words to show Mrs. Gray the mis-
take she was making!

Mrs. Gray was sitting up, beside the
window, looking out into the early
winter twilight. She must have seen
Gladys go out, but as I came in she
only turned and smiled. "Will you
get me a handkerchief from my
dresser drawer, my dear?" she asked.

D UT the dresser had no handker-
'-' chiefs in it, and she directed me to
a smaller cabinet in her bathroom.
There I found the handkerchiefs —
and beneath them, tucked away into
an inconspicuous corner, eight white
tablets!

Eight sleeping tablets, hidden away
out of sight. As nearly as we could
tell, thirteen tablets had been miss-
ing from the bottle in Mrs. Gray's
medicine chest on the day the doctor
and I were summoned. But — here

OCTOBER, 1939

71

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were eight. They could mean only
one thing: she had only pretended
to attempt suicide. She had swallowed
five tablets, and hidden the other
eight.

For what seemed like hours I held
the eight innocent-seeming white pills
in my hand, trying to think. Should I
confront Mrs. Gray with my knowl-
edge of her deception? A cruel
course, but perhaps justified. Or —
even more cruel — should I betray her
to Donald?

And then, out of nowhere — instinct,
intuition, perhaps, came the knowl-
edge that I need do neither. That I
could find words to speak to her —
because I must!

Composing my face into the nurse's
impersonal mask, I hurried back into
Mrs. Gray's room. "Here's the hand-
kerchief," I said. "I had a little
trouble finding it."

Normally, I should have gone on
moving about the room, just then,
doing all the dozens of little things
that are part of a nurse's duties. In-
stead, I sat down near Mrs. Gray.

"Do you mind if I talk to you a
little?" I asked her. "I'm — you see,
I'm a little worried about my brother
and sister."

L-IER face, which could be so kind
• ' and gentle when she was not
thinking of Gladys, brightened with
interest. "Are you, my dear? Won't
you tell me?"

"They're both younger than I —
much younger," I explained. "And
since Mother died I've tried to be
both father and mother to them."

"That must have been quite a re-
sponsibility for you," she suggested.

"Well . . . perhaps not such a re-
sponsibility as I'm apt to imagine at
times. But I've tried so hard to make
up for — not having Mother. And, if
you'd known Mother, you'd see how
hard it would be to take her place."

She followed my lead perfectly.
"She must have been a fine woman."

"Oh, she was more than that," I said
eagerly. "Her greatest happiness was
in her home and her family."

"Of course," Mrs. Gray said ap-
provingly. "That's every mother's
greatest happiness."

"I think so," I agreed. "But my
mother seemed to have a little differ-
ent viewpoint when it came to her
own family. It was never what we
could do for her — it was always what
she could do for us that brought her
the most happiness, the most content-
ment. She never expected duty from
her children. She believed that after
a child had reached maturity he owed
something to society — as a member
of a family, I mean. You see, her idea
of a family was a never-ending circle.
Death — yes, death made one person
or another drop out of the circle, but
there were others that were con-
stantly coming in — grandchildren and
great-grandchildren, to take their
places. . . . Oh, how she used to wish
for the day she could spread a white
tablecloth, not for herself, not for
her three children, and my father —
but for her children's children."

She had listened silently, patiently.
I could not tell from her face whether
or not my words had meant anything
to her in her own problem. Now she
asked, in a dubious voice: "You
really believe that, Miss Adams?"

"I must believe it — because I know
I had the kind of parents who never
lived for themselves. I wouldn't have
the fine memories of them that I have
today, if they'd thought that I owed

72

them everything — that because they'd
brought me into the world I still
didn't have a life of my own to lead —
the right to marry and to raise my
own family. . . ."

The steady, intelligent gaze of those
blue eyes nickered for only a mo-
ment, but it was enough to tell me
that she read and understood the
message I was trying to give her —
that the only way to secure your chil-
dren's love was not to demand it.
Strangely, with that knowledge, I
lost the assurance that had carried
me along so far. "I — I hope I'm not
boring you with all this talk of my
own family — I'm sorry — " I faltered.

"No, Miss Adams, you're not boring
me," she said. "You think I'm a fool-
ish, possessive woman, don't you?"

"No! I don't think that at all!"
I cried. "I think you are unhappy —
because you're making yourself so,
neednessly."

"I see. ..." She paused, and in
the silence, I felt my heart begin to
pound. I guessed what her next
words would be, and I dreaded an-
swering them — dreaded it because I
hated to hurt her. She said: "Tell
me, my dear — did you find anything
else in that drawer, when you went
after the handkerchief?"

I dropped my eyes. "Yes, Mrs.
Gray," I said.

She sighed. "I thought so. I forgot
I had put them there. And when you
were gone so long, I remembered,
and I was sure you had found them.
I — " Her knuckles, where she
clutched the handkerchief I had
brought her, were white. "I began,
then, seeing myself as you must see
me. And it wasn't a pretty sight."

I didn't answer, and for a long time
we sat in silence.

WOULD she never speak? A log fell
with a sharp crack in the fireplace;
a spatter of sleet blew against the
window. And then a thin, blue-
veined hand touched mine.

She was smiling when I looked up.
"Miss Adams, I am more grateful to
you than I can ever say. But will
you do one more thing for me? Will
you call — my daughter-in-law and
ask her to come here, this evening,
for dinner? And — tell her I hope I
can persuade her to move into this
house, to live?"

"Oh, Mrs. Gray— I'll be so glad to!"

"You know," she said, "I think
being a grandmother might be nice

It would have been pleasant to stay
that evening for dinner, as Mrs. Gray
wanted me to, and see those three
faces I had grown to like and respect
looking upon each other with love in-
stead of jealousy. But, somehow, I
I knew that I would be the extra,
unneeded guest at that table, so I
slipped out of the house, a few min-
utes before Gladys was due to arrive.

I walked down the cold, wintry
street, leaving the warmth of the
Gray mansion behind me. But I felt
neither lonely nor cold. My heart was
dancing for joy inside me.

At the corner, I turned and looked
back. A taxi stopped in front of the
house just then, and a girl's slim,
small figure got out and went running
up toward the open front door.

Next month, an intimate word-por-
trait of the woman who writes not
only the Woman in White radio
dramas, but The Guiding Light and
The Road of Life programs as well —
Irna Phillips, one of radio's most re-
markable personalities.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Comedy Cavalcade

(Continued from page 37)

minute Snooks tries a new track.)

Snooks: Daddy, I'll go away if
you'll buy me an ice cream cone.

Daddy: You can't have any ice
cream cones. I can't afford it.

Snooks: Ain't you rich, Daddy?

Daddy: No — I'm not rich. That is,
not in cash — but I'm wealthy in other
things, I guess. . . . Oh, my head!

Snooks: What are you wealthy in?

Daddy: Well, I have your mother,
and you, and your baby sister. I place
a great value on all of you.

Snooks: How much?

Daddy: Oh, I don't know. I guess
I rate you at a million dollars, your
mother at a million and — and the
baby at half a million.

Snooks: Oh. Daddy?

Daddy: What?

Snooks: Sell the baby and buy me
an ice cream cone!

(Practical little thing, isn't she?)

Daddy: Listen, Snooks, you're old
enough to learn not to ask for so
many things, and to give a little more.

Snooks: Give what, Daddy?

Daddy: Well, for instance, you have
a lot of toys. Only last month you got
that great big doll for a present.

Snooks: You mean the one that
Uncle Louie sent me?

Daddy: Yes. And that poor little
Smith girl down the street has no
toys, and no Uncle Louie to send her
any. Now, wouldn't you like to give
her that doll?

Snooks: No.

Daddy: Well, what would you like
to give her?

Snooks: Uncle Louie!

(Daddy knows darn well he'll get
no peace until he gives in, but he
goes stubbornly on:)

Daddy: Oh, Snooks, I'm afraid
you're not imbued with the spirit of
charity. I want you to be kind, and
generous.

Snooks: Uh-huh.

Daddy: You'll be much happier, too.
You'll learn what a wonderful thrill
there is in giving — much greater than
in receiving.

Snooks: Uh-huh.

Daddy: Do you know why I'm tell-
ing you all these things?

Snooks: Yes, Daddy. 'Cause you
don't want to buy me the ice cream
cone!

Daddy: That's not it at all! I
thought maybe you'd remember that
Monday is my birthday, and — and you
might buy me a little present.

Snooks: Awight, Daddy. I'll see
how much money I got in my little
Piggie Bank.

Daddy (Groaning.) : Yes. . . . Yes.
. . . Oohh. . . . Thank heaven. Now
maybe I'll get some rest.

(The dope. He knows he'll get no
rest while Snooks is in the room.
Pretty soon we hear the sound of
hammering, and Daddy yells:)

Daddy: Snooks! What's that noise!

Snooks: I lost the key to my bank
and I gotta break it open (She goes
right on hammering.)

Daddy: Ooohh! Please stop!

(The hammering stops.)

Snooks: I got it open now, Daddy.

Daddy: Good. Now leave me alone.

Snooks: Awight. . . . You know
what I'm gonna buy you for your
birthday?

Daddy: No — what?

Snooks: A new watch.

Daddy: That's foolish, Snooks. I've

OCTOBER, 1939

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73

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already got a very fine watch.

Snooks: No you ain't, Daddy.

Daddy (Suddenly -full of a horrible
suspicion.) : Why do you say that?

Snooks: 'Cause I just used it to
break open my bank!

(And what happens after that?
You're right— Snooks gets spanked
and leaves the stage crying — while
Eddie steps up to introduce his next
guest.)

Eddie: You know, folks, it's always
a real thrill to see a young comedian
come along and quickly win his place
in the public's affection. After all,
fellows like Jack Benny and myself
can't last forever. At least Benny
can't. — It gives me great pleasure to
bring you Bob Hope!

