Raiders of the Lost Archive

Wayne Boenig, who maintains the excellent Marx Brothers on Radio website points out on the OTR Digest an interesting article on the history of Pabst Blue Beer. The article mentions that while cleaning up the former Pabst Brewing Company headquarters, a lot of memorabilia was discovered--promotional photos of Groucho Marx, Danny Kaye, Jimmy Durante and Donald O'Connor, who were all sponsored by Pabst during the Golden Age of Radio.

But the really big news is that someone has discovered some electronic transcription discs labeled only as "Danny Kaye," which sounds like some of his shows from 1945-46 have turned up. Wayne says the woman in charge of the clean-up is very interested in the historical value of the ET's, and would be very amenable to turning them over to, say, the First Generation Radio Archives. If you read the article, you can also download an mp3 of Pabst Blue Ribbon Town, a February 5, 1944 broadcast starring Groucho and featuring guest Gene Tierney.

“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?

“You gotta start off each day wit’ a song…”

The legendary Jimmy Durante has been gone for close to a quarter of a century, but even those people who have never heard of “Schnozzola” are familiar with his unforgettable catchphrases like “Ev’rybody wants to get inta da act!” and “I got a million of ‘em!” His lengthy show business career encompassed stage, screen and television—but it was radio that made him a household word during the 1940s.

Born on New York’s Lower East Side in 1893, Durante learned to play the piano at seventeen, and managed to eke out a living pounding the keys in beer gardens and nightclubs (he once worked at a club with a singing waiter named Eddie Cantor). In 1923—with his partners Eddie Jackson and Lou Clayton—he opened up the successful Club Durant, a thriving hot spot that soon ran afoul of the law and was closed by Prohibition agents. By that time, the trio of Durante, Clayton & Jackson had a toehold on Broadway, and though they disbanded the act in the 1930s, the three remained friends for life—both Clayton and Jackson became Durante’s business managers when he took his solo act to Hollywood.

Durante’s first radio gig had him substituting for his singing waiter friend on his phenomenally popular The Chase and Sanborn Hour from September-November 1933. He then replaced Cantor on a permanent basis in April of the following year, inheriting Eddie’s sixty-minute show with announcer Jimmy Wallington and orchestra leader Dave Rubinoff in tow. By this time, however, the show was drawing its last breath, and it departed NBC on September 30, 1934.

His next venture appeared a year later in October 1935 with The Jumbo Fire Chief Program—one of the most notorious flops of Radio’s Golden Age. Based on impresario Billy Rose’s stage musical (which Durante was concurrently appearing in on Broadway), it was a lavish spectacle whose weekly $15,000 bill was paid for by the good folks at Texaco. Its extravagance was naught, however—its rating was a dismal 4.1 in January 1936 and it departed the airwaves a month later, following by the stage show which at that time was also awash in a sea of red ink. (Durante would later appear in a film version of the musical in 1962.)

Although he continued on in the public eye, mostly with a series of second-rate films, it wasn’t until 1943 that Durante was presented with a pair of opportunities that would allow him to pull himself out of his then-financially dismal straits: one was a booking at the Copacabana in New York (where he soon packed the place every night) and the other a guest appearance on NBC’s Camel Caravan. On that broadcast, producer Phil Cohan noticed a contrast between the veteran Durante and a young comic also on the program named Garry Moore. Moore had been tapped as the summer replacement for Camel’s The Abbott & Costello Show, but Cohan approached both men with an idea of teaming up for a possible fall series. Fate stepped in when Lou Costello was struck down with a case of rheumatic fever, which forced him off the air and necessitated a quick replacement—the agency, a little nervous about Garry’s youth and lack of name recognition, found themselves sold on Cohan’s idea on a Durante-Moore teaming, and rushed the show into production in only two weeks.

