Radio mirror (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

Photographed exclusively for Radio Mirror by Bert Laivson PEGGY HARRIETT WANTED TO DIEBUT NOT AFTER THE STARS GAVE By LESTER GOTTLIEB HER THEIR LOVE EVERY night in the year, a small white-haired old lady pushes her way through the crowds atrending one or another of the various broadcasts in Radio City and at the three CBS radio playhouses. The door man bows, the usher smiles, and the manager heaves a sigh of relief. A snap of his fingers and the old lady is escorted to her seat — row A, off the center aisle. Once this mysterious guest is safely ensconced in her privileged chair, the broadcast can unofficially begin. Even behind the microphones, the stars feel better once they know she is present. The "minute-to-go" nervousness disappears. The maestro wipes his brow. The tension fades. A laugh echoes from backstage. There will be a good show tonight. The small lady — she can't weigh more than ninety pounds — is not the sponsor. She's not even remotely related to the sponsor's forty-second cousin. She's not an important friend of anybody's. I don't think anyone -along radio row One of her favorite broadcasts is Broadway Varieties, with Oscar Shaw and Carmela Ponselle. Mrs. Harriett has the same front row seat for every CBS program. ever heard of her three years ago. But she is an important person in this superstitious sentimental radio world. Important enough to have fifty full-fledged radio stars play directly to her. Important enough to have a CBS board meeting called in her honor. Important enough to be the mascot of the Columbia Broadcasting System. Her clothes are dated but neat. She walks to the studios every night alone. It was Ted Husing who tried to offer her his car anytime, to go anywhere. But she politely refused. "I don't need anything from anybody," she said proudly. Ted wasn't hurt by this remark. He seemed to understand. Every night as the rest of the audience files out, little Mrs. Peggy Harriett remains to chat with her friends — Leo Reisman, Carmela Ponselle, Benny Fields, Freddy Rich, Lucy Monroe, Joan Marsh, Oscar Shaw, Kay Thompson, Bernice Claire, Elizabeth Lennox, Lanny Ross, Tiny Ruffner, Victor Arden, David Ross, Everett Marshall, AI Goodman, Stoopnagle and Budd, Louise Massey, Helen Jepson, to list a few. "How was I tonight, dear?" asks Joan Marsh. . "Fine, girl, fine," reports the usually candid Mrs. Harriett, who never was a critic or a star. "But you better go home and brush up on your high notes." "It's raining, Mrs. Harriett, can I drive you home?" interrupts David Ross. "No, David, I think I'll subway tonight. Besides, I can afford a cab if I want one." The stars crowd around her, eager to be near their "mascot and good luck charm." Shortly afterward, the house lights dim and the cleaning women take possession of the stage. The mikes are now cold and dead. The theater has a vacant look. Mrs. Harriett sighs heavily and limps slowly out into the street. Radio has saved another day in her long life. She wasn't always like that — a pampered darling in the hearts of your favorites and mine. Don't envy her. Despite all the kindliness the radio stars shower upon her, you wouldn't trade places with 76-year-old Peggy Harriett. Six years ago she was lying helplessly alone in the ward room of a great hospital — given up to die. An icy street, a wandering mind, and tear-blurred eyes were responsible for the accident. Her pelvis was broken. In the dreary room, desolate except for other helpless humans, only her brain worked. Behind her were the fading years of her life — years of laughs, tears, wealth and worry. (Continued on page 60) 39