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.

“Well, um, gosh…what do you think, Harriet…?”

Now, I know that many folks have a rather jaundiced view of The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet, and I can understand to a certain extent why this is so. The program is an example of that wholesome, white-bread WASP-kind of family situation comedy (along with its siblings Leave It to Beaver and Father Knows Best) prevalent during the 1950s that comes across as extremely dated today. But I’m not ashamed to admit that I like Ozzie and Harriet—the radio version, that is. It’s one of those programs (like Burns and Allen) that played better on radio than TV, and veteran comedy scribe Bob Schiller concurs in an interview from Jordan R. Young’s The Laugh Crafters:

It was a much better radio show than it was a television show. If I had to name a sitcom that I thought was a classic, I’d say it was Ozzie and Harriet. It was terribly underrated—from a writing standpoint, from a performing standpoint. And Ozzie was a very good editor. They had solid stories, partially due to Ben Gershman. He was a droll man. Ben did all the stories, that was his job—that was the only show I ever worked on that had one guy doing stories. And that was great, because he’d spend the whole week just doing the story, then he’d bring ‘em in and we’d kick ‘em around.

Last night, along with some Jack Benny, I listened to a pair of Ozzie and Harriet shows from 1952. In the first, “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” (from April 18), Ozzie reads in the newspaper that the town’s Chamber of Commerce has withdrawn its support from the local baseball team, and he attempts to explain to his family why the Great American Pasttime is so important:

OZZIE: Baseball’s been a colorful part of our American scene since before the Civil War…
RICKY: Is that when they discovered it?
DAVID: Nobody discovered it, dopey—it was invented…by Abner Doubleday…
RICKY: Oh yeah…
OZZIE: Well, that’s right…he was the father of American baseball…
RICKY: Golly—that Lil’ Abner sure gets around, doesn’t he?
HARRIET: No, I think it was a different Lil’ Abner…
OZZIE: Some of my fondest childhood memories were the Sunday afternoons when my father used to take us up to Martin’s Oval and root for the Richfield Park Team…
RICKY: Was that before or after the Civil War?

After conferring with his neighbor Thorny on what steps they should take to get the community involved, they hit upon the idea of getting a promoter friend, J.J. Fleason (Gale Gordon), to mother-hen a few ideas on how to win support for continuing the local team. Fleason, who’s also a used car dealer, presents Ozzie with a few of his ideas:

FLEASON: First of all, we make Monday night—Ladies’ Night…
OZZIE: You mean that…uh…ladies are admitted free?
FLEASON: No, sir…no…the ladies play baseball…now, here’s what we do—we find eighteen beautiful, shapely girls, dress them up in fluorescent sun suits, and form two teams…like the idea so far?
OZZIE: Well, the…the basic elements there are pretty hard to knock…
FLEASON: Exactly…and I know what your next question is—you want to know where we can find eighteen beautiful, shapely girls who can play baseball…well, believe me…you get those girls out there in those sun suits and nobody’s going to care whether they can play baseball or not…

Fleason’s other ideas include Midget Baseball on Tuesday nights (“We’ll even cut the admission to half price!”) and Donkey Baseball on Wednesdays—where the regular team rides donkeys while playing. Ozzie presents the ideas to his family, trying to appear enthusiastic—but the horrified reaction he receives tempers his enthusiasm. Harriet then hits upon the brilliant idea of presenting to the Chamber of Commerce and community a choice between regular baseball or Fleason’s carnival-like imitation, and the Chamber immediately decides to reinstate its support for the hometown team.

(NOTE: I discovered something interesting in this episode—Ozzie’s next-door neighbor, “Thorny” Thornberry, reveals his initials to be “S.J.” Does anybody know if Thorny ever had a first name on the show?)

The second broadcast, “Too Much Change” (4/25/52), is a particular delight, beginning with Ozzie’s accounting of where the ten dollars Harriet gave him yesterday went:

OZZIE: First, I went to the garage and had the car filled up with gas…that was three-and-a-half…
HARRIET: Six-and-a-half to go…
OZZIE: Then I met Thorny—that cost me about a dollar-and-a-half…two cheese sandwiches, two chocolate malteds, two pieces of pie and the check was under my plate—I think I was framed…
HARRIET: That’s five…
OZZIE: Uh…then I went down to the Emporium and bought a shirt…they were on sale…that was three-and-a-half…after that, I stopped in at the hardware store to get a padlock for the garage…oh, I got a flashlight that shines red and green…that’s something we need…
HARRIET: Oh, desperately…
OZZIE: What did you say?
HARRIET: Nothing, go ahead…
OZZIE: I also found a set of wrenches for the car…and a box of magic crystals for the fireplace—they make the fire burn all different colors, it’s quite an idea…all that came to about four dollars…
HARRIET: What about the padlock?
OZZIE: Well, I’ll…I’ll pick up that up next time…then I stopped at the drugstore on the way home and I bought some toothpaste, and a can of shoe polish, and some magazines…which came to a little over two dollars…you figure it out…
HARRIET: I have—I’ve been writing it down…all together you spent about fifteen dollars…
OZZIE: All right…(sudden realization) Fifteen? No, no—you must have made a mistake…I only had ten dollars with me…let’s see…
HARRIET: Gasoline, three-and-a-half…Thorny and the sandwiches, a dollar-and-a-half…
OZZIE: Yeah, that’s five…
HARRIET: …shirt at the Emporium, three-and-a-half…after that, temptation at the hardware store, four dollars…
OZZIE: That’s…twelve-and-a-half…
HARRIET: And two dollars and something at the drugstore, that makes it about fifteen…not bad for starting out with ten dollars…

Ozzie comes to the conclusion that the sales clerk at the Emporium must have given him the wrong change, and so he tries to rectify the situation by returning the money. This, however, is easier said than done—the adjustments manager (Frank Nelson) pleads with him not to do this, as it will put the books out-of-balance (as an auditor, I feel his pain). Ozzie finally locates the clerk (Sara Berner) and attempts to give her the five-spot, but runs into interference with her boyfriend “Hoiman” (Sheldon Leonard), who’s convinced that the Oz Man is trying to pick her up. Paula Winslowe also appears in this show (as a flirtatious saleslady), a very funny effort with an equally amusing ending.

I was reading the recent issue of Michael J. Weldon’s Psychotronic! magazine and there’s an interesting article in which he reviews several old television shows that he obtained on videocassette—he makes a funny observation regarding “America’s favorite young couple”: “The showbiz brothers [David and Ricky] were forced to play themselves from 1949 (on the radio) to 1966. Weren’t there child labor laws?”

“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.”

"We're gonna miss you around here, boy..."

When I was growing up, part of my lifelong devotion to comedy—in film, television, and OTR—was my obsession in seeing if I could make people laugh just like my comedic idols. I was pretty young at the time, and I remember telling a joke to my parents. When I didn’t get the response I anticipated, I started laughing in an effort to drown out the accompaniment of chirping crickets.

My Dad frowned at me. “You’re some comedian, laughing at your own jokes.”

I thought about this for a minute. “Red Skelton’s a comedian who laughs at his own jokes,” I argued.

“He does not.”

A few weeks later, Skelton was doing a PBS special and sure enough, he would laugh along with the audience. Grinning, I wasted no time in pointing this out to my father.

Dad let that register for a minute, then replied: “Yeah, but you’re no Red Skelton.”

I'll come clean and admit that I’m a huge Skelton fan. What’s odd about this is: I can’t quite figure out why. His humor is completely devoid of any kind of sophistication, his jokes are straight out of Joe Miller, and he’s corny and lowbrow to the extreme.

But when I listen to his old-time radio broadcasts, I laugh like a hyena. I think it’s because Skelton was essentially a clown (a TV ad selling Skelton’s old shows on DVD has Jerry Lewis touting him as “the clown master”); a comic with such an irresistibly goofy nature you just can’t help but guffaw at his antics. One of my favorite Skelton quotes goes: “I know I’m nuts—but as long as I make ‘em laugh they’re not gonna lock me up.”

Skelton, a Vincennes, Indiana native, was a jack-of-all-trades in the area of show business. The son of a circus clown, he later followed in his father’s footsteps; but he also worked medicine shows, vaudeville, burlesque, showboats and even the walkabout circuit. It was during an engagement at the Pantages Theater in Kansas in 1930 that Red met Edna Stillwell—who could very well have laid claim to being the catalyst that propelled Skelton to fame. Lean and hungry years followed their marriage in 1931, until Red—much like Edgar Bergen—got a break at the big time with an appearance on Rudy Vallee’s program on August 12, 1937. He revisited Vallee's show for a return engagement two weeks later, and then a third time in November of that year—but whatever lightning that had worked so well for Bergen failed to strike twice for Skelton.

In 1938, Edna (who had taken on the responsibility of Red’s business manager/head writer, and would remain so for many years even after their divorce in 1943) created a hilarious sketch in which Skelton demonstrated the various ways people would dunk doughnuts. Although devouring a dozen doughnuts for each appearance (doing three shows a day) soon packed on thirty-five pounds to his frame, Red had hit the big time; he was hired by RKO to do the sketch in their film adaptation of Having Wonderful Time (1938). Soon after, he began his first headlining role on network radio with Avalon Time, debuting over NBC on January 7, 1939. The comedy-variety show, which also featured Edna, country singer Red Foley, and Marlin Hurt (who would later become famous as “Beulah” on Fibber McGee & Molly) was a slight but amusing series that lasted about a year (many of these broadcasts are in circulation), and provided fans the opportunity to hear a younger, embryonic version of the later Skelton.

