Radio stars (May 1933)

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Every month it offers a book-length true story and a score more of true stories and features, with vivid, reallife illustrations — for only 10c! Give yourself a treat today. Get a copy of —Modern Romances A Great Magazine of "■ A ^ True Stories for only -M_ ™. ™ ™_ v AT KRESGE, KRESS & NEWSSTANDS RADIO STARS "business man" rumor had its birth — he was in a bank with his brothers in Iowa. His departure for Chicago with a saxophone under his arm concluded that chapter in his life. At the celebrated Trionon Ballroom, he found a job. After a while, he became the band's first saxophonist. And then its leader. That was seven years ago. Since then, he has never had another boss. Since then, his following has swelled to tremendous proportions. His worldly estate, too. No profligate spendthrift, he. He saves most of what he makes. And he makes a lot. The plum of all orchestra jobs was offered him last year when the new Waldorf-Astoria opened in New York. He refused the spot because of previous contract obligations. Along the way, he has explored life deeply. Books are a part of his working day. He didn't admit this to me. But I learned, from the things he mentioned. Hearing him talk, no one can doubt his sincerity. Its ring is even in the music he puts on the air. And why not? His roots are deep in the earth, like those of the folk for whom he plays. Deep in the land, that is a passion with him. To own land and make it grow things gives him a thrill. In northern Wisconsin, he owns a 640-acre farm. The house in Highland Park where he lives is no rented bandbox from which to move at the slightest whim, but a solid place that a man and wife can call home. You've seen Wayne's wife, surely. Not so long ago, she was a favorite in Hollywood. On the screen, she was known as Dorothy Janis. That's forgotten now in the happiness of being Mrs. Wayne King. I learned most of these things before he parked his car beside the Aragon. Leaving it, we walked into the titanic dance palace. Eager couples lined the walls, waiting for him. A thousand faces smiled a welcome. Walking toward the orchestra platform, voices cried. "Hi, Wayne." That was a slim subdeb brunette. "Hello, Wayne." From a young matron. "Evenin", Wayne." That was a man with gray in his hair. All the way down that block-long room, it was like that. Greetings and salutations, with Wayne answering every single one and calling every person by his first name. "I've seen them come here on their first date." There was a hint of pride in his voice. "I've watched most of them grow up and get married and have babies. We're all old friends here." LIE knows people, and because he knows them, he knows exacdy the sort of music he wants to broadcast. Whenever he plays for a sponsor, he insists on the rights to select his own music. In some advertising circles, you may hear him called a prima donna. I'll tell you why. Because, during the five years that he has been a bandleader, he has walked out on three different sponsors. Because, three separate times, he has realized that the people who were paying him did not have complete faith in him. Those are conditions under which he will not work. So he walked. Losing a fortune, because of it, but keeping his integrity inviolate. So people say he is hard to handle. When we reached the bandstand at the end of the Aragon's acre of polished floor, he took off his top-coat and held out his hand. "Do you mind if I go to work now," he said. "There's honestly nothing about me that will make a good story. I'm sorry." We shook hands, friends. "Don't mention it," I said. A Little Star in Your Home? (Continued from page 9) real name is Muriel Harbater. She's fourteen, has bobbed, brown hair, and blue eyes. Jane's salary is $100 a week, $5,200 a year. With personal appearances it amounts to about $6,000. There are many other prominent youngsters earning big money in radio. The two children in the Goldbergs, for instance, Rosy and Sammy, each draw down $10,000 a year, according to Mrs. Berg's secretary. Then there is the weekly children's program at CBS, directed by Nila Mack, "The Adventures of Helen and Mary." Most children you hear on that program are earning $3.50 a broadcast, some less, some a dollar and a half more. On NBC, Madge Tucker directs the "Lady Next Door," six days a week. There the kiddies come home to mamma with $3.00 a broadcast, which sometimes nets them $18.00 a week, or if they are used only four out of the six days, they collect $12.00. Why don't you let your child be a radio actor? "The Lady Next Door" used to pay $5.00 a broadcast, but I suppose the rent "next door" has gone up ! According to the Chicago CBS studios, the leading characters in the children's hours there receive $15.00 a program. The other kiddies pocket $10.00 each broadcast. DUT the children can stand the cut, for every time you hear a child's voice broadcast on a commercial program, you may know that that child is earning $25.00 or $22.50, the former if it's an agency "job," the latter if the radio studios gave the child the position. There are many youngsters whose airy earnings are about on the scale I've been describing. Prominent among them in New York are Walter Tetley, Laddy Seaman, Donald Hughes, Billy and Florence Halop, Estelle Levy, Vivian Block and Patsy Dow. Laddie Seaman is in the Cape Diamond Salt program you hear via NBC. He is the boy to whom the old captain 48