Radio Digest (June 1932-Mar 1933)

May and Peter (Continued from page 15) lave been domestic partners as well is professional ones; while Dr. Minor enjoys the distinction of being a minister who is regarded as "one of the family" by the couple he joined together. Now, Mr. and Mrs. de Rose dare not sing about parting, for as sure as static, the next day the mail man will be offering his protest along with hundreds of others he delivers from folks all over the country. I could not help but think that May and Peter had unofficially become Radio's Romance Department — and were taking their job seriously, as evidenced by all this activity on Sunday. Though the audience really dictates their programs, I learned that May is responsible for the continuity, and the unique way of presenting them in rhyme. And upon Peter falls the job of keeping up their huge library of songs, over 10,000 in all ; as well as constantly composing new numbers. And it was plain to see that next to May, the piano is Peter de Rose's grand passion. He plays entirely by ear, though possessing a thorough musical background, having studied abroad for several years. I was told that he comes of a family of ten musicians, and is of Italian parentage, though born in New York. While May, I discovered, has written quite a few of the lyrics of her husband's melodies, and in addition, dashes off ukulele arrangements of popular songs for some twenty-five publishers ; and instructs a large class in the art of ukulele playing. Trying to get students to carry on with the uke after the easy preliminary lessons, and discover for themselves its possibilities as a real musical instrument, she considers her only "tough" job. May learned to play the piano when she was but four years of age. She also is a born New Yorker, but has spent much time studying abroad, and would probably be playing the piano exclusively today instead of being the foremost exponent of the ukulele, if it were not that a department store refused to exchange musical instruments, and she had to keep the "uke" which had been given to her as a Christmas present. Miss Breen's spirit of not letting anything get the best of her made her learn to play the then despised instrument, which is today perhaps her most prized possession, for it has brought her love, fame, and fortune. After tricking the Ukulele Lady and her pianist husband into having a picture made by the barrel of tan mail — I felt I had done quite enough for one Sunday afternoon . . . and slipped out the door quietly as the Sweethearts became absorbed in a new melody at the piano. . . . Grofe in the Sun (Continued from page 7) could put it down without much thinking about it. He brought cider and cigars. And went on with his work and soon it was finished. He stepped to the piano, put the music before him and rambled over the keys. Then he rolled up the script and gave it to the boy who rushed away with it. "What happens next to that particular bit?" I asked. "It goes to the extractor, who probably will spend the rest of the night on it," replied mine host. We talked about border days before the World War when he played in small amusement halls haunted by the soldiers who were camped along the line. Then how he had been impressed with the grandeur of the Grand Canyon. These were impressionistic days for him. Finally he came to California, Los Angeles and San Francisco. The flu had driven him from the former place, but in San Francisco flu masks were the vogue where people had to dance. There he played in the Portola Louvre, the only place open at the time. People wore their flu masks even to dance. Paul Whiteman was in the Fairmont Hotel. Grofe had picked up some tricks from the Dixie Jazz band records and enlarged upon them. It was amusing, much more amusing than it had been playing trombone in the Tom Ince rube band at Los Angeles. There were saxophones in this new jazz idea, and that was a chance for trick arrangements. Just as it seemed that Grofe and Whiteman were going to make their first acquaintance Whiteman was taken down with nervous prostration. But Whiteman had heard the Grofe trick playing and he did not forget. Later they were in Los Angeles and Whiteman sent for him. Whiteman was playing at the Hotel Alexandria and Grofe at Roma Cafe. "I can use you very well as a pianist," said Paul. "Thanks, how much is there in it?" asked Mr. Grofe. "The most I can offer you is $60 a week." "My price is $75," Grofe replied. "I'll have to see my manager," Paul answered. Later they compromised on $70 a week and that was the beginning of a long period of association. It started during Christmas 37 week in Los Angeles in 1919. They made an incidental business of playing around at the homes of the famous movie stars. The first tune played under the new alliance was "Dardanella." Saturday nights Grofe played extra in a symphonic orchestra. There was a very critical period when Ferde Grofe might have turned into a fancy chicken farmer just before the great and sudden rush to fame of the Whiteman orchestra at the Palais D'Or in New York. Grofe, Buster Johnson and Gus Miller were planning to go to Atlantic City from the West under telegraph instruction from Whiteman. They did not care to go, and worked out a scheme to remain in California. At last they hit on the idea and possibilities of a chicken ranch. It would be something more dependable than the uncertainties of musical engagements. They had it all figured out how, Grofe still believes, they could have made a fortune. But then Paul arrived in town and sent them on their way to Atlantic City and they went to work in the Ambassador Hotel. From Atlantic City they went to New York and played at the Palais D'Or where Grofe kept working out the jazz arrangements which were played from his penciled scripts. It was not until 1923 that Ferde Grofe's name began to be known as the Whiteman arranger. Then it appeared on the phonograph records in conjunction with the name of Paul Whiteman. This information is all very much condensed from the conversation we enjoyed that evening at the Grofe home. There was no boasting, and only persistent and pointed questions brought out the main facts gleaned here. Not that the maestro was shy. he merely did not think of himself. He was fluent enough about incidents that amused him and such expressions as "we had more darned fun" at one place or another during those early days. At times, as we sat there, he would go in to see Mrs. Grofe who had retired with their four-weeks-old infant. Anne Carlin. There also is a junior who is two years old. Just now, besides a great deal of routine orchestration Ferde Grofe, is working on two new suites, one of which will be called "Tabloid." and another "Rip Van Winkle." Recently he was appointed official Composer of Radio City in New York. With the opening date for Radio City close at hand Roxy sent for Ferde Grofe and had him appointed as official composer and arranger for this greatest of all show centers in the world. As these lines are written Mr. Grofe is just stepping into his new job.