“Whenever there is mystery, intrigue, romance, in all the strange and dangerous places of the world …”

Moving to Savannah, Georgia in 1983, I was delighted to discover that the local AM MOYL (Music of Your Life) station carried a syndicated program called The Golden Age of Radio Theater weeknights at 10pm. (Well, usually at 10pm—the station would sometimes pre-empt the program if a ball game was on, proving nothing ever really changes; I used to have the same problem with The CBS Radio Mystery Theater.) Hosted by veteran radio announcer Victor Ives, the hour-long show broadcast various OTR programs—Fibber McGee & Molly, Duffy’s Tavern, Nightbeat, X Minus One, etc.—and it was listening to this show that I first became acquainted with The Man Called X.

British actor Herbert Marshall was the star of this espionage melodrama, which debuted over CBS on July 10, 1944 as a summer series sponsored by Lockheed Aircraft. It moved to the Blue network in September of that year, and then had two summer runs in 1945 and 1946 as Pepsodent’s replacement for The Bob Hope Show. After an additional season on CBS (1947-48, for Frigidaire) it moved back to NBC in October 1950 and concluded its run May 20, 1952.

The original Man Called X had Marshall playing Ken Thurston, an FBI agent here in the States, but soon after he became a reckless continental, globe-hopping around the world to places like India, Monte Carlo or Greece. (I guess with the debut of The FBI in Peace and War in 1944 and This is Your FBI a year after, things got a little crowded on this side of the pond so Thurston needed to go abroad to keep himself occupied.) Famed radio actor John McIntire, who was the announcer in the early days of the series, described Thurston as “the man who crosses the ocean as readily as you and I cross town. He is the man who travels today as you and I will travel tomorrow. He is the man who fights today’s war in his unique fashion, so that tomorrow’s peace will make the world a neighborhood for all of us.” Today’s war and tomorrow’s peace, eh…I can just picture The FBI in Peace and War threatening him: “Beat it, buddy--I’m working this side of the street!”

I’ve never been a huge fan of The Man Called X, primarily because it’s one of those shows where if you’ve heard one episode, you’ve heard them all. At least, that was my attitude twenty years ago. Whenever I heard Victor Ives announce that one of Golden Age Radio Theater's shows would be X, I would groan, but sit through it all the same. It’s possible that I’m being too judgmental, seeing as how the only shows I’ve sampled are from the 1950-52 period, but most of the episodes seem to suffer from a suffocating sameness. The Thurston character was often assisted—or, some might argue, hampered--in his investigations by a sleazy, larcenous lowlife named Pegon Zeldschmidt, played for full comic relief by Leon Belasco. I could never fully understand why Thurston associated with this greasy little weasel: he bumped into him everywhere he went and though it was clear that the agent had nothing but contempt for the guy, he would let him tag along. I don’t think I’m alone in my disdain for Pegon, by the way—a chart of the Best and Worst of OTR at Lou Genco’s website has Pegon the hands-down winner.

Another aspect of the show that bewildered me somewhat was that Thurston seemed incredibly dense in not catching on that the mysterious woman who would cross his path in many of his episodic adventures usually turned out to be working against him every single time. Still another puzzler: why the whole “Man Called X” secret identity? I mean, geez—it’s not like the guy had super powers or anything.

I previewed two episodes of The Man Called X last night—the first, “Journey to Zenophon” (10/27/50), has Thurston trying to locate some missing radioactive isotopes that were to be used by a prominent researcher until said researcher is murdered. Except for a Greek businessman character—played by Alan Reed as an amusing Sydney-Greenstreet-as-Kaspar-Gutman impression—the episode’s not that much to write home about. The second show, “Missing Scientist” (11/3/50) is a little bit better: Thurston is assigned to investigate the disappearance of a knowledgeable nuclear scientist, Professor Charney, 25 miles from Czechoslovakia:

THURSTON: Chief…what do you know about music boxes?

CHIEF: Music boxes?

THURSTON: Yeah…like the one I got here… (SFX: object being placed on desk) It came to my apartment, air express this morning…when you phoned me, I thought I’d bring it along…

CHIEF: Now wait a minute, Ken…what are you driving at?

THURSTON: It’s an interesting little gadget, Chief…listen… (SFX: music box plays) You like it?

CHIEF: Ken…

THURSTON: Sorry…by the way…did you know Professor Charney made a hobby of collecting these things?

CHIEF: He did?

THURSTON: Yeah…one he was very fond of played “Brahms’ Lullaby”…

CHIEF: Hmm…who did you say sent you that music box?

THURSTON: I don’t know…there wasn’t any name or return address on it, only the name of the manufacturer…the Brattava Toy Company…according to the postmark they’re located in Prague…Czechoslovakia…

CHIEF: Czechoslo…?

THURSTON: Yep…

CHIEF: Yeah…

THURSTON: Chief…

CHIEF: Yeah, Ken?

THURSTON: I’ve been working kind of hard lately…

CHIEF: Hmm…I don’t suppose you’d care for a little…

THURSTON: Why thank you, Chief…a vacation is just what I need…

CHIEF: That’s what I figured…any idea what you’ll do with your time?

THURSTON: Oh, I don’t know…maybe I’ll start collecting music boxes…in Prague…

Leaving aside for a moment the apparent fact that a top FBI official (the Chief) doesn’t seem to know right off the location of Prague, Thurston wings his way to Czechoslovakia and meets Papa Brattava (Lou Merrill) at his toy shop. Brattava sends Ken to a café, Flekos, and tells him he will meet him there in an hour. At the café, Thurston runs into Pegon—he's picking up a few bucks as a gypsy violinist—who informs him that it was he who sent him the music box; apparently he has information on the missing Professor which he will offer Thurston…for a price. Thurston is then joined by the episode’s mysterious woman, Ilsa (Jeanette Nolan), who speaks of an equally mysterious individual named “Kumlauv”, and asks Thurston to meet her at her place later because she also has information about the missing Charney. She then takes her leave of Thurston, slyly calling him “Mr. X.”

In an alley behind the café, Thurston demands that Pegon spill the beans—but before Pegon can tell what he knows, a car pulls up and several men get out, brandishing guns. One of them (Gerald Mohr) puts the snatch on Pegon and knocks Thurston out cold; Pegon is then informed that “Comrade Kumlauv” is anxious to question him. When Thurston comes to, he finds Brattava attending to him back at the toy shop. Brattava tells Thurston that Kumlauv is the head of a secret police organization, “terrorists and cutthroats all whose one aim is the destruction of everything democratic.” He further informs Ken that he knows Kumlauv has Charney, and that he can help him rescue the Professor with the assistance of the Democratic Resistance Movement, who will provide an escape route for them. There’s a knock on Brattava’s door, and he goes to answer it, because he is expecting a man named Josef Atica, a “mole” in Kumlauv’s organization. When he answers the door, he is shot down by an unknown assassin.

People have a nasty habit of becoming dead around our pal Ken, but that doesn’t stop him from going to meet Ilsa—unfortunately, he also runs into the goon that kidnapped Pegon there as well:

THURSTON: Well…that gun in your fist looks familiar…

GOON: Ah, you recognize me, then?

THURSTON: The area behind Flekos wasn’t that dark…where’s Pegon?

GOON: He is being debriefed…awaiting questioning…

THURSTON: Hmm…I suppose I’m next in line…

GOON: Would your question be answered, Mr. Thurston…if I put this gun away…so?

THURSTON: No…

ILSA: Oh, do you not understand, Ken…the gun was but a precaution to prevent you from some hasty action when you recognized Josef?

THURSTON: Josef? Atica?

JOSEF: That is correct, Mr. Thurston…

ILSA: Now do you see, Ken…Josef and I are with the Czechoslovakian Resistance Movement also…

THURSTON: Then why that double talk at Flekos about Kumlauv and Charney?

ILSA: I recognized you from your work here during the war…I know you must be here on one or both of those matters…and I could not talk there…so…

THURSTON: Yeah…well…you got me here…and apparently you know about Papa Brattava…

JOSEF: That is so, Mr. Thurston…I was approaching the toy shop when he was killed by one of Kumlauv’s men…

THURSTON: What about the arrest of Pegon?

JOSEF: Kumlauv’s orders…he seemed quite interested in obtaining information about you…

THURSTON: Uh-huh…

ILSA: Do you think Pegon will talk about you?

