 Radio's own show, Behind the Mic. The switch of your dial radio brings you tragedy, comedy, entertainment, information, education, a whole world at your command. But there are stories behind radio. Stories behind your favorite program and favorite personalities and radio people you never hear of. Stories as amusing, dramatic, and as 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 information that are behind the mic. And now presenting a man whose name has been a symbol of the best in radio since the beginning of broadcasting, Graham McNamee. Thank you, Gilbert Martin, and good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the radio audience. This afternoon we present one of radio's most versatile character actors, Alan Drake, who will explain how he does his characterizations, the sound effect of the week, a sketch of the actor's club, NBC's second floor, the story of how a well-known radio singer achieved success after a grueling struggle, and finally, a salute to one of radio's really famous programs, the ever-ready hour. We have had as a previous guest one of the most versatile actors in radio exhibiting his ability to take various roles. But so far we have never presented an actor and dialectician who would tell us about the technique of portraying his characters. And that is what we present this afternoon. Another one of radio's all-round actors, Alan Drake. Come in, Alan. Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Of course, character actors in radio or characters in radio, and there are a great many, are created solely by voice placement and change in the voice and by accent, et cetera. So to just get a glimpse of how some are created, suppose we take an imaginary trip and we'll start off over in England. Now, to get over in England, you simply put in a bit of an accent like this and add a little bit of a lilt and you'll find yourself right in the very heart of London, you see? Now, of course, it didn't take very long to get there. It doesn't nowadays, not with shipping facilities and so forth. Now, there are many types in London. We haven't got time for them all, but I'll illustrate one or two. For instance, there's the silly-ass type that everybody knows. Now, to get that, you place the voice a little higher. Do you see? You make it rather silly. Then you add a dash of English lavender and a silly little laugh. You see, it is rather silly, isn't it? Yes, but it's all together too silly to stay around very long. And then, of course, we come down to what I term the snob type. It's very nasty. Oh, dear, it's too nasty to stay around at all. So, we slip over across into the Whitechapel section. And as we get over into there, we find ourselves in with a lot of limies. Now, a limie is commonly known in America as a cockney. It's a bloke that puts on his hitches and leaves them whole, furry, haunt her. It talks with a funny little talk in his voice like this, you know? I can't tell you how to do it. I suppose you've got to be English. But anyway, that's the way it is. But we've stuck around there long enough. Suppose we get out and go up into Ireland. And as we get up into Ireland, the voice changes over like this and the bloke changes over and now you find yourself right in the heart of the land of the lakes of Calarney and the Blarney Stone. Of course, there are many different types in Ireland. We haven't got time for all of those. There's one or two that you know, I'm sure. There's the little Bantam cock type. Now, he's a little fella with a little high voice like this. He's a very peaceful man. He's never looking for trouble. What? If he sees a little altercation going on, he'll screw up his face the nut and he'll pull up his pants and he'll split in his hands and he'll walk over and he'll say, is this a private affair or can anyone keep it? Everybody knows him. Now, to get another type. Thank you, that was very nice of you. Just one of our men laughing. Another type, you lower the voice and make it rather rough and spread on the brogue as thick as you possibly can. Step back from the microphone and yell, hey, pull over to the curb. What do you think you're going? And you have a good old radio cop. Now, I don't know why they play in that way, but they always do. They go out of radio. So we leave him, forgive him a sucker, and we get up into Dublin. And there you find that the language is more a matter of lilt than it is a matter of brogue. And it's sweet music to the ear to listen to. Well, we can't stay there all the time. So we go back to America and we take a boat over and we land up in New England and as we do and we take a train across New England, we run into a lot of nice old New England folks and finally find ourselves out west out in death valley days with the old range of type. And the men that make up that God's glorious country. And if you take the roughness out and make a little authority, you've got a police chief. Now, of course, the police are always tied up with the gangsters looking after them. Show you how to get a gangster. You bring up