Half-Nelson

Via a post at Jaime Weinman’s Something Old, Nothing New (and the Home Theater Forum post that reveals the depressing news) I’ve learned to my consternation that the Shout! Factory release of The Best of The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet due out the first of May will contain the heavily-edited syndicated versions of the cherry-picked episodes of the long-running domestic comedy; last seen in repose on the afternoon schedule of GoodLife TV (“the channel where old TV shows go to die”).

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by this turn of events.  First, I preordered the set—which usually spells trouble from the get-go.  Second, during its stint on GoodLife, Ozzie & Harriet were paired with another famous 50s sitcom family, the Williams’s (Danny, Kathy, Terry, Rusty and Linda) of Make Room for Daddy (a.k.a. The Danny Thomas Show) fame—a series also put cut to ribbons in syndication and whose repeats were used for the first (and of this writing, only) DVD release (dubbed “The Complete Fifth Season,” completely ignoring the Jean Hagen years).  On this boxset, the celebrated episode that served as the pilot for what later became The Andy Griffith Show is practically incomprehensible due to its chainsaw-like editing, a fate that also befell the Daddy episode that introduced Joey Bishop in the pilot for his 1961-65 sitcom.  (Though I maintain that much of the slicing-and-dicing of that half-hour is an insidious conspiracy instigated by Marlo Thomas to keep people from seeing what she looked like before she learned she didn’t have to go through life with her father’s nose.)

Since David Nelson has decided to go the cheap rate with his family-sanctioned DVD set. I’m guessing that the “radio episodes” that are to be included as extras in this collection are probably ones already in circulation among old-time radio fans.  I had heard quite some time ago (and I apologize for not having the full story—it’s hell getting old) that more of Ozzie & Harriet’s radio “adventures” are extant—only they’re under lock-and-key in some library collection of some college (I believe my source said Northwestern, but I could be wrong about this), tucked safely away from an admiring public.  This is a similar fate that befell some of Fred Allen’s broadcasts, which are now ensconced in the Boston Public Library (where Allen was employed while a mere sprat) so that greedy OTR entrepreneurs can’t get hold of them and sell them to people like myself.  (Joe Mackey and I once discussed an elaborate Ocean’s Eleven-like plot to rescue these tapes…but admittedly, the master plan is still in its embryonic stages.)

I don’t know if any Ozzie & Harriet fans are going to bite the bullet and still purchase the Shout! Factory set despite this revelation (in fact, I don’t know many Ozzie & Harriet fans period) but I will suggest an alternate route: check out this latest Mill Creek Entertainment release.  It’s advertised as Fun with Ozzie & Harriet, a public domain collection of thirty-eight episodes…but if you order it from Deep Discount.com, it will arrive at your doorstep with one hundred episodes under the title The Essential Ozzie & Harriet Collection.  All for the low price of $6.58, which you cannot beat with a stick.

“That’s what I like about the South…”

I’m sure it hasn’t gone by without casual notice that in most of my write-ups on the Ultimate Jack Benny Collection CDs, I kind of gravitate toward the jokes involving Phil Harris and/or his musicians. I fully confess my bias here; I think Harris was an incredible talent—his timing was peerless, often matching that of his celebrated “boss,” Jack Benny, and though his character of a flashy, egotistical, hard-drinking playboy would no doubt be intolerable in real life, he infused it with a certain charm and lovability.

Phil received a spin-off in 1946 with The Fitch Bandwagon, and for two years—starring with his actress-singer wife, Alice Faye—it followed The Jack Benny Program and was a monster hit. In the fall of 1948, the program was retitled The Phil Harris-Alice Faye Show (sponsored by Rexall Drugs), but soon its largess of following Benny would dissipate—Jack moved to CBS in January 1949, and Harris & Faye found themselves competing in a time slot against Amos ‘n’ Andy. Fortunately, the show managed to stick around until 1954, and it stands out today as one of the all-time great sitcoms—with superb supporting talent and a wisecracking, sarcastic sensibility about it that makes it very accessible to modern-day audiences.

The only problem with Harris’ show is that the qualities he so flagrantly flaunted on the Benny program were sort of toned down on his own series; since he was married with children, I guess the decision was made that the Harris of Jack Benny Show fame probably should be made a better role model. Again, a solution to this came in the form of introducing Frankie Remley, Phil’s left-handed guitarist in his band, to the proceedings. Frank Remley was an actual member of Harris’ group, and though he was often referred to and joked about on Benny’s program, his fictional exploits were acted out on a weekly basis by radio’s Renaissance man himself, Elliott Lewis.

I listened to a couple of shows last night, the first from January 16, 1949. Phil is upset that the Benny Goodman and Guy Lombardo bands have been invited to play at Truman’s inaugural ball—and he’s been left out:

ALICE: Phil, maybe the President doesn’t like the way your musicians play…
PHIL: And what’s wrong with the way my musicians play?
ALICE: Well, first of all…sit down, Father—this is going to take a little time…you see, in the first place…
PHIL: Never mind, never mind…there ain’t nothin’ wrong with my band…my boys are good musicians and they’re a fine, representative group…
ALICE: Yes—but what do they represent? I don’t think they’d fit in with the surroundings of the President’s ball…they’re the strangest-looking group I’ve ever seen…
PHIL: What are you talkin’ about? They’re a fine-lookin’ bunch of men, and terrific musicians…when I formed my band, I imported my boys from all over the world…
ALICE: I know, I know…Frank Buck brought back four of them…
PHIL: That is a base canard…those guys would be right at home in Washington…I bet you wouldn’t be able to tell ‘em from the diplomats…
ALICE: Phil, this is going to be a formal affair, and your boys would have to dress…
PHIL: They’d be willin’ to dress…
ALICE: Do they have tails?
PHIL: A few of ‘em have, but if they wear long trousers (audience laughter and applause drowns him out, he then ad-libs) I wanted to stop there…I wanted to stop…