(The orchestra swings into "Thanks
for the Memory" as Bob enters.)

Bob: Thank you very much, Eddie.
I'm very happy to be here — Eddie
Cantor, Burns and Allen . . . isn't this
a great show — I mean up to now?

We've been having wonderful
weather here in Hollywood lately. Of
course, we had a slight washout to-
day— I wouldn't say it rained hard.
But they're thinking of putting a
saucer under the Hollywood Bowl!
It never rains in California . . . occa-
sionally the orange juice overflows.
Besides, they don't call it rain . . .
they call it California champagne be-
cause it comes down in buckets!

(Even the California people laugh
at that, and Bob follows it up with:)

I set a mousetrap this morning, and
caught a herring!

But to change the subject, I was
out with Mickey Rooney in his car
the other night. He's got a swell car,
just the thing for driving down Holly-
wood Boulevard. It comes with the
fenders already smashed in.

(Laughter.),

Well, as I was saying, I was out on
a date with him the other night. . . .
Just Mickey, myself, and two girls.
The two girls were with Mickey, I
found out later. But he finally gave
me on<5 of them. She was a nretty
kid. Looked like Tobacco Road^on a
wet night. Her face looked like if had
worn out four bodies.

We took the girls for a ride. And
Mickey — that boy thinks of every-
thing. He's got one of those new
speedometers. When he goes fifty a
green light flashes on. When he goes
twenty a blue light flashes. Then
when he parks . . . red flashes, and
the doors lock automatically.

(Laughter.)

But my time is up now — and before
I go I just want to say that maybe
you didn't know it but Hollywood has
been quarantined for the last year
and a half. That's a fact. But every-
thing is all right now — the Scarlett
Fever is over! Good night, ladies and
gentlemen.

(The orchestra plays Bob off the
stage, and Eddie returns to introduce
his next guest.)

Eddie: And now, here's one of
radio's truly happily married couples
—two people who defy all lunacy
commissions — George Burns and
Gracie Allen!

(The orchestra strikes a chord and
George and Gracie come bounding
onto the stage. But Gracie just stands
there smiling.)

George: Well, Gracie, say hello.

Gracie: I don't feel like saying
hello, and when I don't feel like say-
ing hello, I won't say hello, and no-
body can make me say hello.

George (Wearily.): Gracie, say

74

hello.

Gracie: Hello.

George: Gracie, you remember
Eddie Cantor?

Gracie: Oh yes, I know him very
well — but, George, who is this? (She
points at Eddie.)

Eddie: Gracie, I'm Eddie Cantor.

Gracie: Well . . . your face is
familiar.

George: But you don't remember
the name?

Gracie: I would if I heard it.

(Laughter.)

George: Gracie, did you ever hear
of Ida?

Gracie: What station is she on?

(George gives up, and turns the job
over to Eddie.)

Eddie: Gracie, you remember me —
the five daughters.

Gracie: Ohhhh — the five daughters!
That Warner Brothers picture — I saw
that. Which one were you?

George: Gracie, that wasn't five
daughters, it was "Four Daughters."

Gracie: Oh — one of them is too
young to work, huh?

(Eddie gets desperate.)

Eddie: George, can't we get on an-
other subject?

George: Sure, just ask her how her
brother is.

Eddie: Then what happens?

George: She talks for about two
hundred years.

Eddie: Pardon me a minute. — Ida,
if you're listening in, I'll be a little
late for dinner — Now we'll start.
Gracie, how is your brother?

Gracie: Which one? The one who's
living or the picture producer?

Eddie: Oh — the picture producer.

Gracie: Of course, he's only my
brother by marriage.

Eddie: Your brother isn't married.

Gracie: My mother and father are,
and he's their son.

(Eddie retires to recover from that
blow, and George takes over.)

George: That's very interesting.

Gracie: Of course, my mother
hasn't seen much of my brother be-
cause he ran away from home when
he was thirty-nine.

George: I'll bet it upset the folks
when they found out the kid was
missing.

Gracie: Well, they would have, been
upset, only my mother didn't know
he was missing for three years. Every
morning for three years she brought
up a plate of oatmeal, and after three
years she noticed the room was filled
with oatmeal, so she said to herself,
"The poor kid must be sick, he's not
eating."

Eddie: Did she call the police?

Gracie: No, she ate the oatmeal
herself.

(Eddie moans.)

George: Gracie, she ate all that
oatmeal by herself?

Gracie: Yeah, that's on account of
Mrs. Phillips didn't eat it.

George: Mrs. Phillips? How did she
get into this?

Gracie: That's the old woman that's
been living with us for five years.

George: Well, who is she?

Gracie: We don't know.

Eddie: There's an old woman living
in your house for five years and you
don't know who she is?

Gracie: My brother won her at a
raffle.

George and Eddie together: Help!

(And while George and Eddie go to
Palm Springs for a rest cure, our
svecial all-star readio broadcast comes
to an end.)

RADIO AND TELEVISION JVEIRROH

Do I Love You." Mrs. Roosevelt in-
sists on hearing "The Man I Love,"
and is an excellent dancer.

George Hall is being dogged by bad
luck. Recently his wife passed away.
Then last month in Cleveland the
genial conductor was rushed to New
York for an emergency operation.
Dolly Dawn substituted in front of
the band.

Eddy Duchin is having a tough
time vigorously denying those rumors
that he has turned Catholic and that
he will marry his child's nurse.

Here's a real advance booking:
Jimmie Lunceford will play the New
York Paramount theater the week of
November 29.

Rudy Vallee will be heard over
Mutual September 1 to 5 from At-
lantic City's Steel Pier.

Bunny Berigan and Jack Teagarden
have both hired new carolers. Bunny
grabbed Ellen Kaye to replace Wendy
Bishop and Teagarden signed Dolores
O'Neil and Kitty Kallen to fill Linda
Keene's assignment.

The Dick Barrie musicians have a

Facing the Music

(Continued from page 10)

mascot named "Juarez." They picked
the pooch up when the band visited
that Mexican City while on tour.

SENTIMENTAL SAMMY

THE rare phenomenon of a sweet
band rising to fame in the midst of
the recent swing craze can only be
attributed to the forceful personality
of the man in front of the band.

When most dispensers of sweet
music were crying over their wilted
waltzes and the jive merchants
basked happily in the public's favor,
Sammy Kaye quietly took his "Swing
and Sway" music from a two-bit col-
lege cafe to recognition across the na-
tional airlanes.

Breathless dancers were milling
around any band, good, bad or indif-
ferent as long as it blared forth a
shag number, when Sammy Kaye was
entrancing undergraduates at Ohio
University's Varsity Inn. The owner
of this campus retreat was not behind
the times. He just could not get ex-
cited over swing. Any other pro-
prietor would have thrown the sing-
ing titles and mellow saxophones into
the nearby parking lot. But this res-
tauranteur was different. His name
was Sammy Kaye.

Successful as a college bandleader
and cafe proprietor, Sammy cast a
tilted nose at the swing sweep. Let
the jitterbugs stomp merrily around
the musical may pole. Sammy Kaye
would play sweet.

The Varsity Inn customers liked

Sammy's music. Even the old timers
in the sleepy college town smiled to
themselves as the music drifted
through the screened windows to the
street below. Surely, reckoned the
observant Mr. Kaye, there must be
millions more like them from coast to
coast.

That Sammy Kaye was correct is
proven by the facts. He is currently
touring the one night stands at a
handsome profit before returning
October 1 to the Palm Room of New
York's Hotel Commodore.

If you live in Pennsylvania, New
Jersey, Ohio, Indiana, New York or
any of the other states Kaye will visit
you'll notice that the leader's high
cheek bones and sinewy frame reveal
a hard worker, a careful thinker and
a tough taskmaster at rehearsals. And
band bookers know better than to
haggle with Sammy over financial
matters. College gave him a razor-
edged financial background.

But this veneer hides from first
view the one ingredient that domi-
nates his lithe frame— an ingredient
that just couldn't make Sammy Kaye
play swing music. He's a sentimental-
ist and proud of it.

Sammy Kaye has based his orches-
tra on the fact that the majority of
radio listeners just can't resist a senti-
mental tune — old, new or blue — and
they want it played slowly so that it
doesn't resemble a cannibal's theme
song.

Thus while the Shaws, Goodmans,
Crosbys, and Millers were swept to

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75

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the top of the heap by a wave of en-
thusiasm, the Cleveland-born Kaye
stuck to his sweet tooth. The senti-
mental stand brought dividends.

In July Sammy played three weeks
at the New York Strand theater at
$8,500 a week. Not bad for a guy
who only just managed to stay four
years in college by winning an ath-
letic scholarship for track and foot-
ball, and by performing more foot-
work as a waiter in the college dining
hall.

Despite this fantastic sum for the
personal appearances, Sammy actu-
ally figures he lost $50,000 in 1939.

In the Fall of 1938 Sammy moved
his band to New York for his first big
league engagement — the Palm Room
of the hotel Commodore with two net-
work wires. But Kaye's thirteen men
were not members of the local Musi-
cians Union. Kaye had to pay a cer-
tain percentage of his earnings to the
union until he had completed nine
consecutive months' work in New
York. Only after that period had been
served could the Ohioans become full-
fledged members of the New York lo-
cal.

The Commodore contract was for
seven months. As other bands headed
for the hinterlands where lucrative
one-night stands awaited them, Kaye
had to remain in New York to work
out two more months. Fortunately
Sammy received an offer from the
Essex House. His band played there
until mid-July, completely rounding
out the nine-month stretch — but los-
ing out on the big money a summer
road tour would have brought.