THURSTON: Oh, he’d talk about anything if there was a price tag attached to it…and that’s what I meant by time running out…if we’re going to do get Professor Charney, we’ve got to do it fast...

Both Pegon and Charney are being held at the Secret Police’s detention cell—located in an old brick warehouse—and Thurston and Josef have concocted a plan in which they, with the help of some forged documents, will present an order from Kumlauv to release the Professor into their custody. The plan seems to work--up to a point, but their cover is blown when Pegon, recognizing Thurston, pleads with him not to leave him in his cell; the Captain of the Guards then suspects that something just might be up, and Thurston and Josef—with Pegon and the Professor in tow—are forced to shoot their way out.

With information obtained from Papa Brattava, Thurston, Josef, Ilsa, Pegon and the unconscious Professor make their way to the various checkpoints along the underground’s escape route. They reach the last checkpoint before crossing the border, an old shoe factory:

PEGON: Believe you me, Mr. Thurston…I’m going to be one happy chump when we leave this wretched workshop and get across that border…what a way to get from one country to another!

JOSEF: Kumlauv would be willing to give up everything he has in Czechoslovakia if he could destroy this escape route, Zeldschmidt…ah…here’s the door, Thurston…but I do not see any sign of the watchman around…

THURSTON: Nor do I...(SFX: door open) Door’s open…let’s go in…(SFX: door close)

PEGON: Hey…it’s darker in here than the dark outside…

THURSTON: There’s a desk here…should be a lamp on it…yes, here it is…

(SFX: click of lamp switch)

PEGON: Ah, that’s better…now let’s see if we can find that watchman…

JOSEF: I would not worry about that if I were you, Zeldschmidt…you are never going to cross the border anyway…

PEGON: That’s what you think…believe me, the quicker I get out of Czechoslovakia, the faster I…Mr. Thurston! He’s got a gun!

THURSTON: Yes…what’s that mean, Atica?

JOSEF: A glance through the window will show you what it means…

PEGON: A glance through the…Mr. Thurston! There are lights out there…and men…and guns!

JOSEF; Yes, Zeldschmidt…you have reached the end of your travels…

PEGON (in a whisper): Mr. Thurston, what’s the matter with this joker anyways? Has he blown his noggin or something?

THURSTON: It’s pretty simple, Pegon…Kumlauv’s learned what he’d give his soul to learn…if he had one…the escape route…the members of the underground railway…the names of resistance leaders in every town we’ve visited…

PEGON: Kumlauv!

KUMLAUV: Yes, Zeldschmidt…I am Kumlauv…

Just when it looks like the end of the line for our hero and his amazingly stupid sidekick, Thurston reveals to Kumlauv that he was wise to him all along—that he recognized Ilsa as someone who was working for the Nazis during the war and that only the real Kumlauv could have arranged for “forged” documents in so short a time. Kumlauv attempts to make his escape, but is shot down by the members of the resistance.

If I can recommend anything about The Man Called X, it would be the first-rate acting from a company of old radio pros--Jeanette Nolan, in particular, who has always been a life-long favorite of mine. But I guess the show is best ingested like Boston Blackie, two episodes at a time is pretty much the recommended dosage. As for The Golden Age of Radio Theater, my understanding is that it is still being broadcast over the USA Radio Network—although whether or not Victor Ives is still host, I haven’t a clue, since no station in Savannah carries the program. It’s funny, I have a small stack of those programs on LP that I purchased off of eBay a while back—perhaps I need to dust them off and play a couple so I can be magically transported back to 1983. I just pray the ball game doesn’t go into overtime.

“America’s favorite young couple…”

Ozzie and Harriet Nelson achieved a true rarity in the annals of popular culture—their first names have become an indelible part of the American lexicon, signifying the typical, wholesome married couple. The very mention of their names was guaranteed to convulse audiences; on an October 3, 1948 broadcast of The Phil Harris-Alice Faye Show the Frankie Remley character (played by Elliott Lewis) brings down the house when responding to Phil’s remarks about how he and Alice should sell themselves to their new sponsor: “Why don’t you tell him you’re Ozzie & Harriet?”

Oswald George Nelson didn’t start out to have a career in show business—his band was merely a financial sideline to put himself through Rutgers University, and law school following that. But by the time he had graduated in 1930 with his degree his band was doing so well he decided not to hang up his shingle. In 1932, he hired a young singer-actress, Harriet Hilliard (born Peggy Sue Snyder), to be the band’s female vocalist—which was a bit of an innovation among big bands back then. The duo created an interesting style of “song-and-patter” singing; exchanging lyrics back and forth in a casual, conversational manner that set them apart from the other popular bands at that time.

The Nelsons were wed in 1935, and a spot on comedian Joe Penner’s Bakers Broadcast was their introduction to a nationwide radio audience, an engagement they continued even after Penner departed the program and was replaced by Believe it or Not’s Robert L. Ripley. But their main claim to fame was their three-year stint on The Red Skelton Show from 1941-44: not only did they provide the musical entertainment, but Harriet was recruited to play many of the female characters on the show. (Ozzie, not wanting to be left out, soon took on some of the program's extra comedy roles himself.)

After Red was drafted in May 1944, Ozzie began to look for work on another program—but in an interview with Harriet in Chuck Schaden’s Speaking of Radio, she relates that it was Fibber McGee & Molly writer Don Quinn who planted the seed of suggestion that Ozzie should write his own show. With audition record in hand, radio producer John Guedel (People Are Funny, You Bet Your Life) flew to New York and convinced International Sterling Silver to sponsor the comedy series. On October 8, 1944—the date of the Nelson’s ninth wedding anniversary—The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet made its debut over CBS Radio. According to Chuck’s interview with Harriet:

He [Ozzie] wrote the first show like a day off in the life of a bandleader and his vocalist wife. It was a wild comedy. Jack Douglas was one of the writers, and J.P. Medwick [sic]. But it didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t a sensible kind of thing. It was just wild comedy. Then it eventually grew. Before we’d done, I would say, five or six shows, it started to get more “legit.”

Wild comedy or no, it should be pointed out that the “Adventures” in the show’s title was a bit of a misnomer; the Nelson family rarely experienced anything on that grand a scale. The plots for the show was fairly simple: Ozzie, the befuddled but lovable patriarch of the family, would set his mind to some notion—convinced that his wife had no “sales resistance,” for example—and would press on determinedly until the inevitable disaster had pretty run much its course. There were more than a few similarities between Ozzie and Chester A. Riley of The Life of Riley, except Ozzie had a little more moxie on the ball. Harriet fulfilled the role of the patient, understanding wife and the Nelson’s two sons—David and Ricky—would toss in a few wisecracks for good measure.

At first, the Nelson children were portrayed by professional child actors—Joel Davis, then Tommy Bernard in the role of David, and Henry Blair was Ricky—because Ozzie was determined not to expose his sons to the experience of big-time radio at so young an age. But after a December 5, 1948 broadcast that featured guest Bing Crosby and his son Lindsay, David and Ricky asked their father why they couldn’t play themselves if Bing’s son was allowed to play himself. Stuck for an answer, Ozzie finally relented and the two boys were called into service to develop "a flair for the buskin" beginning in April 1949.

I listened to a broadcast from November 7. 1948 last night, entitled “Ozzie is in a Rut.” It’s a cute show, as Ozzie becomes concerned that his life’s routine had become a little too hum-drum. The crisis begins shortly after breakfast in the Nelson household at 1847 Rogers Road (so named due to their sponsor, 1847 Rogers Brothers Silver/International Silver):

HARRIET: More coffee, dear?

OZZIE: No, thanks…

HARRIET: You didn’t finish your eggs, did you?

OZZIE: Oh, I had plenty, thanks…how come you fried them this morning?

HARRIET: Oh, I don’t know, dear…it’s just that you’ve had boiled eggs every morning for so long I thought I’d give you a little change and fry them…you didn’t like them, did you?

