Radio stars (Oct 1935-Sept 1936)

ADVENTURE is his birthright. . . Not in the sense of Edna Millay's line: "There isn't a train I ivouldn't take, no matter where it's going," nor that he longs to sail unchartered seas or pursue the unusual down the usual paths. Rather it is, in essence, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." Already Lanny Ross has a great deal. He is happily married, his wife, Olive White, being his personal representative and business manager. He has fame and wealth, from his own efforts, friends, a home in the ity, a farm in the country, a gratifying career in radio — possessions that bring privileges, privileges that imply responsibility, to himself and to others. Lanny is specially conscious of responsibility to the tradition of courage and initiative in his family. "My people, in a sense, were pioneers," he said. "My grandfather, my father's father, was a bank clerk in he Bank of England. He felt that the future there idn't offer him enough opportunity. So he decided to trike out into fresh fields. He determined to come to merica. He got a chance to bring over a ship-load f Portuguese immigrants and he had the courage to undertake the responsibility. When he had completed that charge, he settled in a small town in the state )f Washington and became a banker there. It was a )ioneering adventure in an undeveloped country. And jie made good. I hope," said Lanny, "that I have enough jf that spirit in me to make good in new fields. ... I lon't want to let it die out in me." Lanny Ross wants a great deal of life. "It goes so ]uickly," he says. "In just a little while you realize that ou are growing old. . . . And all the things you were joing to do will be forever undone. . . . Unless you <now what you want and are willing to strike out, even if it involves sacrifices. . . . "Right now," Lanny spoke thoughtfully, "I have farm. . , . There are thirty-five cows on it. We sell the milk. I have a farmer who runs it for me. We go out there week-ends, when we can. "That farm," Lanny went on, "needs such a lot done on it. . . . The buildings must practically be rebuilt from the foundations. The ground needs to be reconditioned. It's a tremendous responsibility and involves a lot of money. Of course I can't do it all at once. . . . "It opens a whole new world to me," Lanny smiled. "And I don't really need that particular new world — I have so many others in mind. ... I want to sing in concert. I want to sing in opera. I want to make motion pictures. I want to write. . . . And I've got to figure out how to do all these things !" It does sound like a large order, but as Lanny talks you feel that the sensitive mettle of the artist is strengthened by the mettle of the pioneer and responsive to the demand, however it comes. He is not a visionary, dreaming dreams beyond the possibility of accomplishment. Rather he is a man with a vision, looking far ahead, but aware of all that is involved to make the dream and its fulfillment one. Music and acting also are a part of Lanny's birthright. And Lanny's progress toward his goal in music exemplifies the mettle of the man. His father, Douglas Ross, is an actor, noted throughout England for his Shakespearian roles. He wanted the boy, naturally, to follow in his footsteps in a theatrical career. Lanny's mother, an accomplished musician, once was Pavlowa's accompanist. His younger brother, Winston, is on the stage, at present appearing in the Theatre Guild production, Idiot's Delight. "We kid him about playing the title role," chuckled Lanny. And added: "I wonder that Winchell hasn't picked that up — to ask whether Alfred Lunt or Lynn Fontanne is playing the title Vole in the Sherwood play. "I started out in the theatre, of course," Lanny continued. "I made my stage debut when I was six years old, at the old Century Theatre, in a children's play called Racketty-Packetty House. I earned fifty dollars a week, for six weeks. I did other stage work, after that, but I didn't want to continue in the theatre — it's so unfair," he mused. "So much depends on the part you get, on the reception of the play. . . . "Of course I knew that I had a voice," he spoke seriously, "but I didn't give up all other considerations for it until I was sure that it was more than just a nice voice. . . . My grandfather," he went on, "advised me to study for a business or a profession. 'You can be happy,' he told me, 'in any line of work, if you are doing it well and making a living.' "So, when I graduated from Yale, I studied law at Columbia. And, in order to help pay my expenses, I did some singing on the radio. My first broadcast was on January first, 1929, for Ray Bestos. I sang three songs. Then for a year and a half I was on a sustainnig program, Troubadour of the Moon. I earned ten dollars a performance. Once I got a raise to fifteen. "In 1931 I was on a radio program for Hellman's. Then I went on to the Maxwell House Coffee program. That was before there was any (Continued on page 86) 25