Radio doings (Dec 1930-Jun1932)

geles Record. Then young Harris was assigned to the Sowards murder mystery, one of the most baffling crimes in the annals of Los Angeles police. Single-handed, Harris uncovered the identity ot the murderer. *'It was mostly luck," Harris contends, but those who remember something of the case and know Harris will tell you that it was his remarkable intuition, clear reasoning and quick correlation of clews that made it possible for him to score a "beat" over the experienced forces of the Los Angeles police department. Captain British, in charge of the police detective bureau, was so enthusiastic about Harris' work that he urged him to join the police detectives. "He appealed to my vanity," Harris says. "He told me I was cut out to be a great detective." After two years with the Los Angeles police he suddenly realized that crime prevention was of greater value to humanity than crime detection. "I decided to exert all my energy to prevent crime rather than to bring criminals to justice. The punished criminal does not restore the victim to life or happiness." With crime prevention uppermost in his mind, Harris left the police department and established his own detective organization. Through his operatives, the use of patrols, burglar alarms, police whistles and other devices he has aided materially in checking crime. NICK HARRIS' contact with hundreds of thousands of radio fans through his semi-weekly broadcasts over KFI and KECA was another accident. It happened this way: About nine years ago, when radio was in its swaddling clothes, Harris was selected as program chairman for a meeting of the Los Angeles Ad Club. Radio was a sensation at that time; it was a miracle. A broadcasting studio was considered as a sort of Mephistophelian laboratory. Radio stars were considered as something mysterious. They never made personal appearances. Using "An Afternoon In a Radio Station" as the theme for his program, Harris enlisted the aid of Dr. Ralph L. Powers, director of KFI, then owned by the Examiner, and decided to show Ad Club members something of radio studio routine. Madalyn Harding, the Original Radio Girl, was the star attraction. Nick Harris concluded the program by telling a detective story. This story made such a hit with the audience that Miss Harding and Dr. Powers insisted that Harris repeat it over KFI. He did so. It was a radio sensation. Fan mail poured into the KFI studios demanding more Nick Harris detective stories. That was nine years ago. Now he tells his stories of famous crimes, and warns would-be criminals against the pitfalls of crime, twice each week via the air. MOST of his stories deal with his own experiences, or those of his associates and friends. He has a collection of between 600 and 700 of these stones filed in his desk drawer. They are great, human documents that tell of the folly of crime An average of from 500 to 1500 fan letters reach Nick Harris' desk each week. They come from all parts of the country; from Canada, Mexico, Australia and New Zealand. The record receipt. of fan mail occurred in 1929 when Harris first started distributing his famous police whistles. In two months' time he received more than 23,000 letters. To date he has distributed some 60,000 whistles. Many of his letters now merely state how much his stories have been enjoyed or are requests for his picture (he tells them over the radio that his autographed picture, when placed in the cellar, or garage, is an excellent means of scaring away the rats.) A large number, however, are from heart-broken parents asking him to help locate their missing boys or girls, or for advice in dealing with a child with criminal tendencies. About a year ago Nick Harris decided to read some of these letters as a feature of his broadcasts. He announced that he would select thirteen of the letters at random from the large bin in which they were placed. By some rare twist of fate the thirteenth and last letter was from a disabled war veteran confined to a hospital in Kansas, who, since his return from France, had failed to locate his parents and had no friends. If his letter should by some chance be chosen among the thirteen, he wrote, he would be convinced that his luck had changed. UPON his arrival at his office on the following morning Harris found a telegram awaiting him. It was from a family in Texas. They had failed to find their son, and were convinced that he was killed in France, a statement verified by official reports. "Your broadcast last night was like a voice from Heaven," the telegram stated. "Can it be that this boy is our son? Please send us more complete details and description." Harris wired the Kansas hospital for more details. Three days later the father and mother left Texas for Kansas, and returned with their son whom they had not seen for twelve years. During the early years of the detective story broadcasts Harris received numerous crank letters. But during the last five or six years this type of communication has been on the wane. His last letter of criticism was from a mother who complained that Harris' grewsome stories, despite their moral lessons, were having a harmful affect on her small son. After listening to one of Nick Harris' stories of crime and its folly, her boy became excited, nervous and restless. He could not sleep, but tossed and tumbled half the night. Couldn't Harris open and close his broadcast with soft, lulling music? the mother asked. This would soothe little Johnny's mind and allow him to go to sleep. This Harris did, and now all his programs open with music and close with the playing of that still-popular tune, "Sleep." Cranks ask Harris to investigate their next-door neighbors (There's something mysterious going on there) ; they tell him about corruption in city affairs, about vice and graft, and they ask him to do something about high taxes. "All these sort of requests," said Harris, "I ignore. Brother Shuler seems to have the situation well in hand. I refer all these freaks to him." "See Sul" and Sally (Continued from Page 9) £ Contrary to many reports, Helen and Johnnie are not engaged, and have no intention of being. They don't even consider themselves going together. It is merely a brother-and-sister friendship, and professional partnership all around. Of course, they are fond of each other. Helen fusses around like a mother, whenever she thinks Johnnie is in danger of catching cold. She worries about him when he doesn't feel well, which is seldom, and makes sure that he eats the right things. But the biggest joy of their lives is "The Funniest Thing." RADIO DOINGS Page Twenty-eight