OZZIE: Well…uh…I ate them…most of them…

HARRIET: Yes, but you didn’t like them…I can tell…you didn’t smile…

OZZIE: Well, I never smile when I’m eating eggs…that is, unless it’s a wide egg sandwich or something…

HARRIET: I’m sorry, I thought you might like them a little different for a change…

OZZIE: Well, there’s nothing wrong with them, it’s…well, it’s just that you sort of get used to a certain breakfast…I just figure why change something just for the sake of changing…

HARRIET: I suppose that’s a masculine attitude…personally, I like to do things differently once in a while…get a fresh outlook…maybe I’m just in a reckless mood today…I’ve been thinking of having my hair cut…how do you think I’d look with one of the new short haircuts?

OZZIE: Well, I…I wouldn’t want you to get a crewcut…

HARRIET: Don’t be silly, dear…you know I’d never get a crewcut in the winter…it’s much too cold…

(snip)

HARRIET: You know, it’s funny how men get set in their ways…seems to be a masculine trait to resist any sort of change…you’re used to boiled eggs—fried won’t do…you’re used to seeing my hair long, so you don’t want me to get it cut…

OZZIE: Well, it isn’t a question of men being set in their ways…at least, I’m not…I like my eggs boiled, I’ve liked them boiled for years…just because I like the same things year after year doesn’t mean I’m set in my ways…

HARRIET: What does it mean?

OZZIE: Well, it means I’m in a rut…I’m…er…uh…I just like certain things…the fact of the matter is, I don’t care how you fix my eggs and I don’t care how you wear your hair…have it cut short, fry it, boil it, poach it…

Ozzie goes next door to see his neighbor, “Thorny” Thornberry, a sardonic but jovial type who often gave Ozzie bad advice--much in the same way that Jim Gillis, the neighbor on The Life of Riley, would put in his unneeded two cents. This could be due to the fact that both roles on both shows were played by the same actor, John Brown:

OZZIE: Let me ask you one thing, Thorny…how do you like your eggs cooked?

THORNY: Sunny side up…are we going to eat here in the yard?

OZZIE: Now, I happen to be a guy who likes boiled eggs in the morning…all of a sudden, out of a clear sky…I get fried eggs this morning…

THORNY: Well, I hope you didn’t take a thing like that sitting down, Oz…if I were you, I’d object plenty…run an ad in the paper: “I will not be responsible for any eggs fried by my wife…”

OZZIE: It’s not only the eggs…it’s a whole big silly thing…what would you say, Thorny, if your wife walked up right now and said she wanted to have her hair cut? Would you object?

THORNY: I certainly would…I’d put my foot down…I’d tell her, “Positively not!”

OZZIE: That’s right, Thorny…because you like her hair the way it is…nice and long…

THORNY: Well, not necessarily long, Oz…I just want her to have hair…she had it cut yesterday…

OZZIE: Just because I like Harriet’s hair the way it is and my eggs boiled, right away I’m set in my ways…you’ve known me for years, Thorny—am I set in my ways? Am I a stick in the mud? A fuddy-duddy? Narrow-minded? The answer is no…

THORNY: Oz…if you ask me a question, let me answer it…

Another popular character on Ozzie and Harriet was Harriet’s mother—who was usually only heard chatting with her daughter on the telephone. Mom was played by actress Lurene Tuttle, who inherited the female roles formerly played by Harriet on Red Skelton’s program:

MOTHER: Oh, I almost forgot, Harriet, now listen to this…on the way downtown this morning, I saw the most beautiful beige rug in the Emporium window…just perfect for your living room…

HARRIET: I’m way ahead of you, Mother…

MOTHER: You’ve seen it?

HARRIET: Mm hmm…yesterday…in fact, I’m having it delivered tonight while Ozzie’s at the bowling alley…

MOTHER: You’re going to surprise him?

HARRIET: Uh…in a way, yes…you know how men resist any changes around the house…I figure if he walks in and there it is, in familiar surroundings…he’s much more apt to like it…

MOTHER: Oh, just like your father…I remember I wanted new kitchen linoleum once…so I had the man put it down…had it all waxed before you father came home…

HARRIET: Did he like it?

MOTHER: I think he would have if he hadn’t broken his arm when he walked in…

Ozzie would get additional ill-timed advice from another of the show’s characters, teenaged Emmy Lou (played in breathless-Corliss-Archer-style by actress Janet Waldo). The giggly teen tells Ozzie about a Tyrone Power film she saw the other night that featured a very irresponsible man:

EMMY: Oh…what carefree lovers they were…they kissed on the street…they kissed on the bus…they kissed in crowded railroad stations…they wanted people to see them kissing…even when the hero took the heroine home, he’d strike a match so that people could see them kissing goodnight…

OZZIE: Well, that’s…very interesting, Emmy…but I gotta get down to the drugstore…

EMMY: Oh, he was so romantic…so unpredictable…toward the end of the picture he held the girl in his arms…everyone in the theater thought they would get married…but they didn’t…he didn’t even kiss her!

OZZIE: Maybe he ran out of matches…

EMMY: You should have seen him…he wouldn’t work…he was undependable…he was fickle…he had bad habits…he’d beat her…he was irresponsible…he didn’t earn a living…he borrowed money from her…he told lies, he cheated, he gambled…gee, he was cute…

The power of suggestion, generated from his conversation with Emmy Lou, begins to work on Ozzie, and he decides to “shake things up”: instead of the usual pint of chocolate and pint of vanilla he buys at the drugstore on Wednesdays, he decides to get a quart of tutti-fruitti. He shows up nearly late for dinner, having taken a cab home from the drugstore (it’s only a block), and suggests to Harriet that instead of the usual six o'clock dinnertime, she should make it 6:09. He reads the paper on the floor instead of his usual easy chair, and he even decides that rather than going bowling, he’s going to look for and play his old banjo, much to Harriet’s dismay:

HARRIET: Have you forgotten tonight is your bowling night? Oh my goodness, it’s eight o’clock…you’d better hurry, dear…I put your shoes and bowling ball right by the front door, so you don’t even have to go upstairs…

OZZIE: You don’t understand, Harriet—I’m not going bowling tonight…

HARRIET: But you have to! The man…uh…I mean…that is…

OZZIE: What man?

HARRIET: …the man who lives next door…yes, that’s it! Thorny…you wouldn’t want to disappoint Thorny, your old pal…

OZZIE: Yeah, that would be a dirty trick, wouldn’t it…well, if you insist…hey…Harriet, stop pushing me!!!

HARRIET: I wasn’t pushing you, dear…I was just…patting you on the back because it’s so good of you not to disappoint a friend…

OZZIE: That’s the first time I’ve ever been patted on the back with two hands and a knee…

Ozzie is no sooner out the door when he and Thorny spot a fellow lodge brother named Mulligan (Jack Kirkwood) near the Nelson residence:

THORNY: Say, what are you doing over in this neck of the woods…?

MULLIGAN: Well, I came over here to deliver a rug…some woman had to have it put down tonight…her husband’s a bonehead that don’t like to have things changed around…

OZZIE: What the address on it?

MULLIGAN: Uh…1847 Rogers Road…name’s Nelson…do you know them, Mr. Nelson?

The newly “unpredictable” Ozzie talks Thorny and Mulligan into helping him play a practical joke on Harriet: they’ll roll him up in the rug and bring him into the house so he can surprise her. Except that Harriet has decided that she may just leave the rug rolled-up in the corner until Ozzie gets home…

The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet ran from 1944 to 1949 for their sponsor, International Silver on CBS (with a brief season on NBC in 1948) and then moved to ABC in the fall of 1949 when the Heinz Foods Company started paying the bills. But, as with so many old-time radio comedies, they decided to take the plunge into television—and the pilot for the show was an interesting novelty: the Nelson family appeared in a feature film entitled Here Come the Nelsons in 1952. The radio version finally called it quits in 1954.

If you’re familiar at all with The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet, it is due no doubt to their phenomenally successful TV sitcom, which ran on ABC from 1952-66; a show that, especially in reruns, remains a quaint and curious artifact from a more “innocent” era. Having viewed a goodly portion of these old shows (they used to be a staple on the cable channel GoodLife TV—or as I refer to it: “the place where old TV shows go to die”), I’m pleasantly surprised at how sweetly funny and entertaining they remain today. But I’m pretty much in agreement with Ozzie and Harriet writer Sol Saks: “On radio it was considered a highly rated script show; we won awards for the scripts. On TV I don’t think the show was, frankly, very good. It was not near as good.”

Happy Birthday, Harry!

