“My head is made up!”

I finished the last of five DVDs that I purchased recently from Finders Keepers—a great mom-and-pop business that specializes in hard-to-find, OTR-related movies—last night while enjoying time off from work. I’m glad I saved this one for last, because it was clearly the best and most entertaining of the bunch (which is not to say that I didn’t enjoy the others, you understand): the 1948 (some sources date it as 1949) feature film-version of the radio sitcom hit The Life of Riley. It was like having dessert after a truly fine meal.

Released by Universal-International and written & directed by the show’s creator, Irving Brecher, The Life of Riley is a textbook example of how to make a really great old-time radio related film. The movie never takes a false step; it’s both well-written and well-paced, its 87-minute running time moving along at a breezy, entertaining clip with no padding whatsoever. Best of all, it takes characters from what I freely admit is your typical farcical sitcom and fleshes them out into three-dimensional human beings; it blends laugh-out-loud comedy with bittersweet poignancy to boot.

Chester A. Riley (William Bendix), devoted and loving husband of wife Peg (Rosemary DeCamp) and father to Babs (Meg Randall) and Junior (Lanny Rees), is determined to advance from his lowly position as riveter for the Stevenson Aircraft Company after being humiliated in front of Sidney Monahan, an acquaintance of the Rileys from Brooklyn (and Peg’s ex-beau). Riley’s boss (William E. Green) has planned to promote Riley to plant foreman as a reward for Riley’s hard work, but his son Burt (Mark Daniels), in debt to a gambler, schemes to have Riley made into an executive—that way, he can get Babs to marry him and he can get at his trust fund. Riley figures out what the son is up to and calls off the wedding, allowing his daughter to marry her true love (Richard Long).

What impressed me the most about this movie was its maturity; the theme of the film centers on career advancement and the achievement of “the American Dream.” Riley’s a blue-collar lug, a little dumb perhaps, but he works hard to get ahead and is crushed that he’s unable to provide a better life for his family. His promotion to executive has him walking on a cloud—even his co-workers congratulate him on one of their own “making good”—but then when people start to believe that the only reason for his advancement is because his daughter is getting hitched to the boss’ son, they turn their backs to him and it really tears him up inside. Babs has offered to marry Burt because she doesn’t want to see her father and mother slide back downward (with Riley’s promotion, he’s able to put a down payment on their house and get Peg that wedding ring she’s always wanted), but Riley refuses to jeopardize her happiness for a life of ease, and announces that he’d rather remain poor—prompting his boss to remark, “Riley—you’re the richest man I know.”

I’ve stated previously in many a blog entry how much of a fan I am of William Bendix, especially in films like The Glass Key (1942) and Detective Story (1951)—but his portrayal of Riley continuously sticks out in my mind. I know that the show had a paint-by-the-numbers quality to it, but there was something about Bendix that really made Riley endearing—here you had this big mule-headed brute whose stubbornness masked a tender, sensitive side. On radio, television, and especially this film—he is simply terrific; he's sensational at using humor as a lemon to cut the occasional sweetness. Rosemary DeCamp (an OTR veteran, known primarily for her work on Dr. Christian) unfortunately doesn’t have much to do, but she does provide solid support for Bendix’s Riley—and she was so good in this role that she was cast alongside Jackie Gleason in the first TV version of the show in 1949 (along with Lanny Rees’ Junior).

Other OTR personalities in the film include Bill Goodwin as the obnoxiously oily Sidney Monahan—and although Goodwin was primarily an announcer/supporting player on such programs as The Bob Hope Show and Burns & Allen, he enjoyed a nice career in films as a character actor, appearing in So This is New York (1948, with Henry Morgan) and It’s a Great Feeling (1949, with Jack Carson, Dennis Morgan and Doris Day—my favorite of the Carson-Morgan vehicles). John Brown, however, steals every single scene he’s in as he brings his Life of Riley character Digby “Digger” O’Dell to the silver screen. Digger is first introduced to the audience in a scene where the Rileys’ electricity has been cut off and the house is plunged into darkness; I thought this was a very clever touch, allowing them to hear his clammy, sepulchral tones before they see his beautifully somber mug on screen. Brown would also make it to the 1949-50 TV series, but for some reason wasn’t available for Bendix’s version, which ran from 1953-58. (Perhaps Brown was in poor health, he passed away in 1957.)

