Like Lay’s Potato Chips…

…I just can’t seem to stop with just one Gunsmoke episode. I checked out four of them again last night, thanks to what I like to call the “eye of the hurricane.” (You see, tomorrow marks the start of Savannah’s city-sanctioned drunk—a.k.a. St. Patrick’s Day celebration—and things are relatively calm for the time being.) This quartet of episodes was penned by scribe John Meston, and there was nary a bad one in the bunch.

“Matt For Murder” (7/26/54) is the first of these outstanding episodes, its plot features Dodge City’s marshal accused of murdering a man named Lou Price by Price's former partner, Red Samples (Vic Perrin). What makes this entry fun is Meston’s taking historical license by having famed Abilene lawman Wild Bill Hickok (John Dehner) journey to Dodge to arrest his old friend Matt Dillon. (Matt’s friendship with Wild Bill is also briefly referred to in “Westbound,” which was discussed in yesterday’s post.) This intermingling of historical figures with Gunsmoke’s cast of characters was not uncommon on the radio western; the premiere episode (4/26/52) has Matt encountering a young William Bonney (a.k.a. “Billy the Kid”) and an additional episode on the Ultimate Gunsmoke Collection CD set is titled “Doc Holliday” (7/19/52), with Harry Bartell as the titular character.

Meston’s sharp dialogue includes a sly reference foreshadowing Hickok’s demise:

MATT: How is Abilene these days?
HICKOK: Well, I’m still sheriff there…guess I will be ‘til somebody gets around to shootin’ me…
CHESTER; Aw…nobody’s gonna shoot you, Mr. Hickok…
HICKOK: They keep tryin’, Chester…
MATT (chuckling): They keep missin’, too…don’t they, Bill…?
HICKOK: Well, so far…maybe that’s just because nobody’s tried to shoot me in the back yet…

Fans of Frontier Gentleman will no doubt recall an episode titled “Aces and Eights” (4/20/58) which centers on the events of Hickok’s shooting—and has its main character, J.B. Kendall, as a participant in that fateful card game. (Kendall was, of course, played by actor Dehner…who plays Hickok here…okay, maybe I should stop now before someone’s head explodes…)

The rehearsal sessions for Gunsmoke were fondly remembered by the cast and crew as “Dirty Saturdays,” in which the participants freely clowned and cut up during the proceedings before reverting to professionalism for the final transcribed product. A few of these rehearsals survive in recorded form, most notably “The New Hotel,” which can be heard on the 5-CD set Too Hot For Radio. During rehearsal readings, Dehner used to try and distract Bill Conrad by playing this meek, mousy character who would call out—at anytime and anyplace—“Hello, Marshal!” And Conrad would invariably respond: “Hello, John…” Both actors do this bit in “Matt For Murder,” (it’s just before Matt and Chester encounter Hickok at the train station) and because I was completely unprepared for it, I nearly spit out a mouthful of water I was drinking at the time. I’m convinced that the “John” character is the same “John Bomby” Matt talks to in “Christmas Story” (12/20/52), though when I floated this theory balloon in #oldradio chat one night, I didn’t get many takers.

The second episode I listened to was “Matt Gets It” (10/2/54), which has the distinction of being adapted as the premiere episode of the television version of Gunsmoke. Producer-director Charles Marquis Warren chose it for the first show because “It was shocking in those days to have your hero shot down.” That’s the plot in a nutshell: Dillon is injured by a gunman (Perrin) who is much faster than he. Now—this may be Monday-morning-quarterbacking, but I don’t think I would have gone with this episode as the TV debut; “Matt Gets It” plays much better after you’ve got a few Gunsmokes tucked under your belt. Had I watched the show’s lawman hero get gunned down in the first episode, my first thought would have been: “Not much of a lawman, is he?”