I just wanted to take a brief moment and wish a happy 90th birthday to one of the best radio actors to ever stand before a microphone: Harry Bartell. A true veteran of the trenches, he appeared in such prestigious shows as Gunsmoke, Dragnet, and Escape—among many, many others—but is probably best known to OTR fans as the announcer on The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes on Mutual from 1945-47, touting the benefits of Petri Wines, the show's sponsor at that time.

I haven't seen him around lately, but he has been known to make an appearance or two on #oldradio chat on mIRC Thursday nights. He's a great guy to chat with; I remember a conversation I had with him one night bemoaning the fact that the old-time radio era has passed and that we would never see anything remotely like it again. He told me that he had once paid a visit to his local public radio station and had offered them his services by reading short stories over the radio on a frequent basis--the kicker was that he wanted no remuneration whatsoever; all he asked for was the opportunity to "perform" in a small, intimate purview like public radio.

But they told him, "Well, we couldn't possibly make room for something like that with our format." And that is indeed a damn shame. Perhaps if he had come in with a major underwriter like a member of the petroleum industry they could have found the space.

”…that footloose and fancy-free young gentleman…”

By the time Rocky Fortune, a comedic adventure series starring singer-actor Frank Sinatra, debuted over NBC on October 6, 1953 the career of Ol’ Blue Eyes had pretty much hit rock bottom. Born in Hoboken, NJ in 1917, Sinatra had rocketed to national prominence as a singer with Harry James’ band, then as the vocalist for Tommy Dorsey’s musical aggregation. By 1943, Frank was a teenage heartthrob; making hit records, attracting a devoted fan base of “bobby-soxers,” and appearing on radio shows like Your Hit Parade and his very own Songs by Sinatra.

But by 1950, that was just mist in the memory. The bobby-sox craze had ended, and Sinatra’s public image had become tarnished by an endless parade of wives, fights and much-too-cozy relationships with gangsters. His recent films (like Double Dynamite and Meet Danny Wilson) were doing tepid box-office, and it wasn’t until a plum supporting role in From Here to Eternity (1953) that he would find his career rejuvenated.

In the meantime—well, a man’s gotta eat. Frank essayed on radio the role of one Rocky Fortune, the protagonist of a self-titled series about a jack-of-all-trades who often found himself in various misadventures while employed. If he accepted a job at a museum, he would discover a body in a sarcophagus; a truck-driving job would necessitate him hauling nitro-glycerin over bumpy roads (shades of The Wages of Fear).

I listened to two episodes of this program last night while carrying out my menial duties at work; the first broadcast, dated February 23, 1954, is entitled “The Organ Grinder.” Rocky receives a call from a pal who informs him that a former wrestler nicknamed “The Grinder” is out for revenge, because Rocky and friend provided the crucial testimony that sent the wrestler to jail, as Fortune relates to a friend on the force, Hamilton Finger:

ROCKY: I just had a call from Midge Moore…

FINGER: So? Who’s Midge Moore?

ROCKY: You remember about five years ago when there was an ex-wrestler named Carl The Grinder?

FINGER: Sure…you had something to do with sendin’ him up, didn’t ya?

ROCKY: Yeah…Midge Moore and me was comin’ home from a bar one night when we see this ape beatin’ up an old peddler, tryin’ to rob him…we yell for the cops and we testified against him at the trial…

FINGER: Wasn’t that a fourth offense?

ROCKY: Yeah, he went up for the rest of his natural…only before he went, he swore he was gonna kill three guys…Midge Moore, me, and Harry Bowman…

FINGER: Yeah, that’s right…Bowman was the assistant D.A. who sent him up…he went rotten, didn’t he?

ROCKY: Like a dead lox in a steam bath…he’s in charge of political corruption in the Fourth Ward…

FINGER: So what about this call from Midge Moore?

ROCKY: He says The Grinder called him…

FINGER: You don’t say…where from?

ROCKY: Not from the state university…

FINGER: Oh, that’s a big help…

ROCKY: You’re playin’ coy, Sarge…

FINGER: Well, yeah…as a matter of fact I am…The Grinder busted out this mornin’…we just got an APB on it a couple of minutes ago…

ROCKY: Holy Moses…

FINGER: You don’t look so good, Rock…

ROCKY: You should see me in my other suit…the one they’re gonna bury me in after Carl the Grinder gets through with me…

Rocky decides he needs to be off like a prom dress—but he stops by Midge’s place first to check on his friend; he finds him quite dead, courtesy of a broken neck supplied by “The Grinder.” On his way out, he runs into a woman named Mary—who just so happens to be Mrs. Grinder—and she warns him that Carl is looking for him; Rocky then instructs her to seek protection from the police. Arriving at his apartment, Rocky is stunned to discover a small gathering throwing a party inside—and his attempt to make a break for it is stopped by a muscular goon named Moose. Moose is working for Fourth Ward councilman Harry Bowman, who tells Fortune that the party is being held in his honor:

ROCKY: Listen, Harry…I appreciate your publicity gag but you’ll have to find another schnook…this boy’s leavin’ town and if you ain’t heard, I’d advise you to do the same thing…

HARRY: Why?

ROCKY: Carl the Grinder busted out of Dannemora Prison…he’s got a list with three names: Midge, me and you—in that order…and if you don’t think he means business, try lookin’ Midge Moore in the face…you’ll hafta stand behind him ‘cause that’s the way his head faces now…so call off the celebration and let me get my suitcase…

HARRY: Just a minute…

ROCKY: Yeah?

HARRY: You ain’t goin’ anyplace, my friend…

ROCKY: I just told you…

HARRY: You don’t have to tell me…I got a phone call from The Grinder this morning…

ROCKY: Then what’s all this jazz about? Let’s get under a rock!

HARRY: Me, maybe…but not you…

ROCKY: Listen, you moron…this bum’s loaded for bear and he don’t…hey…I think I’m beginning to get the picture…

HARRY: Yeah…smart boy…

ROCKY: I’ve been duck hunting…

HARRY: Good…then you know it takes a decoy to catch a live duck…Carl the Grinder is the live duck…

ROCKY: …and I’m the decoy…

MOOSE: He’s clever…

ROCKY: Only one thing…

HARRY: Yeah?

ROCKY: To hunt ducks, you use a wooden decoy…

HARRY: Oh, we’re out of wood…so we’re using you…

ROCKY: What happens if I get killed?

HARRY: Tough.

ROCKY: What happens if I don’t?

HARRY: I figure it this way, Rock old man…you’re next on the list…just want to make sure The Grinder finds you so I’m givin’ ya a little publicity…if he shows and kills you, my boys take care of him…in the meantime, I’m leavin’ town for a short spell…take care of him, Moose…see that he enjoys the party…so long, mallard…

Moose informs Rocky that his party is moving across town to the local firehouse for a dinner in his honor; but as the henchman is escorting him to a waiting car, he is nearly shot and killed by a photographer who just might be The Grinder. At the banquet, Rocky gives Moose the slip by duping the goon into thinking his food has been poisoned; he attempts to beat a hasty retreat but is being followed by Ivan—the Russian chauffeur that was hired to drive Rocky and crew to the firehouse. Rocky suspects the chauffeur may be The Grinder, and as Ivan chases after him, Rocky hides in one of the rooms in the firehouse where a tall fireman with a handlebar moustache assists our hero by dispatching Ivan to the happy hunting grounds:

FIREMAN: I had to hit your friend…

ROCKY: You didn’t hit him, John…you killed him…

FIREMAN: No kiddin’…I must have used the pointed end of the axe…

ROCKY: Let’s pull off that phony beard and get a look at him…

FIREMAN: Yeah…I’d like to see what Carl the Grinder looks like myself…

(SFX: tearing sounds)

ROCKY: One…two…(he stops)

FIREMAN: What’s wrong, pal?

ROCKY: Hey, this ain’t Carl the Grinder…

FIREMAN: Who is it?

ROCKY: Harry Bowman!

FIREMAN: The guy that used to be the assistant D.A.?

ROCKY: Yeah, he was usin’ me for a clay pigeon…I guess he wanted to hang on and see what happens so he put on a fake beard and a phony accent…

FIREMAN: That’s the guy that sent The Grinder up the river, ain’t it?

ROCKY: That’s the guy…now The Grinder’s only got one to go…me…

FIREMAN: You, huh?

