Radio doings (Dec 1930-Jun1932)

February, 1931 RADIO DOINGS Page Twenty-one Elvtd Allman charm behind it. Ted is one of those tall, brunette Southern gentlemen. He has even been seen in a wide brimmed black felt bonnet. He would choke anybody who called him "Colonel" — but quietly, politely, without a show of anger or temperament. Bob Swan is our chief announcer. His fan mail looks like a rainbow and smells like an old fashioned garden. The letters contain interesting things like pressed flowers, checks, tear stains and invitations to go places and eat things. It's just as well that Mrs. Swan always knows where Robert is. There are many places he might be. We are still looking for the guy that doesn't like Bob. If you know one, let us know. Mr. Swan's ambition is to be a radio announcer at KHJ. He is painlessly conscientious. Ashes on the floor make him unhappy, pered even when at the bling wreck. He also plump, pretty daughter, walnut trees in his back yard. After a 14hour day. Bob looks like he was picking up walnuts from the lawn. He bends over so far he steps on his eyelashes. What a life! But he loves it. Several months ago, Leigh Harline, some of the salt from Salt Lake, was about to become a father. In fact, he did. The daughter's name is Karen. I want to name a daughter Karen, too. You have all heard how a pin dropped in the Salt Lake Tabernacle echoes and echoes. Leigh is the boy that used to pick up the pin after the guide dropped it. He saved his pins and came to Los Angeles. His arrangements and compositions are creating a much prettier and louder echo than the pins did. Lindsay MacHarrie is something to think about after you get through looking at him — which takes some girls I know a long time. The only thing he doesn't do around KHJ is sweep up. Now, maybe he does that, too. I have seen him sneaking into the studio after midnight. Yep! He's probably forgotten to sweep up. Not that our ex-assistant graduate manager of the University of Washington makes a mess of things. He is production manager, master of ceremonies, continuity writer, actor, singer, makes out programs, placates snonsors, announces and has a private secretary to answer his He is even tem/heel of his stumhas a Cadillac, a Ted White John P. Medbury fan mail. MacHarrie is Scotch. When writing for pictures of him, don't be hurt if he sends you a little one. He's Scotch. And while the big pictures only cost fifty-cents a piece and he can easily afford to spend several hundred bucks a month on 'em, he won't do it. Not an admirable trait in our tall and handsome admirable boy. John P. Medbury, famous columnist and California Melodies' master without ceremonies, is a radio's premiere gag man. When he comes into the studio, the microphone begins to chuckle. So do you. He and Ted Osborne, our humorist and philosopher, used to work side by side in New York. They must have signed an iron-clad agreement to pat each other on the back wearing only soft mittens. When their arms give out, we'll lend them ours. Kenneth Niles is Montana's gift to California. He arrived by way of the University of California and, his old friend, Lindsay MacHarrie found him on the doorstep one morning all wrapped up in collegiate clothes and tied with a remarkable necktie. Here was a masterful and handsome youth looking for something to master. He found some ceremony on the Hallelujah Hour and mastered it completely. Since then, Kenny has been your official master of ceremonies for that engaging bit of morning diversion. He is also the only Pacific Coast announcer heard regularly on a coast-to-coast hook-up. I refer to California Melodies. Every morning on the Hallelujah Hour he is heard over the entire Pacific Coast. This is very convenient as it costs a lot to telephone the University of Washington campus. P. S. — Dorothy Hummel has just, but even now telephoned to inquire in an, er, informal tone of voice, why this article passed over Ted Osborne and John P. Medbury so hurriedly, slightingly, that good, clean comedy that its purveyors shov honor. Well, the boys I'm a little bit jealous, writer once myself. I MacHarrie Miss Hummel feels is rare on the air and Id be held in great are clean. Perhaps, You see, I was a gag only wrote one gag Ted Osborne and it was never printed: but it was a good one and marked me as a lad that shouldn't be over-looked. I have always been determined to get it in print. Furthermore. I illustrated the gag myself. I'm nothing if not versatile. So don't tell me I'm not versatile. I drew a little picture of the entrance to a maternity hospital and on the door printed: TERMS— CO D. This 8a8 is ^or sa^e at very >g|^^V^^H reasonable price sidering there is only one of them left. Let me hear from you. Now take Medbury. for instance. Personally, I can take him or leave him alone. He is master of ceremonies every week on California Melodies. I write the introduction for the program. The introductions are very fine. Nobody laughs at them. But the minute Medb ing. the country starts laughin; but think that Medbury But I forgive him beca nate — more to be censored than pitied. You know, the nurse actually dropped him when he was a baby and he has never been picked up. Not even in Hollywood. There MUST be something wrong with him. At an early age he had spots behind his ears and his head seemed to be going round. He figured, therefore, that if he stood on his head, he'd spin. He did! He's been dizzy ever since. That explains a lot of things about California Medberries. Now Tod Osborne is a great guy and if he'd stop looking over my shoulder I'd tell you some nice things about him I thought it would work! starts talkighing. I can't help s responsible for this, se he is an unfortu Kenneth N.i!es