Some of the ad-libbing on the Harris-Faye show could be both funny and wild; earlier on Alice mispronounces “Indonesia” as “Indonosia,” prompting Phil to suggest that the two of them switch parts. Meanwhile, Phil’s feeling pretty dejected at being left out, and when Frankie comes by, he suggests that Phil call the White House and sweet-talk his way into being invited. Frankie also comes up with the brainstorm that Phil pose as a “nuclear physicist” who’s working on an “atomic bomb”—which leads to a call from an FBI agent (played by Frank Lovejoy, who intones “This is your FBI…”). Phil’s nemesis, grocery boy Julius Abbruzio (Walter Tetley), torments Phil by talking on the extension and calling him “comrade” and Lovejoy a “Cossack.”

At the end of this broadcast, Harris breaks in with the news from a “telegram” that invited him, Alice and the band to play at the inaugural ball—and from the way Phil announces it, he’s pretty convincing in conveying that it’s all spontaneous. However, I learned sometime back via a phone conversation with Terry Salomonson that there was nothing spontaneous about it—Terry has the Harris-Faye show scripts, and the announcement is right there in black-and-white. (Terry is currently at work on restoring all of the Harris-Faye shows, having obtained the transcriptions from their estate some time ago.)

The second show is from the following week (January 23), and features Phil and the family in Washington, D.C.:

PHIL: What do you kids mean, you ain’t excited? This is a great honor! It ain’t everybody that gets invited to the President’s inaugereal…
ALICE: Phil…Phil, the word is inaugural…
PHIL: I’m usin’ the past imperfect gender…no, you kids oughta be thrilled about visiting the capital of the United States…
LITTLE ALICE: Why?
PHIL: Why? Why, Washington is famous for its historical landmarks…where else can you see the Smithsonian Institute, the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, Grant’s Tomb and the George Washington Bridge?
ALICE: Not to mention the Sphinx and the Eiffel Tower…
PHIL: Honey, look—you’re confused…please…them are the places we saw in London…now, let me educate the children and you keep working on “Indonosia”…

As a member of the band, Frankie has come along for the ride—but he’s upset and jealous of the fact that he won’t be allowed to attend the inaugural ball. He manages to sabotage Phil’s dress suit and so the two of them decide to sneak into Phil’s brother-in-law Willie’s room to steal his:

FRANKIE: Hey, Curly—are you sure this is Willie’s room?
PHIL: Certainly, can’t you tell? He would have it locked…
FRANKIE: I feel awful silly climbing in through the transom…
PHIL: Get up there…and quiet!!! Quiet, now…all right, all together let’s…jump down into the room…
FRANKIE: Here we go…
(SFX: bodies drop to floor)
FRED: Well, what these Republicans won’t do to get a room in Washington…
PHIL: Hey, it’s Fred Allen!
(Audience applause)
FRED: Well, if it isn’t Phil “Don’t put an olive in it, it soaks up the good stuff” Harris…Phil, what is the idea of coming into my room through the transom?
PHIL: Well, I’m sorry, Fred…
FRED: …I don’t mind you being a little high, but this is ridiculous…tell me, Phil—what are you doing in Washington?
PHIL: I was invited to the inaugereal ball…
FRED: Oh…the inaugereal ball, huh…an “r” left over from the oyster season? Tell me, how are things in California, Phil?
PHIL: Ah, they’re great, Fred, great…hey! That reminds me, the old man sent his regards…
FRED: The, uh, old man???
PHIL: Yeah…Jackson…you know, Jack Benny!
FRED: Oh—is he still alive? Oh, that’s right…of course, he is…I remember reading about the new business he started during the snowstorm out in Beverly Hills…
PHIL: What business?
FRED: Well, Benny was putting butter on snowballs and selling for oranges out there…
PHIL (laughing) Hey, that’s terrific, Fred…you’ve got a sensational sense of humor…
FRED: You think so really?
PHIL: …hasn’t he, Frankie?
FRANKIE: I can take him or leave him…
FRED: Phil…Phil, who is this Good Humor man with the pistachio expression?
PHIL: Well, Fred—don’t you know who this is?
FRED: No, but there are only two kinds of people who look like that, Phil…those with sour stomachs and sponsors…
PHIL: No, no, no, Fred—this is Frankie Remley…
FRED: Oh…how are ya, Frankie?
FRANKIE: Oh, I’m all right—but what’s the matter with you?
FRED: Well…nothing’s the matter with me…why?
FRANKIE: Are those bags under your eyes or are you breaking in a saddle for Roy Rogers?

If you’re wondering, “Gee, Iv—is this one of your favorite Harris-Faye shows because it features your comedy hero, Fred Allen?” then you’re definitely no stranger to this blog. Sadly, five months later Allen would throw in the towel on his own show—leaving a definite void in radio comedy.