The Life of Riley is also populated with some wonderful character actors—James Gleason (who plays Riley’s best friend and neighbor Gillis—fans know, of course, that Brown played this part on radio as well), Beulah Bondi, Ted de Corsia (who was no slouch on OTR either) and a young Richard Long, before he relocated with Barbara Stanwyck to The Big Valley. (Or set up shop at 77 Sunset Strip, if that’s the way you remember him.) There’s also a great voice cameo by a famous OTR detective, and I wouldn’t dream of spoiling that surprise. (There are some really good in-jokes in this movie; my favorite is a book that’s mentioned as being written by “Professor Alan Lipscott”—Lipscott being one of the writers of The Life of Riley on radio.)

Making a film based on a radio series was a dicey proposition at best back in the 30s, 40s and even 50s. Radio fans would often find themselves surprised at the physical appearance of an actor or actress (knowing them only by their voice, of course), or would have a completely different impression of how their house or car or whatever looked. And though many of these films were produced simply for their novelty value (with plots flimsier than a politician’s campaign promise), there were a handful that transcended this and provided novel and fantastic entertainment. I’m pleased to report that The Life of Riley most assuredly stands out in this bunch.

“It’s a losin’ fight!”

Last night at work, I checked in with one of my favorite old-time radio comedies, The Life of Riley; it’s a favorite due primarily to my fondness for the show’s star, William Bendix, a first-rate character actor whose films include The Glass Key (1942) and The Blue Dahlia (1946) (both of which starred his off-screen pal, Alan Ladd). But Chester A. Riley—the well-meaning (but incredibly dumb) blue-collar patriarch of an average American family—was literally the role Bendix was born to play. Sometimes, when I catch him in a movie, it’s like I expect him to turn to the camera and mutter “What a revoltin’ development this is!” (Come to think of it, he does do that in one movie: 1947’s Where There’s Life, in which he plays Bob Hope’s would-be brother-in-law.)

In a program originally heard over NBC Radio on November 30, 1946, we find Bendix as Riley limping—yes, limping—home with his wife Peg (Paula Winslowe) by his side; Riley had tried to hurdle a fence and ended up hurting his leg in the process. And if that’s not bad enough, Riley has also spotted the car of one Simon Vanderhopper (Warren Mills) outside the Riley residence—Simon being daughter Babs’ boyfriend and Riley’s bête noire:

RILEY: I thought I told you I don’t want that no-good loafer goin’ around with Babs…
PEG: Oh, Riley—Simon’s a nice boy…
RILEY: Ahh…some nice boy…twenty-one years old and he still chews bubble gum…
PEG: So what? If he likes bubble gum…
RILEY: Well, he don’t have to keep moochin’ it from me…

(snip)

PEG: Now be sensible…suppose Babs does like Simon a little? That isn’t a catastrophe…
RILEY: Oh, that’s what you say…you once started off likin’ me a little—and now we’re married…
PEG: What are you talkin’ about? Do you know what “catastrophe” means?
RILEY: That’s beside the point…once and for all, I…hey…they’re not on the porch…look!
PEG: Well, they’re probably in the house…
RILEY: That’s just it—Simon’s in the house with Babs…alone!
PEG: Well, suppose they are alone—what of it?
RILEY: I can see you’ve never been a boy…
PEG: Riley…don’t be an old fogey…why, when you were courtin’ me my father left us alone in the living room…because he understood young people…he saw eye-to-eye with the younger generation…
RILEY: Listen, the only time I ever saw eye-to-eye with your father was through a keyhole…

Riley throws Simon out, and refuses to let Babs (Barbara Eiler) go out anymore with him, but he softens considerably when he’s introduced to Simon’s uncle, Dr. Lucius Vanderhopper (Fred Shields). He relents and lets Simon keep his date with Babs, mainly to cadge some free medical advice for his injured leg from Dr. V, but “V,” unbeknownst to Riley, stands for “veterinarian”—the good medico is actually a horse doctor. Thinking that the injury Riley is babbling about belongs to a horse, he prescribes liniment and a diet for Riley’s condition—which attracts the attention of his undertaker pal, Digby “Digger” O’Dell (John Brown):

