 At the piano you've heard the well-known NBC pianist Vladimir Brenner. Mr. Brenner played Polonaise in C-Shop Minor by Frederick Chopin. He's the national broadcasting company RCA Building Radio City, New York. Radio's own show, Behind the Mic. With a switch of a dial, Radio brings you tragedy, comedy, entertainment, information, education, a whole world at your command. But Radio isn't all on the surface. There are stories behind Radio, stories behind your favorite program, favorite personalities, and radio people you never hear of. Stories as amusing, dramatic, and interesting as any make-believe stories you hear on the air. And that's what we give you. The human interest, the glamour, the tragedy, the comedy, and the information that are behind the mic. And now presenting a man whose name since the beginning of broadcasting has been a byword in radio, Graham McNamee. Hello, Gilbert Martin. Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the Radio audience. Behind the Mic presents the story behind those radio babies. Have you ever wondered who those gurgling, clinging, bawling babies that you hear on radio programs really are? Well, we have a large number of them here in person. Introducing a dozen assorted babies in one, Janice Gilbert. First I might explain that Janice Gilbert is an 18-year-old dark-haired young lady and mighty attractive. Oh, thank you, Graham. I ought to say as much for you. I wish you could. Janice appears in an almost incredible number of day and nighttime serials in which she specializes in playing baby parts as well as many children and ingenue roles. I might say that the only prop Janice uses is a pillow which she holds in her hand and which she cries into. That's about right, isn't it, Janice? Janice, exactly what kind of babies do you play? All kinds, Graham. Well, do they differ much? I mean, for instance, does a newly born baby make different sounds from a two- or three-month-old baby or a five- or six-month-old baby? Oh, yes. A newborn baby is very weak and can't do anything much, but just cry and sputter and cough a little, like this. Now, a two- or three-month-old baby sounds less strangled because it's able to get more wind into its lungs. It cries a little louder, like this. Yes, Janice, the wind is doing much better. Now, how about an eight- or nine-month-old baby? Well, about that time they can gurgle and coo, and when they weep, their cries have more volume. Every once in a while, they can work words like, dada into it. Now, suppose you help me out on this one, Graham. You make believe you're the baby's proud daddy and you say things to make it gurgle and coo. You know, make me happy. Come on now, baby. Come here. There's a sock, Janice, there. We're just fooling you. You know, you must have broadcast from crib to crib. Yes, on a safety pin hookup. Well, you certainly play a variety of roles, Janice. Yes, I do. On the popular daytime serial, The O'Neils, I play the part of the Anjanoo, the daughter Janice O'Neil, and the three-year-old twins, Junior and Margie, and baby brother Bobby, who's nine or ten months old. Don't tell me you do them all at once. Yes, I've even done that. I remember in one scene, Janice O'Neil was crying because she had just lost her first boyfriend. And the twins came into the room to try and console her. Later, the baby cried. There I was in a four-way conversation with myself. How did it sound, Janice? Something like this. You wouldn't understand anyway. Don't you dare do anything of the kind. I'll be all right. And so on, Graham. It seems easy for you to play several characters all at one time, Janice. You certainly can turn it on. Well, you know, I have a little fear, Graham, that someday I may mix up the characters and talk something like this. Mommy, I want my serial. But me, hungry, awful hungry. If you wait until I finish reading the escapopee, you put time to cut out. Thank you, thank you very much, Janice Gilbert. You may do a lot of bawling on your program, but I don't think you will ever have to worry about bawling up a script. The story behind the Blue Network's earliest morning personality. Ladies and gentlemen, long before most of you have risen from your downy cuts, a certain young man is standing before a microphone introducing a radio program. His is the first voice you hear on NBC's Blue Network in the morning, provided you're up that early or that you haven't gotten to bed. We thought it would be a good idea for you to meet him. So here he is, Don Cordray, announcer of the Morning Patrol. Candidly, this is the first time I've ever seen him and I've been around these many years. Don, what is the Morning Patrol and what time does it go on the air? Well, Graham, the Morning Patrol is a program of recordings, mostly dance recordings. We go on the air at 6.30 a.m. Man, oh man, 6.30 a.m. Since you're the first one on the air for this network in the morning, maybe you can tell us how the networks open up each day. Oh, certainly. With the announcement of the station and the playing of the star-spangled banner. I get it. If the alarm clock doesn't get the listener up, that will. That's right. What time do you have to rise to be at the studio for your show, Don? Well, I have to come in from Forest Hill, so I set the alarm for 10 to 5. Oh, 10 to 5. Well, isn't that a little premature? Well, you know what they say, Graham. The early bird catches the worm. Yes, but until you develop feathers and a long beak, that won't interest you. What's your daily living schedule? I get up to 10 to 5, reach studios at 10 past 6, and I'm on call until 4 in the afternoon. Then I go home and sleep until 6, and then I'm fresh for the evening. Go to bed about midnight and then get up at 10 to 5 again. 