Radio Digest (June 1932-Mar 1933)

"Hi ? tng s 7 J\ode Insured for $100,000 By Knute K. Hansen FOR years Bing Crosby struggled for recognition as a singer. Then Mack Sennett, veteran Hollywood comedy impresario, decided that Bing was a natural comedian — whereupon Bing immediately attained fame as a singer — and as a comedian as well, of course. After organizing an orchestra while he was a student at Gonzaga University, in Spokane, Washington, his home town, to finance an automobile accident — the accident had already happened — Bing gravitated into vaudeville. Then, with Harry Barris and Al Rinker, he went with Paul Whiteman and his orchestra as Whiteman's original Rhythm Boys. In Hollywood for the filming of Whiteman's picture, "The King of Jazz," they decided that they liked California, left Whiteman, and went to work with Gus Arnheim's orchestra in the Cocoanut Grove of the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. There Mack Sennett observed Crosby's antics while he was singing, his ad-libbing at the microphone and generally pleasing insouciance, and signed him up for a series of two reel comedies. Simultaneously with their release, the eastern networks heard of the individual hit Crosby was making at the Cocoanut Grove and over the air in Los Angeles, and did battle for his services. The rest is history. Established as a leading star of the air, Crosby was lured to Hollywood for another film engagement, this time in Paramount's "The Big Broadcast," in which he was starred. Now, with the picture released, he is back on the air for Chesterfield, twice weekly, and his future career promises to be marked by a struggle between films and the air for his continued services, so great has his success been in each medium. In fact, Paramount now wants him back in Hollywood for their "College Humor," on which they would like to begin production in April. That, to the casual observer, is the success story of Crosby, Bing to you. But behind it is another story, a story of how the hard work and the TF ANYTHING ever happens where-*• by Bing Crosby loses the com on his epithelium he'll lose his node and Lloyd's of London will lose $100,000 for which Bing's node is insured. His return to the CBS waves with songs that satisfy has been counted a new triumph for the perfect glissando. But read on, read on and maybe you'll discover things about this rhythmic baritone you never kneiv before. struggle Bing went through to attain his present eminence had its effect on his present fame in more ways than one. As one of the Rhythm Boys, Crosby did four and five shows daily, and, if you remember the Rhythm Boys, you'll recall that plenty of enthusiasm and energy went into those performances. Then, in addition, there were often dance engagements following the rigorous theatre schedule, and broadcasts too. In the mornings, there were recordings, for Bing, first as one of the Rhythm trio and then as a solo artist, was a big name and a heavy seller on phonograph records even before he attained radio prominence. In fact, it was his record of "I Surrender, Dear," which William Paley, president of the Columbia Broadcasting System, heard played in an adjoining stateroom while he was on his way to Europe, which eventually led to his first Columbia contract. For each public appearance and for each recording, there had to be a rehearsal, at least one and sometimes many, so Crosby's schedule was completely filled from early morning until, very often, way past midnight, with almost incessant singing. Add to this the fact that Crosby has an extremely sensitive throat, and you have an idea of the constant strain to which he subjected his voice. It will be remembered that Crosby's debut on the Columbia system two years ago was delayed by a severe attack of laryngitis, which necessitated the postponement of his first broadcast for a week. That throat of Bing's has required more attention and care than a fabulously valuable Stradivarius violin; often his doctor goes to the studios with him, with Bing barely able to speak huskily, and gives him a quick treatment just before he goes on the air. A LS A result of Bing's strenuous singing, Nature stepped in and gave him a helping hand. Anyone who has read Clarence Buddington Kelland's novel "The Great Crooner" will see a parallel between the case of Kelland's crooner and Bing Crosby. Not from the standpoint of crooning — Crosby is not a crooner, but a singer, as anyone who has ever heard him will agree. But both of them are endowed with trick vocal cords which impart a timbre to their voices which makes men and women alike gather round the radio when they're on the air, and a glissando which makes musicians marvel, other singers envious and Ring Lardner, the old purist, furious. Kelland couldn't have had Crosby in mind, however, except for the matter of that glissando, for at that time only Crosby and his doctor knew the full details of Bing's case. Kelland's crooner sang as he did because of a slip a country doctor made in operating on his throat for quinsy. Bing Crosby's million dollar voice is the direct result of his years of hard work. (Continued on page 48)