“Mr. Benny’s residence: star of stage, screen and radio—so whether you go out or stay home, he’s got you trapped…”

Jack Benny’s long radio association with Jell-O began in the fall of 1934 and ended at the sponsor’s insistence in 1942—not because the gelatin people were dissatisfied, you understand; Benny sold so much of the product that grocers often had difficulty keeping it on the shelves. But wartime sugar shortages severely curtailed Jell-O production, and so the General Foods folks switched the Benny program to Grape Nuts and Grape Nuts Flakes, two of just many products nestled underneath the General Foods banner. (Even though Jack was sponsored longer by Lucky Strike, more people continued to associate the comedian with Jell-O, years after his show had left the airwaves.)

In the fall of 1944, Jack signed with an aggressive new sponsor—the American Tobacco Company, who hired Benny to hawk Lucky Strike cigarettes. I place a tremendous emphasis on the word “hawk”—the company’s president, George Washington Hill, was a fervent believer of the “hard-sell,” insuring that every commercial on the program was repetitive, obnoxious and loud (“L.S.M.F.T” soon became part of the American lexicon, almost to the point of nauseam.). It is a tribute to the show’s writers that they were able to present the commercial-within-the-show in a consistently humorous manner (particularly once the Sportsmen Quartet was on board).

In the inaugural broadcast of the 1944-45 season (October 1, 1944), the show’s writers have a little fun referencing their previous sponsor:

JACK: What are we having for breakfast?
ROCHESTER: Huh?
JACK: I said, what are we having for breakfast?
ROCHESTER: If this was last season, I could mention it…
JACK: If this was last season, you’d have to mention it…

And then, it’s down to business. Perrin, Balzer, Josefsberg and Tackaberry have come up with a novel idea for the show: why not have Jack pay a visit to his new sponsor? He gets a phone call summoning him to the offices of the American Tobacco Company, and Mary suggests that they might want to speak to him about the progress in finding a replacement for Dennis Day:

JACK: You know, confidentially—I’ve been considering Bing Crosby for my singer…you know, he’s starting to get popular now…
MARY: Well, Jack, I don’t want to disillusion you—but you’re not going to get Crosby for $35 a week…
JACK: I wasn’t thinking of $35…
ROCHESTER: You ain’t gonna get him for what you’re thinking, either!
JACK: Oh, I don’t know…I don’t know…
MARY: Aw, Jack, what are you talking about…you can’t have Crosby—he makes thousands of dollars a week…
JACK: Well…say, maybe I could get his little son Larry—he sings, too…or for five dollars more, maybe I could get the twins…
MARY: Why don’t you wait another year—you might have more to choose from…

Day was forced to take a leave of absence from 1944-46 after enlisting in the Navy, and (yet another) tenor Larry Stevens was recruited to take his place in the interim beginning November 5, 1944. Though Stevens was popular with both the show’s cast and writers, his character never fully developed during his stint with the program, since it was understood that Day would eventually return (and did, on March 17, 1946).

Jack and Mary arrive for Jack’s meeting, and Hill informs his assistant that he’ll speak with Jack momentarily as he is in “conference”—he then addresses the individual to whom he has been speaking: “Now, as I was saying, your opinions interest me—I’d like to hear more of them.” And in response, we hear the unmistakable nasal tones of Fred Allen knifing his nemesis in the back: “Well, first of all, Mr. Hill—I don’t want you to think that I have anything against Benny personally…”

HILL: Mr. Allen—hearing you talk, I get the impression that you don’t like Mr. Benny…
FRED: Oh, I’m sorry I gave you that impression, Mr. Hill…I’m really very fond of Jack, he’s one of my best friends—it’s just that I…well, I hate to see him go back on the air and be a flop…
HILL: But…what makes you think Benny will be a flop? He always gets laughs…
ALLEN: Mr. Hill…anyone can get laughs who tells a joke, wiggles his ears, drops his pants and then shows a Bob Hope movie on the seat of his underwear…and with Benny’s red flannels, it looks like it’s in Technicolor yet…how could he miss?
HILL: Mr. Allen, I’m a businessman…I don’t care how a comedian gets his laughs…as long as he sells the product…and I think lots of people will sit by the radio, smoke a cigarette, and listen to Jack Benny…
ALLEN: Mr. Hill—that is an impossibility if I have ever heard one…smoke a cigarette and listen to Benny? How in the world can anyone smoke and hold his nose at the same time? It can’t be done…

Fred leaves Hill’s office through a side exit and Mary and Jack are ushered in. Some of Benny’s funniest moments on both radio and television involved him literally turning to jelly when confronting the sponsor, and he uses this opportunity to make a complete and utter fool of himself. Hill informs him that he has been talking with Fred, which naturally gets Jack’s haunches up and sets the scene for what follows:

FRED: Yes sir, Jack—it’s great being together again…
JACK: I’ll say it is…tell me, Freddy boy…what are you doing out here in Hollywood?
FRED: Oh, making a picture—I’m over at United Artists…
JACK: Oh yes, yes…I heard that Boris Karloff isn’t there anymore…
FRED: I know—and I heard that since you’ve been with Warners, the studio isn’t there anymore…
JACK: Now listen here, Allen…
MARY: Jack, Jack…it’s your own fault…you always have a chip on your shoulder…
JACK: I haven’t got a chip on my shoulder…
FRED: No, he’s right, Mary—that’s his head…his head looks like a knothole with skin on it…
JACK: That settles it, Allen—I’ve tried to be friends with you, but you won’t have it that way…I’d punch you right in the nose if there wasn’t a lady present…
MARY: I’ll leave, Jack…
JACK: You sit down!!! Now you listen to me, Allen…
FRED: And you listen to me, Benny…you’d punch who in the nose?
JACK: I’d punch you in the nose if it weren’t for your wife and children!
FRED: I haven’t got any children!
JACK: Then why aren’t you in the Army?!!