10 to 5. Not a bad price. And you have to be here at 10 to 6, too? Well, not always, Graham. You see, they used to have a rule here at NBC that if anybody was late for an early show, they were subject to dismissal. So, of course, I'm very careful about setting my alarm clock. One night, after setting that alarm, I locked it by pushing down a gadget on top of the bell. When the alarm went off, it was pitch dark, but I arose and got to the subway all right. I didn't seem to recognize any of the regular crowd. When I reached NBC, the front of the building was locked, and I had to go in the side door. Now, this to me, I thought, is on the strange side. I went inside and the elevator operator said, well, a special broadcast? No. But to make that long story short, I reached the studio set. Do you want to guess what time? No. A quarter to four in the morning. A quarter to four? Yes, when I locked the alarm by pushing down the gadget on top, it had thrown the setting hand back to a quarter of three. Generally, I get to the studios around six. Oh, I know that, Don. I see you right along here at quarter of six in the morning. Yeah. The only time, Graham, I ever saw you at a quarter of six was when I was going to work and you were going home. And not from work. Touché, Don. 10 minutes to six. Oh. Lovely singing star of radio got her start. Seven years ago, radio's most popular singing trio of that time was singing at the Century Theatre in Baltimore. After the show, a little girl came backstage to ask for an autograph. She was admitted to the dressing room and... Gee. Thanks awfully. The three ex-sisters, Pearl, Vi, and Jesse. I'm going to keep this just as long as I live. Oh. If you keep it half that long, it'll be long enough. So you liked our singing? I think you're wonderful. And the way you took that high note. Gee. And your rhythm's singing. You seem to know something about singing. Well, I sing a little myself. You do? Well, we sang for you this afternoon. How about you singing for us? Well, all right. And that little girl stood up like an old trooper. My, for a little girl, you have a big voice. You like it? Oh, yes. I'd like our manager, Ed Wolfe, to hear you. I'll tell you what. You come back to the theater tomorrow at 12 o'clock. Oh, gee, thanks. Bye. The morning following at the theater, after the three ex-sisters had finished rehearsing their new song number. Fine, fine, girls. I'll make a swell number for the act. So long. Oh, Mr. Wolfe, before you go. Yes, Jessie. There's a little girl here I'd like you to hear. She's only 11 years old, but we heard her sing and we think she has a beautiful voice. Oh, another one of those child prodigies. I hear them every day, Jessie. Forget about it. I'll see you after the show. Oh, but she's here now. Won't you please listen to her? I think she's really unusual. Oh, she's here. Where is she? She's sitting right behind you with her father. Here I am, Mr. Wolfe. You brought your accompanist? Well, no, but... I'll accompany her here. Let me have your music, Mary. Give me a minute, young lady. I want to talk to you. Say, you know that you've got one of the best natural hot singing voices I've ever heard. How old did you say you were? I'm 11, Mr. Wolfe. 11? Say, I've got an idea. We'll call you the little girl with a big voice. Young lady, I think you're going places in radio. And it was exactly two months later that on one of radio's most important shows, the voice of the master of ceremonies, Rudy Valli, said... Hi, everybody. This is Rudy Valli and company. Mary Small, aged 11 years, from Baltimore, Maryland. Ordinarily, this program does not go in for child performers. Cute kitties give us a small pain in the collective neck. But she has a genuine talent. The fact that she's 11 years of age is interesting, but not very important. Many of the better-known grown-ups might learn a few things by listening to Mary sing Louisville Lady. Because I was announcing the Valli show at the time, Mary, you were a terrific hit, but you were the first act to get two successive weeks on that show. From then on, you came along mighty rapidly to your present success. Today, you're recognized as one of the best blue singers in radio. Thank you, Mary. And on the side, I'd like to say that you're still just as nice a girl as you were seven years ago. That's my compliment. And, Mary Small, when you make your appearance in the new Zygmunt Valli's the very best of luck. Thank you, Graham. And thanks, Ernie Watson, for that very nice accompaniment. Letters from listeners. Each week, we invite the listeners of Behind the Mic to write us questions about radio and the two or three we consider to be the most general interest. We have answered on the air by the radio editor of some outstanding newspaper or magazine. Tonight's questions will be answered by John McManus, radio editor of New York's newest newspaper, PM. Jack, Mrs. Catherine Bronston of Los Angeles, California writes in to ask, why do the names of stations within the United States begin with DKA? Well, Graham, we've had a W and K as first letters for our American stations ever since an international radio convention back in the teens when first letters for identification were allotted. For instance, at this convention C was allotted as the first call letter for all Canadian stations. G for England, W, K and N for the United States and so forth. You never see the N stations on your radio program because they're used only for government radio services. Incidentally, you might be interested to know that in the latter part of the 1920s the old Federal Radio Commission made a ruling that all stations east of the Mississippi must begin with a W and all stations west of the Mississippi must begin with a K. But stations which already had their call letters need not change. That's why, for example, you have KDKA and Pittsburgh, which is east of the Mississippi by a long show. Miss Margaret Braun of Brooklyn Miss Margaret B. Dierker of Los Angeles Miss Shirley J. Gassner of Montclair, New Jersey Mr. O. H. Howard of Jackson, Mississippi and Mr. Benjamin Goldstein of Brooklyn, New York have all written in to ask what does newscaster Paul Sullivan mean when at the finish of his broadcast he says, good night and 30. Over there are two derivations of the expression 30 as used in this connection. When telegraphers telegraph stories for reporters to their newspapers at the finish of the last story they used to send 30 or three X's for 30. This meant that there were no more stories coming that night. This was adopted by newspapers and on some newspapers right now, finish and 30 is marked at the end of