Radio mirror (May-Oct 1935)

in the RADIO MIRROR LETTER TO LANNY ROSS, HE ACTOR, FROM THE EDITOR DEAR LANNY: If you weren't so busy up there in Westchester these days I'd be telling you this in person — but anyway, I'd like my gang to know the unprecedented thing you have done — the adventure which I doubt would have intrigued contemporaries of yours who are as far along the fame road as you are. I like the way you went about it, Lanny. I mean, not telling anybody except your personal representative, Olive White. I know plenty of radio stars who would have made capital of a similar ordeal. It gives me a big kick to realize that Mr. Waite of the agency which represents your sponsor didn't know anything about your plans till he read a little item in the newspaper which told him that Lanny Ross would appear at the Ridgeway Theatre in White Plains, New York, playing the leading role in "Petticoat Fever" for a week. When Mr. Waite asked Miss White she reluctantly admitted that it was true — that Lanny Ross, radio topnotcher, had consented to act in a minor repertory company, despite his radio commitments which kept him busier than is comfortable for any average mortal. Why you did it, Lanny, I think I know, why you put aside day after day and night after night, isolating yourself from your friends, to memorize that difficult role, to learn to perform that part better than a dyedin-the-wool dramatic actor could do it. Am I right when I say that you're pleased with the success that your singing has brought you but that you're not a bit satisfied with your accomplishments as an actor? That when that next movie contract comes along, or your first television program, you intend to prove yourself a competent, well-trained actor, not just a smoothvoiced singer of smooth songs? Well, I've read what the audiences at White Plains thought of you. To put it mildly, they raved and ap plauded — because they were agreeably surprised at your superior stage presence and your fine instinct for comedy and dramatic innuendo. I wonder if they stopped to think that you've really never put on a full-length performance before. I know about those child bits you did when you were a kid, and the parts you played at Yale in undergraduate dramatics; yes, and I know about your movie work — but playing a series of individual scenes, with plenty of time in between for memorizing and conquering a role, is quite another thing than playing for almost two hours with only two interruptions ! I'm glad they arranged to put you on for another week at Yonkers; the fact that they gave no Thursday night performance so that you could be on hand for the Show Boat presentation is indication of how happy they were to have you; I'm glad, too, that they gave you a chance to sing one song at the end of the second act, accompanying yourself on your guitar. And by the time this appears in print, you'll be singing on Sunday nights as well as Thursdays, accompanied by Howard Barlow's orchestra, in the new seven-week program called Lanny Ross and his State Fair Concert. We'll all be listening to you, to Helen Oelheim, Metropolitan contralto, and to your guest stars; we'll be hearing, also from the jelly-making champions at the real State Fairs. By that time we may have forgotten about an ambitious fellow who didn't take advantage of his radio fame to excuse a mediocre performance, who instead, put on a good performance — and then went back to the airwaves to sing, to wait for the opportunity which would prove to us all that he's not just a smooth singer of smooth songs. My battered fedora is off to you, Lanny Ross. Sincerely, Whether you agree with my comments or not, write me. Prizes for best letters announced on page 49. . L