Both Mary and Hill attempt to referee the feuding, and Jack—in a fit of pique—yells at his sponsor to shut up, prompting him to babble profuse apologies as the orchestra plays up and out. It’s a shame that the only extant version of this broadcast is an AFRS broadcast (the one I listened to last night had one Lucky Strike commercial grafted on at the program’s beginning); I’m curious as to whether or not Terry Salomonson has the “full Monty” in his Phil Harris collection. Benny later reprised this show on television (one of my favorites) on April 19, 1953, with Allen returning as guest star and Eddie Cantor contributing a funny cameo.

After this episode, I listened to a humorous entry from September 30, 1945—the first broadcast from Jack’s 1945-46 season. It was an unwritten law in radio that the premiere show of the season was supposed to bring out the star comedian as quickly as possible, in order to demonstrate that he was still funny, even after returning from vacation. But Benny, the master of timing, takes his time with this broadcast, allowing his appearance to be delayed in order to let the listeners eavesdrop on a conversation between two NBC telephone operators, Mabel Flapsaddle (Sara Berner) and Gertrude Gearshift (Bea Benaderet):

(SFX: phone line buzzing)
GERTRUDE: Hello, National Broadcasting Company…
CALLER: Uh, say Operator…can you tell me what’s on the air at 4:00 today?
GERTRUDE: The Lucky Strike Program starring Jack Benny…
CALLER: Who?
GERTRUDE: Jack Benny... (SFX: gunshot) Gee, Mabel—that’s the sixth one today…
MABEL: Well, I’m still ahead…I’ve got eight…
GERTRUDE: Oh, you’re always lucky—you won last year, too…
MABEL: Yeah…Mr. Benny oughta know better than to open his program during the hunting season…
GERTRUDE: Yeah (phone line buzzes again) National Broadcasting Company…
CALLER: Say, Operator—can you tell me what’s on the air at 4:00 today?
GERTRUDE: The Lucky Strike Program starring Jack Benny…
CALLER: Who?
GERTRUDE: Jack Benny (pause) Hey, Mabel…
MABEL: What?
GERTRUDE: This one musta used a knife…
MABEL: Yeah—I’ll be glad when this day is over so I can go home and take off this black dress…
GERTRUDE: Yeah…and it’s so hard to talk through this veil…

This, of course, was Mabel and Gertrude’s debut appearance on the program, and it most certainly wouldn’t be their last—they were used frequently to great comic effect as the two women would snidely comment on Benny’s looks, cheapness, etc. (One of the all-time funniest Benny shows has Mabel and Gertrude double-dating with Jack and guest star Van Johnson; it is hilarious from start to finish.)

This program’s premise has Jack and the gang preparing for the first show of the season, and it contains many amusing moments (among them, Don forgets the Lucky Strike slogan “so round, so firm, so fully packed”) with a running gag on how no one knows the correct time due to Daylight Savings. There’s also a cameo by Edgar Bergen (and Charlie McCarthy) and an amusing jibe at Fred Allen (which Jack also turns on himself):

JACK: You know, Rochester—I’m really going to have to be on my toes this year…’cause there’s a great line-up of shows on Sunday…there’s Gildersleeve, and following us is Cass Daley, then Edgar Bergen & Charlie McCarthy…
ROCHESTER: You know, boss, Fred Allen’s gonna be with Edgar Bergen today…
JACK: Fred Allen? Is gonna be with Bergen?
ROCHESTER: Yeah!
JACK: What’s the matter, is Charlie McCarthy sick?
ROCHESTER: No, Mr. Allen’s gonna be a guest…and then next Sunday, he starts his own program…
JACK (disgruntled): Allen…his own program…how do you like that…Allen coming back on the air…you know, Rochester—it isn’t that I…dislike that stinker personally, but…I can’t understand why people laugh at his kind of jokes…
ROCHESTER: Me either, boss…
JACK: It’s a mystery to me why a sponsor would give him a job…
ROCHESTER: It’s hard to understand, ain’t it…?
JACK: It certainly is…I can’t figure out why he’s such a big success…can you, Rochester?
ROCHESTER: No, sir…but then, boss—maybe it’s just that our vines have sour grapes…

This broadcast also introduces character actor Richard Lane in the role of Steve Bradley, Jack’s fast-talking press agent. Lane is best-remembered by classic film buffs as Inspector Faraday in the Boston Blackie film series at Columbia (he also co-starred in a series of underrated comedy two-reelers with Gus Schilling while there as well). Bradley’s staying power on the program was quite limited, but the character was responsible for “I Can’t Stand Jack Benny Because…”—the promotional contest that would jump start Benny’s anemic ratings.

“Benny was born ignorant, and he’s been losing ground ever since…”

I played the second CD of The Ultimate Jack Benny Collection earlier this morning, and I was delighted with the first track: the classic March 14, 1937 confrontation between Jack and his longtime “nemesis,” comedian Fred Allen. The classic Benny-Allen feud had been building on both programs since December 1936, and their appearance on this Benny program was billed by NBC and promoted in the press as “The Battle of the Century.” At that particular time, it generated a tremendous radio audience rating, something that Benny didn’t necessarily need to worry about but it did help Allen’s anemic ratings tremendously (Allen once joked that he had “hitched his gaggin’ to a star.”)