Sammy had to accept the Strand
theater engagement while he was still
ensconsed in the Essex House. This
meant that Sammy had to pay for a
stand-by band at the hotel when he
and his men could not make certain
dance sets due to their stage work.
Through the Music Corporation of
America, Sammy hired Ron Perry's
band to pinch-hit. Naturally the
money came out of Sammy's pocket.

The twin engagements tired tne
troupe. They opened at the Strand
on a Friday. Their Thursday night
dance session at the hotel concluded
at 1 a. m. When the last dancer
grudgingly filed out of the room, the
boys jumped off the bandstand, hur-
riedly packed their assorted instru-
ments into waiting taxis which took
them to the theater for rehearsal. At
4 a. m. most of the boys climbed into
bed. Those who lived in the suburbs
never got to bed at all, for three hours
later they were due back at the thea-
ter for more rehearsal. The first show
went on at 10 a. m. and they played
four more after the morning stint.
Between these appearances the band
shuttled to the Essex House for two
sets that absorbed five hours work.
The following day the boys played six
shows at the Strand.

"We were tired," admitted Sammy,
"but it was the biggest dough my out-
fit had ever made."

TO the leader it meant more than
' that. His family had struggled des-
perately to keep the Ohio brand of
wolf away from the door. He got
within sniffing distance quite often.
The only way Sammy could listen to
his favorite band — a bunch called the
Lombardos — was to strain his ear out-
side the restaurant where the Cana-
dians were installed.

Fleet of foot on the cinder path and
gridiron while at high school, Sammy
won an athletic scholarship at Ohio
University. Here Sammy and the
seven boys who now form the nucleus
of his organization, huddled around
a muffled phonograph and clinically
analyzed the current dance band fa-
vorites long after curfew had rung.
An obscure Gus Arnheim arrange-
ment intrigued Sammy and from it
he wove the basic style of "swing and
sway."

Sammy, Charlie Wilson, the singer,
Lloyd Gilliam (trumpet) , Frank Ob-
lake (trumpet) , Paul Cunningham
(bass), Ralph Flanagan (piano), Er-

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Bernarr Macfadden Foundation. Room 717, 205 East 42nd Street, New York, N. Y.

76

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

nie Rudisill (drums) and George
Branden (sax) plus six fresh recruits
made their professional debut, after
a training in Sammy's Varsity Inn, in
Cleveland. However it was in Bill
Green's Casino on the outside of
Pittsburgh that the band attracted
attention, thanks to their first Mutual
network wire.

A pumped-up feud between Kaye
and Kay Kyser helped rather than
hurt the band. Today the furor has
faded. Kyser is established as one of
the country's great production bands
and Kaye concentrates on strictly
dance tempos. They have never met.

The adage that "anything can hap-
pen to a dance band" clipped the
Kaye crew in a strange way. Some
bands have trouble with their men,
others with temperament. Sammy
has never been bothered with either.
He has the same men working for him
that he employed six years ago.

Kaye has always concentrated on
scoring his own tunes and working
out the technique with arranger
Frank "Pump" Haendle. Of the 12,-
000 tunes in the Kaye books, each one
has been carefully scored by Sammy.

"Most bands are at the mercy of
their arranger," Sammy pointed out,
"I don't need to take that risk."

At 29, Sammy has everything to
look forward to — including a mate.
The lovely dark-eyed girl who was
seen almost every night last season
in the Hotel Commodore Palm Room
seemed to have the inside track to
sharing the name of Sammy Kaye but
Sammy answers that one slyly: "It's
just in the back of my mind. Married
life to me means a home and kids. I
don't want to come home at dawn in
a dinner jacket nor do I want to spend

six months of each year bundled in a
lower berth."

That makes Sammy Kaye's marital
plans vague because "swing and
sway" will be a clarion call to senti-
mental swingsters for some time to
come.

OFF THE RECORD

Some Like It Sweet

Rendezvous Time in Paree — We Can
Live on Love (Bluebird B10309) Glen
Miller — Two smash tunes from the
Broadway hit "Streets of Paris" hand-
somely treated by this rising organiza-
tion. Spirited showmanship.

Stand By For Further Announce-
ments; I'm Sorry For Myself (Bruns-
wick 8392) Kay Kyser — Excellent proof
why Kyser is at the top of the heap. A
bright spot on any waxwork enhanced by
crisp caroling of Sully Mason.

Paradise; Love For Sale (Victor
26278) Hal Kemp — Victor got so excited
over this smooth revival of hit tunes that
they sent the records out in advance. I'm
glad they did. It gave me the oppor-
tunity to play it more often. A classic
with grade-A warbling by the Smoothies
and Nan Wynn.

Cinderella Stay in My Arms; Address
Unknown (Decca 2520A) Guy Lom-
bardo. Languid Lombardo for the more
romantic readers of this pillar.

Stairway to the Stars; White Sails
(Victor 26267) Sammy Kaye. Clean-cut
workmanship by a man who takes his
tunes seriously and gives them much
more respect than they deserve.

A Home in the Clouds; My Heart Has
Wings (Bluebird 10320) Shep Fields.
The rippling rhythms come home to
roost. Not so much ripple as was in

evidence two years ago and all for the
better. Don't give up on Shep.

Some Like It Swing

Souvenir; Flight of the Bumble Bee

(Brunswick 8396) Matty Malneck. The
kind of a record that sets you rockin'.
Fine musicianship and able transposi-
tion of classics to the modern idium. The
swing platter of the month.

Well All Right; All I Remember Is You
(Victor 26281) Tommy Dorsey. Well
balanced Dorsey. Swing on one side,
sweet on the other, with the former more
in evidence. Edythe Wright back in
stride.

Yankee Doodle; I Gotta Right To Sing
The Blues (Brunswick 8397) Jack Tea-
garden. The ace trombonist blows away
languidly and lavishly and even chirps
on the second side to come down the
stretch with blue ribbon recording.

Miss Thing (Vocalion 4860) Count
Basie. The result of an authentic jam
session. Designed for pure swingsters.
Others won't stand the strain.

S'posin'; I'll Never Learn (Decca
2510) Andy Kirk. A band that is getting
talked about throughout the colleges of
the land and rightly so. Solid swing and
thoughtful vocalizing by the strangely-
handled Pha Terrell.

I Poured Mv Heart Into a Song; When
Winter Comes (Bluebird B10307) Art
Shaw. The clarinet crown prince, fit as
a fiddle, after a siege, bounces back
admirably with a pair of Irving Berlin
ditties from the flikker, "Second Fiddle."

Tit Willow; Lamp Is Low (Vocalion
4860) Mildred Bailey. Not for Savoy-
ards but recommended to all who enjoy
the superb singing of the rocking chair
lady. She stands out like a beacon over
the heads of average dance band vo-
calists who seem monotonously similar.

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TUNE IN ON JOHN J.ANTHONY'S GOOD WILL HOUR.

See your local newspaper for exact time and station

77

BEGINS

. . . Crisp days, radiant highways
invite trips to School, Fun or Fairs

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Millions sing the praises of the Good Old
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Minneapolis, Minn

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St. Louis. Mo

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Cincinnati, Ohio. 630 Walnut St.

San Francisco, Cal

Pine & Battery Streets

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Charleston, W. Va

166 Summers Street

Richmond, Va., 412 E. Broad St.
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What's New from Coast to Coast

{Continued from page 8)

four players, and the team scoring
the greatest number of "runs" gets
$20 in cash.

The theater-lobby quiz takes place
just as people are coming out of the
nine o'clock show at one of the six
theaters chosen for the game. Con-
testants are graded according to their
promptness, clarity, and manner of
presentation in answering, and get
prizes of considerable value. The
cleverest part of this quiz, though,
is that it's recorded and then re-
broadcast over WSAI at noon of the
next day, so that if you were on the
show at night you can listen to your
own voice.

Biggest party of the year was that
given by Bob Ripley the night before
the formal opening of his new Oddi-
torium on Broadway. The two floors
of the show-place, already full of
strange objects gathered by Bob from
all over the world, were crammed to
bursting with guests — in fact, most
of them had to be invited back again
during the next couple of weeks, be-

cause they hadn't been able to look
around them properly the first time.

Radio-ambitious folks have a new
friend in Ernest Cutting, former tal-
ent scout for NBC, who has opened a
New York office on Fifth Avenue for
the discovery of new stars. Cutting
is finding his talent through record-
ings and photographs. His plan de-
mands only that an aspiring star send
him a recording of his or her per-
formance, together with a photograph.
He'll listen to the record, look at the
picture, and decide whether or not
the sender should be offered by him
to sponsors or advertising agencies.

Major Bowes has a new pet of
which he's very proud. It's a French
poodle, son of Rumpelstiltskin, who
was judged best dog in America at
the American Kennel Club's show last
year. The puppy's name is Just Plain
Bill, after the hero of the famous
radio serial.

What Do You Want to Say?

(Continued from page 3)

Name.

Address .

78

THIRD PRIZE

IT PUTS YOU ON THE SPOT!

There is nothing more deflating to
the ego than listening to the much-
discussed radio program, Information
Please. The minute I tune in for this
divertisement I feel my so-called
mentality drop far below sea-level.
It is most discouraging.

The thing that always astounds me
is the amazing, versatile knowledge
of the erudite gentleman, John Kier-
nan — an encyclopedic biped, if there
ever was one! He knows all the an-
swers, yet he is not pedantic but
wears his laurel wreath with becom-
ing modesty. It is incredible that any
mere man should be so well-informed
on so many subjects.

Dorothy Herman,
Hollywood, Calif.

FOURTH PRIZE

I DISAGREE!

Radio is one of our best entertain-
ments. If we had more singers like
Dorothy Lamour and more programs
like the Chase and Sanborn program,
I'd enjoy radio lots more.