The radio version is far superior—and one of the reasons this is so is this classic moment of Chester’s reaction to Matt’s shooting:

CHESTER: Grat hit him, first shot…I could tell…Mister Dillon still got one off…I don’t know why he had to miss him…
DOC: Well, of course he missed him, Chester…Matt was out on his feet when he fired that shot…
CHESTER: He dropped his gun ‘fore he fell…
DOC: And who wouldn’t, with two bullets in his arm?
CHESTER (after a pause): Is it ruined, Doc? His arm?
DOC: No…no, it’s not ruined…it’ll be stiff for a while…but…
CHESTER: Doc?
DOC: Mm-hmm?
CHESTER: I’d-a tried to kill Graf is I’d-a had my gun out—I was gonna pick up Mister Dillon’s and do it, but Grat kicked it away from me…
DOC: It’s a good thing he did, too…
CHESTER: …I wanted to kill him…
DOC: I know…I know how you felt…
CHESTER: It’s a terrible thing, watchin’ a man like Mister Dillon get shot that way, Doc…
DOC: Of course it is, Chester…but killing Grat won’t help him now…
CHESTER (his voice rising in anger): Well, if Mister Dillon dies, I’ll kill him…I’ll get me a shotgun and I’ll kill him! I’ll blow him in half and then we’ll see how doggone fast he is…

Because the radio Gunsmoke has taken the time to establish the idolatry Chester has for Matt, that’s why “Matt Gets It” works so well. In fact, the friendship between the two men is just one of the many things I admire about the radio version, Chester Proudfoot being one of OTR’s most memorable characterizations. It’s important to note that Chester wasn’t Matt’s deputy (as he was on the TV show), but more of a helper/hanger-on; he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed (actor Parley Baer characterized him as “a dependable non-thinker”) but he made up for his lack of smarts with an incredibly fierce loyalty.

The other outstanding feature of this entry is Vic Perrin’s performance as Dan Grat, the gunslinger who puts Dillon temporarily out of commission. Perrin was one of Gunsmoke’s “repertory company” regulars, who was also multi-talented enough to pen five of the show’s radio scripts. I’m sure there were occasions when Perrin played a good guy on the show, but his portrayal of villains stand out in my mind—they always seemed to have this…haughtiness about them, as if they were insulted by the very idea of someone like Matt daring to challenge them. Perrin also appeared on programs like Dragnet, One Man’s Family, and Fort Laramie—but he’s probably best-remembered as “the control voice” on TV’s The Outer Limits (1963-65).

“Kitty Caught” (10/16/54) is yet another 24-karat Gunsmoke gem, in which our favorite dance hall gal is taken hostage by a pair of bank robbing brothers (Dehner, Larry Dobkin) who threaten to kill her if Matt goes after them. It’s a powerful episode that finds Matt resorting to cold-blooded murder to save Kitty, plus there’s a nail-biting scene where Matt and Chester—who are stationed just a ways outside the cabin where she is being held by the two brothers—are desperately trying not to make any noise so that she won’t be harmed…and then we hear the unmistakable sound of a rattlesnake…

Finally, I wrapped up my evening of pure audio pleasure with “Chester’s Murder” (1/15/55), yet another variation of Gunsmoke’s recurring “duty vs. friendship” theme. This time, Matt’s loyal helper has been accused of murdering a man (James Nusser) he had a disagreement with in a saloon earlier in the evening, and Dillon is forced to place his devoted friend under house arrest. Vic Perrin is in the cast—so you can pretty much guess who the bad guy is in this one—along with Lawrence Dobkin, who plays Sam Noonan, a character who would later become partners with Kitty in the Long Branch Saloon, thus establishing her role as businesswoman on the television series.

