“Friendship, friendship…just a perfect blendship…”

If you’ve ever been curious as to where the popular “blonde joke” phenomenon originated, the radio sitcom My Friend Irma just might be as good a place to start as any. From April 11, 1947 to August 23, 1954 (over CBS Radio), actress Marie Wilson starred—and was later typecast—as Irma Peterson, a lovably dumb stenographer who shared zany misadventures in a New York apartment with her more sensible, down-to-earth roommate Jane Stacy (Cathy Lewis). The show was written, produced and created by Cy Howard, and became a certifiable smash hit—thanks to its fortuitous timeslot, scheduled right after CBS’ popular Lux Radio Theatre.

Irma Peterson has often been likened to famous radio screwballs like Gracie Allen and Jane Ace, but there’s really not much of a comparison to be made. As John Dunning writes in On the Air: The Encyclopedia of Old-Time Radio, Irma “had neither the malapropian qualities of Ace nor the dubiously screwy logic of Allen.” Irma was, as we used to say in West Virginia, “dumber than a sled track.” For example, when roommate Jane suggests replacing the apartment’s wall brackets with a bridge lamp for better lighting, Irma responds: “But, Jane—what if we want to play gin rummy?” (After television’s flavor-of-the-month Jessica Simpson uttered her now-famous comment about “Chicken of the Sea,” I was convinced that she was channeling the spirit of Irma Peterson herself.)

Irma may have been a few sandwiches shy of a picnic, but she did possess a friendly, naïve sweetness—even Jane, whom she often drove to distraction with her idiocy, was her fiercest protector. In the first (from January 26, 1948) of two broadcasts that entertained me at work last night, Jane is trying once again to discourage her chum’s romantic relationship with her hustler boyfriend, Al (no last name, but played to seedy perfection by veteran radio actor John Brown). Jane’s been reading the newspaper and has come across a blurb containing a quiz on compatibility:

IRMA: Oh no, Jane, please—please read me some of the questions…cause I’ve been very worried about how Al and I will get along after we’re married…
JANE: Oh, Irma…are you still thinking seriously about marrying that unemployed moocher?
IRMA: Oh…what can I do, Jane? I love him! Ever since I’ve known him I’ve been in a trance…
JANE: Oh, come now…you haven’t known him that long…I mean…well, honey, you know, if you’re really worried about how the two of you will get along, why don’t you try this test on yourself?
IRMA: Oh, I want to, Jane—please read it to me…
JANE: All right, sweetie…let me see…uh…does the man you intend to marry keep appointments? Is he punctual?
IRMA: Punctual? Why, Al is in line for his unemployment check even before the office is open…
JANE: Mark down one…
IRMA: One…
JANE: Yeah…now…is he the type of man you would ever be ashamed to be seen with?
IRMA: No…because we never go anyplace…
JANE: No…no, honey…if you want to take this test you’ve gotta be honest with yourself…now, what do your friends think of Al?
IRMA: What do I care? I can get new friends…
JANE: Well, you better give yourself a zero on that one…
IRMA: Gee, this is just like school—I’m getting zeros again…

Al, who affectionately calls Irma “Chicken,” was a grade-A, first class, dyed-in-the-wool bum. To him, work was a four-letter word, and the only ambition he ever exhibited was numerous attempts to pull off one of his “deals,” a never-ending string of get-rich-quick schemes like a racing form printed on a large cookie (“so after a day at the track, you still got somethin’ to eat…”). Jane points out to Irma that, according to the newspaper article, she and Al have nothing in common—Irma likes dancing, Al doesn’t; Irma enjoys attending the theater, Al doesn’t (unless he has a pass). So when Al drops by, Irma decides its do-or-die time:

IRMA: Al…I would like go to the theater tonight…will you please take me?
AL: Chicken—why this sudden request?
IRMA: Al, it’s very important for us—you see, you and I are psychological cases…
AL: Whaddya talkin’ about, Chicken?
IRMA: Al…please take me to the theater…
AL: But Chicken…why can’t we just sit here on the sofa and…discuss world politics?
IRMA: Al, I insist you take me to the theater…
AL: But honey, I haven’t got a pass…they got a big doorman…and to clinch it, they’re paintin’ the fire escape…
IRMA: Well, let’s pay our way in…
AL: Pay? Chicken, you are tamperin’ with my principles…
IRMA: It’s no use, Al…we have nothing in common…we might as well face it, you and I need a scientific inspection…
AL: What?
IRMA: We’re not combustible…

Irma breaks up with Al, and is immediately crushed—both Jane and the girls’ upstairs neighbor, Professor Kropotkin (Hans Conried), attempt to console her but to no avail. Kropotkin, a violinist who worked at a gypsy tea room, made his entrance on the show each week by knocking softly on Jane and Irma’s apartment door and—in a Russian accent—meekly saying, “It’s only me, Professor Kropotkin.” (He would also toss a little flattery their way: “Hello, Janie and Irma—my two little jigsaw puzzles…one complete, and one a few pieces are missing.”) The professor conducted a long-running feud with landlady Mrs. O’Reilly (Gloria Gordon—mother of Gale, though Jane Morgan also played the part briefly in the show’s beginning), a feisty Irish battleaxe who traded insults with the musician from week to week.

While Irma wallows in misery after her break-up with Al, her friend Amber Lipscott (Bea Benaderet) stops by and convinces Irma to join the Lonely Hearts Club, because “this town is crummy with guys.” (Amber only made occasional appearances on Irma, which is a shame because I thought she was a funny character; Benaderet even does her famous Betty Rubble laugh in this episode.) So, as Number 75, Irma engages in correspondence with Number 33322, and when Jane suggests that it’s time for the two to meet face-to-face, she arranges for the two numbers to dine with her and her boss—and potential husband, if Jane could have her way—Richard Rhinelander III (Leif Erickson). At dinner, it is revealed that 33322 is—wait for it—none other than Al himself. In the second broadcast, from February 16, 1948, Kropotkin composes a concerto—but he can’t get anyone to publish it. Jane and Richard attempt to help him out by talking to a music publisher friend of his, Jed Leeds (Reed), and Irma and Al attempt to do the same, by putting words to the music. (This gives Al an opportunity to call his shady pal Joe, which usually resulted in the weekly catchphrase: “Hello, Joe? Al…got a problem…”)

Producer Cy Howard’s other successful comedy smash (debuting about a year later) was Life With Luigi, which was similar to Irma in that they both depicted innocents coping in the big city. (According to veteran comedy writer Parke Levy, who wrote most of the scripts for the radio My Friend Irma, the series also had more than a passing familiarity with the play and movie My Sister Eileen; CBS ended up settling in a lawsuit when Eileen’s creator took them to court.) There were numerous crossover actors on the two series: Conried, who played Kropotkin, also played Luigi’s German pal Schultz, and Alan Reed—who portrayed the scheming Pasquale—was Irma’s cranky and ever-frustrated boss, Mr. Clyde. In 1953, when Cathy Lewis bailed out of both the radio and TV versions of Irma, actress Mary Shipp joined the cast as Irma’s new roommate Kay Foster—Shipp had played night school teacher Miss Spaulding on Howard’s Life With Luigi as well.

As mentioned previously, My Friend Irma did make the transition to TV, beginning January 8, 1952 (with Lewis, Wilson and Gordon all making the leap to the video version)—but it was a very short-lived series, lasting only until June 25, 1954. The dizzy Irma had much more success in the movies, however—Paramount released My Friend Irma to theater screens in 1949, and a sequel followed in 1950, My Friend Irma Goes West. Of the radio cast, only Wilson and Conried were kept—though Gordon makes a very brief cameo in the first film, and Conried is nowhere to be found in the second. Conried only got the part when the original actor, Felix Bressart (To Be or Not to Be), died during shooting. Both were successful box-office hits, but today, they’re remembered for only one thing—they were the earliest movies to feature the brand-new comedy team of Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis.