Radio doings (Dec 1930-Jun1932)

IN the tenth row of a negro vaudeville emporium down in the most fashionable part of Los Angeles' dusky center, sat Bert Butterworth one December night just seven years ago. With his fair and milk-like skin looming out of that chocolate-hued aggregation like a fly on a bald head, he glued his eager eyes on the brightly lit stage before him. There, in kaliedoscopic succession, brilliantly-gowned negro prima donnas, impeccably-garbed stars of dark-town's thespian society, tripped, strutted and cavorted in dazzling revue before the blazing footlights. Bert had been sent as a scout bv the Davis Perfection Bread Company to scour the district for colored talent to be organized into a negro troupe for the baking company's new radio program over KNX. A few weeks later, the first day of January. 1925. popped in on us to say hello. And at 8:00 p. m., a group of badly scared negroes stood trembling before the microphone in the main studio of the Hollywood station. Fred Hagelburg, advertising genius of Perfection Company, will tell you with a broad grin that the program was terrible. In Fred's own words, it was "oderiferou>". But strangely enough. it stuck! He had visualized something entirely different from any program then on the air. An old-time down south Georgia camp meeting, with nothing but negro entertainers. It was taking a terrific chance, but Fred Hagelburg made the plunge. He worked and drilled his negro troupe, whipping them into shape. Constantly he strove for something different, irrespective of high quality. "No matter how terrible it was at first," Fred told me, "No matter how terrible. I was bound and determined that it had to be different." In evolving his idea for a unique program, Fred decided to have a special announcer. Radio announcers in those early days of radio had not yet learned to shake off their uninspired listlessness. He did not want one of the ordinary announcers to intone his program in a tired uninterested voice ... he wanted someone with a punch. And that is why Bert Butterworth was picked for the job. Jazz was then at its height . . . and radio studios were sated with garish screech owls who blasted the transmitters from their very moorings. In fact the very mention of sopranos made the announcers shudder. So Fred Hagelburg insisted upon having something different. He pounded away at his idea, and finally got his way. When he had organized his negro Still o and Still troupe, he was faced with an appropriate name. Everyone scratched the collective noodle. It was agreed that the doughnut held for the greatest promise of glamor and romance of any of the Perfection products. It inspired memories of our dough-boys in the trenches, being handed hot coffee and doughnuts under fire by brave little Salvation Army girls. In addition to this, the name must embody thoughts of cheerfulness and optimism. Optimism! There he had it! The "Royal Order of Optimistic Doughnuts!" Each of the negro members of the troupe was given some caricature name, and thus were evolved such colorful cognomens as "Sunburnt Jim," "Hambone Trent," "Whitewash Weldon," and "Big Lip Tolliver." The performers themselves entered into the spirit of the game with a vim, and submitted titles for their fellows which caused the most vivid imaginations of the white members to pale into insignificance. The idea for nick-naming their companions was carried through with every new member which entered the troupe, the latest having been endowed with the sobriquet of "High Hat Hattie." In order to get applause mail, Fred decided to print membership certificates on fine bond paper. He even went so far as to have the names of members written on the certificates in the finest black ink, instead of merely typing them. Everyone who wrote in received a membership. And in four years, more than 29,000 letters were received. This does not include phone calls, says Mr. Hagelburg. And to each and everyone who wrote in were sent six luscious Optimistic doughnuts. This was a feature which was not announced, for very obvious reasons. Strange as it may seem, these membership certificates were highly prized by their recipients. Fred relates one humorous incident which occurred in Owensmouth. He entered a restaurant and on the wall behind the counter there was a large mirror. On it was pasted a certificate of membership in the Royal Order. And to direct attention to its Page Sixteen RADIO DOINGS