ROCKY: Yeah…it’s too bad you cheated him out of Bowman…

FIREMAN: Oh, I didn’t cheat him, pal…I just changed the battin’ order a little…

ROCKY: Yeah, I guess you put another (realization sets in) hey…

FIREMAN: Yeah, pal?

ROCKY: Who…who are you?

FIREMAN: Let me take off the handlebars, pal (SFX: tearing) there ya are…

ROCKY: The Grinder!

GRINDER: Yeah, the Grinder! I figured since you was gonna be at the firehouse, I’d…I’d make like a fireman! I didn’t think it was gonna be this easy…

ROCKY: I didn’t think it was gonna be this hard...

GRINDER: Move back…

ROCKY: A pleasure…

GRINDER: I’m gonna do this with my bare hands, Fortune…the way I did Midge Moore!

ROCKY: You’re gonna have to catch me…

(SFX: running)

GRINDER: Shall we dance? You’re trapped, Rocky…like a rat in a corner!

(SFX: more running)

ROCKY: You wouldn’t like to sit this one out, would ya?

GRINDER: Uh uh…

ROCKY: Well, I guess there’s nothing much left to do but throw my Sunday punch (SFX: punch, pause) Must be Monday…nothin’ happened…

Just as The Grinder is about to twist Rocky’s head and neck like a childproof aspirin bottle cap, Finger arrives just in time to kill The Grinder—having been tipped off to Rocky’s plight by Mary, The Grinder’s better half.

Rocky Fortune’s scripts were penned by Ernest Kinoy and George Lefferts, two members of NBC’s writing staff who are probably better known today in OTR circles for writing/adapting many of the scripts for the network’s groundbreaking science-fiction series Dimension X (1950-51) and its sister series, X Minus One (1955-58). While I disagree with radio historian John Dunning’s analysis that the show was “undistinguished” (the series is fairly entertaining, and the writing nicely captures Sinatra’s “ring-a-ding-ding” dialogue style), I have no quibble with his assertion that Frank sounded as if he was phoning it in. (Chairman of the Bored, if you will.)

The second broadcast, “Rocket Racket” (3/23/54), is a goofy outing with Rocky being recruited as a guinea pig for an experimental rocket launch—which in actuality is an attempt by two evildoers to bilk an oil millionaire out of $5 million. (Lefferts—who wrote both “Organ Grinder” and this episode—manages to sneak in a sly reference to Dimension X.) The week after this episode, Sinatra made his final appearance as Rocky Fortune—he was now the recipient of a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his role as Maggio in From Here to Eternity, and he had no place else to go but up.

"Fred C. Dobbs don't say nothin' he don't mean..."

If I may be allowed to stray off the path of old-time radio for just a second, I received my 2-DVD copy of The Treasure of the Sierra Madre in the mail today.

I've really been impressed with some of the films that Warner Video has been releasing to DVD as of late, because they've been doing a bang-up job with the packaging. This DVD set showcases Sierra Madre in sort of "A Night at the Movies" format -- you start off with a theatrical trailer (in this case, Bogart's Key Largo), a newsreel, a comedy short (the delightful So You Want to Be a Detective starring George Hanlon as Joe McDoakes), a cartoon (Bugs Bunny in Hot Cross Bunny), and then the main feature. I have been preaching for years (and can provide affidavits—from friends and fellow classic movie buffs who are sick and tired of hearing me bitching about it—to back me up) that this sort of thing can and should be presented on DVD; I'm just glad that Warner Video has gotten on the stick.

Also included with the DVDs are a documentary on John Huston, Sierra Madre's director (narrated by Robert Mitchum), a documentary on the making of the film, a trailer gallery of other Bogart films, a classic cartoon (one of my favorite Bugs) 8 Ball Bunny, photos, storyboards, and publicity materials galleries. The pizza de resistance for OTR fans is that the discs include the Lux Radio Theatre broadcast from April 18, 1949 of Sierra Madre with Bogart and Walter Huston recreating their screen roles.

May I also just take a few moments to say "Yowsah!"

“…enemy to those who make him an enemy…friend to those who have no friends.”

I had originally kicked around the idea of examining a Thanksgiving-related OTR program episode for today’s blog entry, but for a myriad of reasons—the main one being I didn’t think about it until the last minute—I declined to do so. Rest assured, I will be a little more on the ball come December; I have already selected a number of Christmas-themed shows to look at.

I suppose I could connect the program I listened to last night in some small way to Thanksgiving, in as much as I thought it was a real “turkey.” Well, perhaps that’s a little harsh. Charlie Summers, moderator of The Old-Time Radio Digest, describes Boston Blackie like so: “Ok, I'll admit it, it's a guilty pleasure. Listen to too many in a row, and your brain might turn to mush; but a show or two at a time is just the thing.” I haven’t been able to ascertain whether I’m just a snob or if Charlie’s a lowbrow. (By the way, he has a log of the series—in .pdf form—of the series on his website.)

Boston Blackie, a fictional detective created by author Jack Boyle, is a modern day Robin Hood figure who was at one time a skilled thief but decided to travel the path of the straight-and-narrow, now solving crimes rather than committing them. Assisting him in his sleuthing activities are nurse Mary Wesley—Blackie’s love interest—and sidekick Shorty; hampering his efforts is the incredibly dimwitted Inspector Faraday of the New York Police Department, who isn’t completely convinced that Blackie has gone legit.

The Boston Blackie stories were prominently featured in magazines like Cosmopolitan and Redbook during the early 1900s, and the detective even managed to make a splash on the big screen during the silent era with Boston Blackie’s Little Pal (1918) and Boston Blackie (1923). The character furthered cemented his cinematic fame in a series of B-pictures cranked out by Columbia during the 1940s and starring Chester Morris. Eleven films were produced, starting in 1941 with Meet Boston Blackie and ending with Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture in 1949. The Encore Mystery Channel showcased a few of these movies sometime back and they’re still enjoyable today—breezy, entertaining little films that move along at a rapid clip and feature a delightful mix of mystery and humor.

It was, in fact, Chester Morris who starred in the first Boston Blackie series to appear on radio, as a summer replacement for Amos ‘n’ Andy over NBC beginning June 23, 1944. A year later, Ziv Productions continued what they had originally initiated by inking a deal with the Rubsam and Horman brewing company in New York for a “live” production on WOR. The series, which had runs on both Mutual and the Blue networks, starred actor Richard Kollmar (Morris was unable to do the show since the series originated from New York) as the famous sleuth; Kollmar would end up appearing in 220 recorded and syndicated episodes of the show over a roughly five-year period.

A critic of Blackie once described it as “high in corn content, but hardly one of radio’s schedule stoppers,” and I think that’s a pretty fair assessment. (Besides, when you crank out episodes like sausages, that sort of thing is bound to happen.) Last night I listened to two broadcasts, the first one dated April 16, 1946 and titled “The Baseball Player Murder.” During a ballgame, player Mike Allen is sliding into second base—but when he doesn’t get up, it is quickly discovered that he has been shot and murdered. Inspector Faraday is talking with two team members—Lefty Jones, the team captain, and manager Mac Donlin—and learns that Allen had phoned his nemesis Boston Blackie shortly before the game got underway. Blackie, the number-one suspect, is brought to Faraday for questioning:

ROLLINS: All right, you get in there, Blackie…come on inside…here he is, Inspector…Boston Blackie…I found him snooping around out on the grounds…

FARADAY: Oh yeah? Okay, you guys, sit around on those benches over there and relax…well, Blackie…so Mike Allen made a phone call to you before the game, huh? What did he want?

BLACKIE: I don’t know…I wasn’t home before the game…

FARADAY: Where were you?

BLACKIE: Out…

FARADAY: You’re gonna be in a whole lot more out when I get through with you…where were you when Allen was shot?

BLACKIE: Still in the same place, Faraday…out…

FARADAY: Out where?

BLACKIE: No place in particular…just out…

FARADAY: Rollins, grab his arms…

ROLLINS: Yes, sir!

FARADAY: Now maybe we’ll get somewhere…

BLACKIE: Er, just a minute, Rollins…you haven’t got this arm very tight here…

ROLLINS: Oh?

BLACKIE: Try a better grip…

ROLLINS: How’s that?

