Radio mirror (May-Oct 1934)

RADIO MIRROR the studio. "Guess, what's happened!" "Is it a gag?" "No. It's not a gag. But I'm going to play on the Studio Guild program next Thursday night . . ." "Going high brow, huh, kid?" "It's not high brow. It's what I've always wanted to do. And it doesn't interfere with our work at all. Isn't it grand?" "I suppose it's all right. O.K. You can do it!" Margy's eyes snapped. "Oh, Mr. Malone says I can do it. Thank you for your kind permission. But you might as well know right now that I'd do it anyway. You aren't my boss all the time, Toby . . . and you aren't my husband . . . and, one more thing, if you don't deny those reports that we're secretly married, you'll have to find someone else to work with you." Toby flared. "Listen here, young lady ... you won't get anywhere taking that attitude. I took you when you were a nobody . . . just a waitress — and in four weeks . . . why . . . you're getting almost as much fan mail as I am. I did that for you . . . and you ought to be grateful." Professor Gus decided it was time to do something. "Listen," he said. "We've got to rehearse. You can argue that out later." Toby made one mistake right then. He decided to have the last word. "O.K. I'm not saying you aren't good, Margy. You are. But there are plenty of other girls just as good and plenty of them would like to have your job!" Margy, who had started over to pick up a script, whirled as Toby spoke. Her eyes were really blazing and there was more than a hint of tears. The girl was mad through and through. "I'm glad you said that, Toby," she shot at him. "Because you can get one of those other girls for the job. I'm through!" ^rOBY was shocked into immobility. Then he started after Margy. "No use trying to talk to her now," the Professor said. "These red-headed women do have their moments. She may get over it but I must say, Toby, you acted like a complete damn fool." "Can you imagine that!" exclaimed Toby. "After all I've done — " He was interrupted by Al Merriman. "Good news, Toby," Merriman called. "You audition for National Cigars Thursday. And from what the sales department tells me, the account is in the bag." Toby promptly forgot Margy. "Audition! Boy! I had a hunch it was coming. What's the dope, Al? "You'll have two days to rehearse. Then they'll pipe the audition at eight o'clock Thursday night to a dinner of the board of directors of National Tobacco. Looks good, mister." Toby whooped. "Good! Man, I'll slay 'em!" Gus was doing some heavy thinking. "Wait a minute, Toby," he said. "Eight o'clock Thursday night. Isn't that the time of the Studio Guild broadcast?" Toby didn't get the connection. "That's the program Margy is going to be on," the professor continued. "Same time as your audition. What will you do?" Toby looked a bit worried. "Oh, she'll get over her peeve," he declared. "We needn't worry about that!" "But suppose she doesn't?" the professor muttered, half to himself. Is this a real parting of the ways for Toby and Margy? If the redhead leaves him flat, what will Toby do on Thursday night and which side will the professor take? Toby's career is at stake but then so are the futures of all three people in this thrilling drama that takes you behind the scenes in the big studios. Don't miss next month's installment of this exciting, romantic serial. What Made the Blue Singers Blue? (Continued froth page 27) Now everything is rosy. Still the memory of those sad, poverty-stricken days is reflected in her songs. Two and a half years ago, darkhaired Vivien Ruth made her debut over a New Jersey station. She wasn't a blues singer then, just a darn good contralto. And she wowed them. "That girl's going places," the officials said. She seemed to be, skipping steps on her way up, too. For exactly one month later she stepped into big time with her first broadcast over the Columbia network. But somehow the prophets had guessed wrong. That sometimes happens, you know. For Vivien's voice did not fulfill its promise. After a while, the radio moguls shook their heads and forgot all about her. Now Vivien happens to have her share of brains behind that pert head of hers. She felt she knew the trouble. She needed expert training to bring out the power and beauty of her voice. She was convinced she could make the grade. ^HE got a job as stenographer during the day. She had to earn money for the best vocal lessons she could get. Never mind what people said; how they pointed her out as a girl who had failed. Never mind her blasted career. For two and a half years the fans didn't hear her. She was off the air. During those long, weary months she slaved and worked and slaved some more. Every moment she could spare from her job was spent with her music. You hear her now with the Happy 70 Wonder Bakers Program. And what a comeback she staged! The wise guys on radio row are predicting great things again. This time, Vivien vows, they will come true. Now you know why her singing is a little different. What about dark, tempestuous Lee Wiley? You'd think if you were in your early twenties, a success on the air, gaining new laurels daily, you'd be happy, wouldn't you? Not if you had Lee Wiley's cross to bear. When Lee was seventeen her eyesight failed her. For a whole year, she was blind. She couldn't see the sun, the flowers, the trees. She couldn't see her family and friends. Everything was darkness, cold and desolate. She, who had always been the ringleader in everything, felt a has-been. She hated the help of her sister, who piloted her around. She couldn't stand the illdisguised pity of her friends who called to see her. The doctor despaired of curing her blindness. She thought she would never get well. There was, she discovered, one release from her misery — one opiate that blindness did not deny her. Singing. Somehow, when she poured her heart out in sweet, vibrant tones she forgot her misfortune. Forgot everything. There was a new tone, her friends discovered, a new timbre to her voice. It had mellowed and become richer and more appealing through suffering. Today Lee Wiley's eyesight has been restored. But her voice still retains its round, full, throaty tones, full of passion and suffering. What makes Annette Hanshaw, the frail, blue-eyed Dresden-china-like doll, so blue? Why does she sing those low, moaning numbers over the Maxwell House Showboat? She has had her share of heartache, too. When Annette was seventeen, her father died. He had taught her all she knows of singing; they were very close to each other. Every song she knew was tied up with memories of the good times they shared together. But his sudden death wasn't all. After his estate was settled, it was discovered that there was nothing left. And Annette had a mother and little brother. It was up to her to support them. But how? ^HE had never worked before; she had never been forced to face the world. What could she do? The only ability she might be able to market was her voice. She had sung only for her family, yet she knew that she could sing. But Annette was shy and timid, retiring. She just couldn't face strange men and ask them for a job. Then Lady Luck stepped in. Friends, knowing of her plight, offered her the chance to sing at private parties. An official from a recording company heard her and signed her up to make victrola records. Her voice registered perfectly. From making records she graduated into radio work. She's been on the Show Boat Program for two years. Some of the unhappiness and fear of a timid child, suddenly confronted with a responsibility which seemed too great for her slim shoulders,