DIGGER: Would you care to join me, Riley?
RILEY: Uh…no, no, I gotta get home, I…just came out to get some stuff for a diet a doctor gave me…you see, I got a sprain in my leg…
DIGGER: A diet for a sprain?
RILEY: Yeah, I got it all written down here…here it is, right here…
DIGGER: Let me see…hmm…hmmm! A doctor recommended this? He must be a quack…
RILEY: A quack? Honest? You think he’s givin’ me the business?
DIGGER: Judging by this…he’s giving me the business…

The “diet” consists of oats, apples and an hourly lump of sugar—which would naturally puzzle, not to mention concern, an individual of average intelligence. (Then again, this is Riley were talking about.) Of course, the simple misunderstanding is eventually worked out and Riley lives to bumble another day. In the second broadcast (12/03/48), Peg walks in on a lecture that Riley is giving son Junior (Scotty Beckett):

RILEY: Wait’ll ya hear this, Peg…and you always said Junior was the kind of a kid I was when I was a boy…well, where do you think he was this afternoon?
PEG (horrified) Junior! You went to the burlesque show!
JUNIOR: Ah no, Mom—I was over at my math teacher’s house…
PEG: Oh…well, what’s so terrible about that, Riley?
RILEY: He was rakin’ her leaves—and ask him why…
JUNIOR: Well, I…I still don’t see the harm…I haven’t been doin’ so well in math, and she lives over in the next block…so I figured if I could rake leaves for her, I’d stand a better chance of gettin’ a good mark…
RILEY: Bribery! Out and out bribery! Here I raise a boy, and I have hopes that someday he’ll turn out to be a banker, or a doctor, or an engineer…and what do I get? A politician!

Riley stresses to Junior the importance on getting by on one’s own mettle, and Peg backs her husband to the hilt. But she soon learns that what’s sauce for the gosling ain’t necessarily sauce for the gander:

RILEY: I’m sorry I yelled, Peg, but that kid’s gotta learn…
PEG (sighing): You’re right, dear…for once…
RILEY: Like I said to Gillis only this afternoon…”Gillis,” I said…
PEG: Where were you this afternoon?
RILEY: Over at my boss’ house, fixin’ his roof…
PEG: Well, that’s good…we can use the extra money…
RILEY: You bet we can…too bad we ain’t gettin’ any…
PEG: You’re not?
RILEY: Oh, no—I’m just doin’ him a favor…you see, there’s an openin’ for a foreman’s job at the plant, so I figured…
PEG: Chester Riley! After the speech you just made to Junior…you have the nerve to stand there and tell me you went to your boss’ house to fix the roof? Just so you could get in “good” with him? How could you???
RILEY (sheepishly): It was easy…
PEG: Oh, I can’t understand ya, Riley…
RILEY: Lemme explain, Peg…the boss happened to drop this remark about a leak in his roof, so Gillis offered to work on it…and bein’ that Gillis is my best friend, I offered to help him…not that I care about the foreman’s job, I…just don’t want Gillis to get it…you…you see?
PEG: You bet I see…boot-lickin’, that’s what it is…and what’s more, the roof of this house has been leakin’ for six months…why don’t you fix that?
RILEY: What for? The boss don’t live here…
PEG: Oh, aren’t you ashamed of yourself…don’t you feel like a hypocrite? After that big lecture you gave Junior (mimicking him) don’t use pull…don’t use influence…work, depend on your ability…
RILEY: Well…my case is different…
PEG: Why is it different?
RILEY: Well…you…why…uh…I ain’t got no ability! Hah! Thought you had me trapped, huh?

Riley does begin to regret cozying up to the boss (Alan Reed), so he and Gillis (John Brown) print up a bill and plan to hand it to him—but they chicken out at the last minute. However, the secretary tells them that Stevenson is looking for two tickets to Saturday’s ballgame, and that the person who can get them can write his own ticket as the new foreman—pitting both Riley and Gillis against one another as they desperately try to score an extra ticket.

John Brown is the other reason why I’m a big Riley fan; the veteran radio actor, who also appeared on Fred Allen’s program, A Date With Judy and The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet, can make even the weakest Life of Riley amusing in his riotous role as “Digger” O’Dell. He has one of OTR’s most distinctive and easily-identified voices, something I learned one night while watching a DVD of Strangers on a Train (1951). Brown has a small but crucial role in the film as the inebriated professor who’s traveling by train with Guy Haines (Farley Granger) at the same time Haines is allegedly murdering his wife (Kasey Rogers)—but is later unable to provide him with a much-needed alibi.