“I’m that man…Matt Dillon, United States marshal…”

As I continue to fight the Dreaded Pre-Spring Head Cold (which, in new developments, I have successfully passed on to my father, sister and niece—call me contagious!) I fed my Gunsmoke jones at work last night with some more episodes from Radio Spirits’ The Ultimate Gunsmoke Collection. First off the bat: “Westbound,” originally broadcast January 3, 1953. This one was a first-time listen for me, and I was really entertained by it: Matt and Chester arrive in Abilene to take Jack Daggett (Sam Edwards) back to Dodge—but encounter interference from both Daggett’s brothers (Barney Phillips, Larry Dobkin) and the rather uncooperative Abilene populace. My favorite is a timid hotel clerk played by John Dehner, who attempts to be the gracious host while at the same time wishing Dillon would find some other hotel room to keep his prisoner in:

CLERK: Thank heavens, gentlemen, you’re leaving…
MATT (with heavy sarcasm): Yeah, we’re leavin’…and I wanna thank you for your wonderful hospitality…I’ll be glad to recommend your hotel to anybody who plans to stop over in Abilene…
CLERK (meekly): Oh…I…hardly know what to say, Marshal…you simply don’t understand…you don’t know these Daggett brothers (quickly) no…no offense personally, Jack…I have to live in this town, and…
MATT: Come on, Jack…you boys run quite a bluff, you’ve got everybody in town jumpin’ sideways…
DAGGETT: You’d be smart if you did, Dillon…
(SFX: door open)
CLERK (calling after them): Good luck, gentlemen…eh…best of luck to…to all of you…!!!
MATT (chuckling): All of us…well, that’s hedgin’ his bet…

In the booklet that accompanies the CD set, OTR historian Anthony Tollin comments that “Westbound” shares many similarities with the 1952 film classic High Noon (in fact, a famous article in Time magazine once described the show as “the High Noon of broadcasting”). I certainly won’t quibble with this comparison, but in listening to the episode I couldn’t help but notice that it shares more kinship with two other classic Westerns: 3:10 to Yuma (1957) and Last Train From Gun Hill (1959). (The Gun Hill connection is not entirely coincidental; Gunsmoke scribe Les Crutchfield, who wrote “Westbound,” receives story credit on the John Sturges-directed film.)

I followed “Westbound” with “Word of Honor” (1/10/53), which provides a nice showcase for Howard McNear as his Doc Adams character is abducted to treat a dying man. Upon his return to Dodge, he refuses to identify his kidnappers because he gave them his word of honor as a physician. This show was followed by “The Cast” (12/12/53), another Doc-oriented episode, only in this one he doesn’t quite sound like his usual self. There is, of course, an explanation for this: veteran voice actor Paul Frees substitutes for McNear for this one-time-only broadcast. It’s quite jarring to hear Frees imitate McNear, to be sure—but you get used to it after a minute or two. In this show, Doc’s life is threatened by a widowed husband (Tom Tully) after his wife dies during surgery. This plot of simple folk distrusting doctors and modern medicine would get quite a workout on Gunsmoke, showing up again in the episodes “Cow Doctor” (5/28/55) and “The Surgery” (2/23/58), to name a few examples.

(While I’m on the subject of Paul Frees—I got a postcard from Bear Manor Media announcing their soon-to-be-released publication of Welcome, Foolish Mortals…The Life and Voices of Paul Frees, written by none other than the man behind the panda, publisher Ben Ohmart. I’m a little financially strapped right now, but I plan to snag a copy come next payday—as a cartoonist friend of mine used to say, “Paul Frees is everywhere!”)

“The Cast” also allows Gunsmoke fans to hear the program’s first sponsor: Post Toasties (“heap good corn flakes”) backed with Sugar Krinkles (“the sugar rice treat that’s just right sweet”). I’m not certain how long Post’s association with the show lasted, but you can pretty much tell that it was doomed from the get-go; the commercials are completely incongruous with Gunsmoke’s gritty realism, sounding instead more appropriate for sponsorship of something like The Lone Ranger.

