Swing (Feb-Dec 1951)

THE CREAM OF CROSBY and then dashing to the icebox for some Schhtz. This is a terrible idea to plant in people's minds, that they should vanish into the kitchen the minute the commercial comes on. How would they know which beer to take out of the icebox? They might stumble on to some Blatz' "Milwaukee's Favorite Beer" rather than Schlitz, "The Beer That Made Milwaukee Famous" — and it simply isn't cricket to drink Blatz and look at something Schlitz paid for. Just one more small note about commercials. World Broadcasting System, producers of transcribed programs, has announced that it will produce a special half hour Christmas show called "The Miracle at Christmas," starring Thomas Mitchell. "The Miracle at Christmas" will have open spots left for the insertion of the local sponsor's message. There was a time, of course, when "The Miracle" was message enough for the folks, when miracles didn't require local sponsorship, but that was long, long ago. Opportunities in Television JOE RANSON and Richard Pack have just written a book called "Opportunities In Television" which pretty thoroughly explores the training and qualifications for actors, writers, directors, engineers and people like that. But it doesn't cover any of the jobs I'm curious about. How about that pretty girl who hands out $100 bills on "Break The Bank?" Where — Mr. Ranson, Mr. Pack — did she get her training for that job and how, exactly, did she break into that line of work? Or how about the Old Gold girl, the one who is covered by an Old Gold package from her head to her hips? Where did she study and what did she study before she broke into the big time? Then there's the lovely young lady on "Beat The Clock" who helps the contestants pour water all over themselves, trying to fill milk bottles while standing on their heads. I know a girl who is ooking for that kind of work and who las all the qualifications — pretty legs, a lice smile and an intimate acquaintanceihip with milk bottles. But she doesn't enow where the job opportunities are. As a matter of fact, I have a whole list of applicants for similar jobs — the girl on the Vaughan Monroe show who pushes a button which lights up the favorite song of the troops at Fort Dix; the girl who holds up placards for the panel members on "It's News To Me"; the girl who helped Ralph Edwards propel a man called Nash through a mechanized automatic car-washing line. One babe I know wants even more specialized work. She wants to be the girl on the Arthur Murray show who tells Mrs. Arthur Murray how her personality changed, how she won a raise, a husband and illimitable happiness after she learned how to dance. As for Music and Money . . . FRANKLY, I find an oboe just as agree' able to look at as Morey Amsterdam and a great deal more agreeable to listen to. God Bless Us Every One tt'T'HE Kate Smith Evening Hour" J struck me at the outset as being marked by a certain air of desperation. It occurs at a time which on NBC last year was sacred to comedians. However, NBC, I guess, just ran out of comics and somehow the full-throated and extensive Miss Smith was thrust in there to stem the flood of Arthur Godfrey who appears at the same hour on what is known as another network. It's hard to tell what Miss Kate, one of the perennial glories of daytime or female radio, is doing on evening television when the men are home, presumably in search of relaxation. In fact this shov» is pretty hard for me to explain in any terms. Miss Kate is not a mistress of ceremonies, not even an Ed Sullivan or "What-On-Earth-Am-I-Doing-Hcre' type emcee; she's not, apart from her singing, an entertainer; she doesn't — as she does on radio— burden the air with profound reflections on the sanctity of matrimony (which she has never experienced). She is above all that. She is presented as a sort of American institution like Thanksgiving, something that doesn't re' quire explanation. Ted Collins, her per' sonal Svengali who has guided her de«