It took some time to catch on, but Durante and Moore found their niche, moving to CBS in the fall of 1943 with The Jimmy Durante-Garry Moore Show. It lasted four seasons before “The Nose” (Durante) and “The Haircut” (Moore) agreed to an amicable parting of the ways. So Durante found himself back at NBC on October 1, 1947 with The Jimmy Durante Show, a half-hour comedy-variety program sponsored by Rexall Drugs. Announcer Howard Petrie would introduce the star as “Rexall’s prescription for a pleasant evening” as Roy Bargy’s orchestra broke out into a rendition of “Inka Dinka Doo” (Durante’s theme song, which he had introduced in the 1934 film Palooka).

Listening to Durante’s Rexall program made me a convert to his unique brand of music and comedy; before that he was always kind of an acquired taste for me. (This stems from the fact that my exposure to Durante was in a series of cringe-inducing MGM “comedies” in which he co-starred with silent comedy great Buster Keaton—though 1932’s Speak Easily is The Blind Squirrel Film Theory™ exception here.) Jimmy’s supported by fine writing, exuberant musical numbers (I love “I Know Darn Well I Can Do Wit’out Broadway, But Can Broadway Do Wit’out Me?”), and a superb cast of stooges including Florence Halop (who specialized in a Mae West sound-a-like named “Hotbreath” Houlihan), Candy Candido (“I’m feelin’ mighty low…”), Alan Reed, and Arthur Treacher, who played Durante’s butler (I guess Jack Carson let him go as a result of The Sealtest Village Store). Later in that first season, comic actor Victor Moore also joined the show as Durante’s foil and “the Lothario of the lumbago set.” There’s even the presence of a young Peggy Lee, who was the show’s female vocalist. I sampled a broadcast from April 7, 1948 last night, as announcer Petrie engages in a little banter with the Schnozzola:

PETRIE: Ah, Schnozz…I’ve never seen you so happy…what’s the cause of all this gaiety?
DURANTE: It’s ineveritable, Howard—you can’t help be…(the audience laughs at Durante’s mispronunciation of “inevitable,” so he ad-libs) that’s what it says…it’s ineveritable, Howard—you can’t help bein’ jolly when ev’rybody is nice ta you…why, this mornin’ on da bus I gave my seat ta a little ol’ lady…and as she sat down, she grabbed my nose and said “As long as you’re standin’, I’ll hold your bundle”…chivalry is not dead…
PETRIE: Durante the politician…always mingling with the people…uh, but Jimmy—do you think it’s wise for someone running for office to openly support another candidate?
DURANTE: Whaddya mean?
PETRIE; Well, look at you…you’re wearing Dewey buttons all around your waistline…are you supporting him?
DURANTE: No, he’s supportin’ me...my suspenders are busted! If da Dewey buttons give out, I’m in trouble…all I got is a Hoover button holdin’ up my undies…
PETRIE: Well, Jimmy…now that your name is on the ballot, I suppose you’ll start campaigning in earnest…what’s the main plank in your platform?
DURANTE: Howard, I got an idea that’ll non compos your mentis…if I’m elected, I’m gonna move all da men outta the state of South Carolina, move in nuttin’ but women and appernt myself Honorary Governor…
PETRIE: But, Jimmy…if you did that, you’d be the only man among ten million women…
DURANTE: Dat’s what I like—even distribution! (laughs) Ah, Durante—you musta been readin’ Oliver Twist, you’re full of the dickens tonight!

On this broadcast, Jimmy’s guest is “sarong girl” Dorothy Lamour:

DURANTE: Ah, Dorothy—seein’ you again fills me wit’ more joy than da tinkle of da Good Humor wagon…whaddya been doin’ wit’ yourself?
LAMOUR; Oh, same old thing, Jimmy…in Hollywood, a girl gets so bored…out every night with men that are tall, glamorous, exciting, debonair…I’m tired of going out with that type of man!
DURANTE: You are?
LAMOUR: Yes…what are you doing tonight?
DURANTE (laughing): I know dere’s a million good lookin’ guys but I’m a novelty…but, Dottie—you and I were made for each udder…can’t ya picture us on a desert island…livin’ an exotic, lazy life beneath da banana trees…just you…me…and Lana Turner…
LAMOUR: Lana Turner? What’s she doing there?
DURANTE: Somebody’s gotta peel da bananas…!!!