OTR on the (small) screen

I was doing a little random surfing earlier this morning, and I skated on over to Finders Keepers, a nice little video/DVD business overseen by the Grams siblings, Martin, Jr. ("the Isaac Asimov of OTR books") and Virginia. I have been meaning to make a purchase from them for quite some time now, yet something always seems to cut in line--but I had a little disposal income this payday, and I figured I would order a few titles. (Martin scored a VHS copy of Abbott & Costello's It Ain't Hay for me a while back, so I knew the movie quality was top-notch.)

They have so many great offerings over at the website, it's difficult not to go hog wild--but I settled on five choices, which I hope to be able to review here on the blog in the upcoming weeks: Goin' to Town (1944), the fifth Lum & Abner feature (I decided not to wait on Critics' Choice Video for this one); Look Who's Laughing (1941) and sequel Here We Go Again (1942), the two RKO films starring Edgar Bergen & Charlie McCarthy and Fibber McGee & Molly (I saw these years ago when I still had TCM, but it will nice to revisit); The Life of Riley (1948) (I've not seen this one but the positive buzz is that it's one of the best OTR-to-film offerings); and Charlie McCarthy, Detective (1939), another film that I have not seen but am anxious to view.

Martin gave the OTR Digest a heads up sometime back that they were going to discontinue a few titles, and I noticed that the Our Miss Brooks television episodes they had for sale have disappeared. (I could kick myself for not ordering those sooner.) I should get the above titles in about 2-3 weeks, so as soon as they arrive I will offer up my thoughts.

“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.”

“What a revoltin’ development this is!”

The origin of The Life of Riley, a popular sitcom than ran on radio from 1944 to 1951, can be traced all the way back to Groucho Marx. At least, that’s the version from Riley’s creator--Irving Brecher--who relates the series of events as beginning in 1943.

Brecher, an MGM screenwriter who had scripted the films At the Circus (1939) and Go West (1940) for Groucho and his brothers, was approached by the cigar-smoking comedian one day—Marx wanted his friend to create a radio show tailored to his talents. Brecher recalled that Groucho’s “radio show had been cancelled recently, in an abrupt fashion that had humiliated him.” (If this did take place in 1943, I’m at a loss as to which show Brecher is referring to—Groucho was starring on CBS’ Blue Ribbon Town at this point in time, and would continue to headline the comedy-variety series until mid-June 1944.) Irving confessed to Groucho that he had nothing for him at the present time, only an idea for a sitcom he called “The Flotsam Family.” The idea was that Groucho would play the head of a household in which the father “floated like flotsam” from job-to-job; often engaged in various hare-brained, get-rich-quick schemes. Groucho was sold on the idea and arranged for an audition record to be produced—but the would-be sponsor ultimately thumbed-down the idea, feeling that Marx simply wouldn’t be believable as a family patriarch.

Months later, Brecher was attending a sneak preview for a friend’s film when he happened to spot actor William Bendix in a Hal Roach "steamliner": The McGuerins of Brooklyn (1942). The screenwriter believed that Bendix would be perfect for the part of “Flotsam,” and in contacting the actor’s agent, learned that Bendix had expressed an interest in doing a radio show. Brecher made a few changes to the script, and an audition record (which is in circulation today) was cut on July 25, 1943. The audition was well received, and the show—after securing a sponsor in the American Meat Institute—debuted over Blue/ABC on January 16, 1944 as The Life of Riley.

Riley was a family sitcom that focused on Chester A. Riley, a welder and expatriate of Brooklyn who had relocated to Los Angeles with his wife Peg and children Babs and Junior in tow. He was a beefy, lovable lunkhead who blundered his way week after week into some minor catastrophe, and usually had to be extricated from such predicaments by his sensible, down-to-earth spouse (Paula Winslowe). He wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he remained a good-hearted slob through it all.

Two friends that were in Riley’s social circle were both played by the same actor: veteran radio performer John Brown. The first of these two pals was Riley’s coworker/neighbor Jim Gillis, whom Riley often consulted for advice; the net result generally getting Riley further in hot water. Gillis had a nagging spouse named Honeybee (played by Shirley Mitchell) and a son with the bully-magnet moniker of “Egbert.”

