Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1948)

valley dwellers. Remember the old ^ong that went Oh, they keep the pig in the parlor, they keep the pig in the parlor? At the present writing there are no pigs in the parlors (no parlors, either, in grandma's sense of the word) but Gene Autry's horse does live in the Autry house, Dinah Shore hides a banty rooster in the living room, Penny Singleton gives shelter to a pair of rabbits in her private sitting room — all in the now-fabulous acreage known simply as "The Valley" to the initiated. Lionel Barrymore, who started the trek and became the first of the famous to dwell in the Valley, maintains testily that the most expensive and eccentric farming ever done was by two elderly ladies who kept a pair of cows on 34th Street, New York City, while the metropolis (and the taxes) mounted round them. These ladies, however, have long since gone to graze their cattle in a happier land, leaving the Valley dwellers in sole possession of a privilege which may or may not be desirable — to farm as farming is known nowhere else on the face of the earth. To begin with, the Valley comprises some two hundred and twelve square miles of rich, sun-drenched land to the north of Los Angeles. It nestles between the Coast Range on one side and the majestic, snowcapped Sierra Nevadas on the other. It is reached through Cahuenga Pass, or one of several other winding passes through the Coast Range— Cold Water Canyon, or Laurel Canyon. The would-be farmer can make up his own mind how far from Hollywood his acres are to be: The communities, which are really little more than shopping centers boasting a branch of the Los Angeles City Hall, string themselves along Route 99 on the road to San Francisco. Van Nuys, Tarzana, Sherman Oaks, Canoga Park, Chatsworth and the rest— but to ( the natives it's all The Valley, where the amateur has gone back to the land and the farmer has gone quietly crazy. The people who live there are a hardy race. They work themselves thin making movies or broadcasting coast to coast for the doubtful joy of racing some thirtyfive to fifty miles home each night to milk a cow who, for the price, ought to give pink champagne, or tend a nock of chickens that should lay golden eggs — and don't. Take the case of Gale Page. She confided to Bill Bendix, who's been a Valley dweller for a couple of years, that she wanted to buy a ranch. "Then you'd better grab off a radio show to support it," said farmwse Bill. Gale bought the ranch — and accepted a radio offer when the feed bills began rolling in. Then there's Lassie,, that hard-working collie farmer. For him to return to the soil where his forefathers undoubtedly herded sheep, he has to supplement his weekly ABC program with all the movies he can lay paws on. This provides him with a cow and with chickens which produce about two dozen eggs a day at approximately five dollars the dozen. Of course it also enables him to take the air on his own private prairie, away from the hustle and noise of the city, and to entertain as non-paying guests some twenty-four canine friends, assorted ducks, pigeons, horses, and his favorite white cat. According to owner-trainer Rudd Weatherwax, who works the ranch, Lassie is entitled to his fair share of the good things of this world. Just the same, it's the most expensive Noah's Ark on record! Jovial Tom Breneman, a Valley resident at the time of his death, was a chicken -raiser, as a man with breakfast on his mind might well be. (Continued on page 84)