Most of Durante’s solo shows available today are from his 1947-48 season for Rexall (I think there’s only about a half-dozen missing), which are populated with guest appearances from the likes of Bing Crosby, Lucille Ball, and Boris Karloff. There’s even a brief four-week period where Durante is off the show due to his being hospitalized, and several big-names fill in during his absence, including former partner Garry Moore, whose December 31, 1947 broadcast with co-guest Red Skelton is a hysterical half-hour of fun.

I also listened to a rare December 24, 1948 show—rare in that apparently only three programs are in circulation of Durante’s 1948-50 series for Camel Cigarettes, which began on October 8, 1948. Bargy, Reed, and Halop made the transition to the new program, and Durante inherited both a new announcer (Verne Smith) and a co-star in comedian Alan Young. Young, who had previously headlined his own series on ABC from 1944-47, brought back memories of the previous Durante-Moore partnership, and even though NBC gave him his own show in January 1949, he stayed with Durante until April, when he was replaced by Don Ameche. The 12/24/48 program is, of course, a Christmas Eve-themed broadcast:

YOUNG: Jimmy, I guess now’s a good a time as any…here’s my Christmas present to you…
DURANTE; Aw, Alan—you shouldn’ta done it…it’s a beautiful gift…I’ll lift da cover (SFX: cover opens, music plays) ah, just what I wanted—a musical garbage can…
YOUNG; Well, Jim—with all your important friends I’ll bet you forgot about poor little me…
DURANTE: Alan (laughing, then ad-libs) he said dat kind of shy…Alan, you’re laborin’ under a mispreaprehension…
YOUNG: Jimmy, I’m afraid you’re laboring under a mispronunciation…
DURANTE: Wait a minute…but dat’s neither Kris nor Kringle…here’s my present to ya…don’t spread dis around, but I knitted it myself…
YOUNG: Well! That’s a lovely tie—but what’s this lump hanging on the side of it?
DURANTE: Dat’s da big toe…it started out ta be a pair of socks…

Jimmy and Alan are joined by Rose Marie—who, in the 1930s, was the Brenda Lee of her day; a young girl (billed as “Baby Rose Marie”) with an adult voice who appeared on radio with Rudy Vallee and several programs of her own. Rosie does a cute Durante impersonation (Durante: “How do you like dat—I’ve been transcribed to a more convenient body!”) and sings a great duet with the Schnozz to boot. It’s a wonderful seasonal show, with appearances from Arthur Q. Bryan and Ruby Dandridge (on loan from The Judy Canova Show?), and it’s a treat to enjoy both Young and Rose Marie, years before their successes on Mister Ed and The Dick Van Dyke Show, respectively.

June 30, 1950 brought an end to radio’s Jimmy Durante Show, giving the veteran entertainer one more chance to close with “Good night, Mrs. Calabash…wherever you are” before conquering television with All Star Revue (1950-53) and The Jimmy Durante Show (1954-57). The “Calabash” line was for many years the subject of speculation as to just who the mystery woman was; Durante’s widow revealed after his death in 1980 that it was simply something Jimmy had created for radio—but as George Burns observed. “She gave Jimmy one of the most important things any entertainer can have—a great finish.”

I’m a big fan of The Jimmy Durante Show, and what ultimately makes the program so entertaining is the man himself—his gregarious manner and infectious good cheer makes the proceedings an absolute joy to listen. I’ve learned that it’s practically impossible to dislike Durante; he mastered the art of malaprops (I chuckle when he remarks that a gesture “warmed the cocktails of my heart”) long before Jane Ace married husband Goodman or Leo Gorcey became a Bowery Boy. His singing voice, growly and ragged, certainly wasn’t the finest (“I got dat note from Bing Crosby—and boy, was he glad ta get rid of it!”) but could nevertheless put across a ballad that would bring a tear to your eye and a lump to your throat (I think his version of “Young at Heart,” featured in the closing credits of the 1976 film The Front, is miles and away better than Sinatra’s). His partner Lou Clayton succinctly sums up the unique person that was Jimmy Durante: “You can warm your hands on this man.”

