Radio doings (Dec 1930-Jun1932)

Page Twenty RADIO DOINGS February, 1931 Cn your Eight, Ladies and Gentlemen By DICK CREEDON . . . Publicity Director KHJ Carl Omeron MY public! KHJ greets you. For 18 hours daily you may hear us — but, fortunately or otherwise, as the fact may be, you can't see us. So for the brief span of two pages, you find us caught by the all-seeing camera's eye, which, as you know, never lies: though some cameras do sort of make the best of a bad job. But not these cameras. We of KHJ want you to know us better. To know us is to love us. We are just one big happy family of one hundred human souls. (Crashing of sound effects.) And there being so many of us, and our space for pictures so limited, and the need for keeping our big happy family in that condition, it became necessary to invent some absolutely impartial means of deciding whose map, mug, face would appear on these pages and whose wouldn't. So it was decided to put the hundred photographs in a specially constructed derby and let a pretty, not too heavily clothed and blindfolded maiden draw out a dozen. Being practically blind after putting this magazine to bed, Dorothy Hummel, your radio editor of your RADIO DOINGS was selected. To make doubly sure of fair play, she was further blindfolded with a striped necktie belonging to Kenneth Ormiston, who, not getting the idea immediately, wrapped the necktie around Miss Hummel's mouth. Is this a gag? Miss Hummel thought — not being able to shout. So Dorothy drew and drew and drew and a survey of these pages should convince us that she is a master of drawing things (out of a hat.) Next month, we are assured this inspired draughtsman will draw a dozen more portraits of KHJ's staff while blindfolded and with one arm tied behind her back to make it more difficult. Now, on our right, ladies and gentlemen, we find Charles W. Hamp, whose intermittant bounces from West to East to East to West (tell when to stop) in Hell Larson Charles W. Hamp spired that poignant and dramatic utterance: "Clap Hands, Here Comes Charlie." C.W.H. is the highest paid entertainer on the air. He accumulates at the rate of $150,000 per year. One hundred and Fifty thousand dollars can't be wrong. My uncle's mother-inlaw says that she thinks Charlie is lou ... no, my uncle said that . . . thinks he is terrible. But I notice that the old lady always listens to him and uses Strasska's tooth paste. In fact, I caught her eating a tube of the peppermint flavor once. Hulda Dietz has been a soprano for a long time. The fact that she is still alive and still a soprano proves something. She is also a mother. A very sweet, plump one about a minute high. She perks her head around and pecks at the microphone like a little brown wren. When you look at Mrs. Dietz you always want to hug her. And sometimes you do. Carl Omeron, the plenty tenor, is a dentist. Unquestionably one of the most distinguished of his profession. He turned down an offer to sing grand opera in Berlin in order to pursue his career of making mountains out of molars. That's a bum pun and full credit should go to Ted Osborne. Why can't he keep his puns to himself? Dr. Omeron pulled a tooth for me last month (he's a dentist of Nordic extraction.) While he worked, he discussed Chinese art, poetry, oil wells, sang a few snatches of song — and before I knew it, the tooth and I were both completely out. Nell Larson! Our Nell has been organ grinding and piano patting at KHJ so long that she's part of the plant. She's included in all inventories and appraisals of the property. We have to pay taxes on her and HO allowance made for depreciation. And Our Nell is one of those vulgarly healthy and happy mechanisms that never needs repairs. Her smile is like the sun coming out to stay. That smile goes places and does things — right to your heart. Raymond Paige, musical director and pro Hulda Deitz gram manager. Yet still the most sincerelyliked and respected man of all of us who create assorted sounds for your especial edification. A tremendously vital personality with an overcharge of enthusiasm and good nature. He works from 8 a. m. to 10 p. m. every day at the studio. We haven't got the heart to check on how much work he does at home. Cool in emergencies; and radio is a series of them. He has youth, vision and amazing versatility. As ^^^^^^ far as KHJ is con ^^^H ^^fefe cerned, Raymond f I Paige is the golden \ (gFM I haired lad of all the ipL^^B I personalities that wanI der down the ether #>^. ^9 I hines to you. Ifl Elvia Allman is like I nobody else that any% <* body ever knew, but ' would like to. In action before the microphone she is like a pailfull of energetic electric eels. She is the answer to perpetual motion. Her arms and legs and head and hips are constantly darting out in the most startling directions. She'll be hard to bury. Some unidentified force or, perhaps, a mechanical device must hold her together. This constant physical flux and seething is the external overflow of an vitalized and volatile temperament and intellect. Very sensitive, very subtle, very delightful, very talented, very many things. Elvias only happen once. Let's stuff her and give her to the Metropolitan Museum. It is just too bad, ladies, that there isn't enough of Ted White to go around. Charles McGurk, the author, said of Ted in a story published in Liberty: "He is the most romantic singer I've ever heard." Ted, himself, thinks Bing Crosby is the best of the present army of tenors who sing the songs that are here today and gone tomorrow. But Mrs. Crosby hands the palm right back to Mr. White. Ted has a rare personality. It is in constant retreat and hard to catch up with. It evades you quietly and persistently. It achieves mystery and leaves a ripple of Ray Paige friendliness and fine