BLACKIE: Oh, good and tight…okay, that’ll do it…what now, Inspector?

FARADAY: Now I search you, that’s what…let’s see your coat pockets…mmm hmm…change…paper clip…what’s that for, Blackie?

BLACKIE: To clip papers, Faraday…see, you learn something every day…

FARADAY: And this…what’s this, a hat check? No…it’s a rain check…for a ballgame! For this ballgame, too! Whaddya know about that? So you were in the stands watching the ballgame, huh?

BLACKIE: Guilty as charged…what’s the penalty for that?

FARADAY: I’ll penalty you…I’ll find a reason for you to kill Allen…I’ll prove you had the opportunity!

BLACKIE: Faraday…dear friend Faraday…in reply to your most recent and most ridiculous suspicions, may I say that…A, I did not kill Mike Allen…B, I came to the park to see a ballgame…and C, I am going to help you find Allen’s killer…

FARADAY: Oh yeah? Well, D, E, and F, you’re gonna keep outta my way and you’re not leaving town, you get that?!!

Blackie and Mary go to the ballpark later that night to investigate the scene of the crime, and Blackie determines from the method Allen used to slide into second that the direction of the gunshot must have come from behind the scoreboard. Climbing the steps and entering the scoreboard, the two of them discover the body of the scorekeeper, who apparently surprised the murderer—and so the killer knocked him out, accidentally killing him. Mary warns Blackie that if Faraday catches him with the dead body he’ll definitely be in Casa del Bow-Wow when—as if on cue—Faraday strolls in. He’s been tailing Blackie all this time, which comes as a relief to the detective, since Faraday surely knows he didn’t kill the scorekeeper.

Warned to stay off the case, Blackie and his sidekick Shorty decided to pay Lefty Jones a visit at his hotel—Lefty isn’t in, but Mrs. Jones is, and she gives the two of them a rather chilly reception. Leaving, Blackie asks her not to reveal to Faraday that he’s been by, but no sooner are he and Shorty out the door when she calls down to the desk clerk, Joe French, and begs him to call the police. French pulls a gun on the duo as they are starting to exit the hotel, but Blackie is able to get the gat away from him; knocking him out cold, Blackie and Shorty beat a hasty retreat.

Blackie begins to suspect that there may be something going on between Mrs. Jones and French (well, the half-hour is nearly up, he’s got to do something) and he also suspects that French might have tried to kill Lefty but wasn’t aware that the team’s manager changed the batting order at the last minute, and so he killed Allen instead. On a hunch—the kind that one would only see on Charles Laughton, I might add—he calls French and, pretending to be the hotel porter, tells the clerk that he saw him sneaking up the stairs to the scoreboard the day of the game and that the two of them need to discuss it. He borrows Shorty’s hotel room for the meeting, and when there’s a knock at the door he opens it, expecting French—but he’s in for a disappointment:

FARADAY: …it’s me, Faraday and I’m…Blackie! What are you doing here?

BLACKIE: I could ask you that question with better reason…believe me…

FARADAY: I get it, Blackie…now you’re adding blackmail to your other activities…you called French and gave him some story about seeing him behind the scoreboard yesterday, huh?

BLACKIE: And he called you, and…told you that, huh…

FARADAY: Of course…only he said the hotel porter called him…now what’s that all about?

BLACKIE: That was me playing hotel porter, Faraday…I think I’ve got something…

FARADAY: Yeah, and I’ve got you…which is nothing…

BLACKIE: Listen…I think French shot Mike Allen…

FARADAY: Yeah?

BLACKIE: …thinking he was killing Lefty Jones…and that he still thinks the porter did see him at the ballpark…look…he could never stop me from telling what I know if I were the porter and did see him, could he?

FARADAY: So?

BLACKIE: So, he told the story to you, knowing that if he did, no matter what I said from there on he’d be in the clear…Faraday, I hate to ask for favors, but…well, this time I’m gonna…

FARADAY: Oh, this time you gotta ask for favors…I got a gun in my pocket I’ll use in a minute if you get tough…

BLACKIE: Here’s your gun…I took that out of your pocket right after you came in here…

FARADAY: What???

BLACKIE: Here, take it, it’s heavy…now listen to me, Faraday…

Because Faraday is as confused as the rest of us as to how Blackie was able to put all of the pieces of the puzzle together with the slimmest of information, he allows Blackie to con him into setting up another meeting with French who, this time, spills the beans in front of Faraday and ends up being sent to the slammer.

I listened to a second Blackie broadcast (4/23/46), “The Stolen Car Ring,” afterwards and it was a little better written and better constructed—Mary’s car is stolen and the thieves (who run a repair garage as a front) replace the engine in order to cover up the theft, which also leads to a murder that Faraday accuses Blackie of committing. After the second episode, I decided enough was enough—and that maybe Charlie was right about Boston Blackie after all. Your mileage may vary, of course.

“I walk alone…”

When I first set up shop here at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear, one of the promises I made to myself was to make sure I included a wide range of old-time radio programs available in these discussions. I’m sure it hasn’t gone unnoticed that my OTR preferences lean a little toward comedy; in my defense, though, I need to point out that many of the previous reviews posted were done simply because I had been listening to a Radio Spirits collection called Radio Comedy Classics.

Last night, I sampled a couple of shows from a recent Round Robin purchase—and I have to tell you, this one’s a real doozy: I Was a Communist For the FBI. Based on a best-selling book by Matt Cvetic, the series starred Dana Andrews as an undercover operative (Cvetic) who infiltrated the Communist Party, reporting to the Feds on the Party’s activities.

Communist was produced during the early 1950s to capitalize on the then-current Red Scare—by a man whose last name has become virtually synonymous with both radio and television syndication. Frederic W. Ziv—the son of the inventor of the buttonhole machine—started his career in a $10-a-week-job in a Cincinnati ad agency and later advanced to owning a successful company that would produce programs sold directly to individual stations. Among the Ziv properties that became hits on radio were Boston Blackie, Philo Vance, The Cisco Kid, and Favorite Story. Later, Ziv would duplicate his radio success on the tube with successful TV transplants of Cisco and Blackie, in addition to such series as Highway Patrol, Sea Hunt, Tombstone Territory, and Bat Masterson.

At the time of Communist’s debut, the motion picture industry was experiencing a slight decline from both the onslaught of television and the government-enforced breakup of the industry’s production and distribution monopolies. Many film stars soon discovered that radio could provide both a lucrative salary and public exposure; among these stars were Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall (Bold Venture), Joel McCrea (Tales of the Texas Rangers), Alan Ladd (Box 13), Glenn Ford (The Adventures of Christopher London) and Brian Donlevy (Dangerous Assignment). The Ziv company productions would prove to be tailor-made for these stars, particularly the Bogarts (who appeared in Ziv's Venture) and Dana Andrews; the programs were recorded in advance to accommodate movie-making schedules, and the stars could earn a hefty sum by lending their “name value” to the shows. Seventy-eight episodes of I Was a Communist For the FBI were produced between 1952-54, and the series was sold to more than 600 stations—much more saturation than any network could provide.

I Was a Communist For the FBI is definitely a candidate for a Cold War time capsule; an espionage-thriller that nicely captures the anti-Communist hysteria which at that time was at its peak. Stereotypes run rampant on this show: as Elia Kazan and Budd Schulberg used corrupt union/gangster-types to represent Communists in their allegory On the Waterfront (1954); so follows Communist, which shades the show’s party members as common hoods. The Commies come across as cold, emotionless individuals completely devoid of a sense of humor; although it is unintentionally funny when they address one another as “Comrade.”

The first broadcast I listened to was “Little Red Schoolhouse” (yes, I can hear you groaning out there, they’re all that bad) originally broadcast May 7, 1952. It’s the third episode of the series (although the script was also used as the audition program for the show), and details the attempts of the Communist Party and their plans to subvert a small American college. At a meeting, Cvetic is introduced to fellow Party member Stephanie:

STEPHANIE: Comrade…Matt…Comrade Matthew…no, I like “Comrade Matt” better…it’s hard…tough…like you…

CVETIC: It’s a tough world, Comrade Stephanie…no room for softness…we’re nothing…the Party and its beliefs are everything…do you disagree with that?

STEPHANIE: Of course not, Comrade Matt…it’s only that being near you makes me feel like a woman…is that so terrible?