”Heeeeeeyyyyyy Abbott!!!!”

Nowadays, we remember the team of Bud Abbott and Lou Costello primarily for their entertaining movie comedies made between 1940 and 1956, but they were also mainstays on the airwaves for nearly a decade during Radio’s Golden Age. They were regulars on The Kate Smith Hour for two years beginning February 3, 1938, starred in a summer replacement series for The Fred Allen Show in 1940, and were featured performers on The Charlie McCarthy Show during the 1941-42 season before finally settling into a weekly radio gig for Camel cigarettes (“C-A-M-E-L-S”) Thursday nights over NBC beginning October 8, 1942.

The Abbott and Costello Show was a hodgepodge of skits and routines that played to the comic duo’s strengths of clever wordplay and verbal slapstick. Lou was the child-like innocent who played patsy to Bud’s whip-smart con man. Sophisticated the show wasn’t; many of the program’s jokes and gags made the lowbrow material of Judy Canova and Red Skelton look as if it had graduated from finishing school. The show adhered to a simple formula of raucous corn, but it caught on quickly with the radio audience, particularly the younger set.

Bud and Lou were aided and abetted by a solid cast of second bananas: Mel Blanc, Frank Nelson, Sid Fields (who later played their landlord on TV), Iris Adrian, Verna Felton, and Artie Auerbach (who played Mr. Kitzel on this show prior to relocating to The Jack Benny Program). Their longtime announcer Ken Niles also played a large part in the comedy proceedings, as did character actress Elvia Allman, who played Mrs. Niles—a shrewish battleaxe often engaged in verbal fisticuffs with Costello. Skinnay Ennis and his orchestra provided the show’s music throughout most of its run, and several wonderful female vocalists were also prominently featured, including Connie Haines and Marilyn Maxwell.

On the DVD box set Looney Tunes: Golden Collection are printed some of the familiar one-liners that were frequently heard in these classic cartoons, and I chuckled when I read “I’m only three-and-a-half years old.” That phrase certainly got a workout in many Warners shorts, but it originated on Abbott & Costello, being a pet expression of Lou’s nephew Sebastian (played by Costello himself). Others include “I’m a baaaaaad boy” and “Come over here and kiss your poor old father,” uttered in a quavering voice by Lou when in the presence of a pretty girl.

In March 1943, Lou Costello was laid low by a bout of rheumatic fever and forced into a brief vacation from the show. (In the interim, Jimmy Durante and Garry Moore were thrown together as a last-minute replacement for Lou and Bud; the two worked so well together that they continued to headline their own CBS comedy series from 1943-47.) No sooner had Costello returned to the fold in the fall when another tragedy befell the man known to many as “Hard Luck Lou”; he was notified during dress rehearsal of the death of his year-old son, who had accidentally fell into the family swimming pool while unattended. Lou insisted on going on with the evening’s broadcast, and it was not until the program signed off and Lou broke down crying that Bud informed the stunned studio audience as to what had happened.