I've purchased Radio Mirror ever
since it was published and think it is
the best magazine on any newsstand.
I never miss your letters of opinion
and think they are interesting. But
one lady wrote, saying she dislikes
Dorothy Lamour. I'm afraid I can't
agree with her, and I'm sure nine out
of ten radio fans will also disagree.
For a girl who came up as fast as
Miss Lamour did, she must be good.
Marilyn Jacobsen,
Worcester, Mass.

FIFTH PRIZE

WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH "DOTTY"?

In the July issue of Radio Mirror
I observed a letter of disapproval of
the manner in which Don Ameche
announces "Dotty". What's the matter
with it? Good heavens! The program

isn't supposed to be clowning and
nothing else! What normal man
wouldn't "drip with sweetness" over
"Dotty?" I am an enthusiastic
Dorothy Lamour fan, so I say,
"Hooray for Don and Dotty."

Miss Helen Lambert,
Pretty Prairie, Kansas

SIXTH PRIZE

DO RADIO SERIALS SET A BAD EXAMPLE?

I spend years teaching my children
that nagging, bickering and yelling at
one another in the home is degrading
and disgusting. Then the story hours
come on the radio, and what do we
hear? Supposedly intelligent men and
women yelling and screeching at one
another. Their highly dramatic voices
are anything but human and natural.
It is no wonder children of today
start out in life with a snarl and end
it up that way. All parents are not
as these radio family dramas would
have children believe. Some are still
capable of quiet conversation without
bickerings and accusations.

I wonder which examples the chil-
dren will follow — their quiet, nice
homes or radio's brawling homes?
Mrs. R. A. Goss,
Augusta, Maine

SEVENTH PRIZE

ALL IN FAVOR, SAY?

Your magazine is swell, darn swell,
I'll admit, but what gets me is why
you have to print so many continued
stories in it! Do you think in that way
you'll get someone to buy your maga-
zine continuously from then on? Well,
I think your magazine is great enough
without these serials. Sometimes
when I start a story and it comes to
a continued ending, I feel like tear-
ing the darn book up. I have been
reading Radio Mirror for years now,
and this is the only one thing I don't
like about it.

Miss Mary Benya,
Dunbar, Pa.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

WHAT BECOMES OF THOSE

Dine-&-Dance

A REVELATION OF FACTS AND
AN EYE-OPENING WARNING TO
EVERY PARENT IN AMERICA!

On the outskirts of nearly every commu-
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you'll find them, the dine-and-dance girls,
hostesses in the roadside emporiums, eager
to serve refreshments to the parched mo-
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him in the semi-privacy of a booth or dance
to the hot rhythm of the music vending
machine or the radio. Young girls, perhaps
too young, with hard faces and brittle eyes
that tragically belie their youthfulness.

Where do they come from? How do they
manage to eke out a living? What becomes
of them? Is America facing a new and
dangerous growth of sin along its road-
sides? Is your daughter or your son, your
sister or your brother, stopping at a dine-
and-dance dive on the way home from
local dances and private parties? Do you
know what may be happening there?

True Story Magazine believes everyone
should know! That is why it obtained the
inside story that, beginning in the new
October issue, is going to startle many un-
suspecting people! Disclosed by a run-
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Read every word of DINE AND DANCE
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Jiue Stoi y

OCTOBER, 1939

Backstage Wife

(Continued -from page 40)

"Yes, of course." She stood there,
waiting for him to drop his shield of
brisk impersonality. It was so little
she wanted — a word, a caress, a smile.

"Catherine says," he added, opening
some mail that lay on his make-up
table, "that Secretary Woring's wife
is arranging a big party for the open-
ing night. And several other impor-
tant people are interested too."

"That's wonderful, Larry. I'm so
glad . . . Larry— I was wondering — "

"Hmmmm?"

"Can't we go out to dinner, some-
where? There are so many things I
want to say to you."

"I'm sorry, darling," he said ab-
stractedly. "Some other time. As a
matter of fact, Catherine wanted me
to ask you if you wouldn't come to
dinner at her place tonight. She's
having a few people in."

Go to Catherine's? Endure another
evening of being patronized, finding
herself put in the wrong at every
turn? Suddenly Mary was furiously
angry, but with an effort she con-
trolled her voice.

"No, I don't think I care to, thanks.
Shall I see you at rehearsal tomor-
row?"

He looked at her, his eyes darkly
shadowed. "Yes, I guess so," he said
at last.

CHE stumbled through the darkness
*■* of the theater backstage. She knew
now. Catherine was a heroine, a great
patriot, not a disreputable spy — and
therefore so much the more dangerous
to her. Now she was deprived of the
one weapon she had had against
Catherine: her dubious profession.
All at once Mary saw herself in the
role the other woman had created
for her — as the jealous, nagging wife,
all her efforts to preserve her mar-
riage turned into caricatures, mock-
eries.

Very well. Dully, Mary made up
her mind. She had vowed that this
time should be the last. And it would
be. Catherine had defeated her, and
there was nothing left for her to do
but retire as gracefully as possible —
give Larry up.

And then she thought of the play
— and knew she could not cut herself
adrift entirely. That play was as
surely part of her as it was part of
Larry. She could not and would not
let Larry and Catherine between them
ruin it. Neither of them knew the
first thing about the business details
of a stage production; Larry was an
actor, not a manager, and Catherine
was merely a dabbler. Left to them-
selves, there was no telling what
they would do.

Walking blindly through Washing-
ton's crowded late-afternoon streets,
she made a resolution. She would keep
her position as business manager of
the company until the play was firmly
established on Broadway, and then . . .

Beyond that point, there was noth-
ing but darkness, and loneliness.

Even this was not an easy resolution
to keep, she learned in the busy days
that followed. Detail piled upon de-
tail, but she would not have minded
that. What made it difficult was
watching Larry defer to Catherine's
suggestions instead of hers; being
forced to use diplomacy, argument,
or downright dictatorial methods over
even the smallest matters. Not that
Catherine ever let a dispute come to

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a head. She was far too clever for
that. Mary and Larry were the ones
who argued, never Mary and Cathe-
rine. Catherine played perfectly her
role of cool, wordly-wise helper;
while Mary, hot and disheveled,
rushed from scenic designer to re-
hearsal, from stage manager to direc-
tor, from lawyer to costumer, Cathe-
rine stood aside, perfectly groomed,
ready to give Larry her sympathy and
flattery.

And, worst of all, Mary knew that
they could never have produced the
play at all without Catherine's finan-
cial backing.

It was only as the last curtain fell
on the opening night, and the fashion-
able Washington audience burst into
enthusiastic applause, that Mary could
relax. At least, it was a hit here.
There was no doubt of that. Larry
was receiving curtain call after cur-
tain call.

Now — the rest of the week in Wash-
ington, and then back to New York.
Perhaps, she thought with sudden
hope, in New York she would be free
of Catherine.

THAT hope, she discovered soon
' enough, was absurd. A mere matter
of geography could not keep Cathe-
rine from Larry's side. In every part
of the preparation for the New York
opening she made her presence felt,
just as in Washington. Always charm-
ing, tactful, yet always maneuvering
Mary into the position of a henpeck-
ing, dictating wife.

There was the matter of the theater
itself, for one thing. Mary, urging
economy, wanted to stage the play in
the small Greenwich Village theater
where their rent and overhead were
low. But Larry and Catherine, to-
gether, insisted on going into a larger
house uptown, in the Times Square
district. And while the point hung
in dispute, the fates themselves took
Catherine's side. The estate that
owned the little Greenwich Village
theater announced a one-third in-
crease in its rent.

"That settles it," was Larry's
triumphant reaction. "The place isn't
worth it. Now we'll have to move
uptown."

"I'm not giving up," Mary said. "I'll
go to see the owner himself, if I have
to. It's ridiculous — but of course you
can't make the estate agent see that."

"Who is the owner?" Catherine
asked.

"Kenneth Paige."

"Ken Paige?" Catherine's voice
took on interest. "I know him. He's a
portrait painter too, you know. He
did my aunt's portrait last year. Does
he own this building?"

"Yes, and all the filthy tenements
on Medley Square behind us," Mary
said.

"Oh, then you must never go barg-
ing in on him," Catherine said in that
tone as sweet as honey, as insolent as
a slap in the face. "He couldn't be ap-
proached that way. But maybe I could
help — -"

Mary felt unreasoning fury. Was
there no place Catherine could not
step in with her superiority, her so-
cial contacts, and offer help which
they could not refuse? "How would
you manage it?" she asked.

"Indirectly, of course. I can find out
when he goes to some place — like
Club 16, say — and then be there, at
the next table. He'll come over and
I'll make sure I see him again. Then
a chance will come to get in a word — "

"But we only have until the end of

80

the week!" Mary exclaimed. "We
should be opening now!"

"I think that will be ample time,"
Catherine said calmly.

Inwardly, Mary swore that this
time she would not let Catherine
over-ride her. Rather than submit
to the delay involved in Catherine's
"indirect" method, she herself would
do as she had wanted to do at first —
go to see Kenneth Paige. That after-
noon she took a Fifth Avenue bus to
his uptown home.

Two hours later she was on another
bus, bound back to Greenwich Vil-
lage. Once more, her way had failed.

Paige had been in his studio, paint-
ing; he couldn't be disturbed; the best
she had been able to do was see his
young sister, Sandra. And five min-
utes' conversation with Sandra Paige
had proved to her that she could ex-
pect no help there. Such a lovely
young thing, with auburn hair and the
milky skin that goes with it! The two
women had liked each other at once,
but as Sandra explained, she knew
nothing of business affairs, her
brother handled them all. As they
talked, Mary realized that the girl
didn't even know most of her money
came from filthy, rotten tenements,
breeders of disease and misery. San-
dra was a woman, not a child, but she
had evidently been imprisoned in that
marble mausoleum of a house, kept
from every contact with reality.