CVETIC: That’s dangerous talk…I’d be more careful…

STEPHANIE: I’m always careful…we’ll talk more later…

Enough of the Commie singles bar—the episode contains a good deal of taut conflict because a newly-arrived Soviet agent (and we know he’s Russian due to his Akim Tamiroff-type accent), Vassily Konastoi, apparently has spotted Cvetic meeting with his FBI contact, Ed Grayson. Or has he? The agent continues to play a game of cat-and-mouse with our hero throughout the episode:

KONASTOI: Something to drink?

CVETIC: No thanks…

(SFX: drinking sounds)

KONASTOI: Ah…my throat was dry…I have had the feeling all evening that we have met before, Comrade Cvetic…

CVETIC: Not that I can recall…

KONASTOI: Well, no matter…I’ll remember sometime…I always do…

So, not only is Cvetic sweating it out, praying that Konastoi’s memory doesn’t get better—but he’s also having to fend off the advances of Comrade Stephanie, who apparently has not enjoyed the company of male comrades (or, as Cvetic reports it to Konastoi, “bourgeois emotionalism”) in quite some time. Cvetic and his fellow Party-member-in-heat are assigned to infiltrate a local college with Commie propaganda:

KONASTOI: There is one professor at Bryson who will be your best asset, Comrade Cvetic…a Professor Walden…

CVETIC: Is he a fellow traveler?

KONASTOI: A very reluctant one…you will have to play down everything except how Communism will save the oppressed from the tyranny of Fascism…Walden is fond of helping underdogs…

CVETIC: Well, uh…can you get us a big name, Comrade Konastoi? Someone to lecture the students?

KONASTOI: I will send a wire tonight to Philip Stanley…

STEPHANIE: The singer?

KONASTOI: Yes…he has a big reputation…the kids will listen to him even if he is a pinko chump…

The propaganda campaign at the college comes off without a hitch, and, as an added bonus, a riot breaks out at a demonstration by the student body (“Our work here is done,” asserts Cvetic.). Arriving back at Party headquarters (the “little red schoolhouse” of the title), Comrade Stephanie appears to have had a crisis of faith:

STEPHANIE: I’m sick of it, Matt…I’m sick of the rottenness and the lying and cheating…let’s quit the party, you and I…we could go away together…

CVETIC: What? You must be out of your stupid mind! Talking to me this way…

STEPHANIE: What…what are you going to do?

CVETIC: What do you think I’m going to do? I’m going to report you…the party has ways of dealing with treason…

STEPHANIE: Oh no…please don’t turn me in, Matt…I’m sorry…

(SFX: door opens)

CVETIC: It’s too late…get inside…

(SFX: door closes, footsteps, door opens and closes)

KONASTOI: I heard the report on the radio…you did a good job, comrades…what’s the trouble? You look angry…

CVETIC: I am angry…this traitor just tried to make me quit the party…

KONASTOI: Oh? Did she? (he begins to chuckle, then bursts out in laughter) I told you, Comrade Stephanie…Comrade Cvetic is as solid as the Kremlin…

STEPHANIE: He sure is…

CVETIC: Wait…wait a minute…you mean I was just being tested?

STEPHANIE: Testing high-ranking party members is my job, Comrade Cvetic…I’m an agent of the M.V.D….now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to town and file my report…

Just when Cvetic thinks he’s successfully dodged that bullet, Konastoi reaches into a drawer and pulls out a gun, because he’s remembered where he saw Cvetic—chatting it up with the nice Fed. He plans to take Cvetic out and stage his suicide—fortunately, the FBI has had Cvetic under surveillance and ambush Konastoi outside his car. In his getaway, Konastoi takes a curve a little too fast—and his car plunges down an embankment below, killing him instantly.

I Was a Communist For the FBI has a high-camp content, as I have certainly demonstrated here—but I think that’s what makes the series so doggone entertaining. The whole Communists-as-gangsters motif helps out a great deal; while listening to the program I couldn’t help but be reminded of the film Donnie Brasco (1997), in which yet another Fed infiltrates the mob, only to find himself identifying a little too much with his fellow Mafia “comrades.” There is also a good deal of dramatic suspense in Communist; the follow-up episode I listened to, “Red Red Herring,” demonstrates the tightrope Cvetic walks: he has to maintain the fiction of being a Communist in order to continue his work and at the same time, gets a lot of grief from family and friends, to whom he cannot reveal his undercover work. “Herring” also details how he frames a fellow Party member as being a “mole” in order to throw off suspicion from himself; kind of a “does-the-end-justify-the-means” lesson in ethics.

Before I Was a Communist For the FBI made its radio debut, the story of Matt Cvetic had previously been told on the silver screen in a 1951 Warner Brothers film starring Frank Lovejoy (no slouch to radio himself; he was the star of the excellent NBC series Nightbeat, which ran from 1950 to 1952). I guess they got Dana Andrews to do the radio version because he was admittedly a bigger name than Lovejoy; plus having anti-Commie films like The Iron Curtain (1949) on your resume doesn’t hurt, either. Ziv also brought another undercover operative’s book to TV in 1953 with the series I Led Three Lives, starring Richard Carlson as Boston advertising executive Herbert Philbrick, who also infiltrates the Communist Party (I’d be curious to know if he ever crossed paths with Cvetic; I’ll bet that would have been a hoot.) With the exception of a half-a-dozen missing episodes, I Was a Communist For the FBI is still around today to amuse and entertain us as a genuine Cold War artifact.

A cold winter’s night

I listened to a pair of interesting shows this evening—interesting in that both programs are dated March 9, 1949 and were broadcast over NBC’s WMAQ in Chicago, one right after the other. According to First Generation Radio Archives, the two programs came from opposite sides of two 16-inch transcription disks. (Transcription disks are large records from where most of the old-time radio broadcasts that are still around today originate.)

First off the bat, at 9:30pm (8:30pm Central), is Mr. District Attorney, a long-running NBC crime drama (it debuted on April 3, 1939) about an unnamed D.A. (usually referred to by his associates as either “Boss” or “Chief”), a fearless crusader devoted to justice and truth. (The character was loosely modeled after real-life 1930s New York racket-buster Thomas E. Dewey.) During its nearly fifteen-year run on radio, Mr. District Attorney was one of the most popular—if not the most—crime dramas on the air. According to John Dunning, “It was a year-round operation. In the summers, when such comics as Jack Benny and Bob Hope were on vacation, Mr. DA often soared to the top of the ratings; it was seldom out of the top ten, even in midseason.” (Doesn’t sound like Mr. DA had much time for Mrs. DA, does it?)

Mr. District Attorney also had one of radio’s most memorable openings:

ANNOUNCER: Mister District Attorney! Champion of the people! Defender of truth! Guardian of our fundamental rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness!

(Orchestra up full)

VOICE OF THE LAW (from echo chamber): …and it shall be my duty as district attorney not only to prosecute to the limit of the law all persons accused of crimes perpetuated within this county but to defend with equal vigor the rights and privileges of all its citizens…

Pretty strong meat there, no? The program was sponsored for many years by Bristol-Myers (1940-52); in fact, at the time of this broadcast, the Bristol-Myers people were footing the bill for a whole hour (9-10pm) on NBC’s Wednesday nights—the show preceding Mr. District Attorney being the popular comedy series Duffy’s Tavern. It’s also rare to find a network broadcast (complete with commercials) of Attorney; for a long-running series, it would seem that most of the episodes in circulation are from the 1952-53 syndicated version produced by Ziv Productions.

The episode I listened to was “The Case of Murder a la Carte,” a drama about a restaurant headwaiter named Nicky Sylvania who is operating a robbery racket with two accomplices, husband-and-wife Stanley and Hannah Price. Nicky is able to glean information from the customers he is serving as to whether they will be away from the house for an extended period of time; then he calls Hannah to tip her off as to their absence and she and her husband "liberate" the customers' furs, jewelry, etc.

