Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1948)

* * * * * Don't be Half -safe! VALDA by SHERMAN R M 74 At the first blush of womanhood many mysterious changes take place in your body. For instance, the apocrine glands under your arms begin to secrete daily a type of perspiration you have never known before. This is closely related to physical development and causes an unpleasant odor on both your person and your clothes. There is nothing "wrong" with you. It's just another sign you are now a woman, not a girl ... so now you must keep yourself safe with a truly effective underarm deodorant. Two dongers— Underarm odor is a real handicap at this romantic age, and the new cream deodorant Arrid is made especially to overcome this very difficulty. It kills this odor on contact in 2 seconds, then by antiseptic action prevents the formation of all odor for 48 hours and keeps you shower-bath fresh. It also stops perspiration and so protects against a second danger— perspiration stains. 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During this "age of romance" don't let perspiration problems spoil your fun. Don't be half-safe — be Arrid-safe! Use Arrid to be sure. Get Arrid now at your favorite drug counter — only 39(S plus tax. (Advertisement) * • * * * (Continued jrom page 72) of the stream and the mill were flashed on the screen. That led to fifty dollars a week with the Doyle stock company as "Master Joe Kelly, the Irish Nightingale." He learned geography by traveling, and arithmetic by paying his hotel bill. No wonder he understands how we get nervous in front of the audience. He knows, too, how it feels to fail. He had played theaters all over the country, and at fourteen was the youngest minstrel man in America. His salary was seventy-five dollars a week. Then one day he reached for his high note. Not a sound came out. Little Joe Kelly's voice had changed; he was through. His singing had helped support the Kelly family. All the time he traveled, he sent money home. His next job was as an office boy, but that paid twelve dollars a week instead of seventy-five. To learn to play the piano, he spent his noon hours in dime store music departments watching the girl pianists. He organized his own dance band, "Kelly's Klowns," then gave it up to become an actor in a touring stock company. ON St. Patrick's Day, 1923, at Sault Sainte Marie, Ontario, he married the company's pretty brunette business manager, Mary, and eventually they settled down in Benton Harbor, Michigan. Mr. Kelly had a variety of jobs until he broke into radio at the same station where his son, Joe Jr., now is getting his start as an announcer. In 1933, he borrowed money to come to Chicago. He got his first announcing job at WLS, and soon became Chief Bell Ringer of the National Barn Dance. He was also "Jolly Joe," the children's waker-upper, on a morning program. Peering through his "magic telescope," he helped them get ready for school by keeping score while they raced to get dressed. Some mornings the girls won; others, the boys were ahead. As they scrambled into their clothes, he told them wonderful stories about Polly the Parrot and Scamper the Billygoat. In 1940, Lou Cowan, whose business it is to dream up radio programs, had the idea for the Quiz Kids. Walter Wade, of the Wade Advertising Agency, liked it, and together they got the show ready for the air. As the first board of kids, Gerard Darrow, Cynthia Cline, Joan Bishop and Van Dyke Tiers qualified, but sixteen prospective quiz masters did not. They tried college professors, writers and announcers. The kids got scared and froze, and the would-be Chief Quizzers flunked. Then Mr. Wade thought of Joe Kelly. Mr. Kelly did not want to audition, but he was under personal contract to Mr. Wade, and when Mr. Wade asked, Mr. Kelly tried. The kids had fun. They talked and talked. Mr. Kelly went to Canada on a vacation and forgot all about it. He had helped out his friend Mr. Wade, but that was all there was to it. These kids could confuse the professors, and he had only a third grade education. So far as he was concerned, he wasn't qualified for the job. He was having a fine time in the wilderness when Mr. Wade and Mr. Cowan wired, "Come back. You're the Chief Quizzer." We asked members of Mr. Cowan's staff to tell us a little more about why they chose Mr Kelly. They explained that the show is not intended to test the Chief Quizzer's knowledge; its object is to bring out what we Kids have learned. He can check our replies against the information on the cards the research department provides, but first he has to get us to give the answers. We're eager to give Mr. Kelly the answers because we feel he understands that you can know something perfectly, but if some one dares you to say it, you can get so excited everything erases out of your mind like chalk off a blackboard. It may be that Mr. Kelly has never forgotten the way he felt the day his voice changed, and he stood in front of an audience, unable to sing a note. If one of us gets into a tight spot, he helps us all he can — short of giving away the answer. I (Joel) want to tell you about the day he helped me the most. I hadn't missed a math problem in a month, and even before the show I had a feeling this was the day. Mr. Kelly must have noticed what happens when I miss — I get red in the face and so flustered I can't concentrate any more. I should have solved that one. When Mr. Kelly said, "No, I'm sorry Joel, but that isn't right ..." I started to burn. He must have seen me blush red as my gown. He turned his back to the audience and talked only to me. "Never mind, Joel. You'll get the next one. Just take it easy." I calmed down. I was away behind at the time, but instead of having my thoughts scrambled, I answered the next questions correctly and came in second. And I, (Rinny) felt the worst the day I arrived with a black eye. Honestly, I don't know when I've been so embarrassed. Some people pretended not to notice; some kidded me. I don't know which was worse. Apparently, it is very funny when a thirteen-year-old young lady sports a shiner. MR. KELLY, however, was perfectly matter-of-fact. "How did you get it?" "I was playing a little touch football at a picnic," I almost whispered. I was that fussed. "Well," said Mr. Kelly, "you'll just have to develop a little better defense." I didn't mind after that. Perhaps the reason we trust Mr. Kelly so much is because we have never seen him angry. Even on out of town trips, when we invent games which are somewhat hectic for a pullman, and the other grown ups get provoked; he just smiles. He's a genius, too, at restoring order when we start scuffling before the show. We'll admit things get a bit wild. As we told you, we reach NBC just half an hour before we go on the air. Usually, we wait in a small studio until time to make our entrance. We haven't seen each other for a week, and we have lots of things saved up to say. One of us will grab a dead mike to imitate a noted announcer. Another disagrees with his interpretation and tries to take it away. In seconds, we're all shouting at once. Then Mr. Kelly walks in. He'll say, "Cut it out, Kids. We don't want any more teeth lost around here." I (Joel) carefully count molars and incisors. I lost my baby teeth in twelve different states, but I need these. To change the subject, I ask, "What's on the cards today?"