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From the virile pen of adman Boidette com,es a dynamic defense of radio on the grounds of clean advertising, quality of enter tainm^ent, political fairness and public service. If the newspaper takes a slight shellacking, it's all in good fun.
A Plug for Plug'Uglies
by LEO BOULETTE, Leo Boulette Ado. Agcy., Three R'wers, Mich.
WHEN I was a kid back in Maine I used to enjoy going to the store for my Dad. The amount of enjoyment depended on whether Pops was out of chewing tobacco or smoking tobacco. The plug was a nickel and the rough cut cost a dime. When Dad would give me a dime and tell me to hustle down to the store and get him a package of smoking tobacco, it was a simple matter to return with a nickel plug of eatin' tobacco and a nickel's worth of candy.
Pop's rage at such bungling was a ti imnph in teamster talk. He had a standard closing for these little moments of Father and Son chit-chat and it never varied.
"The next time I send a damfool," roared tlie old man, "I'll go myself!"
Now it has been quite a spell since a writing gent named Robert Litiell whipped out a piece for the Readers Digest labeled Radio's Plug Uglies and I have waited patiently for someone to go to bat and knock this mountain maker's underhand ( urve oiu of the ballpark. But it looks like I'll have to go myself.
Ihe basic plaint of Mr. Littell's libretto was that he had become led up to here with goo-voiced announcers, drooling ingenues and the general calibre of the
script writers' offerings.
I have read a niunber of pieces denouncing the manner in which our radio broadcasting companies conduct themselves and I agree whole-heartedly with most of them. Particularly do I recall an offering by Harriet Van Home, which appeared in Vogue and was later reprinted in the Readers Digest. It was called TJiings I Hate in Radio. Most of us hate the same things. The frecpient insincerity, the corn, the lousier brand of singing commercials and the stilted guest stars who have "done us tJic honor of appearing on toniglit's program." For five thousand fish and more publicity than their studios could grind out in a moiuh.
But LrriKLL, the nuuidane molehill magnifier, reminds me too nuich of a dour old newspaperman I once knew in New Hampshire. This old granite puss would blow fuses all over the place at the mere mention of radio. "I'm agin' it," he would sa\. "// aiti't iiotJiin' but a passin' fancy. I'm agin' it!" ViU) many newspapermen are, in a bilious sort of way.
I'hey regard ladio as an upstart and ladio is an upstart with ii lot to learn. There is little to learn in the newspaper licid which isn't already known, with the
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RADIO SHOWMANSHIP