Though I’m personally more a fan of their film work than their radio series, I do have a handful of their shows in my collection, and I decide to take a brief respite from the Suspense project to listen to a broadcast from April 17, 1947. Costello has been asked to substitute for an ailing Joe DiMaggio of the New York Yankees:

LOU: DiMaggio probably heard about my playing with the Cucamonga Wildcats last year…
BUD: You a ballplayer? I don’t believe it, Costello…you know nothing about baseball…
LOU: Oh no? I eat baseball…I live baseball…all night when I’m asleep I dream about baseball…
BUD: Well…don’t you ever dream about girls?
LOU: What, and miss my turn at bat?
BUD: Oh…that’s ridiculous…what’s the matter with you?
LOU: Yes…and another thing, Abbott….(ad-libs) What page are you on?
BUD: Never mind what page I’m on…
LOU: …and another thing, Abbott…not only that, in Paterson, New Jersey—I worked out with a baseball team…I used to stay out till four o’clock in the morning…
BUD: Why did you stay out until four o’clock in the morning?
LOU: This was a girls’ baseball team…
BUD: Costello, if you’re going to play with the New York Yankees…you really have to know something about big-league baseball, Lou…
LOU: I know all about baseball…
BUD: All right…suppose there’s a left-handed pitcher pitching…what do you do?
LOU: I’d put in a right-handed batter…
BUD: Now, suppose there’s a right-handed pitcher pitching…
LOU: I’d put in a left-handed batter…
BUD: But now, I trick you…I take out the right-handed pitcher and put in a left-handed pitcher…
LOU: Then I double-cross you…I take out my left-handed batter and put in a right-handed batter…
BUD: Now wait a minute…where are you getting all these right-handed batters?
LOU: The same place where you’re getting all those left-handed pitchers!

(snip)

BUD: Well, Costello…if you want to be a big-league ballplayer, you’ve got to get yourself in shape…now, from 8 am to 9 am you lift weights…from 9 to 10, deep knee bends…10 to 11, skip rope…11 to 12, run five miles…
LOU: 12 to 1 I’ll never make it…
BUD: Aw hey, look…you idiot, you’ll never be a ballplayer…staying up late and going to nightclubs…eating rich foods, running around with beautiful girls…do you know what can happen to you?
LOU: Yes…I can become manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers…
BUD: Costello…I don’t even know why DiMaggio picked you…you don’t even know how to swing a bat…
LOU: I know all about swinging bats…when I was a kid, my father used to hit me with a baseball bat…my brother used to hit me with a baseball bat…my Uncle Artie Stebbins used to hit me with a baseball hat…and my mother used to hit me with a tennis racket…
BUD: With a tennis racket?
LOU: Yes…she didn’t like baseball…

(snip)

BUD: ...now you’ve got to get ready for the opening game…
LOU: Yeah, I think we’re going to play the Cleveland Indians…
BUD: Cleveland Indians, eh…?
LOU: Uh-huh…
BUD: Feller pitching?
LOU: Certainly there’s a feller pitching…what do you think they’d use, a girl?
BUD: Oh, I…I know they don’t use a girl…I said, “Feller pitching…”
LOU: What feller?
BUD: Feller, with the Cleveland Indians…
LOU: Look, Abbott…there’s nine guys on the Cleveland team…which feller are you talking about?
BUD: Feller that pitches…there is only one Feller with Cleveland…
LOU: You mean nine Yankees are going to play against one feller?
BUD: That’s right.
LOU: You mean there’s no fellers in the outfield?
BUD: No!
LOU: And there’s no fellers in the infield?
BUD: No…Cleveland only has one Feller…
LOU: Well, this feller must be pretty good if he don’t need any other players but himself…
BUD: Look, all the players will be out there helping him…
LOU: You just said that there was only one feller on the team…
BUD: That’s right!
LOU: Then where did all those other fellers come from?
BUD: Why, you idiot…when I say there’s only one Feller on the team, I mean that there is only one Feller that pitches…
LOU: Well, Abbott…when the manager of the team wants this pitcher, what does he call him?
BUD: Feller!
LOU: You mean he just hollers “HEY FELLER!” and this guy knows that they mean him?
BUD: That’s right.
LOU: Hoo hoo…
BUD: His name is Feller! Feller! Bob Feller! And when I say that there is only one Feller on the team that pitches, that’s it…and the feller that pitches is Feller…there’s other fellers on the team, but there’s only one Feller…
LOU: Boy, are you mixed up…oh, you mean the feller that pitches is Feller…and there’s other fellers on the team but they aren’t fellers?
BUD: Now you grasp it…
LOU: Yes…I grasp it…but it keeps slippin’ out of my hands!