I wrapped up my mini-Gunsmoke festival with a broadcast originally heard July 5, 1954: “Hack Prine,” the first episode sponsored by the program’s better-known bread-and-butter, L&M/Chesterfield. “Hack Prine” isn’t necessarily the best show, but I think it’s probably the most representative—I would choose this entry if I wanted to introduce a novice listener to the joys of the program. All of the regulars are in place here, and the plot—an old gunfighter friend of Matt’s has been hired by one of Dillon’s enemies to kill him—encompasses an oft-recurring Gunsmoke theme, that of duty vs. friendship. (Tollin notes in the booklet that “Hack Prine” was also adapted as the pilot for the television version.) Four regular members of the show’s “repertory company”—Dobkin, Dehner, Vic Perrin, and Harry Bartell—are also in the supporting cast of this episode as well.

“…the first man they look for, and the last they want to meet…”

I came back from my two-day sabbatical with a nasty head cold, so I haven’t really felt like whipping up something new for the blog today. (Yesterday’s post about The Sealed Book was written before I left.) But on the trip up there, I took along my copy of Radio Spirits’ The Ultimate Gunsmoke Collection to listen to—because I work nights, it’s kind of hard for me to get back into any kind of regular schedule so I often find myself wide awake at 4:00 a.m. I just slap a CD in my Walkman, and spend some quality OTR time until someone else in the family decides to get up.

If you haven’t purchased a copy of this set, by the way—I give it a big thumbs-up, since it contains many of the classic and seminal episodes of what must truly be radio’s finest dramatic hour. While I was away, I listened to three episodes written by John Meston, who was the most prolific of all the Gunsmoke scribes, contributing 183 of the 413 radio scripts and 196 of the 635 television shows. Many fans believe that the television show was made palatable only because so many of Meston’s radio scripts were adapted for the tube. (I don’t dislike the Gunsmoke TV series, but I really do believe it pales in comparison to the radio version; the booklet accompanying the Radio Spirits set has a quote from sound man Bill James: “Even after all these years I have never been able to watch even one episode of the TV version. To me, those performers are nothing but imposters.”)

One of the shows I listened to is a long-time favorite of mine, and one of the first episodes I remember hearing: “Home Surgery,” originally broadcast September 13, 1952. Matt (William Conrad) and Chester (Parley Baer) are on their way back to Dodge when a young woman named Tara Hantree (Sammie Hill) meets up with them and asks them for help; her father (John Dehner) was thrown from a horse and has seriously hurt his leg. At the Hantrees’, Matt realizes that Hantree has a bad case of gangrene:

CHESTER: It’s that bad, is it?
MATT: Yeah…blood poisoning, Chester…soon as it reaches his heart he’s done for…
CHESTER: Well—isn’t there any way to stop it?
MATT: Yeah, sure…cut his leg off…
CHESTER: Oh… (Pause) too bad Doc isn’t here…
MATT: Yeah…
CHESTER: Would that stop it, Mister Dillon? Cutting his leg off, I mean…?
MATT: I don’t know, Chester…I don’t know…it may be too late anyway…I…
CHESTER: Well, I sure wish we could do something for him…I don’t take to just sittin’ ‘round and waitin’ for a man to die…
MATT: Well, nobody does…
CHESTER: It isn’t right somehow…that poor fella…and Tara…why, Mister Dillon, that girl’ll go crazy out here all alone…
MATT (angrily): All right, Chester…what do you want me to do about it? I’m not a doctor, so shut up…
CHESTER: Well, I… (After a long pause) Mister Dillon…you could do it…I know you could!
MATT: Do what?
CHESTER: Be a doctor…long enough to save Mr. Hantree’s life…
MATT: Are you out of your head?
CHESTER: No, sir…
MATT: Then what are you talking like that for? The most I ever did was doctor a horse for the colic…that’s fine trainin’ for this, isn’t it?
CHESTER: I know…but I couldn’t do it…I just plain don’t have the spirit…but you do…
MATT: Oh, why didn’t I leave you back in Dodge…
CHESTER: It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, Mister Dillon…’cause you would never just stand by and let a man die…
(pause)
MATT: Let’s go talk to him, Chester…
CHESTER: Yes sir, Mister Dillon…

I’d like to be able to tell you that there’s a rosy “Little House on the Prairie” ending to this—but there isn’t. Matt amputates Hantree’s leg, but is unable to save the man’s life. It’s a gritty, well-told tale, one of those Gunsmokes that remains in the memory.

