Radio Mirror (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

RADIO MIRROR Yesterday's Stars— Where Are They? and himself on the air, he also imitated the voice of Lena, who was supposed to be in love with Jake. Glenn played the piano and sang, and was straight man. So popular were they in their home town, Cleveland, that during one Christmas week they raised $55,000 at charity benefits. Two years ago they came to New York for the Gillette Safety Razor Company. It took them a few months to win their way into the hearts of the more cosmopolitan fans. And just when they succeeded, the newspapers featured the story of their marital difficulties. Mrs. Carroll claimed that her husband, after fourteen years of married life, left her for another woman. Both she and Mrs. Rowell said their mates, in private life, weren't the good-natured, jovial persons they were on the air. Both got their divorces. Many radio fans lost faith in Gene and Glenn. Today they are appearing in vaudeville. Public fancy is a difficult thing to fathom. If any radio star could puzzle out exactly what you and I like, he'd last forever. Some stars are clever enough to realize we want change in our radio entertainment, just as we do in everything else. Rudy Vallee is one of them. Had Rudy remained the crooner we admired six years ago he might be almost forgotten today. But he shifted the burden of entertainment from himself to his variety shows. Today, he's still on top. Sometimes a star changes his characterization, but unsuccessfully. Two years ago Jack Pearl was among the most popular comedians in his role as Baron Munchausen, that tall-story spinner, to whom lies were as necessary as food. His "Vas you dere, Sharlie?" to his straight man, Cliff Hall, became a national byword. Believing this role to be outmoded, last year Pearl tried another, that of Peter Pfeiffer, a lovable old proprietor, handyman and philosopher, who operated the Family Hotel in Main Street. That characterization didn't click so well. So Jack withdrew from the air, and took a well deserved vacation. Now he's all set to star in a forthcoming Broadway production. Sometimes, even powerful publicity can't force the public to keep liking radio entertainers. Do you remember The Three Keys, that trio of colored Skiddadle-de-deep harmonizers, Bob, Slim and Bon Bon, who hit the networks with such a splash four years ago? Within a few months NBC had spent $10,000 publicizing them. But no sponsor wanted them. They went to Europe, where they were better appreciated. THE same fate befell the Mills Brothers, 1 that human orchestra of four young colored brothers, who could imitate any instrument by manipulating their hands and vocal chords. For a while they were a fad on the air— as late as last winter. But the novelty wore off at last. So they went to Europe, where they have been scoring a grand hit. Just a few years ago, Kathryn Parsons was very important as The Girl of Yesterday, singing sweet songs of days gone by. With her as much as with any other stars, favorable publicity was a great help Her husband is George Clark, managing editor of the New York Daily Mirror. But in spite of such publicity, the public tired of the old fashioned songs. "Good night, Goldy. Good night, 62 {Continued from page 48) Dusty." How familiar these phrases were ten years ago, when Harvey Hindermyer and Earle Tuckerman ruled the airwaves as Goldy and Dusty, respectively, those twin negro minstrels. They delighted us with their old plantation songs, their hymns and old jokes — which they themselves kidded. At the beginning they appeared on one of the first sponsored programs, where they limited themselves entirely to songs. Continuity served only as a transition between melodies. For example: "Where last you seen yoh mammy, Goldy?" "Doncha know, boy, down by de Swanee Ribber." Then they'd sing "Swanee River." How they lost out makes an interesting story. The president of the company that sponsored them never had much faith in radio. It was the vice-president in his ca-. pacity as general manager, who kept renewing their contracts. After they had been on as the Gold Dust Twins for two and a half years, their contract came up for renewal while this vice-president was on vacation. The president didn't renew. And when the vice-president learned what had happened, there was a terrific battle. It ended in his resigning. Today, the two men still feel they will get another big chance sometime. You can hear them on their own WJZ sustaining program, still singing the same type of songs. CERTAINLY a great number of us recall the Slumber Hour, that lovely program of peaceful, soothing bedtime melodies. It was under the direction of Ludwig Laurier. This gray and kindly conductor became one of the most beloved of radio