Radio mirror (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

"There's nothing left, nothing," she moaned over and over again. Doctors didn't pay too much attention to her case, it was, to be frank, a pitiful one. She could never walk again, they said. But she didn't die. Perhaps Fate knew that life still held something for her. A few days later a little radio was installed in the ward. Out of it came America, brimming over with life, optimism, and song. To Peggy Harriett it was more effective than all the artificial respirators, surgeon's knives and hypodermics in the world. It made her want to live. "If it wasn't for that four-tube set that crackled and blared, I wouldn't be alive now," she says thoughtfully, today. "But radio to me was so cosmic, so alive that I wanted to know its people and love them. I wanted to go on the air." When the friendless woman left the hospital some months later, she had aged twenty years. Gone were her rosy cheeks and the soft brown of her hair. She was bent, haggard, and white. She needed a cane in her hand. But her eyes glistened and her spirit was fresh. She had a little money — enough, she estimated, to live modestly in a small hotel, and to eat two not-so-square meals in the neighborhood cafeteria. She knew there weren't too many years left. She decided to see if there was work for her on the air. Radio had saved her life. Perhaps it could save her money, too. The next day brought a heavy snowstorm. But somehow the old woman man RADIO MIRROR Radio Is Her Life (Continued from page 39) aged to get to WPCH, a small New York station, now defunct. She bristled by the receptionist and ran smack into Louis Reid. Reid is remembered by veteran radio fans as a smooth announcer. Today he is an executive of a radio advertising agency. "1 want to go on the air," she said bluntly. Reid smiled. There was something about her that pleased him. "You do, do you? Well, what can you do?" "I can talk about conditions in South America. I can talk about how radio saved my life." "Well, write a little script about how radio saved your life," he said smiling. He had never met anyone quite like Mrs. Harriett. "Never write scripts," she snapped, "Always ad lib," REID laughed again and told her to come back the following week. "I could tell that he fell for me," she recalls with a twinkle in her eye. Believe it or not, she did go on the air, rambling on about life, and love and hope. What Mrs. Harriett didn't know was that in another studio was a stand-by pianist, ready to substitute immediately if the old lady faltered. But instead she kept on going and finished "on the nose," like a real trouper. She kept writing to other stations for auditions but found this a more difficult job. Her letters were unanswered. An other crackpot, they thought. No bigtime network executive "fell for her." So, watching her pennies, and sticking close to her beloved receiving set, Peggy Harriett drowned her pain and loneliness in the thrills of radio. She began haunting the studios and rehearsal halls. Her fast talk broke down the most pompous of ticket-takers. She fooled six-foot-three ushers into believing she was an important personage. In her quiet, direct way she managed to see all the broadcasts possible. But it was Arthur LaTour, night manager of the CBS Radio Playhouse, who singled her out one night as she tried to see her "favorite boy," Ted Husing. "Let her in, boys," he ordered. "I believe she's our good luck charm." LaTour personally escorted the little woman down to the front row. She has never sat anywhere else in a broadcast studio since. The stars got to know her and love her. The younger ones, like Joan Marsh, Lanny Ross, Sally Singer and Virginia Verrill began to tell her their troubles. But it was Ted Husing who quipped right across the footlights with her. It was the last performance of Ted's CBS program last season. After the broadcast, which was sponsored by Lysol, Ted hushed the applause and started to make a long curtain speech. Suddenly Mrs. Harriett hobbled out from her seat and said: "Give the other fellow a chance to talk, Mr. Husing. I just want to say that all of / D PON T SEE WHAT TMSS/UYWAY SO TOUCHY SHE MADE HOME LIFE MISERABLE \ know dear, i felt wretchep myself last Winter. the doctor saip i v\«\s bun-pown. he saip ; my blood was poor anp that's why i fagoep so .easily -and OH IREKAEMBER -HE HAD yOU EAT FLEISCHMANN'S YEAST, PIPN'T HE ? ALICE -MAYBE IT WOULP HELP ME ? I'LL GET SOME THIS MOONING... "SJ 4A' VITAMINS A.B.GcmdD