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RADIO M I RROR
More News on the Hollywood Front
and return to the air via Manhattan Merry-Go-Round.
TIE THIS, MR. RIPLEY! So many stars go hay-wire because they don't get the billing to which they feel they're entitled, it is the height of something or other to find one like Bing Crosby. He wants to sue somebody or other because, he claims, a promise to him was broken — that he was NOT to be starred in "Pennies from Heaven." And he's holding up the shooting on his next picture until a leading lady with a name as big or bigger than his own is secured.
SMART ANIMAL— NO BULL. Bob Burns and Bing Crosby went to the San Diego Fair to judge a beauty contest. It simply poured that day (they'll run me out of California for that!) and the beauties, not wanting to get their bathing suits wet. went home. So Bob and Bing, wandering about the fair, were delighted to see their old pal "Cuddles" who starred with them in "Rhythm on the Range" in a blue ribbon stall. "Cuddles," by the way, is a male bovine. Bing called him, but the bull didn't give him a tumble. Bob gave Bing the laugh. "Watch this," he said — and imitated the sound of his bazooka. The bull burst into a roar that could be heard all over the fair grounds. "Yeah, he's a music critic, too," Bing taunted.
POSTMAN'S HOLIDAY. Fred Astaire plays hookey from the neighboring RKO lot to slip in and watch a Crosby rehearsal. He was first to congratulate Bing
(Continued from page 9)
when a Crosby nag won a race at Tanforan, the first victory for one of Bing's oat burners in a coon's age.
POOR LITTLE RICH BOY. Igor Gorin, romantic baritone of Hollywood Hotel, makes plenty of money — but he never has any. The reason: a long while ago he tied himself up to a contract with a_ furniture dealer who undertook to be his manager. The furniture dealer died seven months ago. and now all Gorin's earnings go into his estate pending its final settlement. They came to take his piano away the other day, and sympathetic friends had to straighten the matter out. Incidentally, as soon as Gorin's financial affairs have their kinks unwound, he will have money enough to buy the ring for one Mary Elizabeth Smith, veteran radio actress and formerly Leslie Howard's leading lady.
STAND BACK, GIRLS. Robert Taylor's radio debut on Lux precipitated a near riot. Some enterprising females discovered a fire escape exit leading into the balcony of the Lux Theater and more than two hundred got in that way without tickets. That left that many ticket holders outside holding the bag. Then the fire marshal threatened to call off the whole show because more people had crowded into the theater than could be seated.
AND MORE GRIEF. It was Lux's tough luck month. The week after the Taylor affair, during a rehearsal of "The Virginian," Charles Forsythe, the sound effects man, shot off the top of his thumb
when a revolver backfired, causing Ynez Seabury, who had just come from a session with the dentist, and was groggy anyway, to keel over into the arms of Gary Cooper.
HELPING PAPA. I sat at breakfast the other morning with Eddie Cantor in his lovely Beverly Hills home. He was going over the script of his next show between gulps of coffee. Daughter Marjorie sat across the table, and read the pages as papa finished. She held a crimson pencil, and from time to time deleted vigorously. "Say, what's all that you're cutting out?" Eddie wanted to know.
"Too many Idas," was the unfilial response.
YOU GET GYPPED. If you think Jack Benny and Mary Livingstone are funny on the air, you ought to hear the show they put on backstage after the broadcast. Jack always gets buttonholed by about umpteen people before he can get away, consequently Mary is always kept waiting — and she doesn't like it. The other Sunday night she cracked to Jack, while he was deep in a confab with a script man, "Aw, come on Jack. We'll write next week's program tomorrow."
SYMPATHY STUFF. Kenny Baker had been on the movie lot at 7 a. m., worked all day with the exception of time out for one rehearsal, two shows and a benefit performance. At the latter, somewhere about nine at night, a photographer posed him for a picture. "Gee," he sympathized,
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COPYRIGHT 1937, RICHARD HUDNUT
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