the last word of the last story on the last page of the newspaper when this story is sent down to the composing room to be set up and printed. Finish and 30, that's the legend they sign on it, means that there are no more stories without addition of the paper. Paul Sullivan simply adopted and 30 to mean that this was the end of his program. Thank you John McManus for answering all those questions. The drama of how amateur radio has helped the physically handicapped. Standing beside me now is a man who helps children to build radio sets and to become amateur radio operators sending and receiving messages in their own homes. This may not sound remarkable in itself except when you know that his school room is located in the New York Institute for the Education of the Blind. His pupils cannot see and what is still more remarkable the man who teaches them cannot see either. He too is blind but a wonderful teacher as I discovered watching him teach his pupils. Here he is in person, Robert Gunderson. Bob, you're an amateur radio operator yourself of course. Yes Graham, I'm an amateur and my call letters are W2JIO. How many students have you in your class now learning how to build sets? 14 Graham and I'm sure that every one of them will have his amateur license which means among other things that he will have to send and receive 13 words per minute. I think it's an inspiration to watch kids like that build radio sets when you realize that they can't see what they're doing. Well one of the boys in our class is not only blind but also deaf. Well how do you tell them what to do Bob? Oh I communicate with him with my hands by writing the Braille alphabet in his spelling each word letter for letter. What a remarkable patience you must have. Well how can he receive messages if he can't hear? By the sense of touch he can feel the vibrations of a buzzer and in this way he can send and receive code messages purely by feeling vibrations. Do you think it's possible for him to become an amateur radio operator? Well I'm sure of it. It's just a minute and you only need 13 to get your license. Radio will open up a new world for those boys won't it Bob? It's done that for a lot of people Graham. One day I was communicating by dot and dash with another amateur but his words were rather jumbled so I sent him a message saying I can't copy what you're sending unless you'll space your letters more clearly. He immediately replied saying that if I didn't want to talk with him I didn't have to and then signed off. What did you do Bob? Well I figured I'd hurt his feelings and went down to apologize to him. Upon entering his room Graham I found that the man was almost completely paralyzed. He had to send messages by tapping the sending key with his foot. Yet he was very independent and most cheerful. We never realized how well off we are until we meet someone less fortunate than ourselves. That was the case of radio helping the physically handicapped. That's a good example of that Graham. One day I was talking to another amateur in Boston and we were discussing handicaps and he said I've got a friend who's pretty discouraged. Got a bad ticker. Doctor says he can't live much longer. Now I got an idea that if he had some real interest he could hang on. Funny thing about that. Well that gave me an idea. That was on Wednesday. The following Saturday I took a train for the town where this man was located and after about half a day searching finally located him. At first his wife refused to allow me to see him. I don't care if you did come from New York Mr. Gunderson. That won't make any difference to him. He doesn't like strangers. He's very touchy about his sickness. Yes but I might be able to help him. Please let me see him. Well I suppose it can't do any harm. Come on I'll take you to his room. Charles This is Mr. Gunderson. He's come all the way from New York to see you. You came from New York to see me. What's the idea? I'll tell you sir. I'm an amateur radio operator. A friend of yours in Boston another amateur radio operator and I were talking over our sets and he mentioned you. He told me about your case and I decided to come out to see you. I'm not looking for sympathy. I didn't come here to give it to you but I think I can help you. Help? What help? I don't mean that I can help you myself but I think I can help you to help yourself. Now if you were to become an amateur radio operator A radio operator? Yes you're pretty lonely aren't you? I suppose I am. Well now look if you become an amateur radio operator with your own sending and receiving set you couldn't be lonely. You'd have friends wherever there are other amateurs and they're all over the world. Why radio will stretch the walls of your room just as far as your set can send and you can receive. Yes but where could I get a set like that? I'll build you one. And did you build that set for him Bob? Indeed I did Graham. What happened to that man? Well I told you the doctor said his days were numbered. That was four years ago and today he's still alive and kicking and sending radio messages. And thank you Bob Gunderson for a most interesting and enlightening interview. Ladies and gentlemen if you have any questions about the inside of radio that you wish answered on the air write a letter to us. Address it to Graham McNamee behind the mic National Broadcasting Company New York City as many questions as possible will be answered by mail and the three or four questions we feel to be of most general interest will be answered on this program. Be sure to listen next week when we will bring you the amusing story of how a cab driver became Eddie Cantor's script writer exactly what happens to your letters when you enter a radio contest the amusing story of what happened when all the lights went out at a studio broadcast and more of the human interests the glamour, the comedy and the drama that are found behind the mic This is Graham McNamee speaking goodnight all. Behind the mic is written by Mort Lewis. Original music is composed and conducted by Ernie Watson Next week behind the mic will be heard at our regular time 5.30 to 6. Eastern Standard Time This is the National Broadcasting Company