Radio stars (Sept 1933)

RADIO STARS the ravages of the depression and practically his entire savin_^s were wiped out because of unwise investments. Hopefully, he went about trying^ to get another sponsor, but it was a futile, heartbreaking ordeal. One said, "You've been on the radio so long with Lucky Strike." Another said, "Your music is too fast." It was a strange parado.x that his previous success instead of being a valuable aid, was actually a barrier. Those in the profession were shaking their heads and saying, "Poor B..^. He's all washed up." Day after day. for one whole year, lie went around looking for another radio job — anything at all. And day alter day he heard the same answer. Word quickly went about Radio Row that B.A. Rolfe was down again. That liurt an awful lot. When you have tasted fame, glory and wealth, failure is terribly bitter. He was making the weary rounds of the studios one day when he bumped into one of his old musicians, a boy who had played the piano for him in his old Palais d'Or days. "Listen. B.A.," he said apologetic ally. "I've formed my own band. It's a small one. but there's a job as trumpeter in it syaiting tor you. The salary is small, you know — but please don't let your pride stand in your way." "Pritle nothing," beamed B.A. "You're on. When do I begin?" "Call me tonight and I'll tell you." POLFE left to try his luck just once more at the studios. .A.t NBC he learned that a new sponsor, the Hudson-Essex Co.. was going on the air. "Give me an audition," he pleaded, "I want one more chance." The audition was set for the following Friday. Rolfe phoned his ex-piano player and said to him, "I'm staking my luck once more. Keep the job open for me — if I don't click this time I'll need it. " He got a band together — forty strong — and rehearsed day and night all that week. When the eventful Friday rolled around B.A. stood at the head of his orchestra and waved his baton with a tense hand. He was a bundle of energy and nerves. The audition was go ing over a private wire to the prospective sponsors in Detroit. The first nervousness over, he plunged into his work with his old vigor and pep. They had played less than fifteen minutes when they were interrupted in the middle of a number by a wire from Detroit. B.A. snatched it with shaking fingers. "ix)n't bother finishing THE AuniTiON" Were the curt words. He was through then, beaten for good. All his hopes of a comeback thoroughly blasted. He slowly put his trumpet back in its case, and thoroughly discouraged, dismissed his men. Disheartened, he started slowly for the door. Just then another wire came in from Detroit. It contained but five words. "Rolfe okay. Start to-morrow night." So now B.A. is on top again. He's again a big radio personality. His star hasn't failed him this time — the most crucial moment of all. At the time of writing, his contract has been renewed for another year. I hope he's on top this time to stay. Good luck, B.A. ! We've got to wish a game guy like you the best. The Band Box Portland, Oregon. Patton had written the turte but could not find words that really suited it. He wired his mother, well known hymn writer in Portland, for some verses. The next day she telephoned her son in New York and dictated the new words. Imagine her surprise when she heard her verses broadcast within twenty-fours hours on Patton's "Song for Today" program. Eddie Duchin has funny ambitions — at least funny for an orchestra director. He has always wanted to play the piano in Ted Lewis' band. It was at Mrs. Roosevelt's elite May Ball that luldie finally fulfilled that long-standing ambition. Orchestra directors always seem to get their start in high school bands. Rut here comes a new story. Freddie Martin, who is in his second season on the Marine Roof of the Bossert {Continued from page 39) Hotel in Brooklyn, was placed in the Knights of Pythias orphanage at Springfield. Ohio, when he was only three years old. He waved his first baton — in reality a curtain rod — in front of the orphanage band. Lee Wiley wanted to dedicate a song to her native state, Oklahoma. A search through the music racks didn't reveal the proper number. So Lee and N'ictor Young, director of her broadcast program, got their heads together one night and "Indian Love Song" was the result. Of course Lee and Victor did it first over the air. Columbia studios were all tied up in a knot some weeks ago. Someone announced that Kate Smith would sing "My Heart at Thy Sweet Voice" from ".Samson and Delilah" and also that Grace Moore would do "Let's Call It a Day." Surely something has gone haywire, said the studio officials. Kate is the popular singer and Miss Moore the classical soloist. But you know how singers are. They'll try anything once, .^nd so Kate went operatic and Grace went jazz. The old player pianos and phonographs are gradually being set aside for radio. At least that's the way it looks now. Eight years ago there were twenty-seven piano roll companies and twenty-three phonograph record firms. Today only eight companies are making piano rolls and only six are manufacturing records. Records that sold to the tune of 1,000.000 copies not many years ago now sell around the 100.000 mark. Those artists who make the cheaper priced records get two cents a side for each one sold. For the higher priced ones, the artists get more. So it's still a way for radio stars to pick up some pin money on the side. So This Is Harris! 2:30 p.m. ( or later) : To bed ! Strangely enough ( for it is seldom true), he is just as popular with the boys in his band as he is with the movie stars of Hollywood. Just recently. Phil and the boys organized a baseball team with the idea of "taking on" all the rival dance bands. The day of an "important" game came — as flid a plane from Chicago, bearing a very powerful executive of a string of hotels who wanted to sign Phil for a Chicago engagement during 48 {Continued from page 38) the World's Fair. The plane arrived at one o'clock and was to take off at four. Phil's manager waited in embarrassefl silence for her client to appear — while the executive paced the floor and glanced at his watch. Finally they called his house. He was • playing baseball . . . ! The agent knew Phil — knew that he wouldn't give up that game for all the contracts in the world, because he had promised the boys. So she gently suggested that the best thing would be to go to the ball diamond. The executive agreed, after another look at his watch. They had to wait a whole inning while Phil took his turn at batting. Finally Phil ran over to where they were waiting . . . shook hands casually . . . asked if his manager had read the contract and signed it without reading it ! The World's Fair gentleman almost did a nip-up. but Phil's actions were characteristic of his manner of doing things since those old days back in Linton. Indiana, where he was born.