Encouraged by the girl's simplicity,
Mary had poured out her story — her
desire to produce the play in the
Greenwich Village theater, the raise
in rent, her hope that Kenneth Paige
would see its absurdity — and Sandra
promised earnestly to speak to her
brother. But now, on her way back
downtown, Mary realized the futility
of what she had done. Sandra was
too young and inexperienced — her
only hope would have been in seeing
Paige himself.

SHE got off the bus and walked across
Washington Square toward the
theater. Deep in her thoughts, she
did not at once hear sounds of excite-
ment, terror, confusion. It took a
siren to bring her up, staring. She
ran, then. She thought her heart
would burst before she could get
there. The theater was such an old
building, so rickety. Why had she
tried to hold Larry there? Oh, if
anything had happened to him —

But it was not the theater. It was
the tenement behind the theater that
lay now, a smoking ruin. Behind po-
lice lines crowds of people surged
about it, people screaming and wail-
ing, cursing or — worst of all — just
staring, with grim faces. How many
of them were waiting for the bodies
of wives, husbands, children, to be
brought out by the workmen who
were struggling in that debris?

There was no time, that night, to
talk of Mary's unsuccessful errand.
No one slept. Gerald O'Brien, the
young lawyer who had been in the
theater talking to Larry when the fire
began, stayed on through the night,
working to help these homeless peo-
ple, and enlisting Mary's support in
his work. As they went from one
angry, bewildered group to another,
he talked to Mary, in brief, fierce
phrases, of the injustice that allowed
such flretraps to exist.

Toward dawn, Mary dragged her-
self to her hotel for a few hours'
sleep, but she was up again and at
the theater by noon. Larry too had
worked late into the night, helping

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Physical Culture

9 October Issue Nozt.' On Sale

care for at least a few of the tenants
in the theater itself.

But now the city had the situation
in hand, and once more the theater
was empty. Mary went directly to
her office and plunged into the work
that had accumulated in one day. It
was an hour later that she looked up
to see a sandy-haired man of arrogant
height and bearing standing in front
of her desk.

"I am Kenneth Paige," he said. "I
understand from my sister that you
wished to talk to me. In the future,
incidentally, I must ask you not to
burst into my home and disturb my
sister's life."

Mary stared at him. The man must
be crazy! "Can you stand there and
talk of disturbing your sister's life
when yesterday afternoon, even while
I was seeing her, one of the filthy,
overcrowded tenements you own col-
lapsed and killed people!"

He flushed a painful red. "I assure
you I regret that accident more than
you can imagine. That's why I'm here
today. But why I should discuss it
with you I don't — "

ONE reason is that I spent most of
last night trying to quiet the
crazed mind of one of your tenants
who lost his whole family in the crash.
He is trying to find someone to kill for
revenge," Mary said coolly.

Paige was silent a moment, his lips
a thin line. "Nevertheless, I under-
stood from my sister that it was about
another matter you wished to see me,"
he said at last. In every word he
was stiff, almost awkward.

"Yes," she said, "it was. I under-
stand from your, office that you wish
to raise the rent on this theater — such
a big raise that I must say it seems
ridiculous to me, particularly when
for a year we've been paying you
every month for property you
wouldn't have earned a cent from
otherwise."

"It's a one-third increase, isn't it?"
he asked broodingly.

"Yes, Mr. Paige."

"It may interest you to know that
a motion picture chain has offered me
much more than the amount I want
you to pay."

"But you don't want to go to the
expense of renovating for them!"
Mary took him up quickly.

He smiled at that. "You are a good
business woman," he complimented
her. "That is exactly it."

"Just as you didn't want to go to
the expense of renovating those tene-
ments that burned down yesterday,"
she said bitterly.

"Wait a minute. Do you think that's
a good way to talk when you're mak-
ing a request?"

"No, I suppose not," she admitted.
"Perhaps the atmosphere in this
neighborhood is infectious."

"They think I'm pretty bad, eh?"

Mary nodded. "I wouldn't advise
you to be seen down here if any more
stories with pictures like this morn-
ing's come out in the tabloids."

"And you share their opinion?"

"I don't think you're really con-
cerned with what I think of you, Mr.
Paige."

"On the contrary, I'm finding this a
novel and perhaps even enlightening
experience. I beg you to continue in
the same frank vein."

"All right," Mary said, "you asked
for it. I think you are a very intel-
ligent person who has persistently
blinded himself to the needs and in-
terests of everyone except himself.

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31

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For Original

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82

You have hurt your sister whom you
are trying to protect. I discovered
yesterday that she has absolutely no
conception of real life. You have de-
liberately closed your eyes to chang-
ing ideas and conditions until, if you
keep on, your sister will be hopelessly
neurotic and your own character will
be as false and meaningless as the
pretty pictures you paint of society
women!"

That struck home. Mary could see
his physical reaction. "What do you
know of the pictures I paint?"

"I've taken the trouble to see some
of them since I learned you were our
landlord," Mary retorted. "And I hate
them! It makes me furious to see
waste, whether it's human lives in a
rundown tenement or artistic talent
that could be used to make something
beautiful!"

Paige sat down for the first time.
The cold mask of distant irony was
gone, and he looked troubled. "I
asked for it, as you said. But — Did
you happen to know that I paint those
pictures to keep my sister and myself
alive? The income from the tene-
ments is hardly enough to pay the
taxes, and what is left is turned back
into the estate which is held in trust
until my sister comes of age."

"Oh — I'm sorry — " Mary began.

LIE lifted a hand. "Don't be. I think
' ' you've done me a good turn. Are
you willing to back up that rather
left-handed compliment to my artistic
talent?"

"What do you mean?"

. . . Afterwards, she wasn't quite
sure how she had consented to such a
strange proposal — that she should let
him paint her portrait in exchange
for a thirty-day extension of the pres-
ent rental. "And then," he finished,
"if I take one of the first three prizes
with the picture at the Contemporary
show next month, I'll give you the
theater rent-free, for a year."

Yet consent she did. More than
that, she did not tell Larry of her
bargain; she told him only that Mr.
Paige had consented to give them a
month in which to get the play on and
see how it went. It was easy not to
tell Larry why; he showed no curi-
osity; and his nattering assumption
that she had been able to succeed
before Catherine had not even met
Paige was comforting to her soul.

She was attracted to Paige. He
was intensely masculine, in his taci-
turn way, and his open interest in
her gave her a sense of importance
that had been sorely lacking for the
last month, since Catherine came into
her life. Mary had enough honesty
to realize this, and smile at the thrill
that ran through her when Paige
would glance up from his easel, let
his eyes linger on her a moment
longer than was, perhaps, necessary.
More, by the third sitting she was
seeing a gradual change in Paige him-
self. She was not too inexperienced
to realize the influence she had on
him, on his ideas and attitudes. In-
stinct told her that she had opened his
eyes to the injustice of his treatment
of Sandra, and to the deplorable con-
dition of his slum property.

Then, one day, Catherine walked
into Paige's studio.

He had been painting silently for
half an hour when the studio door
opened and they heard Sandra's voice.
"Here's his lair. Now that you've made
me break the rules you may as well
go in and see it."

And then Sandra was coming in,

and behind her Catherine, smiling her
brilliant smile and speaking gaily.
"And the artist at work. Why, who —
No, it couldn't be! Mary!"

Angrily Mary realized that she was
flushing, that she could think of noth-
ing to say. Why was Catherine al-
ways able to put her in the wrong?

Of course, under Ken's angry stare,
they didn't stay long. But the harm
was done. Ken took up his brush
again, only to lay it down after a few
minutes. "I'm afraid it's no use. I
don't feel up to any more, and you
are completely out of the spirit of the
pose."

"I'm sorry," Mary said.

"I am, too, I find it hurts me rather
badly to see you worried. It's because
you didn't tell your husband you were
posing for me. Why didn't you,
Mary?"

She said slowly, "I was afraid he
wouldn't stay in the theater. And . . .
for other reasons, too."

He didn't press her to tell him what
they were. "Can I take you down to
the theater?"

"Why — yes, thanks."

Downstairs, as they waited for his
car to be brought around from the
garage, he said suddenly: "Mary —
you're not too happy these days, are
you?"

Instinct told her to temporize — but
then she looked " into his eyes, saw
their sincere gentleness, and she said
frankly, "No, not very."

"It's that woman that came into the
studio, isn't it? You're afraid of her
— I could see fear in your face when
you saw her. But Mary, you needn't
fear anyone, ever. You have every-
thing— except perhaps the knowledge
of your own value. I think marriage
has taken that away from you. You
become too absorbed in your husband,
his life, his career and needs, to re-
member your own worth."

He spoke with such earnestness that
Mary could not help being carried
along by his words. For an instant,
Catherine seemed unimportant; she
herself was the old Mary Noble, sure
of herself, not fighting with every bit
of strength in her body to preserve
some shreds of self-respect and happi-
ness from a wrecked marriage.

C HE smiled up at him. "Thank you,
~ Ken. I'll remember that."

He drove her down crowded Fifth
Avenue, through Washington Square
and to the theater. Beside the alley
which led to the stage door, she
caught sight of Catherine's glistening
car and thought wryly that she hadn't
wasted much time.

A spirit of bravado, inspired per-
haps by Ken Paige's words to her,
made her turn to him. "Won't you
come in for a minute? I think Mrs.
Monroe is just about to inform my
husband that I am sitting to you for
my portrait — and if you don't mind
I'd like to have you there."

"Of course," he agreed.

Head high, she walked beside him
into the theater, through the dusty
aisles to the office. Why should she
be ashamed of sitting for Ken Paige?
If it came to that, what right had
Larry to expect to be told?