The setting for the “Battle” is the Hotel Pierre in New York City, as announcer Don Wilson introduces his boss:

DON: And now, ladies and gentlemen…we bring you a fellow who’s a big man in Hollywood, a giant in Waukegan…but just another actor in New York—Jack Benny!
JACK: Hello again, this is Jack Benny coming to you from the Grand Ballroom of the Hotel Pierre…and listen, Don—I’m not such a small guy in New York either…
DON: Well then, Jack—how come they won’t even let you broadcast from the NBC Studios? First you’re at the Waldorf-Astoria, now the Pierre…
JACK: Well, it’s because NBC is crowded, that’s why…
DON: Well, how long are you going to stay in New York, anyway?
JACK: Until we run out of hotels…I’ve been hanging around so many ballrooms I feel like a chandelier…of course, there’s a certain amount of class and prestige broadcasting from a place like this…(SFX: knock on door) Come in…?
HOTEL MANAGER: Mr. Benny?
JACK: Yes?
HOTEL MANAGER: On behalf of the management of the Hotel Pierre, I bid you welcome and trust that the broadcasting facilities here are satisfactory…
JACK: They certainly are!
HOTEL MANAGER: Now, if there’s anything I can do for you don’t hesitate to call upon me…
JACK: Well, thank you…is there anything I can do for you?
HOTEL MANAGER: Yes—don’t mingle with the guests…
(SFX: door slam)
JACK: Hmm…that’s what I get for slumming on the avenue…anyway, Don, it’s still a distinction to be able to do our program here…not every entertainer would be granted that privilege…particularly one that I know of…
DON: And who’s that, Jack…?
JACK: Well, I don’t want to mention any names…but I don’t see how Harry Von Zell can laugh at him every Wednesday night…
DON: Oh, Von Zell…that announcer…
JACK: Yes…yes…
DON: Say, Jack…what product do they sell, anyway?
JACK: Nothing that you can put sliced bananas on…

Jack decrees that Fred’s name shall no longer be mentioned on the program: he is to be referred to as “Boo” (when Mary makes her entrance and Jack asks her where she’s been, she tells him she was out with “Boo and Portland Hoffa”). Jack is, by the way, missing two members of his cast on this particular broadcast: new bandleader Phil Harris (conductor Abe Lyman fills in) and tenor Kenny Baker, though Mary reads a funny telegram from Baker—who is back in Hollywood making a picture (Kenny mentions that he enjoyed traveling through Pennsylvania on his return trip home, particularly a stop-over in “Boo”-town).

Jack engages in some comic banter with “Schlepperman,” a stooge played by Sam Hearn who was a major presence in the 1930s Benny broadcasts (sort of an embryonic Mr. Kitzel). After Mary and Jack finish their respective renditions of You Do the Darndest Things, Baby, it’s time for the fireworks to start, as Fred bursts in to complain about Benny’s singing:

JACK: Well, as I live and regret that there are no locks on studio doors, if it isn’t Boo Allen…now listen, Allen—what’s the idea of breaking in here in the middle of my singing?
FRED: Singing?
JACK: Yes…
FRED: Now listen, Benny…I didn’t mind it when you scraped that overnight bag two weeks ago and called that playing “The Bee”…but when you stand here tonight and set that whooping cough to music and call that singing—you’re going too far…
JACK: Oh, you didn’t like it, huh?
FRED: Like it? Why, you make Andy Devine sound like Lawrence Tibbets…
JACK: Now look here, Allen—I don’t care what you say about my singing or my violin playing on your own program…but when you come up here, be careful…after all, I’ve got listeners…
FRED: Keep your family out of this…
JACK: Listen—my family likes my singing and my violin playing, too…
FRED: Your violin playing…
JACK: Yeah!
FRED: …you’re using the verb loosely, Mr. Benny…why if I was a horse—if I was a pony, even—and found out that my tail…found out that any part of my tail was being used in your violin bow, I’d hang my head in my oat bag from then on…
JACK: Well, you listen to me, you Wednesday night hawk—another crack like that and Town Hall will be looking for a new janitor…

The insults continue to fly fast and furious (Fred: “You lay a hand on me, Benny, and you’ll be hollering strawberry, raspberry, cherry, orange, lemon and help…”) and finally the two of them go out into the hall to settle it like men. They soon return, however, laughing and joking about their good old days in vaudeville—so the feud ends in a temporary truce, with Benny and Allen reprising You Do the Darndest Things, Baby. (Of course, as fans are aware, this armistice would be very short-lived, providing many memorable programs—and laughs—for years to come.) I enjoy all of the Allen-Benny encounters, and because I had only heard this program previously in excerpt form, it was a real treat to hear it in its entirety.

The second broadcast is from June 20, 1937, and it marks the first appearance of Eddie Anderson as Rochester Van Jones, Jack’s wisecracking manservant-valet. It wasn’t, however, Anderson’s first appearance on the show, however—he debuted on the March 28, 1937 program as a comical train porter. A few supporting roles later, Jack decided to use the talented black comedian on a permanent basis. (Originally, the character was to be named “Syracuse,” but Benny felt that he could get more mileage out of Rah-chester.) Benny is in the makeup chair, as he is busy getting ready to film his role in the 1937 comedy-musical Artists and Models:

JACK: Oh, Rochester…Rochester!
ROCHESTER: Yes sir, boss?
JACK: Did you lay out my full-dress suit?
ROCHESTER: Yes, sir…
JACK: Did you?
ROCHESTER: You mean the one with the red stripes?
JACK: No, the black one with the tail…you’ve been pressing the pants for an hour…are they done yet?
ROCHESTER: Yes, sir…dey is done to a crisp…