Riley’s other confidant on the program was a character created by Brecher on an occasion when the show was running two minutes short. The script was expanded to include Riley striking up a conversation with a person named Digby O’Dell—“the friendly undertaker.” (Riley referred to him as “Digger.”) Actor Brown used a gloomy, sepulchral voice for O’Dell, who usually greeted Riley with “You’re looking fine, Riley – very natural.” The sponsor (and more than a few undertakers) balked at the gallows humor than emanated from the funeral parlor director, but the audience took a shine to Digger—and from that moment on, each broadcast was good for at least one walk-on from the character. (Brecher credits the undertaker with saving the comedy from an almost certain cancellation.)

I listened to a Life of Riley broadcast from November 11, 1949 the other evening—it was a fairly average outing for the sitcom, save for one particularly interesting casting change which I’ll reveal in a moment. As the episode opens, Riley is attempting to cadge some extra money from his wife for yet another one of his schemes:

RILEY: For five dollars I can buy “Dr. Flexo’s Marvel Muscle Builder”…

PEG: Muscle builder? What on earth do you want a thing like that for?

RILEY: It’s just what I need…here…listen to what it says on this circular…”Do your muscles sag? Are you gettin’ fat and flabby? In thirty days, I guarantee to make you a Greek god…”

PEG: You?

RILEY: Yeah…

PEG: A Greek god?

RILEY: Why not?

PEG: In thirty days?

RILEY: Well, the god part, yes…but the Greek might take a little longer…

Peg reminds her husband that he’s supposed to be collecting for the neighborhood Community Chest drive—an organization that is generally referred to nowadays as the United Way:

PEG: There are more important things you can do with your spare time…now how about getting to work on the Community Chest drive? You insisted they make you captain of the district…

RILEY: I’m workin’ on it…don’t I wear a red feather in my hat?

PEG: You haven’t done one solitary thing so far…

RILEY: How can you say that? Didn’t I make up a list of names to contact?

PEG: You did not…I got those names out of the phone book…

RILEY: And who handed you the phone book? Me!

Riley makes several attempts to collect donations, all of them ending up in failure. He orders Peg not to do his collecting for him—but daughter Babs (Barbara Eiler) takes the initiative to secure a few pledges and the two women decide to hide the collected funds out of Riley’s sight by placing them in a box of corn flakes. Naturally, being a sitcom, Riley and pal Gillis return home from their lodge meeting and decide to have a midnight snack:

RILEY: Hey! How ‘bout some corn flakes?

GILLIS: Okay! I’ll force myself…

RILEY: Okay, Gillis…say when…there you are, Gillis…

GILLIS: Riley, I wanted corn flakes, not lettuce…and with Lincoln’s picture on it yet…

RILEY: Gil…Gil…Gillis! That’s money there!

GILLIS: What a bundle! A hundred…twenty…thirty…a hundred and forty-eight bucks!

RILEY: I don’t understand…I know they give away little prizes in cereal boxes, but…a hundred and forty-eight bucks? Kellogg is gettin’ careless…

Gillis convinces Riley to take the wad of cash, planting the idea in his head that Peg has been skimming off funds from the household money and that’s how she accumulated the loot. But Riley decides to be “bigger” than Peg and donate the $148 to…the Community Chest:

JUNIOR: Don’t worry…Mom won’t be sore at you when she finds out how much you gave to the community chest…

RILEY: You know? How did you find out?

JUNIOR: The whole neighborhood knows…when I was delivering my papers everybody said what a great guy you were, Pop…

RILEY: No kiddin’? Well…well, it’s about time my true character leaked out…

JUNIOR: My school teacher made a speech about you…about good citizenship…gee, I’m proud of you, Pop…

RILEY: So am I, son…

JUNIOR: How’s it feel to be such a big shot?

RILEY: Ah, what’d I do? Money don’t mean anything to me when it’s a question of helpin’ my brother…

JUNIOR: Oh, Pop…can I have a dollar?