They were in the office, Catherine
and Larry — and, in addition, Sandra
Paige. Mary noted with pleasure that
Ken merely looked surprised at seeing
her there; once, she was sure, he
would have been furious.

Catherine greeted them brightly.
"I'm so terribly sorry — I didn't mean
to interrupt — " She stopped, as if

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

aware all at once of Larry's tense
silence. "Oh," she said, "how awful
that sounded! I only meant inter-
rupting Mr. Paige while he was paint-
ing Mary's picture."

"Picture, Mary?" Larry said sharp-
ly-

Mary's heart leaped with sudden
delight. It couldn't be true — but it
was! Larry was jealous! This was
one time Catherine's plans had over-
reached themselves.

"Yes," she said easily. "It was to
be a surprise for you. You see, Ken
and I made a bet. If he wins a prize
with my portrait at the Contemporary
show next month, he'll give us the
theater rent-free — "

"He will!" Larry's voice was acid
with sarcasm. "Very nice, but it won't
be necessary. Catherine has just told
me that sbQ's found a wonderful the-
ater uptown. We're moving there, and
opening the end of next week — be-
cause its rent is not a cent more than
this barn here!" What does that do to
your plans you had arranged so nicely
for us?"

"No! You mustn't — " Mary began
— and stopped. For she knew there
was no reason, now, for not moving
uptown. If it wouldn't cost any
more. . . .

Larry's angry face, Catherine's tri-
umphant one, swam before her eyes
in a blur. She saw them turn to leave
the office, and she was glad. If only
Ken and Sandra would go too, so she
could be alone with the knowledge
that Catherine had won again. She
waved a hand, vaguely, in dismissal.
Just to be alone for a few minutes. . . .

DUT Sandra stayed behind. Guided
'-'by some woman's instinct, she sent
Ken and Gerald out of the office after
Larry and Catherine, and held Mary
while the sick whirling blackness
tried to drag her down. She was still
there when after a few seconds Mary
opened her eyes.

"What — what is it, Mary? You
frightened me so. Are you — ill?"

Mary looked at the gray-blue eyes,
enormous in the white face. But there
was no reason to be frightened. That
sudden, terrible giddiness had only
crystallized into knowledge what she
had suspected for several days.
She smiled. "Neither very ill, Sandra,
nor very — unusual — "

"Mary, it isn't — is it — "

"Yes," Mary said softly. "I guess it
is. A baby."

"But, Mary — your husband doesn't
know! He'd never dash off that way
if he knew — "

Mary shook her head. "No. He
wouldn't, of course. He doesn't know.
And you've got to promise not to tell
him."

"Oh, but Mary, he should know!
Don't you see what a difference it
would make?"

"That's just the point," Mary said,
her eyes looking off into the distance.
"I won't make that difference. I won't
— use my baby that way. If he comes
back it will be because he wants to.
Otherwise, he'll never know!"

In her pride, Mary has determined
not to use her child to force Larry's
love — but will she be strong enough?
Can she find any other weapon to help
her win the hidden struggle against
Catherine? Be sure to read, the climax
of this dramatic serial in next month's
Radio Mirror — a climax that will
come with the swift unexpectedness
of real life drama.

OCTOBER, 1939

Why Ginger Rogers and
Lew Ay res Cartt Forget

Ever since Ginger Rogers and Lew
Ayres told themselves that it was all over
between them insiders in Hollywood have
predicted that divorce was inevitable. Yet
Lew and Ginger are still man and wife
even though for years they have occupied
separate establishments. Why is it that
they have never made official the severing
of their legal ties? What is it that impels
them, in spite of expectations, to still meet
and dine together? What does the future
hold?

To get you the answer to this riddle
that has all Hollywood baffled, Movie Mir-
ror asked Ruth Waterbury, ace among the
brilliant writers covering the film capital,
to investigate and in the new October is-
sue you will find the heart-warming record
of what she discovered. Be sure to read
her unforgettable explanation of "Why
Lew Ayres and Ginger Rogers Can't For-
get," a story inspiring to every young wife
and husband and to every one who has
ever been in love or ever hopes to be!

Is George Brent
Out of Love Again?

At least six women have contributed in
greater or less degree a lasting influence in
the life of George Brent. In the light of
his unusually varied career abroad and in
America this was inescapable. Recently
his name has been mentioned in connec-
tion with a new romance. Is he really in
love? Has he been in love? Will he and
Bette Davis eventually marry? Movie
Mirror, reporting the situation for you in
the new October issue, presents a story

that will make it an issue long remem-
bered by the friends of both George and
Bette as well as by every one intrigued
by romance. A story not to miss!

Would You Want Your Child
To Be a Movie Star?

How about your child and a movie
career? Would you really choose it if
the opportunity came? Penny Singleton
says yes but Joel McCrea does not agree.
Every parent and prospective parent will
find their reasons as presented under their
own by-lines in Movie Mirror for October
informative and thought-provoking. Read
what Penny and Joel have to say before
making up your own mind definitely.

Also in This Issue

Dangerously Young, an exciting fiction
serial — Wayne Morris' wife reveals a fasci-
nating and endearing record of their first
year of marriage — A pictorial life story of
Ann Sothern — Hollywood Youth, how
moral is it? — "The Women" have started
something in the way of fashions — Open-
ing chapters in the life story of Richard
Greene — Letters Clark Gable dictated to
his secretary — Reviews, departments, fea-
tures.

OCTOBER

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83

Dr. GRACE GREGORY

Donna Dae's lovely smile shows a glimpse of well-cared-for teeth.

A LOVELY smile, the kind that
warms everyone's heart towards
you, is first of all the expression
of a gracious personality. But tne
loveliest smile in the world is spoiled
if it reveals neglected teeth.

Are you sure you know how to
brush your teeth? Brush with a
gentle rolling or turning of the brush,
laying the side of the bristles along
the gum, and massaging always away
from the gum, a sweeping-out motion.
Never use a scrubbing motion except
on the chewing surface of the teeth.
And do not neglect the backs.

Have two toothbrushes, so that they
can dry properly. Select as stiff a
brush as your gums will stand (not
too stiff if they are sensitive). Wash
toothbrushes after using, and get new
ones every month or so.

Dainty little Miss Donna Dae sees
to it that when her pretty lips part
to smile or sing for you on Pleasure
Time, Fred Waring's program, Mon-
day through Friday, NBC, you have a
glimpse of well cared for teeth.

84

Donna Dae considers herself a vet-
eran radio star. She has been a fea-
tured favorite for eight years or more.
Which, when you consider that she
is still in her teens, is a believe-it-or-
not. Her father was the leader of a
band, of which Donna's mother was
the pianist. Donna took her naps
parked in a basket behind her
mother's piano, and practically cut
her teeth on a baton. She was fea-
tured as the "Ten-Year-Old Sweet-
heart of Radio." Then Slats Randall's
Orchestra needed a soloist. They put
a long dress on Donna, gave her a
sophisticated hair-do, and at the age
of twelve she stepped before the pub-
lic as the singing star of an orchestra.
She was the hit of College Inn in
Chicago when Fred Waring heard her,
and captured her for his Pleasure
Time broadcast over NBC.

RADIO MIRROR

• *

There are three requisites for main-
taining beautiful, healthy teeth. The
first is proper diet. Plenty of foods
rich in calcium, minerals, and vita-
mins (milk and sea foods especially),
and not too much acid-forming sweets
and starches. The saliva is normally
slightly acid, but excessive acidity in-
jures tooth enamel. The second requi-
site is proper dental care. See your
dentist at least every six months so
that he can check trouble right away.

The third requisite, as your dentist
will tell you, is mouth hygiene. Select
a dentifrice that you like, and use it.
Plenty of it. Twice a day at least.
Oftener when possible.

The choice of a dentifrice is liter-
ally a matter of taste. Of course you
will avoid dentifrices that contain ir-
ritating ingredients. But the Ameri-
can Dental Association sees to it that
there are few such on the market.

There are many excellent tooth
pastes and tooth powders from which
to choose. Now there is a new liquid
dentifrice that is becoming very pop-
ular. It is certainly worth trying,
because it does leave your mouth
feeling delightfully refreshed.

There used to be a popular notion
that salt made a good dentifrice. That
is a mistake. Salt is too irritating
and harsh and it lacks the soothing,
cleansing, and disinfectant ingredients
of the best dentifrices. Your teeth are
important — give them the best.

Glorify Your Bath

THE French have a word for it:
soigne — cared for. That's how a good
bath talcum makes you feel. The
daily tub is glorified from a neces-
sity to a luxury. A generous dusting
of talc gives a velvet quality to the
skin, and a subtle fragrance. Once
you become accustomed to it you feel
rather raw without it. It blends the
rest of the body into the carefully
powdered face and neck. Of course
you will find the men of the family
appropriating your favorite talc for
after shaving. But why not? A good
homemaker provides a completely
equipped bathroom, and a judiciously
selected bath talcum is part of it.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

PUT THE

BEE

ON YOUR SPELLING

ARE you a champion speller? — or do
i you just wish you were ? In either
case, here's a list of words that
will give you some uneasy moments
before you get the correct spelling.
They're supplied by Paul Wing, Master
of the NBC Spelling Bee, broadcast
every Sunday afternoon at 5:30 E.D.
S.T., and sponsored by the makers of
Energine.

Only one of the three suggested
spellings is the right one. Mark the
words you think are correct, then turn
to page 38 for the answers.

1. Haughtilly — haughtily — hautily. In

a disdainful, scornful manner.

2. Purported — proported — perported.

Conveyed, implied or professed out-
wardly as one's (especially a thing's)
meaning, intention, or true character.