The second episode I checked out was “The Overland Trail” (10/31/52), which reminds me a lot of the movie Stagecoach. Matt, Chester and a prisoner named Jim Beaudry (Lawrence Dobkin) are stranded without horses and hop a stage headed for a nearby fort where they hope to pick up fresh horses and continue on to Dodge. While on the stagecoach, Beaudry informs Matt that one (Lou Krugman) of the passengers is wanted in California for armed robbery, and Matt faces the dilemma of having to decide how far he can trust his prisoner. Included in the cast are Vic Perrin, James Nusser, Ralph Moody, and Junius Matthews.

Finally, I listened to a true Gunsmoke classic, “The Cabin” (12/27/52), in which Matt seeks shelter from a severe blizzard in the home of a young woman (Vivi Janiss) whose father has been killed by a pair of drifters—and are determined to kill again. John Dehner and Harry Bartell play Hack and Alvy, two seriously disturbed individuals with no sense of conscience whatsoever—and you get goose bumps just listening to their fine performances. The episode wraps with Matt realizing he can’t offer the help the abused woman needs:

BELLE: Tell me something, Marshal…
MATT: Hmm?
BELLE: Tell me the truth, now…
MATT: Wha…why, sure, Belle…what is it?
BELLE: Are you married?
(pause)
MATT: I’d make a poor husband, Belle…for any woman…
BELLE: Why?
MATT: Well…in my profession it’s…it’s too chancy…
BELLE (sighing) Thank you, Marshal…thanks for puttin’ it that way…
MATT: Now, Belle…I…I didn’t mean…
BELLE: Forget it…I’m leavin’ this place, Marshal…
MATT: What?
BELLE: Soon as you go, I’ll…pack what I need and clearin’ off…
MATT: Well…where will you go?
BELLE: I’ve got three horses…I’ll ride up to Hayes City and sell ‘em…
MATT: Then what?
BELLE: I’ll buy some pretty clothes and…then I’ll find a place…won’t be hard…after this…

I love Meston’s subtlety in suggesting that Belle will soon be trafficking in the life of what my father colorfully refers to as a “camp follower.” It’s just one of the many reasons why I find the radio Gunsmoke superior—Matt and Kitty (Georgia Ellis) had a far more serious relationship on radio than that squeaky-clean chasteness they enjoyed on TV for twenty-some years. It’s also interesting to note that “The Cabin,” a pull-no-punches bleak and realistic story, followed Meston’s “Christmas Story” (12/20/52) which is a much lighter change-of-pace tale.

John Meston was once quoted as saying—in relation to Gunsmoke’s long radio/TV run—“If I had known it would last this long, I would never have created the darn thing.” May we all be eternally grateful for his short-sightedness.

“Keeper of the Book…what tale will you tell us this time?”

In 1944’s Off Mike, Arch Oboler of Lights Out fame described writing for radio as “hamburger writing,” noting that “the medium is a quicksand into which millions of words disappear without a trace. All the stories printed monthly in magazines, if assembled into one script, would not be sufficient to keep a network’s monitor loudspeakers chattering for a week.”

To be certain, radio in its Golden Age had a voracious appetite for material—George Burns once noted that while it was possible for a comedian in vaudeville to last a decade with a stage act consisting of only seventeen minutes worth of material, that could all end with one appearance on a weekly half-hour program. Therefore, it was not uncommon for shows to recycle previously broadcast material—long before the concept of recycling was considered environmentally proper.