figures. Over a thousand letters were sent every month praising his work. After three years, NBC felt it was time to change the program. "One night they put on an elocutionist. Protests poured in by the thousands. She was withdrawn. Then they substituted a male quartet. "Hands off the Slumber Hour," the public clamored again. The quartet was withdrawn. In May, 1932, one of NBC's program chiefs withdrew the program entirely. An avalanche of protests: telegrams, letters, phone calls that tied up the switchboard, bombarded the studio. One radio editor told me that 20,000 letters poured in within a month. But for some unknown reason, the program was never reinstated. As for Ludwig Laurier, I think the loss of this program broke his heart. You still see him hanging around the studios, a bent, broken old gray-headed man. At present, he is looking for a job. In the good old pioneering days of radio, back in 1921, the name Major P. Andrew White was on everyone's lips. The Major was a famous sports announcer, master of ceremonies, and organizer. It was he who broadcast the first boxing match ever to go over the air. He was the daddy of the variety show. And he was one of the founders of the CBS chain, which he left about seven years ago. It was while he was master of ceremonies on his old variety show, that Eddie Cantor began to kid with him. At the time Eddie had little faith in the fad, radio, and doubted whether people actu : ally listened in. This was before the era of the networks. Since his interest in CBS was bought out, the Major has tried several businesses. Financing a -Broadway show that flopped. The movie business. Advertising. He is now said to be promoting a new network. Though it has been over four years since the old Palmolive Hour, featuring Olive Palmer and Paul Oliver, was the toast of the networks, many fans are still curious about what happened to this charming duet that thrilled us for over two hundred consecutive weeks with lovely ballads and semi classical songs. For the entire life of the program, the identity of the stars was kept secret, for the sponsor believed that the mystery would create more interest. Olive Palmer was Virginia Rea, whom you hear today on Rubinoff's program. Paul Oliver was Frank Munn, whom you hear on the American Album of Familiar Music. A change in policy of the ColgatePalmolive-Peet Company resulted in the withdrawing of the old Palmolive Hour. IT doesn't pay to antagonize anyone in ■ radio. That's what Charles Carlisle, the tenor, has learned. One of the Atwater Kent finalists, this soldier of fortune, who has been everything from circus stagehand to member of a South Seas treasure hunt, shot to radio fame. Charles, about two years ago, antagonized members of the CBS program department by insisting upon singing only songs he wanted to sing. He wouldn't listen to any advice from them. For awhile, he was on the NBC Hit Parade. Recently, he was at Loew's State Theater in New York City, in a vaudeville review, where the audience appreciated his singing so much he was held over for several weeks. In case you radio fans ever doubt your power, let me tell you the story of Muriel Wilson, who was the singing Mary Lou on the Showboat for so many years. When she was yanked off and replaced by other singers, her Buffalo fan club threatened to boycott her former sponsors product unless she was brought back to the air. She was taken back at double her previous salary. A year ago her role was cut out of the program. Again the fans complained. But this time the sponsor asserted his independence and brought back only the talking Mary Lou, Rosaline Greene. Today Muriel is doing concert work And the close association of herself with the character of Mary Lou, has proved a boomerang. Sponsors are afraid to hire her for they feel her name is synonymous with Mary Lou, and that you and I will still think of her former sponsor's product when we hear her sing. Don't think that every star who has disappeared from the air has been forced out. Some retire because they want to. There's Harry Brown, Hank on Simmon's Showboat, five years ago. Remember when this was one of CBS' big shows? Harry quit radio to become a Christian Science minister. And then there's Charles B. Tramont, star announcer of half a dozen years ago. You rarely hear of him, though he occasionally announces a program. Charles has used radio as a stepping stone to his real love, medicine Very shortly, he plans to hang out his shingle. And then there's little Annette Hanshaw, the blues singer, last heard on the Camel Caravan. Annette, at the height of her popularity, left radio. Always delicate, the strain of several years singing on the air proved too much for her and she had to rest. While resting, she worked {.Continued on page 64)