3. Accrueal — accruel — accrual. That
which comes by way of increase or
advantage.

4. Portmanteau — portmantau — port-
manto. A traveling bag or case.

5. Bulfinch — bullfinch — bullfench. A
large, handsome bird allied to the car-
dinal.

6. Bobalink — bobbolink — bobolink. A

common American songbird noted for
its delightful rollicking song.

7. Tern — terne — turn. A gull-like
bird smaller than the true gull.

8. Tanagear — tanager — tannager.

Any of numerous American birds, as
the "scarlet tanager."

9. Poignency — poinioncy — poignancy.

Quality or state of being penetratingly
sharp or keen; pungency.

10. Truculant — truculent — trucculent.

Feeling or evincing savage or barbarous
ferocity; cruel.

11. Easels — easles — easals. Frames
to hold canvasses upright for the paint-
ers' convenience, or for exhibition.

12. Nucliuses — nucleuses — nucleusses.

Central masses, parts, or points, about
which matter is gathered or concen-
trated; cores.

13. Corr ugators — corrugaters — coru-
gators. 1. Implements for furrowing
land for irrigation. 2. Anatomy: Muscles
that contract the skin into wrinkles.

14. Mean — mien — mein. Air; man-
ner; bearing.

15. Jugglery — juglery — juggelery.
Art or act of a juggler.

16. Unacceptable — unexceptable — un-
acceptible. Not pleasing or welcome.

17. Amannuensis — emanuencis —
amanuensis. A secretary.

18. Suaree — soiree — swaree. An eve-
ning party.

19. Olianders — oleandars — oleanders.

Handsome evergreen shrubs having
clusters of fragrant white to red flowers.

20. Tascitly — tacitly — tesitley. Done
or made silently; wordlessly.

SWEET ASSURANCE

FROM YOUR MAN.

Neglected Hands often Look Older
— Feel too Coarse for Love. Take
Steps that Help Prevent This!

Anne's pretty hands were getting un-
1\. attractively harsher and coarser.
Sun, weather and water tend to dry
nature's softening moisture out of your
hand skin, you know.

But — wise girl, Anne! She began to
care for her hands with Jergens Lotion.

HE LOVES ME NOT! HE LOVES ME! ,

Hands are more roman-
tic when Jergens sup-
plies beautifying mois-
ture for your skin.

o

New Beauty Aid! Jergens
all-purpose Face Cream.
Vitamin blend helps
against drab, dry skin.

Jergens supplements nature's moisture.
Quickly helps give back delicious soft-
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Name-

OCTOBER, 1939

By MRS.
MARGARET SIMPSON

FOR those first crisp days of Autumn
nothing is so tempting as a cas-
serole dish served piping hot,
straight from the oven. And no
casserole recipe can beat the one that
uses canned spaghetti as a base. Rich
with tomato sauce and cheese and
condiments its aroma announces an
epicurean treat even before the dish
reaches the table; enhanced by special
seasoning secrets of your own which
give it additional zest it will rate
top spot on your family's list of
favorites.

Alice Frost, star of CBS's Big Sis-
ter, who is a devotee of New Orleans
cookery, relies on canned spaghetti
to achieve the authentic Creole dishes
she delights in and to her we are
indebted for recipes for Spaghetti
Creole and Gumbo File.

Spaghetti Creole

1 cup chopped onions

3 tbls. butter or margarine

2 tsps. celery salt

1 tsp. sugar, cinnamon, ginger
Yi tsp. cloves

Few grains cayenne
1 cup beef consomme

1 cup mushroom caps

2 cans spaghetti

2 tsps. gumbo file powder
Parsley
Lightly brown the onion in the but-
ter. Add dry seasonings and con-
somme and simmer for ten minutes,
stirring constantly. Add the mush-
rooms and simmer for five minutes
more. Mix thoroughly with the
canned spaghetti, turn into a buttered
casserole and bake in a moderate
oven (350 degrees F.) until golden
brown, about twenty-five minutes.
Remove from oven, sprinkle with
gumbo file powder and garnish with
parsley as in the picture above. This

86

Spaghetti Creole is the dish for Alice
Frost of the CBS Big Sister serial —
and why not? She's from the South.

recipe is sufficient for six servings.

Gumbo File

1 jar (3V2 oz.) dried beef
Yz cup minced onion

3 tbls. butter or margarine

2 tbls. flour

Yz tsp. dry mustard
Ya tsp. pepper
1 cup milk

1 small jar pimiento

Yz cup chopped sweet pickle

2 cans spaghetti

Yz cup buttered bread crumbs
2 tsps. gumbo file powder

Lightly brown the dried beef and
onions in the butter. Combine flour,
mustard and pepper and stir into the
beef and onions. Add milk gradually
and cook slowly until thickened, stir-
ring constantly. Add chopped pimien-
to and pickles. Place alternate layers
of beef mixture and spaghetti in a
buttered casserole, top with buttered

RADIO MIRROR

* • • •

>

. „*■-

crumbs and bake in a moderate oven
(350 degrees F.) until brown (about
twenty -five minutes). Just before
serving, sprinkle with gumbo file
powder. Serves six.

The gumbo file powder used in
these recipes is a blend of the leaves
of swamp sassafras and other condi-
ments used in Creole cookery.

Flavor as you Cook

NO matter how many expensive in-
gredients, how much time and
care go into the preparation of a meal
we all know that unless the final
flavor is just right the meal is not a
success. Flavor as you cook, of course,
is a basic rule; but don't forget the
many sauces and condiments which,
served at the table, enable each per-
son to season his food according to
his individual preference. Served "as
is," these bottled sauces and dressings
are unequalled for excellent flavor,
but for variety's sake try combining
a number of them. Here are some
suggestions:

For cold fish (crab, lobster, shrimps,
etc.) : To two tablespoons prepared
mayonnaise add two teaspoons sherry
wine or wine vinegar, one teaspoon
curry powder and some lime juice.

For steak: To two tablespoons
creamed butter add one tablespoon
prepared mustard or Worcestershire
sauce. Spread on steak before serving.

For cold ham: Blend together equal
portions whipped cream and horse-
radish sauce and add a few grains of
powdered cloves.

For broiled ham: Combine equal
quantities prepared mustard and
brown sugar. Spread on ham just be-
fore serving.

For cold roast beef: Combine equal
portions Worcestershire sauce or Chile
sauce and horseradish sauce.

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

Meet the Bumsteads!

Blondie

(Continued from page 22)

I could give it to my mother for a
present."

She won the $5.00.

Penny is one of the most genuinely
friendly souls in all Hollywood. You
may meet as strangers but five min-
utes later she is telling you all about
her little joys and problems and coax-
ing you to tell her about yours. She
bubbles with happiness and content-
ment as unconsciously as a puppy
wags his tail. You know her life
which is bounded by Scroggs, her
four-year-old daughter Dee Gee (for
Dorothy Grace), a simple home near
the ocean, and her screen and new
radio work is just one big bundle of
Fun. God is in His Heaven and all
distinctly is right with the Singleton
world.

Except, maybe, for the windows.
There are too many of them in the
Singleton Cape Cod type house. She
discovered it, she said, when she un-
dertook to wash them all single-
handed. Finally she had to call for
outside help to the tune of thirty-five
cents an hour.

IT'S things like that which keep get-
• ting my budget all mixed up," sne
mourned. "I just can't seem to make
it work although it looks fine on
paper."

Penny is neighborly too, which
takes a bit of managing in Hollywood
where you usually don't even know
the name of the family living next
door. She belongs to sewing circles
and district women's clubs and ex-
changes recipes and home-made
cough cures. She minds Mrs. Brown's
little Josephine when Mrs. Brown has
to go shopping and asks Mrs. Smith's
advice about what to do for moths.
She was concerned deeply over the
neighbors' reactions when she had
to have her naturally dark brown
hair bleached blonde in conformance
with the character of Blondie, being
loathe to win their disapproval.

"A funny thing happened about that
too," she said. "One of the women
called me up to tell me she'd seen
Scroggs out with a beautiful blonde
the night before. I was all set to give
him a piece of my mind until I sud-
denly realized it was me he'd been out
with that night!"

Penny is convinced that being a
blonde has given her a new glamour.
At least she feels gayer and snappier
than as a brunette, she said, and not
so much run-of-the-mill with noth-
ing to make her stand out. And it
has given her a new confidence in
herself.

At heart Penny is a small-town
young matron, which is unusual in
the light of her background. Born in
Philadelphia, she became a Broadway
favorite while in her early teens, star-
ring as a singer and dancer in numer-
ous musical comedies. (Although few
people yet know of it, Penny has a
voice of operatic calibre which may
surprise the world some day soon.)
Her life naturally was lived in tune
with the Broadway code which rarely
includes much normal home life. A
personal sorrow led her to desert the
stage at the peak of her success in
such productions as "Good News,"
"Follow Through" and "Hey Nonny
Nonny."

OCTOBER. 1939

The theater was in her blood, how-
ever, and she again picked up her
career in Hollywood, still as Dorothy
McNulty and still a brunette. After
a brilliant start in "After the Thin
Man" she experienced a series of ups
and downs, some of her own making
and some of Fate's. She was in the
midst of one of the down spells when
she won the Blondie role. She did
not know what the role was, inci-
dentally, when her agent sent her
on the interview with the studio's
casting director.

"As usual, I started gabbing about
my new home and Scroggs and show-
ing the man pictures of Dee Gee
which I had in my purse," Penny said.
"First thing I knew, the man said he
was sure I was Blondie come to life!
Was I surprised! And there that very
morning I'd been in the midst of
house cleaning and had the beds all
moved over to one side and my hair
tied up in a bandana when the call
came!"

The instantaneous success of the
first Blondie picture led the studio to
decide to do a regular series. Each
successive picture gained more fans.
Then came the radio offer. The pres-
ent plans call for the serial to con-
tinue through next winter. It also
is predicted that Blondie will be the
first television serial.