The Raleigh Cigarette Program Starring Red Skelton premiered over NBC on October 7, 1941—and it remains today the radio show for which Red is best remembered. On this series, Red began impersonating his gallery of zany characters: Junior, Clem Kadiddlehopper, Deadeye, Willie Lump-Lump, and many, many others. Joining him on the show were talented African-American comic Wonderful Smith, a young Ozzie Nelson, and Ozzie’s wife—billed as Harriet Hilliard at that time. Ozzie’s band provided music for the Skelton show, and Hilliard—the female vocalist of Oz’s tuneful congregation—played many of the female roles opposite Red (she was “Mummy” to Skelton’s “Junior,” “Daisy June” to his “Clem Kadiddlehopper,” etc.). The show soon skyrocketed to the top of the ratings, and frequently challenged The Bob Hope Show and Fibber McGee & Molly for the top spot among comedy programs.

The April 25, 1944 broadcast that I listened to last night is prime Skelton; and I enjoyed it particularly for the participation of Ozzie & Harriet, who warble a fine version of “Milkman, Keep Those Bottles Quiet.” (Many of the 1941-44 Skelton programs featuring the Nelsons were unavailable to collectors for many years until Radio Spirits released a collection with programs provided by the Skelton estate.) The program also has famed Jack Benny player Frank Nelson as the show’s announcer (“Does your cigarette taste different lately?”) The first segment of the show, tagged “People in Our American Way of Life,” would feature Red interviewing a typical John Q. Public with an occupation of interest; in this show, he chats with—and plays straight-man to—circus barker Norman Carroll:

RED: How are you there, Mr. Carroll?

CARROLL: How are you, Red…

RED: I’m fine…tell me, Norman…what’s life like under the big top?

CARROLL: Just like a portable, small town…

RED: Well…aren’t the neighbors a little freakish?

CARROLL: Aren’t neighbors generally?

With the introduction of Carroll, the theme of the show—“Under the Big Top”—is established, and in the first sketch Red plays one of his lesser-known characters, Bolivar Shagnasty. I’ve noticed that Shagnasty—a wisecracking Brooklynese type—got quite a workout in the prewar Skelton broadcasts; later on, especially after Skelton jumped ship to CBS (in 1949), he wasn’t heard from much, dwarfed by more popular characters like Deadeye and Cauliflower McPugg. Here, Bolivar is a barker himself, who finds himself accosted by a woman (played by the delightful Bea Benaderet) seeking circus employment:

WANDA: Hello, I wanna see the boss…

BOLIVAR: Well, what do I look like?

WANDA: Someone who’s AWOL from the sideshow…listen, I wanna a job…

BOLIVAR: Look, lady, I’m sorry…we don’t need no stake drivers…

WANDA: I’m a performer!

BOLIVAR: Oh, a performer, huh…and your forte?

WANDA: No, I’m only thirty-one…

BOLIVAR: I mean, what’s your speciality?

WANDA: Oh! I do a jitterbug dance with an elephant.

BOLIVAR: A jitterbug dance with an elephant?

WANDA: Yeah…and with G.I. shoes on…

BOLIVAR: Say, that’s quite a novelty…an elephant and a monkey doin’ a jitterbug dance together…where’s your elephant?

WANDA: Oh, I don’t have an elephant…I just use my imagination…

BOLIVAR: Well, Sister…you’re gonna find that a real elephant is just four tons heavier than your imagination…

WANDA: Ain’t you got none with the circus?

BOLIVAR: Oh, sure…none that’s been out dancin’ lately, though…

Clem Kadiddlehopper, one of Red’s most popular and endearing characters, is the star attraction of the next sketch—Clem was a bucolic buffoon, who made Edgar Bergen’s Mortimer Snerd look like a Rhodes scholar. His most memorable catchphrase was usually uttered after his girlfriend Daisy June (played by Harriet Hilliard) arrived on the scene (“We-e-e-e-l-l-l-l Da-a-a-a-a-aisy Ju-u-u-u-u-une!”) Daisy June has her doubts about Clem wanting to become the new lion tamer for the circus currently in town:

DAISY: Clem…you ain’t going in no cage with the lion, ‘er ya? Are ya that brave?

CLEM: Brave, she asks…you see this medal? That one’s for rescuin’ a woman from a burning building…and this one’s for disarmin’ a dangerous criminal…and this one over here…

DAISY: What’s this one fer?