A little later on, Jack inquires as to the state of his dress shoes:

JACK: Hey, Rochester—have you got my shoes?
ROCHESTER: Here they are, boss…
JACK: Those are my sport shoes…where did you ever see sport shoes with a full dress suit?
ROCHESTER: In the Harlem Esquire…
JACK: Well, run over to my dressing room and get my plain black ones and hurry…
ROCHESTER: Black coat, black shoes, black pants…you is de most monotonous man I ever worked for…
JACK (after Rochester exits): I’d fire him if he didn’t have an iron-bound contract…

Listening to this show today will certainly make listeners wince a little, since, in the early broadcasts, the Rochester character was very much a shuck-and-jive stereotype. (One thing that has always puzzled me is how “Rochester” escaped a lot of the criticism that befell Amos ‘n’ Andy—after all, Rochester was only a servant; Amos ‘n’ Andy were homeowners and independent businessmen.) Yet there was something about Rochester that transcended all that; a sort of wide-eyed, mock innocence that played against the otherwise negative traits of his character. (In one program, Jack reminds Rochester that he carries a razor, and Rochester responds: “Yeah, but it’s a Gillette and I’m all out of blades.”) As the series progressed, Rochester became more of a pal than valet to Benny—this is particular noticeable in the post-World War II broadcasts, as the character transformed into sort of a black Jeeves, playing opposite Jack’s Bertie Wooster. (It has also been observed that Rochester, in many ways, functioned as Jack’s “wife”—one broadcast has him joking that his contract with Benny contains the clause “till death do us part.”)

Other than the two or three sequences introducing Rochester, the broadcast is pretty much your standard—but funny—Benny outing. While Benny prepares to shoot his big scene, his “gang” come along to watch—including recurring regular Andy Devine:

JACK: Well, I guess they’re about ready to shoot…you know, I’m a little nervous today for the first time—funny, an old trouper like me…
DON: Oh, you’ll be all right, Jack—why don’t you sit down and relax?
JACK: Oh, I thought I was sitting down…say, Mary, were you this nervous when you shot your first scene?
MARY: Yes, but I was doing a rhumba and nobody noticed it…
JACK: Oh…oh, I see…
KENNY: Hey, Jack—look who’s here!
JACK: Oh! Hello, Andy!
ANDY: Hiya Buck! Thought I’d come over and watch you work!
JACK: Well, I’m glad you did…gee, it’s hot under these lights—I hope my makeup isn’t running…how do I look, Andy?
ANDY: You look like Crosby’s horse on a muddy track…
JACK: Gee, I am a little splotchy, ain’t I…I don’t know what’s the matter with me today, I feel kind of faint and…dizzy-like…
KENNY: Why don’t your hold your breath and count ten?
JACK: Kenny, I haven’t got the hiccups…
MARY: You will in a minute…
JACK: I will not…imagine me kissing Ida Lupino while hiccupping…
ANDY: I tried it once and caught her right between the eyes…
JACK: Oh, that’s terrible…
ANDY: Well, it was better than nothin’…

All in all, an entertaining broadcast—which also contains appearances by Arthur Q. Bryan (who plays director Raoul Walsh, the real-life director of Artists and Models) and Charles Winninger, who appears on the last few moments of the program to promote his July 8, 1937 return appearance to Maxwell House’s Show Boat. Show Boat was a popular variety program (though it was entering its last season on NBC) based on the stage-movie musical of the same name; Winninger had appeared earlier in the show’s run, but left the program in 1935 after a contract dispute. Winninger had played the part on Broadway and in the 1936 film version as well.

“Ah, I love dem kinds of carryings on…”

At one point in my life, I’m sure St. Patrick’s Day was a festive occasion for me. (I’m half-Irish, on me sainted mother’s side.) In recent years, though, I get a little melancholy around the 17th. One reason for this is that I live in Savannah—which apparently has the second-largest celebration on the East Coast, a drunken bacchanal we like to call “Mardi Gras in Chatham” around our household. (I’m not even certain that it’s the second largest, really—I know New York’s is the tops, but I would think Boston would rank #2.) When you work in a hotel and have to deal with a parade of miserable drunks all night, the novelty of second-biggest party wears off very quickly. 

But the real reason that I get the blues is that back on this day in 1956, the world lost a man that I consider the greatest of all the old-time radio comedians—John Florence Sullivan, better known, of course, as Fred Allen. So last night in the wee a.m. work hours, I decided to adopt “the wearin’ of the grin” and listen to some classic OTR comedy, with Fred as a starting-off point. An AFRS rebroadcast of a June 5, 1949 Allen program featuring guest Henry Morgan (another one of my comedy idols) kicked off the proceedings in high dudgeon. 

Allen left behind a legacy of memorable comedy quotes that are still in full use today, like: “Hollywood’s a nice place to live—if you’re an orange” and “Imitation is the sincerest form of television.” In this broadcast, an exchange with wife Portland Hoffa produces one of my favorite (albeit lesser-known) Allen observations: 

FRED: Well, come on, Portland—what’s so interesting in that stationery store?
PORTLAND: This window’s full of greeting cards and mottos…
FRED: Mottos…hey, what’s that motto in the big frame there?
PORTLAND: It says: “Live as though it is your last day on Earth—and one day you will be right.”

