Radio mirror (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

RADIO MIRROR AT exactly nine-one, Gwen was stand■ ing in front of the reception desk on the twenty-second floor of the Commercial Broadcasting building. "Mr. Bob Miller, please," she said firmly. The receptionist smiled. "He couldn't possibly be in this early," she replied. "Can't you find something to do until eleven? Mr. Miller sometimes comes in around that time." Gwen walked across the room and sank down in the deep upholstery. The room was just as lavish as she'd thought it was from the pictures she'd seen in radio magazines. Behind her, a long row of windows looked out across the city. Under The Big Broadcast of 1937 (Continued from page 39) Carson, Commercial's program director." Gwen followed him down a long hall into another, smaller reception room. The girl guarding the entrance to the office which had Program Director in glittering letters spread across the frosty glass door glanced up at Miller and waved a hand in idle greeting. Miller kept right on, past the girl, past the imposing door. Gwen followed him, her hopes rising with every step she took. If Miller was important enough to stalk into Mr. Carson's office this way, he certainly could get her the job he had mentioned over the telephone. Before the man behind the biggest desk Gwen had ever seen could get up, Miller had rushed over to him, slapped his right Mrs. Piatt (Gracie Allen) walked over and said, "Not the Mr. Carson? The Mr. Carson who's the famous radio director for Commercial studios?" her feet was thick carpeting. Up a short flight of stairs was the door to a studio. She could see a light flash red. A row of letters spelled out: "Studio in use." Those two hours she waited, mixed with uncertainty and the thrill of recognizing famous radio stars who hurried in to rehearse, seemed the climax of all her years of hoping for just such a chance. Then there was a tall, smiling man standing in front of her. Unaccountably, her heart beat just a little faster than it had since she'd left home the night before. He could never have come from Fergus Center. The way he stood, the clothes he wore, even the way he was smiling at her — all of it was obviously New York. "I'm Bob Miller, that man who called you," he was saying. Under his steady appraisal of her, from the tip of her sport oxfords, to the brim of her pert felt hat, Gwen blushed. "I came as soon as I could catch a bus," she said. He grinned. Instinctively she liked him. "Come on, I'll take you in to meet Jack 58 palm down on the shiny table top, and exclaimed: "Here she is, Jack, the girl you've been so anxious to meet — all signed, sealed and delivered — Miss Gwen Holmes. Gwen, Mr. Jack Carson." "This is an unexpected pleasure," Carson said. Gwen couldn't understand the tone of his remark or the look which passed between him and Miller. Miller said quickly, "Miss Holmes, you're to be congratulated. Of all the thousands of voices crying in the wilderness, you were selected by Mr. Carson to associate with the brightest stars of the air." But it seemed to Gwen that this speech had been directed more to Carson than to herself. Men who were hiring new help, she thought, didn't use such lavish introductions. Yet she had to say something. "There's — there's no way to — to thank you, Mr. Carson," she hesitated. "As a matter of fact," he replied, "You really have Frank Rossman to thank." He had said it simply enough, but it couldn't have upset Gwen more than a bombshell dropped in the quiet office. Rossman responsible? The great singing star? And after the way she'd made such fun of him on her broadcasts! "Oh," she exclaimed involuntarily, "that makes me feel terribly uncomfortable." She waited, but no one spoke, so she continued, "Do thank Mr. Rossman — and tell him I'll do my best to repay his confidence." Miller half turned to face the door. He put out his hand. "Don't worry, I'll tell him. Goodbye. You're in Mr. Carsons' hands now." As he reached the door, Carson called: "Bob, did you explain to Miss Holmes just what her — job — will be?" But Miller had gone. Gwen frowned. There was something wrong, terribly wrong. The way Miller and Carson had talked to each other. Miller had been so anxious to leave, and Carson had been just as anxious not to be alone with her. She started to speak, to ask what it was all about. There was a knock at the door, a high pitched giggle, and a handsome woman was in the office. A second later a meek, blushing man slipped in to stand a few feet in back of the woman. "Hello," the woman said, "are you Mr. Carson?" SHE walked over and pumped his hand. "Not the Mr. Carson," the woman persisted. "The Mr. Carson who is the radio director?" "Yes," he answered, in scathing tones. "Whatever became of you?" the woman asked, smiling coyly now. Gwen stepped back, felt a chair at her knees and sank down. She noticed that Carson was beginning to smile, the same smile she had seen doctors give patients who were delirious. "I was elected vice president," he said. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to go now. Good day. It's been nice knowing you." Taking her by the hand, he led her gently to the door. With a shove that had a vicious force, he pushed. The woman sailed out the door, Carson slammed it shut with a sigh, turned and bumped into the man who had stayed behind. "Who are you?" Carson exclaimed. The man shuffled his feet, mumbled, cleared his throat, and finally said, "Her husband." Carson advanced threateningly, but before he could repeat his performance, his secretary rushed in. "Mr. Carson," she called, "I think you should know you just pushed out the new sponsor of that big golf ball program, Mrs. Piatt!" The door opened a third time. Mrs. Piatt's head appeared cautiously. "Yes, here we come. Come on, George, they're calling us." Carson rushed over, jerked her inside, and said, "Well, well, what a pleasure. Do come in. Patsy," to his secretary, "get Mrs. Piatt a chair." The secretary rushed over, half lifted a huge arm chair and began dragging it across the room. Before she could reach Mrs. Piatt, both husband and wife turned, waved to Carson and disappeared. "Quick, stop them," Carson yelled. The secretary ran out into the hall, looked up and down, and ran back in. "Too late, they've escaped." Gwen stood up. "Are — are they dangerous Mr. Carson?" she asked. "What? Oh, are you still here?" Car