Comparatively speaking, Penny
is new to radio. She has appeared
five times in the past in guest spots on
the Kraft, Bob Hope, Hollywood Hotel
and Tommy Riggs shows. But new
fields to conquer never worry her,
being a° natural born optimist about
everything. She went on a recent
personal appearance tour, for ex-
ample, intending to do two shows "if
the public would stand for that
much." At the end of five days she
had made exactly twenty-eight ap-
pearances! And had bookings for
twice that many offered. As a stump-
speaker, hand-shaker, baby-kisser,
she put an old-fashioned ward healer
to shame.

MO story paints the true picture of
1 ~ Penny Singleton as vividly as the
one of the unexpected encounter with
the touring fans. That also happened
on the day she decided to wash the
windows. She was leaning out one of
the front ones, huffing and puffing at
her work, when an Iowa car drove up
in front of the house. Four women
and three children got out and walked
up the path.

"Does Penny Singleton live here?"
one of the women asked Penny.

"Yes, she does," Penny answered.

"Is she home now? We'd love to
meet her," the woman went on.

Penny glanced quickly at her work-
soiled housedress, all too conscious
that she looked anything but a glam-
orous movie and radio star.

"I'm sorry, but Miss Singleton just
went out," she said. "She will be
sorry to have missed you."

Disappointed, the party went back
to the car and was preparing to drive
off when Penny came running down
the path.

"That was a fib I told you," she said
contritely. "I'm Penny. I just didn't
want you to see me looking so awful.
Come on in and have a cup of tea."

HOLMES & EDWARDS

Copyright 1939, International Silver
Co.. Holmei & Edwards Division,
Meriden,Conn.0Reg. U.S. Pal. OK.
In Conado. The T. lalon Co., ltd.

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87

OCTOBER

brings you ALL the Newest Lyrics

Newest Song Hits, also those from the latest movies, and

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in the new October issue of SONG HITS. This issue is

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\V \ 'MAN ABOUT TOWN", "ISLAND

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Meet the Bumsteads!
Dagwood

(Continued from page 23)

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Blondie and father of Baby Dumpling,
or whether Artie Lake subconsciously
has acquired the mannerisms and
foibles of Dagwood from playing him
on the screen and radio is a moot
question. The net result, however,
remains the same; Dagwood and Artie
are as alike as two peas in a pod.

Physically, mentally and emotion-
ally, they are counter parts. Artie's
face is young and happy, unmarked
by lines of worry or care. Trouble
drifts off him like flour through a
sieve. He is awkward with the self-
consciousness of youth and content to
wear the first thing handy to his reach.

RESPITE appearances of a scatter
Ly brain, Artie has a mind which
functions well when he takes the
trouble to use it. Several years ago,
for instance, he wrote a number of
acceptable stories and saw two of them
made into motion pictures. Emotion-
ally sensitive, he broke into genuine
tears when a scene in which Baby
Dumpling was kidnaped was being
filmed.

No one in Hollywood knows ex-
actly how old Artie is and Artie slyly
sees to it that no one finds out, not
because he fears being tagged by a
calendar but because he has so much
fun hearing people make such widely
varying guesses. He started playing
the How Old Is Artie game, he said,
when he was a shaver riding free or
half-fare on theatrical tours with his
parents. He looks twenty-five or
younger and acts it, but with that
guess must be squared the fact he
seriously began- his movie career in
1924 and starred in the "Sweet Six-
teen" comedies for five years.

His career in those fifteen years to
the present has been one of ups and
downs, of brilliant success and heart-
breaking failure. Fired out of the
movies in 1931 when RKO's new
studio heads reorganized the studio,
he was idle a year before trying his
wings in vaudeville. On the bill with
him in a small Long Beach theater,
he remembers, was a young man
billed in the small type accorded a
break-in act. The young man was a
ventriloquist named Edgar Bergen
who today is one of his best friends.
After he had exhausted the circuit
(the vaudeville houses, he discovered,
had an annoying habit of closing their
doors in those economically dark
days) Artie tackled radio as a serious
means of earning a livelihood.

Prior to that time he had made a
few guest appearances on various
shows but they had not amounted to
much more than five minute comedy
sketches. With his sister Florence, he
was starred next in an NBC serial
called "Babes in Hollywood" which
ran for eighty-five consecutive ap-
pearances.

Once more came a slump, this time
the most serious of all. He was about
to give up the ghost when he was

cast as Dagwood in the Blondie pic-
tures which currently are being trans-
ferred to the air. Once again every-
thing is rosy on the Lake horizon.

Artie was born in Corbin, Ken-
tucky, and had two childhood ambi-
tions— to be a lion tamer in a red
coat and shiny black boots or a bass
drummer. He still likes to fiddle
around with a pair of drumsticks and
a hot rhythm. Aside from that and
jitterbug dancing, he has no particu-
lar hobbies except swimming at which
he excels. He likewise has no partic-
ular goal in life, he says, preferring
to tackle each day as it comes and
hope for the best. He also admits
to a flagrant inability to save any
money whatsoever, chiefly because he
so thoroughly enjoys spending it.
That he will never be a wealthy man
bothers him not at all; luxury has no
particular appeal. Give him his wife,
his modest bungalow in Santa Monica,
an ocean to swim in and a fair amount
of work to do and he's satisfied.

Not that he has never tasted the
sweets of luxury in his lifetime as
well as those impoverished days when
the Silverlake family bankroll was
crowding the zero mark. Together
with Pat, who is a niece of Marion
Davies, he was a member of the party
William Randolph Hearst took on a
six-months luxury cruise of Europe
aboard his palatial yacht in 1936.
More, he was married to Pat amidst
the medieval splendor of Hearst's
famous San Simeon ranch in northern
California.

I REMEMBER that occasion for three
1 good reasons," he said. "I was so
scared my knees were shaking like
castanets. My swank cutaway suit
did not quite fit me here and there.
And I committed the sartorial error
of tieing my stock tie in a way that's
never been duplicated before or since.
I just wasn't up to all that style."

Artie likes living in the small beach
town of Santa Monica. He likes to
chin with the fellows at the corner
grocery store and doesn't mind carry-
ing Pat's bundles when they go shop-
ping on Saturday afternoon.

He is convinced that producers will
never let him grow up on the screen
or in radio roles until he is an old
man with a long gray beard. That
being so, his one aim is to make the
juvenile characters he plays believ-
able no matter how silly the lines he
is called upon to speak or how crazy
the gags he is asked to do seem to
him. The biggest thrill of his life,
he said, came that afternoon in 1934
when he auditioned for a radio show
for Standard Oil in San Francisco.
He didn't get the job but was walking
on clouds for days anyway at the
mere thought of the big hand and
everything that would have been be-
hind him.

"Can you imagine!" he said in awe.
"Gosh!"

ANSWERS TO SPELLING BEE

1. Haughtily. 2. Purported. 3. Accrual. 4. Portmanteau. 5. Bullfinch. 6. Bobolink.
7. Tern. 8. Tanager. 9. Poignancy. 10. Truculent. 11. Easels. 12. Nucleuses. 13. Corru-
gators. 14. Mien. 15. Jugglery. 16. Unacceptable. 17. Amanuensis. 18. Soiree. 19.
Oleanders. 20. Tacitly.

88

RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR

IS TONIGHT THE NIGHT?

Is tonight the night
that Your Lips mag
or mag not win Yo a
happiness and fortune?

WHILE THE CLOCK TICKS
off the minutes between now
and eight tonight . . . consider your lips!
Take them seriously NOW, so that tonight
you'll be sure their charm suggests (to
him) an eternity of sweet adventure. If
they do (tonight) he'll be impatient to
claim you for his own . . . tonight!

"But how," you ask, "are lips made so
enticing? What can I do that I have not
already done to make them lovely?"

The answer is, make them more than lovely;
make them up with a lipstick into which
are blended "excitement''' and "desire."
Exotic color . . . thrilling softness . . . satin
smoothness; these are the precious in-
gredients of "excitement" and "desire" —
and, they're also
the ingredients of
every lipstick that
wears the name
Princess Pat next
its heart. For in-
stance . . .

LIQUID LipTone...

what glorious lip color!
Lustrous, temptingly
smooth — and lasting, like
the memory of your first
meeting with the king!
LIQUID LipTone is
swim-proof and smear-
proof! It may also be used
right over the usual lip-
stick to give you a double charm. It "sets" the lip-
stick color, making it also smear-proof — keeps it
from making marks where marks just don't belong.

The New Royalty Lipstick . . . created by
PRINCESS PAT as a compliment to visiting
royalty. It is the richest, creamiest lipstick ever
. . . luscious . . . gorgeous even to the swanky swivel

J k

case... smooth as a court presentation
...and oh! what a surprise you'll get
when you discover how wonderfully
lasting it is! The new Princess Pat
Royalty Lipstick appears in the
season's smartest new shades . . . each
steeped in "excitement and desire."

New NIGHT and DAY Lipstick . . .

A double lipstick! One end is a shade for

night and the other is a shade for
day. Charm for under the moon, and
charm for under the sun. Each ex-
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of "desire." NIGHT and DAY is
prepared in three daring combina-
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another for MEDIUM ... still
another for BRUNETTES. It's a
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Discover the glamour of all Princess Pat Beauty Aids, look for them
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PRINCESS PAT

LIGHT UP WITH

. . . that's always a signal for
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All around you, you'll see that friendly
white package . . . that means more and more
smokers everywhere are agreed that Chesterfields
are milder and better-tasting . . . for everything you
want in a cigarette, CHESTERFIELD WINS

Copyright 1939, Liggett & Myers Tobacco Co.

.MILLIONS

H

L'BRARY OF CONGRESS

0 020 514 094 3

HBnK