 

The question Fred asks of Titus Moody and Mrs. Nussbaum as he strolls along Main Street is “Does a child with a high I.Q. grow up to be a genius?” But Fred and Portland also notice a newcomer to the neighborhood: 

FRED: Say, look, Portland—this new place just opened on Main Street…
PORTLAND: Who is the man with the long black coat and the sad face standing in the doorway?
FRED: Say, he’s a stranger…perhaps I can help him, Portland…pardon me, sir—is there something I can do for you?
DIGGER: I am Digby O’Dell…the friendly undertaker…

 

“Digger” O’Dell, the popular character from the hit radio sitcom The Life of Riley, gets quite a huge response from the studio audience, and he goes on to plug both the series and a feature film based on the show that was just being released by Universal-International at the time of this broadcast. O’Dell was played on the show and in the film by John Brown, a long-time colleague of Fred’s who was a regular on Allen’s program in the 1930s and early 1940s (he was one of the first “Allen’s Alley” denizens, everyman John Doe). Brown’s Riley co-star, William Bendix, was also one of Fred’s chums, having appeared with him in the 1945 feature film It’s in the Bag! I got quite a kick out of Digger’s appearance, because he blends in perfectly with the proceedings: 

FRED: Well, if you’re going my way…
DIGGER: Oh, no thank you…I’m going to a play this evening…
FRED: Oh, have you got tickets?
DIGGER: I’m sitting in a box…I’m looking forward to seeing this play…I know I’m going to enjoy it immensely…
FRED: What is the play?
DIGGER: Death of a Salesman…well, cheerio, Mr. Allen…I’d better be shoveling off…

 

Fred also runs into New York Post columnist Earl Wilson (I wonder what Earl’s opinion of his paper would be today?) who bestows upon the comedian Radio Best’s monthly Silver Mike Award for Outstanding Contribution to the Advancement of Radio or Television. After a great version of “Down by the Station” by the DeMarco Sisters, guest Henry Morgan joins Fred for a wacky take-off on the Lucky Strike commercial (“Hear...Fred...Allen!!! And feel your level best!”) and a spoof on the popular soap opera Just Plain Bill (“Just Plain Fred”). 

Next on the bill of fare, an AFRS rebroadcast of The Jimmy Durante-Garry Moore Show from November 9, 1945 featuring “the Nose” (Jimmy sings “The Guy Who Found the Lost Chord”), “the Haircut,” Elvia Allman, vocalist Jeri Sullivan (“Honey”), Roy Bargy and His Orchestra (“Carnival”) and announcer Howard Petrie in a half-hour of music and fun that allows “Schnozzola” to plug his latest film, Two Sisters From Boston (1946): 

DURANTE: Ah, yes…Two Sisters From Boston…what a picture! (To audience) Never too busy to advertise…but, Junior—it might interest you to know dat Louis B. Mayer of MGM called me dis mornin’ and made me a producer!
MOORE: Oh really, Jim? What did he say?
DURANTE: He said, “Durante—in your next picture either you produce…or else!”
MOORE: Jimmy, is that authentic?
DURANTE: Authentic? Sure! And some of it’s even true! What a picture I’ll make…I can see da billboards now…directed by so-and-so, written by so-and-so, music by so-and-so, and starrin’ so-and-so and so-and-so and so-and-so…
MOORE: I suppose your name will come first?
DURANTE: Of course! I’m da biggest so-and-so of dem all! I say dat with tongue in sandwich and mustard towards none…Junior—wait ‘til you see da parts I’m gonna give myself…drammer, nuttin’ but drammer…
MOORE: But, Jimmy—to be a great dramatic actor you’ve got to know suffering…and hardship…
DURANTE: Then I’ll do what Bing Crosby does…before he made Goin’ My Way, he stood out on the Lincoln Highway for two days and hitchhiked!
MOORE: But where’s the hardship in that?
DURANTE: Junior…wit’ four kids, it’s a long way between service stations…

 

This comedy caravan rounds itself out with a Superman spoof (“Superduperman”) and a sketch starring Jimmy and Garry in a saga from the Old West: “Durante and Moore Find a Skunk on the Range, or…Smellbound.” Ev’rybody wants to get inta da act! 

I cleansed my palate with an episode of Life With Luigi (starring J. Carrol Naish and Alan Reed) from June 6, 1950 that finds “the little immigrant” having difficulties with his party line. A suggestion from Pasquale snowballs into Luigi having his phone disconnected and two of them arrested for bookmaking. Finally, for dessert, an AFRS rebroadcast of The Fanny Brice Show (the AFRS title) with Brice as Baby Snooks, Hanley Stafford (Daddy), Danny Thomas, and Frank Nelson. Snooks finds herself in hot water when she spends the money Daddy gave her to buy a box of cigars on candy and sodas at the drugstore: 