Stanley is kind of an amiable dolt who’s obsessed more with building birdhouses than embarking on a life of crime; even Nicky is convinced that the three of them should lay low for a while. But Hannah is a real bad egg; a greedy, manipulative rhymes-with-witch who insists on committing more and more burglaries. She has a bit of a gambling jones, and has lost much of the robbery take betting on horses; Stanley is outraged by this (he sort of had his heart set on a trailer for the two of them, where he could build birdhouses to his heart's content) and in the ensuing struggle between him and Hannah she manages to strangle him in what she politically-incorrectly refers to as a “Jap choke.” She and Nicky then dump poor Stanley's corpse near the railroad yards. (I should also point out here that there is a very strong implication that Nicky and Hannah are starting to…well, know one another in the biblical sense. They don’t come right out and say it, of course—but the two of them share a cigarette, and it’s not too hard to figure out where that is going.)

In the meantime, our heroic D.A. (Jay Jostyn) and his associates, Len Harrington (Len Doyle) and Edith Miller (Vicki Vola) are investigating the robberies, and the crafty public servant has put 2-and-2 together, realizing that the common thread in the capers is that the victims all dined at the swanky Regency Club--and were waited on by the same headwaiter. Nicky attempts to warn Hannah that the heat is on, but the audience is pretty much onto her by now; she wants more, more, more. A robbery attempt at a residence owned by a couple named Phillips goes awry when Hannah is surprised by their butler; backed into a corner, she puts the same choke-hold on Jeeves and kills him, too. So Mr. D.A. sets a trap for the two villains by having Harrington and Miller pose as a couple of society swells and when Hannah breaks into their apartment, catches both her and Nicky red-handed (“Well, a clean sweep, eh, Harrington? Looks like this time they’ve ordered the full meal…” Oh, I'll bet he's a riot at the annual office Christmas party.).

Mr. District Attorney is, despite my occasional forays into snarkiness, a pretty entertaining crime drama that—for reasons I can’t quite fathom—apparently has to recap what took place in the half-hour, apparently for the slower people in the listening audience:

MILLER: Golly, that was one assignment I liked, Chief…I’ve never eaten such good food in my life…

HARRINGTON: Yeah! And oh boy, did you look swell in all those furs that you rented, Miss Miller!

MILLER: Why thank you, Harrington…but of course, I look good in just anything…

D.A.: Well, it was certainly good work, Miss Miller…you and Harrington sent Hannah right to the apartment where I was waiting, simply by displaying those furs…

HARRINGTON: And when we got there, we picked up Nicky right in front of the joint, Chief…

D.A.: Yes…actually, it was Hannah’s peculiar method of choking her victims that helped, Harrington…

HARRINGTON: Yeah…that’s the Japanese choke…brother, that one’s the works!

D.A.: Yes…it nearly always kills and without much effort as is sometimes needed…fortunately, it leaves a characteristic discoloration on the neck as well as abrasions on the lower jaw…

MILLER: You saw those in the morgue, Chief…

D.A.: Yes, I did, Miss Miller…on both Stanley and the butler…and that’s why I was ready for Hannah when she tried the Japanese choke on me…

HARRINGTON: Yeah…and you can thank the Army service for that, huh, Chief?

D.A.: Right.

HARRINGTON: …bring your arms down hard and you can break it…

D.A.: And break the case, I’m glad to say…

I’m guessing after this display of gratuitous back-patting the three of them head for a bar and then drink the night away, bemoaning their empty, unfulfilled lives—and in the case of Mr. D.A., bemoaning the fact that he has no real name.

Following Mr. District Attorney is The Big Story, another successful crime drama that premiered over NBC Radio April 2, 1947. (This program was so popular that in its first year it began to chisel away at Bing Crosby’s Philco Radio Time audience, since his program was on ABC opposite Story. Der Bingle ended up moving his show back a half-hour earlier as a result.) The show was created when independent radio show producer Bernard J. Prockter came across an account in Newsweek of how two reporters from the Chicago Sun-Times had cracked a 14-year-old murder case that resulted in the pardon of the man wrongly convicted of the crime. (This story would later be retold in a favorite James Stewart movie of mine—the 1948 docu-noir Call Northside 777, directed by Henry Hathaway.)

ANNOUNCER: The Big Story…here is America…its sound and fury…its joy and its sorrow…as faithfully reported by the men and women of the great American newspapers…

Pall Mall cigarettes picked up the tab for the program, awarding $500 to the reporter with “The Big Story.” The dramatizations on the show changed the names of the people involved, with the exception of the muckraker who covered it, of course. This episode features Ike McNelly of the Cleveland News, “a reporter who found that death can make a piece of fiction come to life.”

There is a report of a car explosion at a nearby dam—and it is determined that Dr. David Wagner, prominent chemist, is the victim. The only problem is—his body has not been found. It is assumed that his body may have been thrown into the river, but without a corpse, his insurance company refuses to pay off on his $50,000 policy, leaving his widow and kids in a bit of a financial pickle.

McNelly is interviewing the Widow Wagner when he gets a call from his newspaper and learns that a gentleman at a Philadelphia bank has cashed $5,000 worth of travelers’ checks, with the signature of…Dr. David Wagner. McNelly is convinced that the Doc is playing dead for some reason, but Murray, the insurance company investigator, pooh-poohs the idea. In talking with Wagner’s widow, he spies a portrait the doctor painted and, on a hunch, decides to talk to the young woman—one Jenny Logan—who posed for the painting.

Logan claims to know nothing of Wagner’s whereabouts, and in fact, clings to the conventional wisdom that Wagner is dead and that the reporter should drop the matter. But a open book on a table in Logan’s apartment makes McNelly suspicious—it’s Leo Tolstoy’s The Living Corpse, a novel about a man who fakes his own death to get away from his wife. In an investigative feat that rivals the discovery by Dallas police of Lee Harvey Oswald’s whereabouts shortly after the JFK assassination, McNelly locates Jenny at a train station, as she has bought a one-way ticket to New York.

JENNY: Well, what’s on your mind?

MCNELLY: That book, Jenny…The Living Corpse by Tolstoy…David Wagner gave it to you…

JENNY: No…

MCNELLY: He gave it to you…and now you’re leaving to meet him…

JENNY: You’re crazy…I haven’t seen him in months…

MCNELLY: You’re lying! Wagner’s in love with you…

JENNY: Why don’t you let me alone!

MCNELLY: How can I…this isn’t just between you and Wagner, he’s got a wife and kids, remember?

JENNY: What can I do about it…

MCNELLY: You can let him alone…and you can tell him to come back where he belongs…

JENNY: You don’t know what you’re asking…there’s some things you can’t stop…jump in front of a train and see if you’ll even slow it down…this is the same way…David…me…you and his wife…none of us can do anything about it…

MCNELLY: Then…you are in love with him…

JENNY: Sure…you know…this isn’t a thing I want to lie about…it’s something too good for that…

One minute you’re covering a weekly meeting of the Rotarians, and the next you’re in some bad romantic movie with equally risible dialogue. It’s a funny old world sometimes. Anyway, McNelly extracts a promise from the woman that she and Wagner will let him know where they are, and that the doctor will continue to provide for his family. But, the two-timing dame reneges on her pledge, and McNelly is put on the spot—he reluctantly informs Wagner’s widow that her husband is still alive and is shacking up with someone else; months later, the insurance company investigator is ticked at him because Wagner’s insurance premium is due to expire and there’ll be nothing for his wife and kids once it does.

Just when all seems lost, it is discovered that the chemist and his floozy have been jet-setting across Europe and are currently residing in Vienna as “Anna” and “Joseph.” The two of them exchange more bad-movie dialogue, expressing no regrets about their whirlwind affair—and then commit double suicide, leaving behind a note as to their real identities so that Wagner’s wife can cash in, insurance-wise. (If anyone can explain to me why this guy could afford to cavort around Vienna but couldn’t bother to send in a measly insurance premium payment, I’m dying to hear it.)

At the conclusion of each episode of The Big Story, the real-life reporter would often appear at the show’s tag to collect his cash incentive from the good folks at Pall Mall; here, the hard-working McNelly sends a telegram—I’m guessing he may have been a little embarrassed at how they dramatized his story. But the program enjoyed a healthy eight-year run over NBC, finally giving up the ghost on March 23, 1955; Pall Mall paying the bills until 1954, when Lucky Strike (actually the same company) took over as sponsor.

Listening to both of these shows, I got a feeling of what it might have been like to be gathered around the radio on a cold winter night in March of 1949--and that's not easy, especially when it's a balmy fall night in November 2003.