RILEY: You’re not my brother, you’re my son…

Riley ends up relenting and giving his son (Alan Reed, Jr.) the dollar after Junior tells him he wants to take his date to the neighborhood theater—the new Tarzan film is playing, and the theater is doing a stunt for the film in which a real, live baboon will be in a cage in a lobby. Riley and Junior head off for the neighborhood’s Community Chest meeting, where the crowd turns on our hero when it is determined that Riley's donation is suspiciously equal to the same amount everyone else in the district kicked in for the cause. (The fact that Peg has discovered that the money is missing and blurts this out in front of their assembled neighbors doesn’t help Riley much either.) Dejected, Riley runs off, and is bemoaning his situation when help arrives from a man dressed in black:

RILEY: Ah, what a mess…I’ve been in pretty deep before, but I’ll never be in any deeper than I am right now…

O’DELL: Would you care to bet?

RILEY: Who’s that???

O’DELL: It is I…Digby O’Dell…the friendly undertaker…

RILEY: Oh…I didn’t see ya, “Digger”…

O’DELL: Greetings, Riley…you’re looking…you look horrible!

RILEY: “Digger”…I’m at the end of my rope…

O’DELL: Then I’d better go along with you…

RILEY: You see…I was the captain in the Community Chest drive…

O’DELL: Bully for you! As I always say, the good that you do unto people will come back to you in the end…and so will the people…

RILEY: Yeah, I know…that’s why I wanted to make good at this job…

O’DELL: Why, I’m an old hand at charity…I’m president of a group that regularly sends a parcel of food to needy families…it’s the U.E.P.B.O.M.C…

RILEY: The U.E.P.B.O.M.C.???

O’DELL: The Undertakers, Embalmers and Pallbearers Box of the Month Club…

RILEY: Well, I…I like the Community Chest better…I messed everything up…I found a hundred and forty-eight dollars in the house…by mistake, I turned it in under my own name…you see, my wife hid it in this box and I thought it was my money…

O’DELL: Oh, Riley…you deserve to be chastised…always snooping…

RILEY: What’s wrong? Didn’t you ever look in a box to see what’s in it?

O’DELL: Let’s not talk shop…

RILEY: Ah…everybody thinks I’m a crook…oh, if only I could square myself…

O’DELL: You can…simply donate a hundred and forty-eight dollars of your own money to the drive…

RILEY: Hey, that might do it! But where will I get all that money?

O’DELL: Eureka! I have it! A job for you!

RILEY: A job? Where???

O’DELL: Come with me…

(SFX: walking)

RILEY: Gee, you’re a real pal, Digger…someday I’m gonna do something for you…you name it, what can I do for you that you’ll really like?

O’DELL: Don’t bother…you might not like it…well, come along…we’d better be…shoveling off…

Riley goes home to face the music, and tells his family (who, of course, have forgiven him for the simple misunderstanding) of his commitment to donate the same amount to the Community Chest—even informing them of his plans to take a part-time job in order to do so. His family is naturally curious as to the nature of the job, but Riley remains reluctant to tell them. It’s only when Junior reminds his father that he’s taking a date to the Tarzan film that Riley spills the beans: “But please, son…when you walk in the lobby and see that real, live baboon in the cage…don’t say, ‘Hello, Pop!’ I ain’t allowed to talk durin’ workin’ hours…”

What makes this Riley broadcast so unusual is that it is the only episode William Bendix missed during the show’s long run. At the time of this broadcast, Bendix was working on a picture for Columbia entitled Kill the Umpire (1950)—and he was suffering from a sore throat, so much so that he was unable to perform. Pinch hitting for Bendix? Jackie Gleason.

Yes, the Great One himself. NBC brought The Life of Riley to television starting October 4, 1949 and when Bendix was unable to do the TV version due to contractual obligations, Gleason was tapped for the role of Chester A. Riley. But Bendix’s portrayal was so indelible in the minds of the audience that they simply wouldn’t accept Gleason, and the series was cancelled after one season. (Bendix would take a second crack at his famous role in another version of Riley on NBC-TV that premiered January 2, 1953; that show resulted in a healthy five-year-run.)

Many years after Riley had run its course and was living “the life of retirement” in television reruns, series creator Irving Brecher encountered actor Carroll O’Connor at a party during the time O’Connor was enjoying his great success on All in the Family. According to Brecher, O’Connor paid him a compliment by remarking: “We’re doing your program with freedom. We’re doing The Life of Riley with the freedom you couldn’t have.” Personally, I think comparing the two shows is a bit of stretch; still, Brecher also stated once that Gleason’s The Honeymooners was essentially Riley “without children.” You need to make the call. I do, however, highly recommend the original—an excellent example of great situation comedy during the Golden Age of Radio.