Radio doings (Dec 1930-Jun1932)

Laughing Gas was the matter with the horn — was it broke? / wouldn't say it was broken . . . I would say it was merely indifferent. It sort of lost interest. How do you mean, indifferent? Well, it just didn't give a hoot! Here, here! We'll have none of that College Humor in this court while I'm Judge, or I'll give you Life . . . understand? All right, go on with yer Ballvhoo. You didn't see the farmer, hey? Yes, I saw him, but it was too late. How fast was you doin'? Thirty miles an hour. Put it down sixty, constable. Now, 1 11 talk to the sockee. Farmer, how much did it hurt you? W ell. judge, my car was . . . Don't mention that car. No damages will be allowed for it. I know that car. You drive it with one hand and hold it together with the other. What else was hurt? Well, I h-ad one of my best settin hens on the back seat hatchin out some eggs, and the shock practically ruined her as well as the eggs. I don't believe it! Bring her in here. Set her up there on the bench. She don't look so bad. Well, label her "Exhibit C," constable. What do you Continued from Page 9 figger she's worth, Farmer? I'd say two dollars as she is, and ten dollars if she dies. How do you figger ten dollars? I've got an eight-dollar prize rooster out on my farm thaCs right fond of that hen, and if she dies the shock will kill him, too. We'll decide about that later. Stranger, how much damage was done to your car? The radiator was smashed, the fenders crumpled, steering gear bent, bumper twisted . . . Here — take this card. Handy Dandy Repair Shop. Best repair shop in Hemlock Corners. My brother-in-law owns it. As the socker and the sockee, are you ready to have sentence pronounced on you? Yes, yer ivorship. Mr. Farmer, I'll award you ten dollars for that hen . . . But my car . . . my car! Here, take this card — Handy Dandy Repair Shop — best in town. Satisfaction guaranteed. Mr. Tourist, hand me ten dollars. Here you are, Mr. Farmer — five dollars. Judge, you said you would award me ten dollars! Sure — but five dollars is my commis sion. Go on, you two — get out of here — yer case is over! All right, judge — wait 'till I get Biddy. You let "Exhibit C" alone! That's property of the court. Go on, now, git! What are ye doin' with "Exhibit C" there, constable? Just movin her out of the way — what are ye goin to do with her, judge? I don't know. Can't leave her layin' eggs all over the courtroom. Wouldn't be dignified. I'll tell ye what! I was goin' fishin at the close of court but I've changed my mind. Take her down to my house and put her in the pen fer the time bein'. Er . . . er — by the way, constable, why don't ye come over fer dinner tonight? I recollect hearin' the cook say somethin' before I left the house this mornin' about havin' chicken and dumplin's fer dinner . . . court's adjourned! And so the traffic court at Hemlock Corners is adjourned for another week. Every Friday night at 7:15, "Laughing Gas" is heard over KHJ. The rest of this hilarious rustic drama includes Raymond Paige and his orchestra in novelty musical arrangements, the Bluettes, Elvia Ellman, Bobby Gross, Bob Bradford and Roy Mace. Mountain Williams" news of the day. Craver's odd vocation has a basis of sound musical knowledge. Born in Iowa, he was educated at the University of Iowa. He also is a graduate of the New Mexico Military Institute and during his school years he was accounted a musical prodigy. The violin, banjo, guitar, harmonica Jews-harp, 'cello and drums, are some of the instruments he plays. He had his first professional engagement at the age of ten. On the vaudeville stage he played a number of instruments in his act — he always has worked as a "single" — sang, and told funny stories. He played the music halls of London, and the Canadian variety stage; was master of ceremonies in various picture houses throughout the country, and appeared on NBC programs broadcast from New York for two years. Craver joined the NBC staff in San Francisco in order to "settle down" as he phrases it, until Miss Jane Alice Craver, now seven months old, gets a bit more mature. Mrs. Craver is a former Los Angeles girl, whom he met while he was making Continued from Page 26 RCA-Victor records in southern California. In interesting contrast to Craver, the city-bred interpreter of Hill Billy songs, is Ace Wright, the real hill-man of the group. When Ace was 11 years old, he knew "The Lexington Murderer," "Bury Me Beneath the Willow" and similar songs, by heart, and by the time he was 12 he was playing a fiddle at dances for the princely sum of a dollar and a quarter a night. "Looked like big money to me," he says today, with a twinkle in the merry eyes which light up a ruddy, placid face. Ace was born in Paducah, Kentucky, and luckily for his later career, his father bought a farm in Missouri, then moved to Arkansas, so the little boy whose fingers could send music flying from the strings of a fiddle, had a comprehensive experience in the hill country. Now he plays its music before the microphone, and an unerring ear for variations in dialect and regional differences in songs makes him a valuable adjunct to the NBC group. Johnny O'Brien, harmonic-player of the quintet, has played his tiny instrument since he was old enough to hold it to his lips. But it never occurred to him that his hobby might prove his profession until a few years ago when he heard a harmonica-act on the stage. About the time radio programs took definite shape, Johnny brought his harmonica to NBC's San Francisco studios, and he's been there ever since. Notes don't mean a thing to him; he plays entirely "by ear," and buys his harmonica by the gross, as he frequently uses up three or four in one program. Usually he carries several with him, and gets a great thrill out of giving them to the admiring, small boys who gather wherever he is seen. Johnny Toffoli, the accordion-player, is a Hill Billy from Venice, Italy, which may sound odd until you know Johnny. He was just four years old when his parents came to America, and he has played the accordion fro mchildhood, when he "worked out the combination for himself" as he phrases it. Page Forty-two RADIO DOINGS