Radio Digest (May 1931-May 1932)

17 Br-r-r. But it's cold up here. Can't we turn on the steam? But no janitor could be found up in the North Pole so the Clicquot Men just donned their red flannels and white fur suits — we mean ermines — and started to play some snappy, scorching songs to raise the temperature. In the center there is Harry, with the black collar. broadcast features the Prince of Wales in some "torrid" tunes, we'll know who's responsible. Of the scenes behind Buckingham Palace's walls during the lessons, Harry Reser was obdurately silent. One can only imagine the sentinels with painfully suppressed expressions of surprise as they heard their future ruler plunk away "Just a Baby's Prayer at Twilight," or "Red Hot Mamma" on the royal banjo. JLHIS much is known — that the Prince's Ma and Pa sped away in their carriages drawn by eight, when they heard of their boy's ambition. But before Harry Reser was through — the Prince of Wales was a finished ban joist, and Mr. Reser thinks he's a whale of a fellow. Soon after it was generally known that England's heir to the throne had turned minstrel, the banjo quickly became a popular instrument, and I understand that some of the most learned M. P's., Knights of the Garter — and even the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Lord High Executioner have turned out to be some of the finest plunkers. Yes, that's what Harry Reser started when he went to London Town. When he and the members of his band returned to the good old U. S. of A., they obtained an engagement over the army station on Bedloe's Island, right near the young lady who, with her beacon light raised high, has stood for liberty, these many years — and she's still standing — the persistent damsel. In 1925 Harry Reser signed up with the American Telephone and Telegraph Company — then owners of WEAF which was soon to be the kev station of the NBC. Rare is the musician who knows not whether he is. playing on a sustaining or a commercial program. But Harry Reser had that unusual experience. It was not until the end of the third number that he realized he was in the possession of a sponsor — the same organization that has sponsored him to the present time from that day in 1925 — manufacturers of Clicquot's ginger ale. With the comet-like rise and meteoric fall of some of the radio stars, it is a Twentieth Century miracle that Mr. Reser has been able to keep up sustained interest in his program for fully six years. In their furred caps and breeches, winter and summer, Harry Reser and his Icelandic clicque have played tunes of such high temperature that the Frozen North has often stood in danger of losing its cold austerity and becoming a fizz of vapor. Mr. Reser was born January 17, 1896, at Piqua, Ohio, and is declared to be a direct descendant of David Crockett, the famous pioneer. ONE has only to turn the dials to WEAF and associated NBC stations of a Friday night at 9-30 EST. to get an "ear-view" of the Frozen North and its inhabitants as they are entertained at the Eskimo Night Club. The jingle of sleigh-bells and y-r-r-ping of sled dogs give a realism to the program that takes the listener to the land of ice and perpetual snow. Who is this Hatty Reser, Chief of the Eskimo Night Club? Read the answer here. He started his short-lived business career as a clerk in a railroad freight office and received $44 a month for his pains. Absorbed in the "fascinating" duties of his station, he noticed an advertisement for a pianist in a summer resort out in Tennessee. He answered the ad and got the job. Packed his brilliantly colored pyjamas and other possessions which he had amassed through his resourceful business career and got on the train. I ,T WAS not until he was comfortably settled that the annoying thought occurred to him that he had never studied the piano. He had always been able to ripple off any melody by ear — but he was no Paderewski. How he wished he never had seen that ad ! When he finally arrived in town — a moment which he dreaded and even had hoped would never come, he was welcomed with open arms. No concert pianist was ever given a more cordial reception. So die time had come, murmured Mr. Reser to himself, when he was flying under false colors. It was almost unbearable. With all of the courage he could summon— after the enthusiasm of the meeting had died down, he betook himself to the ominous piano. It was a long trip, that walk from the other end of the room to this instrument, and it seemed as if it took him hours ami hours to get there. But he finally did arrive and managed somehow to survive through some popular airs which he played. The burst of applause that followed at fust seemed mockery, but when he beheld the unmistakable rapture of his audience he was convinced that there was a Santa Qaus alter all.