DADDY: Snooks, it’s now a quarter past eleven…since when does it take you an hour and a quarter to go to Trumble’s drugstore and back?
SNOOKS: Since ten o’clock…
DADDY: I see…oh, by the way—did you bring my cigars?
SNOOKS: Your cigars?
DADDY: Yes…I sent you for them, remember? Where are they?
SNOOKS: I dropped ‘em…
DADDY (angrily) Oh, you dropped them…(calmer) I mean, you dropped them, huh? Well—and where, might I ask, did you drop them? (pause) Well, I’m waiting!
SNOOKS: Well—I’m thinking…
DADDY: Then think up a good one…where did you drop the cigars?
SNOOKS: I dropped ‘em off a tree!
DADDY: Now we’re up a tree…
SNOOKS: We are?
DADDY: Now, stop that! Now, how did you happen to be up this tree?
SNOOKS (tearfully) A big rhinoceros chased me!
DADDY: Oh, how quaint…I never thought we’d see a rhinoceros in Sycamore Terrace…
SNOOKS: It was a big surprise to me, too, Daddy…
DADDY: Tell me more about this rhinoceros…
SNOOKS: Well…there was fire and smoke comin’ out of his mouth…
DADDY: You saw fire coming out of his mouth?
SNOOKS: It was burning like a furnace!
DADDY: And it smoked…?
SNOOKS: Yeah…it smoked all your cigars!
DADDY: A rhinoceros, of all animals…what made you pick on a rhinoceros?
SNOOKS: He picked on me first…
DADDY (sharply) Snooks! I want the truth!
SNOOKS: All right—I picked on him first…
DADDY: Now this is the limit, young lady…you’ve been telling fibs ever since you first learned to speak…instead of getting better, it gets worse…what I’d like to know is, who put all these wild, fantastic ideas into your head???
SNOOKS: Who put ‘em in my head?
DADDY: You heard me!
SNOOKS: Well… (Thinks) I was walkin’ down the street…and two big witches…

 

To cure her of her creative tall tale embroidery, Daddy takes Snooks to a psychiatrist (Nelson), with predictably hilarious results. It’s also entertaining to hear Danny Thomas first starting out—Thomas played a postman character on the show named Jerry Dingle who was easily intimidated by authority figures and only thought of appropriate snappy comebacks afterward: 

THOMAS: Big shot psychiatrist…what’s he got that I haven’t got? A brain? Well, I’ve got brains I haven’t even used yet…anybody can be a psychiatrist—all you need is a college education…I could’ve gone to college…if I’d-a gone to high school…if I’d-a gone to grammar school…he says, “You talk like a moron!” I shoulda said, “So what if I talk like a moron? I gotta talk like one so you can understand me!”

 

Gilligan’s Island creator Sherwood Schwartz was also a radio comedy writer, and in Jordan R. Young’s The Laugh Crafters, he described writing for Danny Thomas as “an unhappy experience,” complaining that his “I shoulda said” character was too “laid-back.” “That kind of comic doesn’t work. Or if it works it’s a rarity, let me put it that way.” Although Thomas would headline comedy-variety shows for ABC in 1942-43 and CBS in 1948, he must have realized somewhere down the line that Schwartz was right, for it wasn’t until he played the lovable-but-quick-to-anger Danny Williams on Make Room For Daddy (later re-titled The Danny Thomas Show) that he really hit his stride. 

All in all, it was a perfectly delightful and entertaining evening spent with some of the classic comedy shows of old-time radio—I bet you were expecting another round of Gunsmoke episodes, weren’t you?

"I kid you not."

When Jack Paar was in his television prime with The Tonight Show (1957-62), I had not yet arrived on the scene. Even when his prime-time series, The Jack Paar Show, left the airwaves in 1965, I was barely two years old--and I wasn't allowed to stay up past 10 o'clock until I was five or so. (Rimshot!)

So my familiarity with the man comes from mostly archival sources, clips from the 1957-62 series. I watched him on an NBC special that was a tribute to his program, and an American Masters from PBS, "Jack Paar--As I Was Saying..." I saw him on Letterman one night and was impressed in that he seemed to be one of the few guests Dave was in complete awe of. I even caught him on a Password repeat on the Game Show Network one time, which I thought was bizarre. (Though not nearly as bizarre as seeing G. Gordon Liddy on the 1980s revival of that game show--that was truly my Tom Lehrer "satire-died-when-they-gave-Kissinger-the-Nobel-Peace-Prize" moment.)

I guess the closest I've come to experiencing the talent that was Paar was listening to a couple broadcasts of his radio show, which was a situation comedy that replaced The Jack Benny Program during the summer of 1947 on NBC. Benny had "discovered" Paar while entertaining troops at Guadalcanal in 1945, and took such an interest in Paar's career that he even produced Paar's show, enlisting his own writers to assist with the show's scripts. On Benny's last broadcast of the 1946-47 season, he had Paar on as a special guest to give him the proper send-off, and according to Milt Josefsberg's book The Jack Benny Show, Jack asked his other guest, Fred Allen, to take it easy on the young newcomer, particularly when it came to some of Allen's patented barbed ad-libs. (Allen acquiesced, cracking "With you around, Jack, whom else do I need to poke fun at?")

Paar's radio show was the feel-good hit of the summer, and returned in the fall on a new network, ABC. By that time, Paar had developed the famous temperament for which he would become later associated with on The Tonight Show. He fired many of his writers (one of them was M*A*S*H's Larry Gelbart) and gave an unfortunate interview to Time magazine, remarking that he wanted to get away from the "old-hat" comedy practiced by Benny and Allen. (Fred sent Jack a copy of the Time article with a note that read: "Dear Jack—I'm so happy that you told me not to make any ad-libs at the expense of this nice kid.")

In the early 1960s, Paar was engaged in a heated, well-publicized feud with Ed Sullivan, ostensibly over the amount of money that each man was paying for talent to appear on their shows. Benny, making an appearance on Paar's program, chided his host for squabbling with Sullivan, pointing out—in a twisted bit of logic—that had it not been for Sullivan, who gave Benny his break on radio on his interview program in 1931, Benny would not have been able to treat Paar in the same fashion. Both Paar and Sullivan later kissed and made up.

Yesterday, Jack Paar gave his final curtain call and passed away at the age of 85, leaving behind a show business legacy to which I only wish I could have had more exposure. R.I.P, Jack. You will be missed.