Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1950)

Roy-al, Pud-ding! Rich-rich-rich with flavor, Smoothsmoothsmooth as silk, More food energy Than sweet fresh milk. For some years they led the field. "We were the first olive out of the bottle, and we were the best," says the modest Kent who since has turned his talents to other departments of radio, but not before he and Crome-Johnson had stunned the advertising world with another sensation in 1944. This was the famous silent commercial! It was the result of another conference of the partners. A battalion of imitators had followed their lead and the air was full of tuneful sales talk. Once again they said to each other, "What stinks?" "Commercials," was once again the answer. "Even singing commercials." "How can we fix them?" "Well, what is the opposite of sound?" "Silence!" Inspired, they went right out and sold some silence to the makers of a hair dressing, Admiration. The commercial went something like this: "Admiration for the hair waves presents the newest thing on the air waves: SILENCE. Have some." With that, the air went dead for some ten seconds before the announcer murmured, "Like this quiet? Have some more." Another ten seconds elapsed before the soft invitation, "Come on in — the nothing's fine. This is the first time a sponsor gives you a whole minute of silence! Like it? Have some more." Listeners were in a fever of curiosity, naturally, at the end of the minute, and Admiration's sales took a healthy jump. Though a noble experiment, this "?i"ent" commercial did not stem the tide of the selling rhyme. By this time the air was full of the works of other poets. Children no longer skipped rope to chanted nursery rhymes, but used, instead, such words as, I like Chiclets candy-coated chewinggum. I am going out right quick and buy me some. It's refreshing as can be, Skitty-whoa, skitty-whee! I like Chiclets candy-coated chewinggum. Nothing is so tenacious a memory as the songs of childhood. It is interesting to project the imagination to the year Radio's Own Life Story (Continued from page 18) 2000 and vision a group of middle-aged people indulging in tender reminiscence and singing, not "I'll Never Smile Again," or "South of the Border" but It's delicious, yum-yum-yum, It's delightful! Order some! Now demand it. Here's the name Piel's Light Beer of Broadway fame. or the briefer but no less relentlessly fixed in the memory, Rinso White! Rinso White! Happy little washday song. Before 1939 there had been other give-aways, but sponsors and listeners alike paid them only minor attention until Horace Heidt started Pot O' Gold and the trend that is still raging. If Heidt had not fractured his back plaving football at the University of California, the whole thing might never have happened. He had planned to be a football coach. During his weeks of convalescence he faced the fact that his athletic career was finished. He had been making extra money playing the piano at school dances with some success, so when he recovered he concentrated on music, formed a dance band and was on his way — but not very fast. In spite of his fame as a dance band leader, radio passed him by until he started his Answers by Dancers on a local station during his engagement at the New York Biltmore. It was the first broadcast quiz featuring ad-lib interviews from such an audience, and it added impetus to the quiz and guessing-game shows that soon were to spring up on all sides. Until Pot O' Gold came along, prizes had been won by an effort of some kind — the solving of a puzzle, the writing of a letter, the invention of a slogan, the answering of a question. It was obvious that only a small percentage of listeners took the trouble to compete. How could you interest the lazy people who wouldn't join in? A flash of inspiration presented the solution. Each week a name was selected at random from the telephone books of the country. All the winner had to do was answer. If he did, $1,000 was sent to him for no more than saying "Hello." If he were so unlucky as to be out or asleep, $100 was sent to him anyway, and the remaining $900 was added to the jackpot. What a sensation! Here was truly something for nothing. No one seemed to care that 74 it eveny m<vww<p{ says one regular listener to the fascinating radio program "My True Story" heard every morning, Monday through Friday. You meet new people each day, hear their real-life stories taken from the pages of True Story Magazine. Each morning there's a complete true drama, prepared in cooperation with the editors of True Story Magazine. Thousands of women vote this their favorite morning program because the people you meet . . . with their loves, their fears, their problems . . ,, could be you, could be your neighbor. 7cute U "MY TRUE STORY" AMERICAN BROADCASTING STATIONS chance of being called was one in millions. It could happen, and it was glorious to listen to someone being showered with unearned gold each week. Heidt backed up his give-away with a splendid show, but the day of the give-away as entertainment all by itself was close at hand. The vast interest in Pot O' Gold started another trend when Heidt started .to broadcast from a different city each week — the first major band to make a policy of touring. "Coming, mother" became a national catch-phrase in the summer of 1939 when the Aldrich Family went on as a replacement for Jack Benny's show, and Ezra Stone has been heard nationally as the befuddled teen-ager ever since. Dennis Day, then known as Eugene Dennis McNulty, became an important addition to the Benny show this year. He remained with it until he joined the Navy. After the war, he started his own show, too, A Day in The Life of Dennis Day. Jay Jostyn played the assistant to Mr. District Attorney at the start but within the year worked up to the top spot. What is generally conceded to be the most literate of the daytime dramas, Against the Storm, written by Sandra Michael, was popular until 1942 when it went off the air for a while. Certain characters in it were hating Hitler prematurely. There was a Neutrality Act still in force, so any reference to our neutrality, pro or con, was judged to be "controversial." The National Association of Broadcasters' new Code of Fair Practice clearly defined as "controversial" any subject concerning the nation about which there was a division of opinion. Political campaigns were one example. The question of intervention in Europe's war or isolation was another. It was ruled that such matters might not be presented in dramatic form, and should be discussed only in straight speeches or debates and on sustaining, non-paid time except in the case of political campaigns when both sides were allowed to buy equal amounts of time, if they wished. It was this ruling against controversial subjects on oaid time that finally took Father Coughlin off the air. When his advertising agency tried to renew his contracts for time, they promised that his broadcasts "will not attack any race or creed, but will keep the patriotic tenor of trying to keep America out of the war." The Code committee ruled that such a discussion would be controversial and so could be broadcast only as a sustaining show. Many stations were willing to sell time to Father Coughlin, but few cared to donate it. In 1940, the cleric announced that he was leaving radio and would devote himself to his magazine, Social Justice. So ended a career about which many listeners had bitterly opposing opinions. Another bombshell was tossed in a different . direction by a brave gentleman by the name of Artie Shaw, who told the jitterbugs where to get off in no uncertain terms. This intrepid man was born in 1910 and grew up in the years when at least one boy on every block was making the night hideous with a saxophone. In 1925, he switched to a clarinet where there was less competition, developed a distinctive hot style under tutelage from the great Bix Beider (Continued on page 76)