Naturally (is he pitching today?), it wouldn’t be a true comedy baseball broadcast if Bud and Lou didn’t perform “Who’s on First?” which they do with absolute relish. I’ll spare you the blow-by-blow, since I’m certain we’re all familiar with that one. (This classic routine plays on an endless loop at the Baseball Hall of Fame for anyone in the Cooperstown, NY area.)

The fall of 1947 saw Abbott and Costello switch networks to ABC—Arthur Frank Wilheim mentions briefly in Radio Comedy that ABC’s leniency regarding transcribed programs is probably what lured the comedy duo away from NBC. In addition to their prime-time show, they also broadcast on Saturday mornings The Abbott & Costello Children’s Program, a show geared towards their younger fans. Both shows left ABC in 1949, and they soon conquered television with appearances on NBC’s big-name The Colgate Comedy Hour and their own filmed TV series from 1952-54 that is often cited by comedian Jerry Seinfeld as an influence on his self-titled TV sitcom. While the radio comedy of Bud and Lou could certainly be subject to shucking large husks of its corn, they perform with such vitality that it’s easy to get carried away along with the audience laughter which was loud and appreciative in the Golden Age of Radio.

"Presented each week and every week...'til it's over Over There!"

It would appear that I was perhaps a bit too hasty in posting that yesterday's Elgin Christmas Party broadcast of December 25, 1944 was the best Christmas program I’ve listened to so far this month. Now I have to ransack my vocabulary for superlatives to describe the December 25, 1945 Command Performance show I treated myself to earlier this evening.

Command Performance was once lauded as “the best wartime program in America” by Time magazine, but I think I would eliminate the “wartime” part; it is one of the best programs, period. Not too shabby for a show that many Americans weren't able to hear its first-time around—the reason being that the show was produced exclusively for “the men and women of the United States Armed Forces around the world” and broadcast over the Armed Forces Radio Service (AFRS). This star-studded variety program, featuring a glittering roster of top-name performers, debuted over AFRS on March 1, 1942, with a lineup that included Eddie Cantor, Bea Wain, Merle Oberon, and Joe Louis. The show was created by Louis G. Cowan (creator of such radio quiz show hits as The Quiz Kids and Stop the Music) at the behest of the War Department, who wanted to find a suitable format to present "American radio" to the troops overseas. Cowan decided to let the G.I. audience “choose” their own entertainment, in the form of requests—examples include a song by Frank Sinatra, a “fiddle duel” between Jack Benny and Jascha Heifetz, or even a long, lingering sigh from actress Carole Landis. Celebrities donated their time, gratis, to support the war effort and the program—and it was once estimated that the talent budget for a comparable civilian effort of Command Performance would cost $75,000 weekly.

Perhaps Command Performance’s best-known broadcast is a show that originally aired February 5, 1945; a “comic-strip operetta” entitled “Dick Tracy in B-Flat; or For Goodness Sake, Isn’t He Ever Going to Marry Tess Trueheart?” with Bing Crosby (as Dick Tracy), Dinah Shore (Tess Trueheart), Harry Von Zell (Old Judge Hooper), Jerry Colonna (Chief of Police), Bob Hope (Flat Top), Frank Morgan (Vitamin Flintheart), Jimmy Durante (Mole), Judy Garland (Snowflake), the Andrews Sisters (the Summer Sisters), Frank Sinatra (Shaky), and Cass Daley (Gravel Gertie). The show is every bit as impressive as its cast, with some first-rate parodies of then-popular songs and hilarious fluffs and ad-libs thrown in to boot.

