Radio stars (Oct 1938)

tainers and their guests heed. It's, "Be careful of the candid cameraman!" The photographers' flashbulbs pop at frequent intervals at most parties. And the lensmen's presence puts all persons on good behavior. Hence, without any such intention whatsoever, photographers may he called the chaperons of radio ! Settings for radio parties are secondary to the spirit — and "spirits" — of the event. Except for occasional parties on suburban estates, there are no lawns or swimmingpools. But New York does supply penthouses, hotel ballrooms, yachts and even airplanes as the background for the elaborate teas, cocktail sessions and clambakes the mike folk care to give. Liquor is usually plentiful, but intoxicated guests are a rare sight. Not that they don't drink at parties, but rather because they know when to stop. There have been occasional minor brawls and mishaps, but decorum is, on the whole, the kind that would rate a good mark in Sunday-school. But, perhaps no teacher would ever permit some of the pranks and stunts that actually make a radio party. One of the funniest pranks ever played in radio was the highlight of a Camel Cigarette party given for Morton Downey. The event was a stag beefsteak and everything went smoothly until a chap who was sitting with the radio editors (after being introduced as a columnist on a Southern newspaper) suddenly turned from his plate and began eating the flowers, matches, cigarette stubs and all objects he could lay his hands on. When he ran out of food he just reached over and tore off the collar of a New York columnist and ate that, too! And, as the human billy-goat discovered, nothing can make a radio columnist more angry than having his collar torn off and devoured. The scribe pinned down the belligerent and tore off his collar in turn. Pretty soon nearly everyone in the room had the urge to tear off the collar of another guest. It turned out, of course, that the fellow with the odd appetite was planted by the hosts. He was a stage comedian whose specialty was swallowing such odd things as harmonicas and cigars. Before the guests departed, the advertising agency of the sponsor supplied them with new shirts. A nearby haberdasher did a land-office business that night. An unusual type of gathering with a particularly novel climax took place at the American Academy of Arts and Letters, recently, when the Belgian Ambassador conferred the Order of Leopold — the highest order the King could bestow on a civilian — on Dr. Charles Courboin, the Mutual Broadcasting System organist. Just about a score of persons attended the ceremonies. Guests included representative members of the Washington diplomatic corps and the event was broadcast over a Mutual hookup as well as by short wave to Europe. The onlookers, most of them in gowns and tailcoats, were so few that they were all invited up on the stage at the conclusion of the broadcast. The proceedings were formal in every respect, with incidental bows and heel-clicking adding considerable color to the event. Once the ceremonies were over, Dr. Courboin and his guests dropped into a Washington Heights neighborhood bar, named Maguire's, where the waiter, unperturbed by the unusual sight of guests with tailcoats, fur wraps and medals walking into his establishment, calmly provided refreshments. Parties on boats are not unusual. But the one given by Forty Fathom Trawlers — a CBS fish products sponsor — stands out as the most unique. The event was staged aboard a fishing boat anchored off the Fulton Street fish market. Actually, the boat was to head towards the open sea for a broadcast, but the weather was unfavorable. This was one of two parties the New York radio folk, can recall where the guests were asked to sign papers releasing the hosts from liability for damages of any sort. (The other occasion was at a party Station WNEW gave in an airplane flying over New York.) The guests were fed fish chowder and other sea-food dishes galore. And every visitor was given an ice-cold fish from the heaps on the decks to take home. The funniest part of the trawler party, which will probably live through the years, concerns itself with the broadcast. The dramatic cast got seasick just from the swaying of the ship right off the pier, and sound effects of the studio type had to be employed to give the real ship locale the kind of "true" atmosphere radio listeners expected. Some radio parties give the gossip columnists choice material. But a reported minor mishap can be exaggerated. At a Vincent Lopez party in a Central Park West penthouse, a guest remarked that the room was full of smoke. Another visitor heard the complaint and obligingly punched two panes of glass out of the window with his fist. Then, to top things off, someone opened a door and upset a birdcage, causing an indoor bird hunt with guests climbing on chairs to fetch the feathered pets from the wall molding. Actually, though, the party was conservative in all other respects, hut the window-pane incident was reported in a Broadway column and was talked about in radio circles for a considerable time afterward. Locale for a party is often given considerable attention in order to achieve that degree of originality which will cause the shindig to be talked about. When Spud Cigarettes launched a dramatic series with an obscure restaurant as the setting, the sponsors actually located the exact type of hole-in-the-wall establishment in which to hold their party. It was on one of those mysterious, crooked, cobble-stone streets under Brooklyn Bridge, where the tables were set right in the kitchen and the waiters were in shirt sleeves. The setting of the program was patterned after a place such as soldiers of fortune would gather in to swap tales, reminisce and plan future activities. So, to round out the party, the sponsor actually gathered aviators, explorers and adventurers as guests of honor. One of the minor mishaps occurred when a press agent made an uncomplimentary remark after the sponsor's welcoming talk. The fellow, who just started on his job that day, lost it the following morning. Far into that night the guests listened to the amazing tales of the soldiers of fortune present as they dined on the native Spanish dishes provided in the obscure restaurant. A French perfume importer contracted for a one-time broadcast over CBS to originate on the French liner lie de France at its New York pier. The sponsor tried to make the event as French as possible and signed several Parisian entertainers. With all these elaborate program provisions, it was decided to have a party aboard right after the broadcast. The party was gay and there was considerable clowning. As one example of the pranks played that night : When perfectly sober guests were about to descend the stairs, they were grabbed by each arm, lifted off their feet and rushed down the steps with the cry, "Make way! This fellow's drunk!" When all of this hilarity subsided nnd the guests were walking off the pier, a spark of the party spirit was aglow in one of the men who, stumbling across a broom, picked up the object and whirled it around. It tripped up one visitor who, as a result of the prank, went to a hospital with a broken leg. All of the laughter immediately vanished and the party ended instead of being resumed, as planned, at another spot. The injured fellow {Continued on page 74) 43