I thought about this earlier today when I sampled a pair of episodes from The Sealed Book, a syndicated horror anthology broadcast over Mutual/WOR from March 18-September 9, 1945. The program, produced and directed by Jock MacGregor and featuring Philip Clarke as narrator, essentially recycled scripts (by Robert A. Arthur and David Kogan) previously broadcast on Mutual’s popular The Mysterious Traveler. The program would open with sinister laughter and a gong (on loan from Lights Out, no doubt), as “the Keeper of the Book” would unlock “the ponderous volume in which are recorded all the secrets and mysteries of mankind through the ages.” (You can certainly see why the book was sealed, then, since you don’t want that kind of information getting out.) The Keeper would then use the half-hour allotted to him by telling “tales of every kind, tales of murder, tales of madness, of dark deeds and events strange beyond all belief.”

It’s a pretty big buildup for a show that sounds as if it were produced for a buck ninety-eight, but it does have an enjoyable camp quality about it. In “I’ll Die Laughing” (5/27/45), John Dayton, his wife Laura, and attorney-friend Harvey go spelunking in an old cave that—according to a recently deceased prospector—contains Aztec treasure. Harvey, unbeknownst to his pal John, has an ulterior motive in this whole expedition—namely, murdering John and running off with Laura. Of course, as we have learned from a lifetime of Alfred Hitchcock Presents repeats, the best laid plans… I did learn one important thing from this episode—make damn sure your best friend isn’t a lawyer.

“Design For Death” (6/3/45) showcases the story of Carl and Dora Evans, a husband-and-wife team who are on the lam from the law and who pose as brother and sister in order to hide out in an old house where wealthy recluse Mordred Vance resides. Vance takes a shine to Dora and proposes to her, which suits her “brother” just fine, as the old man has a tidy sum of $50,000 tucked away as a dowry. The twist of the tale is, there’s something in Vance’s past that he isn’t quite forthcoming about. Both of these scripts, as stated earlier, appeared previously on The Mysterious Traveler: “I’ll Die Laughing” on May 7, 1944, and “Design” March 5 that same year.

The Sealed Book isn’t classic radio, but it’s certainly not dull; the acting is a bit melodramatic, though—particularly at the climax of “Design For Death” when both actors go back for seconds and thirds at the scenery salad/buffet bar. Though the show is cheaply done, it is of mild importance to OTR fans in one respect: it allows modern-day fans the opportunity to listen to additional episodes of The Mysterious Traveler. (All twenty-six episodes of Book are extant today.) With the advent of cassettes and CDs, of course, the repetition is noticeable now—I’m sure those members of the listening audience probably didn’t even bat an eyelash back then. Even big-budget shows like The Jack Benny Program weren’t immune to “recycling”; Jack’s stable of high quality writers weren’t shy about reworking previous scripts and gags. It reminds me of the famous remark: “Movies aren’t made—they’re remade.”

“…gateway to the ancient East, where modern adventure and intrigue unfold against the backdrop of antiquity…”

I’ve only recently discovered the delights of Rocky Jordan, due largely to a Premiere Collection offering from First Generation Radio Archives a month or two back. In the liner notes, historian Elizabeth McLeod observes that Jordan “is much like the Bogart character Rick Blaine” from Casablanca, and while I have nothing but the utmost respect and admiration for Elizabeth’s insights, I think she’s only half-right on this one. The locale of the series is similar, ‘tis true—but at the risk of sounding crude, Rocky couldn’t carry Rick’s jockstrap. (I say this as an individual who’s seen Casablanca more times than Carter has Little Liver Pills.)

The character of Rocky Jordan first appeared in a 15-minute, weeknight adventure serial called A Man Named Jordan, which debuted over CBS’ West Coast Network January 8, 1945. Jordan, played by Jack Moyles, was the proprietor of the Café Tambourine, located “in a narrow street off Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar.” (You know, Istanbul was Constantinople, now it’s Istanbul, not Constantinople…) John Dunning describes him as “a hero in the I Love a Mystery mold,” and Jordan was a shrewd businessman, motivated more by the financial bottom line rather than cheap sentiment. His sidekicks on the program included “man Friday” Ali (Paul Frees), girlfriend Toni Sherwood (Dorothy Lovett), and pal Duke O’Brien (Jay Novello). A Man Named Jordan switched to a weekly half-hour format on July 2, 1945, and ran for approximately two years.

