Modern Screen (Jul-Dec 1945)

Stat and . n(ler?r fo and ic. 'u 's ore NEW...O CREAM DEODORANT which Safely helps STOP under-arm PERSPIRATION 3. Does not irritate skin. Does not rot dresses and men's shirts. Prevents under-arm odor. Helps stop perspiration safely. A pure, white, antiseptic, stainless vanishing cream. No waiting to dry. Can be used right after shaving. Arrid has been awarded the Approval Seal of the American Institute of Laundering — harmless to fabric. Use Arrid regularly. 39' Plus Tax (Also 590 size) At any store which sells toilet goods ARRID MORE MEN AND WOMEN USE ARRID THAN ANY OTHER DEODORANT PENNIES FROM HEAVEN (Continued from page 41) to be a lawyer because of his breezy talk talent and fast mind. But he also sang wherever he went and after athletics, what fascinated him most was the early jazz music he heard on the victrola. Around Spokane Bing gained an early rep with the Musicaladers, a pick-up band of jazz-happy kids like himself. When it broke up, Al Rinker and Bing worked up a duo singing act and finally left Gonzaga and Spokane tc follow their hearts — and the trail led south to Hollywood. Their snappy, jazzy hot-lick tunes booked them right away on stage show tours of California movie houses, which turned into larks and binges strewn with wild oats. But even folly couldn't stymie Bing CrosI by's date with fate. Paul Whiteman, his i boyhood idol, caught their "Two Boys and j a Piano" act at a small San Francisco i theater and again in Los Angeles. He asked them to travel East to New York with his band as a novelty act. Bing and ! Al couldn't believe their luck. New York! The Big Time! Broadway! Bing wrote the big news to his folks back home in Spokane. "I'm going to settle down and make i good now," he promised. But his pearly ! teeth were just clicking. He would make good, all right, with his razz-ma-tazz tunes because he was Bing Crosby and he I couldn't help it. But he wouldn't settle down and sober up and beam his golden gift of song on the world — not yet. Bing was in his early twenties when he left the Coast for the East, but he still had a lot of growing up to do before he became the Bing Crosby that the world knows today and loves. To Continue: A few months ago Paul Whiteman wanted to book the Rhythm Boys on his Radio Hall of Fame anniversary show, just as they'd been back in the 1920's when he was the King of Jazz. He rounded up Al Rinker and Harry Barris, who happened to be in Manhattan at the time. Bing Crosby flew from Hollywood to New York. They met in a Radio City rehearsal studio, with the rest of the show. Close to twenty years had slipped by since the trio huddled around the little piano and shouted out their rhythms. Plenty had happened to all three of them since then — particularly Bing. "Boys," said "Fatha" Whiteman cautiously. "Think you can work up something a little like you used to beat out? You'll have a day or two to rehearse." Bing tipped back his hat and frowned indignantly. "What do you mean, 'a little like' — why not the same act?" "Rehearse?" put in Al Rinker. "Why rehearse?" "Got a piano?" Harry Barris asked. They rolled one out. Bing borrowed a cymbal and stick from the drummer. Harry twirled up the stool and Bing and Al leaned on the upright. "Let's go," said Bing. "Uh-one— uh-two!" They leaped into "Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue." Nobody fuzzed a break or a harmony run. They booped, slapped and panted through "The Bluebirds and the Blackbirds." Still not a ragged riff. They wound up with their own wowing masterpiece, "Mississippi Mud." It was in the groove, all the way down to the last, steamy, expiring, "P-s-s-s-s-h-h-h-h-h!" In spite of Bing's notoriously sketchy memory it would be hard for one of Paul Whiteman's Rhythm Boys to forget a line of those ancient senders, for before the Rhythm Boys were born, it was just "Crosby and Rinker" introduced by Mae