The Christmas broadcast of December 25, 1945 is equally top-notch; in addition to appearances from Crosby, Shore, Colonna, Hope, Durante, Garland, Sinatra, and Daley the show features Mel Blanc (as Private Sad Sack), Ed Gardner (Archie from Duffy’s Tavern), Harry James, Kay Kyser, Francis Langford, Herbert Marshall, Johnny Mercer, the Pied Pipers, and Ginny Simms. (Something tells me that that $75,000, even adjusted for inflation, couldn’t even begin to put together an equally star-studded extravaganza today.) Among the highlights of this program are an insult contest between Bing and Frank (the two crooners had a mock “rivalry” at that particular point in time); a hillbilly skit set in Kansas with Hope, Crosby, Mercer, and Garland (when Judy points out to Johnny that there are no hills in Kansas he changes it to a “flatbilly” skit); and some wonderful old tunes, particularly Bing’s “On the Atcheson, Topeka and the Santa Fe” (written by Mercer) and a great “Two O’Clock Jump” by Harry James and his orchestra.

Some of my favorite bits:

BING CROSBY: But you say this is going to be a masquerade party, huh? What are you coming as, really?

BOB: I’m coming as The Thin Man…

BING: The Thin Man? Everybody’ll think you’ve got Asta under your vest-a…but still, I’m just in a dither…I don’t know how I should appear…

BOB: Well, why don’t you make up as one of your own horses…then you wouldn’t even have to show…

(snip)

BING: Are you going to Bob’s party?

DINAH SHORE: Yes, Bing, I am…as a matter of fact, Bob suggested we have a progressive party—you know, at my house we have the hors d’oeurves, turkey, cranberry sauce, dressing, vegetables, dessert, coffee, and brandy…and then we all go over to Bob’s house…

BING: What for…to burp?

(snip)

BOB: Harry, I suppose you’ll be at my party tonight…

HARRY JAMES: Well, Bob, I don’t know if I can make it…

BOB: Oh, Harry, you gotta be there…

HARRY: I don’t know…I’m awfully busy…

BOB: Harry, the party just can’t go on if you’re not there…

HARRY: Well, gee, Bob…I’d like to come…

BOB: But you must, Harry, you must…you’re my best friend, my closest companion…there’s no one I like better…please come…

HARRY: Well, I don’t know if I can…

BOB: Well, okay, if you can’t make it…send your wife…

For the Hollywood gossip-impaired, I would be remiss if I didn't mention that at the time, Mrs. Harry James also went by the name of Betty Grable.

JIMMY DURANTE: It was lucky I met you tonight, Herbert…you don’t mind if I call you by your maiden name…?

HERBERT MARSHALL: No…no, please do…

JIMMY: You know, Bob Hope is going to give a big party tonight…

HERBERT: Yes…I understand it’s going to be quite a soiree…

JIMMY: That’s all right…I’ll leave before the cops come…by the way, Mr. Marshall…you being British, and coming from a long line of Brits…makes you just the man I’m looking for…I may have a job for you…

HERBERT: A job?

JIMMY: Yes…I need a valet…

HERBERT: You mean a…?

JIMMY: Yes…I want you to be my gentlemen’s gentleman…

HERBERT: No, it won’t work…we’re short one gentleman…

(snip)

ARCHIE (Ed Gardner): Uh, Mr. Hope, I heard you’re throwin’ a Christmas party so I says to meself, I says “Archie, why don’t you help Hope out and get him some talent?” And not just plain first-rate talent, you know…

BOB HOPE: Better than that?

ARCHIE: Second-rate…

BOB: So you want to get me some entertainment for my party, eh, Archie?

ARCHIE: Yeah, for an allotment, of course…you know, you ain’t talkin’ to no bum…

BOB: We live and learn…

ARCHIE: Yeah…now, I could get you a certain person who’s in great demand at parties…

BOB: Oh, you can…well, who is he?

ARCHIE: I can get you Bing Crosby…

BOB: You mean my straight man in the movies?