Rocky Jordan—the show’s new title—returned on October 31, 1948 as a copy of the original except that Jordan’s joint had relocated to Cairo. (He might have had a chain of them, they don’t really say.) Other than that, it was business as usual for “the Rock,” fighting escaped killers, desert raiders, ex-Nazis, and black marketers weekly in what might have been just another run-of-the-mill detective adventure series—were it not for the program’s exotic locale (with appropriate music provided by Richard Aurandt). Jordan’s writers—Larry Roman and Gomer Cool—strove for authenticity on the show, thanks to a copy of the U.S. Army’s Pocket Guide to Egypt. Returning in the role of Rocky was Moyles, but on this incarnation he was supported by Cairo police contact Captain Sam Sabaaya (Jay Novello). Sponsored by Del Monte Foods, Rocky Jordan was a CBS West Coast Sunday night staple (at one time, it was part of a line-up that included Sam Spade and The Whistler) until September 10, 1950.

In the first of two Rocky Jordan offerings, “The Big Heist” (an AFRS rebroadcast of a show originally heard November 20, 1949), a transport plane carrying a precious cargo of $1,000,000 in gold coin vanishes on its way to Cairo airport—and Rocky’s old pilot pal Freddie McClain has disappeared with it. This was followed by “The Veiled People” (12/11/49, AFRS), which tells the story of Jarrod, an individual who secures employment at the Café Tambourine—only to draw Jordan into intrigue involving a strange sect known as the Torag. The Torag consists of men who—instead of the traditional female—wear veils covering their faces. (Middle Eastern metrosexuals, if you will.) Both programs are entertaining to listen to, benefiting from a superb (but unfortunately unnamed, although Paul Frees was easy to pick out) supporting cast; swift, assured direction from Cliff Howell; and the announcing talents of Larry Thor (best known as Detective Danny Clover on Broadway’s My Beat).

Rocky Jordan finally obtained a berth on the full CBS network schedule from June 27-August 22, 1951, as a summer replacement for Mr. Chameleon. Moyles, unfortunately, was replaced in the title role by screen star George Raft. Raft, although undoubtedly a bigger “name,” brought nothing to the part that hadn’t already been covered competently by radio veteran Moyles. Though its run was relatively brief, the fact that close to 100 episodes of Rocky Jordan are extant today has brought on a new generation of old-time radio fans who can spend a half-hour of listening pleasure in a land of exotic intrigue.

“The saga of fighting men who rode the rim of empire…”

Fortunately, I was able to rebound from the embarrassment that was Dr. Sixgun by checking out an episode of Fort Laramie, a woefully neglected western that enjoyed an ever-so brief run over CBS from January 22-October 28, 1956. To this day, I remain puzzled as to why this show wasn’t a bigger success; its pedigree contained much of the talent behind Gunsmoke: producer-director Norman Macdonnell; writers John Meston, John Dunkel, and Les Crutchfield; and sound patterns wizards Bill James, Ray Kemper, and Tom Hanley. True, Fort Laramie was far less intense than the better-known Gunsmoke, but in Dunning’s words, “focused as much on atmosphere and mood as on violence and action.” Future Perry Mason star Raymond Burr, as Lee Quince, “captain of cavalry,” headed up an excellent cast that featured Jack Moyles (as Major Daggett), Vic Perrin (Sergeant Ken Goerss), and Harry Bartell (Lieutenant Sieberts).

