Radio doings (Dec 1930-Jun1932)

How to Get Ship-wrecked Gracefully or 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Weather" by H. C. Connette NBC Continuity writer and Author of "Memory Lane." One of the passengers of the ill-fated Steamship Harvard. A SHIPWRECK without a thrill — a shipwreck without drama — a shipwreck chock full of comedy— that was the S. S. Harvard going on the reef at Point Arguello. The newspapers have told in detail the story of the grounding. Many theories have been advanced regarding the cause of the accident. May I not confine myself only to the little incidents? It was about dawn that the women began to take to the life boats. One by one they went down the swaying rope ladders. So well organized was this movement that there was no crowding, no hysteria. The babies went into the first lifeboat. There were seven on board, ranging from seven months to three years. They were handed down from man to man, four men being used in the maneuver. Ordinarily babies subjected to handling by strangers would set up an uproar. Believe it or not, there wasn't a baby that even whimpered. The little seven months old one actually looked back to the ship and cooed from the safe retreat of his mother's arms. The only tears shed during the wreck and its aftermath were those of a bride. It was her honeymoon voyage and she just couldn't see herself separated from her yellow-haired, boyish bridegroom. "Women and children first," that old sea tradition, was in force. Bridegroom simply must not go. Bride insists. Much weeps. The captain solved this hard problem. "Can you row," he asked Mr. Bridegroom. "I'll say I can," says the newly-wed. And that's how the loving pair remained together. The next pair of newly-weds didn't fare so well. Hubby didn't know an oar from a cricket bat. But these two were game. Bride kisses hubby. "I'll be seeing you," says she from the ladder, dangling with tears in her eyes. "See you in the funny papers," says he, trying to smile. And did they have a reunion on the S. S. Louisville! There was one of the finest osculatory reunions I've ever witnessed. Girls will be girls, wreck or no wreck. No sooner was one blonde down the swaying ladder and into an oil-soaked lifeboat than she ups with her vanity case. Carefully she makes up her lips, and her cheeks. She combs her hair. She's not going to any rescue ship looking frazzled. Not that one. Chief Steward, E. T. Grubey, was the "good cheer" leader. He didn't do any vocal stuff as some cheer leaders do but he went around giving comforting pats on the backs to the girls and sensible bits of encouraging talk to some of the men who seemed to be worried. Hand the orchestra everything. For the three hours the women and children were being rowed around between ship and shore, awaiting the. coming of the Quaker Girl ship, San Anselmo, the ship's musicians played and played. They did all the modern stuff and then began going back. When the women were finally rowed away, they were back in the nineties doing "Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland," but, on seeing that it was exittime, they jumped back to "Just a Gigolo." Then they flopped on the deck, worn out. But there was more music. A chap with a harmonica enlivened things for the men passengers left on the ship. His repertoire was not as large as that of Johnny O'Brien of NBC, but he could do "Old Pal, Why Don't You Answer Me," remarkably well, and so it was a request number. Before the Louisville arrived about 8:30, the lad had done fifteen requests for this same number. "The Girl in the Green Pajamas" was the big kick of the show. She danced on the decks while other women were getting into lifeboats. She didn't want to go. At last all the women had gone, save the ship's Cigar Stand girl. They told the piquant-faced "Girl in the Green Pajamas" that she'd have to leave. She stamped her little foot in its yellow satin sandal, and said she "just would not." She told all and sundry that she intended to stay with the captain and go down on the ship, in a charmingly melodramat i c way. The captain thought otherwise. At last down the ladder she went singing, "I Surrender, Dear." As a drama the wreck was an awful flop, but the sound effects were wonderful. There was the ominous grinding of the ship's torn body on the rocks. There was the splash of lifeboat oars, the barking of a seal near the lifeboats, the gurgle of water slowly filling the salon Not a sound effect was missing. It was a wreck without a hymn. No one sang "Nearer My God to Thee." No one prayed, either. Probably the lack of a casting director or a good dialogue writer was to blame, but nobody minded. One man, a member of the crew, went overboard while steering a lifeboat toward the Louisville. It was a bit choppy at that time. Rescued, after he had been swimming probably three minutes, he was handed blankets. But he had more important business. Carefully he removed his erstwhile white poplin shirt, wrung it out. Likewise he removed his rayon undershirt. Then he was ready for the blankets. The hand luggage came to the Louisville about ten o'clock. The gobs passed it along the line with an unerring swiftness and sureness. But there were some wisecracks. A bag of golf clubs was always the signal for the cry "Fore." A bit of lingerie was greeted with falsetto calls of "Oh Darling." The women were a sad-looking sight, smeared with oil from head to foot. The oil, released from the gored ( Continued on Page 40 )