ARCHIE: Yeah…the fella they all laugh at…the guy’s a very good singer, you know…quite a career this Crosby’s had…he studied for eight years before he found out he couldn’t sing and…by that time, he was too famous to quit…

(snip)

KAY KYSER: I don’t know how I’m gonna come to your party, Bob, if I can’t find a girl…

BOB: Oh, Kay, don’t worry, there’s a girl waiting for you in some nook or cranny…

CASS DALEY: Well, whaddya know? Men!!! Wahoo!!!

BOB: It’s Cass Daley!

CASS: Loooove men…!!!

KAY: Well, there’s one from the cranny…

BOB: Here’s where I kill two birds with one stone…say, Kay, you want a nice, pure girl, don’t you?

KAY: I sure do…

BOB: And Cass, you want a nice, simple fella, don’t you?

CASS: I do…

BOB: I now pronounce you pure and simple…

KAY: Oh, well…maybe we can still have fun…after all, beauty is only skin deep…

CASS: Yeah…who peeled you?

(snip)

FRANK SINATRA: So only thirteen-year-old girls like me, huh?

BOB: That’s what I hear…

FRANK: All this stuff about thirteen-year-olds and me is just plain propaganda…I know one beautiful movie star who goes for me and she isn’t thirteen, either…

BOB: Really? I didn’t know Lassie cared…

FRANK: Well, she does!

BOB: Yeah, come to think of it, Frank—why shouldn’t Lassie love you? It’s a great thrill for a dog, hearing a pile of bones sing…

FRANK (after a pause): You been talking to Crosby lately, boy?

BOB: Well, after all, Frankie—the guy works at the same studio with me, I gotta talk to him sometime…you see, he has the key to the washroom…

FRANK: I thought Crosby was behind all this…why does he insult me that way? Why, I wouldn’t hurt a fly…

BOB: Not even if you sat on one…

FRANK: Honest, Bob…I don’t know why Bing should treat me like this…why, I’ve never said anything but the nicest things about that…fat, old gentleman…

BOB: Frankie, look, this is Christmas…the time for goodwill and brotherly love…you shouldn’t call Bing a fat, old gentleman…

FRANK: Well…he’s fat, isn’t he?

BOB: Um…yes…

FRANK: He’s old, isn’t he?

BOB: Um…yes…

FRANK: He’s a gent…

BOB (cutting him off) See how wrong you are?

This is really a first-rate production, with outstanding music and some hilarious comedy (including much of the ad-libbing that was prevalent on the previous Elgin show), and concludes with some good old-fashioned Christmas caroling, courtesy of Judy Garland, Dinah Shore, Francis Langford, Ginny Simms and Der Bingle. Ken Carpenter is the announcer for the holiday proceedings. (Talk about a busy guy!)

Although the peak of Command Performance’s popularity was during wartime, the program continued on AFRS until March 14, 1950; it is estimated that there nearly a total of 400 shows and specials were produced. An attempt was made to make lightning strike twice with a civilian version of the program called Request Performance, which began over CBS Radio Sunday nights on October 7, 1945. Again, the format was similar—audiences would request personalities such as horror film star Boris Karloff performing in a comedy sketch; one request had Phil Harris and wife Alice Faye appearing together for the first time on radio, which may very well have laid the groundwork for their popular radio sitcom that began in the fall of 1946. But with only $15,000 budgeted for talent every week, the program fell short of matching the star wattage of its AFRS sister and it closed its doors April 21, 1946.

The most frequent guest star of Command Performance was Bing Crosby, who appeared on the program a total of 29 times (Bob Hope was second with 26). It’s only fitting, I guess, that Crosby also benefited in one small way from the popular program. Many of the most popular shows on the American airwaves were shipped over to AFRS during the war so that they could be heard by the troops, and sophisticated editing techniques were used to eliminate the commercials and other unnecessary references for the G.I. crowd. These early editing efforts no doubt encouraged Crosby to jump ship from NBC to ABC, where he started his own prerecorded series, Philco Radio Time.