The label on this CD gives the episode title as “The Galvanized Yankee,” but it’s actually “Still Waters,” an AFRS rebroadcast of a program originally heard October 14, 1956. It’s a light-hearted show, in which complaints about the quality of the fort’s dress parade band seem to be falling on (tone) deaf ears until the Major decides to step in. The explanation for the band’s awfulness is that their instruments aren’t up to snuff, but any chance of obtaining replacements has been temporarily scotched by the arrival of a bluenose named Mrs. Feamster (Jeanette Nolan), who’s embarked on a crusade to remove beer and wine from the canteen run by the fort’s sutler. (The profits from those sales go to the purchase of new instruments, and with no beer and wine, no…well, you get the idea.) The highlight of this episode (written by frequent Gunsmoke scribe Kathleen Hite) is Burr’s painfully off-key rendition of “She Wore a Yellow Ribbon.” The Gunsmoke connection is furthered by the presence of both Sam Edwards and Howard McNear (who appeared in several Laramie episodes as Pliney, the sutler) in the supporting cast.

Fort Laramie is the third component of what I like to call old-time radio’s “Holy Trinity” of Westerns (the other two being Gunsmoke and Frontier Gentleman). Though its run was brief, all forty episodes (forty-one if you include the 7/25/55 audition, which stars John Dehner) are extant today, entertaining a new generation of listeners with “specially transcribed tales of the dark and tragic ground of the wild frontier.”

“…the gun-toting frontier doctor who roamed the length and breadth of the old Indian territory, friend and physician to white man and Indian alike…”

In several past blog entries, I have written about many of the adult westerns that became a staple of radio programming during the 1950s, shows like The Six Shooter, Frontier Gentleman, and Gunsmoke. Last night at work, I sampled episodes from two additional western programs that were also heard in that same period: Dr. Sixgun and Fort Laramie.

“Dr. Sixgun” was the nickname applied to Dr. Ray Matson (Karl Weber), a physician practicing in the small town of Frenchman’s Fork. This “legendary figure” was referred to in the program’s opening credits as “the symbol of justice and mercy in the lawless west of the 1870s.” The small-town medico not only healed wounds but inflicted them as well, seeing as he was mighty handy with a snub-nosed derringer he carried along with his doctor’s bag. (Perhaps it’s just me, but you would think drumming up your own business would violate the Hippocratic Oath.)

Matson’s faithful sidekick was a wandering gypsy named Pablo (William Griffis), who served as narrator of the doc’s exploits, often through flashback. Pablo, in turn, had a sidekick of his own—a talking raven named Midnight (quoth the Ivan, “You gotta be kiddin’ me…”). Midnight sort of takes center stage in the episode I listened to last night, an undated AFRS rebroadcast titled “Trial For Willie the Mouse” (which sort of sounds like a Gangbusters entry, doesn’t it?). O’Shea (William Keane), the resident bartender at the Bull Run saloon, is experiencing a small rodential problem which is quickly taken care of by Midnight the Wonder Raven. One night, a Texas cowpoke named Brazos Charlie (Tom Holland) is knocking back a few drinks with his friends, and by evening’s end discovers that his pet mouse Willie (which he kept in his pocket—let the punchlines commence!) is dead. Brazos later witnesses Midnight’s amazing mice-killing feat, and becomes convinced that the raven is responsible for Willie being dispatched to that big mousetrap in the sky. The bird is kidnapped and put on trial, which forces Doc Matson to defend the raven with some stirring oratory that melts the heart of Brazos and his fellow cowpokes.

This is the first—and only—episode of Dr. Sixgun that I’ve ever listened to, and though I hesitate to make a judgment on shows after hearing only one example, if this is an indication of what the series was like it’s not surprising that NBC tanked it after one season (September 2, 1954-October 13, 1955). Matson has a line in this episode that goes: “Because this is undoubtedly the most ridiculous thing I ever did in my life.” (My response: “I’ll bet the writer felt the same way.”) This script was written by NBC staffer Ernest Kinoy who—along with fellow scribe George Lefferts—wrote the scripts for Sixgun, Rocky Fortune, Dimension X, and X-Minus One. I guess John Dunning’s observation (in reference to The CBS Radio Workshop) that “to be good an artist must have the freedom to be bad” is in definite play here.