CLEM: I don’t know…the feller at the pawnshop couldn’t explain that one…

Clem, being the idiot he is (and fiercely proud of it), is convinced by the circus manager to have a go:

MANAGER: Come on now, get in with the lion….

(SFX: cage opening)

CLEM: Well, put me down, will ya? I’ll get in myself…

MANAGER: Go ahead, go ahead…you don’t want your girl to think you’re yellow…?

CLEM: Well, don’t push me, will ya?!!! (SFX: cage closing, lion roar) (to audience) Now, if Mr. Raleigh is listening in, he’ll swear that lion says that your cigarette tastes different lately…well, how are you there, Big Boy? (SFX: lion roar) You gonna be friends with me, Leo? (SFX: lion roar) I do hope he said yes…boy, I wish I was Johnny Weissmuller right now…

DAISY: Why? ‘Cause he can handle wild beasts?

CLEM: No…because he’s at home…

MANAGER: Now, Clem, here’s the act you do…

CLEM: Yeah?

MANAGER: First, you stick your head in the lion’s mouth…

CLEM: Mm-hmm…

MANAGER: Then, for an encore, he sticks his head in your mouth…

CLEM: What makes you think there’s gonna be an encore?

The last sketch features one of Red’s funniest characters, Junior—“the mean widdle kid”. Charlie McCarthy had nothing on this child—McCarthy could be a wisenheimer, but Junior was a genuine holy terror. What McCarthy only talked about (usually while getting a lecture from Bergen), Junior actually executed. Junior has talked his mother into taking him to the circus, and mother and child are busy walking around, checking out the sights:

MUMMY: Oh, look over there, Junior…Junior, where are you?

JUNIOR: Here I is…sittin’ here with a gorilla!

MUMMY: Junior! Get out of there, do you want the gorilla to bite you and get sick? You know you’re not supposed to be in there…

JUNIOR: I know! I told him that as he pulled me through the bars!

Junior’s modus operandi on the show was generally to leave a path of complete mayhem and destruction in every direction he went. His declaration of “If I dood it—I dets a whippin’…I dood it!” became a popular national catchphrase (and also the title of a 1943 MGM musical). Junior’s mummy makes the mistake of leaving Junior unattended, and the little darlin’ decides to see what’s going on at the monkey cage:

WORKER: I’m going to go get some water…

JUNIOR: You is?

WORKER: You won’t open that cage door, will you?

JUNIOR (evil laugh): Awww…noooo, noooo…

WORKER: Now, I knew you wouldn’t…because you’re a good little boy…

JUNIOR (to audience) Trusting old soul, ain’t he? Oh, the coast is clear…now I’m going to crawl in the cage with the widdle monkeys (SFX: cage opening, closing) Well, hello, neighbors! How you guys stand in the draft, huh? Oh, here comes Mummy…here comes Mummy…

MUMMY: Good heavens…I hate to admit it, but there’s a monkey in there that looks just like Junior…

JUNIOR (hamming it up): Please, peanuts…please, peanuts!

MUMMY: Well, I’ll feed you little fellows right away, you…JUNIOR!!!

JUNIOR: Don’t yell! You scared me, too!

MUMMY: Oh! You get out of that cage!

(SFX: cage opening)

JUNIOR: Okay…

(SFX: cage closing)

MUMMY: My goodness! Now give me your hand…you won’t get away from me anymore...(SFX: walking) My goodness, Junior…your hands are getting hairy…

JUNIOR: Hey, Mummy! You look awfully silly walking alone with that monkey there!

Skelton temporarily closed up shop on June 6, 1944; he had been drafted in March of that same year and spent 18 months out of the public eye in the military, finally returning to NBC Radio on December 4, 1945. By that time, Ozzie & Harriet had moved on to their own program, The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet, and actress GeGe Pearson replaced Harriet in the female parts, including a new girlfriend for Clem Kadiddlehopper in the guise of Sarah Dew. Pearson was then replaced by veteran radio actress Lurene Tuttle; other welcome additions to the Skelton program were announcer Rod O’Connor, who was an all-purpose foil to most of Red’s characters; and the falling-down funny Verna Felton, who provided king-size laughs in her clashes with “the mean widdle kid” as Junior’s “Nammaw.”

Leonard Maltin once marveled at Skelton’s success because his career seemed to violate so many rules: for example, he was a comedian whose jokes were rurally-oriented at a time when radio humor was becoming slicker and more urban-based. He also—shades of Edgar Bergen—achieved more success on radio than television; indeed much of the humor that he began performing on the new medium (he had made the leap to the tube in 1951) was firmly pantomime in nature. For me, Skelton’s radio shows are far superior to his televised offerings; the wonderful gallery of grotesques he created seem to play better on radio, where it’s much easier for my imagination to do all the work.