the voice natural like this and then you put a bit of fog in. And they get plenty of money. So if they get foggy like I'd say, come on, stick your hands around. Beautiful to holds. Another guy says, come on. So we take a train and we start down south. And as you start down south, you get just a little of the southern in there. You see what I mean? And now we come to an old plantation and over there in the corner, sitting on the cabin steps, is Paul Pappett. And he just tired of living, that's all. He says he wouldn't die. And another body says, you don't want to feel that way, Henry. The life is beautiful. But not for me. The head man type, you know. He's the body that dresses himself all up to make a hit with the girls, you know what I mean? You walk in the ballroom and everybody call him Mr. He's somebody. He said, boy, step one side and let me pass. Then last but not least, you got old lazybones himself, you know. He's just too tired to work. His feet never move unless he hears music and... And there's my music now. You hear that feet? Feet feet up, they're going away from here. Yes, sir. That's the fastest trip around the world I ever made. Thank you, Alan Drake. Effect of the Week. From time to time, behind the mic presents some sound effect, which was used on a program with the past week and tells exactly how it was done. Those of you who have listened to this part of our program realize that practically all sound effects are not produced by the actual objects they are supposed to represent. On the Alka Seltzer program, for instance, a sound is used to represent two tablets of the sponsor's product being dropped into a glass of water and fizzing. You know what makes this effect so remarkable is that it consists of dropping two tablets of the sponsor's product into a glass of water and letting it fizz, like this. Those of you who seem to think that the road to success for a singer in radio is an easy one, listen to this story. It's the actual experience of a popular radio singer. Our story begins in 1929 with the Atwater Kent Hours National Auditions, with the ten best men and women amateur singers in the country competing over the air for two $5,000 first prizes and smaller prizes as well. Our singer today is one of them. Now that this year's audition is completed, the lucky girl to be a judge the $5,000 prize winner is none other than Miss. Our singer after winning the Atwater Kent National Auditions went back to college in Ohio to finish her education. And then in 1930 she came back to New York. She lived at an inexpensive women's club and then she went to inquire about singing lessons from a very well-known teacher. Signorina, I think you have a fine voice. I am sure that within the next two years you will be in the metropolitan. You don't really think so. Oh, without a doubt. Now I think three lessons a week will be sufficient at first. Yes, Signor. I haven't very much money and I must live on what I have. Will the lessons be very expensive? Oh, no, no, no. For you I will make a special rate of $15 a lesson. Meanwhile, our singer full of hope goes out to conquer the world. As an Atwater Kent winner, she sings four times on the women's radio review an NBC sustaining program. She gets a few opportunities to sing as church soloist and in church choirs. But as time goes on and expenses pile up, she writes, Dear Dad, although I'm very hopeful things haven't turned out quite as well as we expected. I hate to ask it, but I wonder if you could please send me a small check. 1933. She wins the McDowell Scholarship financing a professional debut. 1934. Dear Dad, I still haven't managed to get as far as we hoped. At times I feel terribly discouraged. But I can't let down the people who have believed in me if I could only really crash radio. 1935. Dear Dad, I know you will be glad to hear that I've been awarded a Juilliard Scholarship, which will give me free coaching and singing and languages by some of the best teachers in those fields. In 1936, still trying to crash radio in a big way, Alfred Wallenstein hires her for a program called Musical Impressions, which pays all of $20 a week. She also gets a job singing in the chorus of the Chrysler program. 1937. Ray Block, orchestra leader and chorus master hears her on the Chrysler program and offers her a job with his group, The Swing 14, on the Philip Morris program. But she's ill at the time and she can't take the job. Four weeks later, one of the girls of the group who also sings solo goes to Cincinnati. Because of the floods, she can't return to New York in time for the broadcast. Our singer gets a telephone call. Hello? Yes? Oh, she is. Oh, yes. I'll be glad to substitute. But she was so good that instead of merely substituting for one broadcast, she was kept on the show and was later given solo parts. And so eight years after she had won the Atwater Kent audition, success finally started to pile up. She was given two sustaining programs on her own in addition to the Philip Morris commercial. She has just signed up as a starred singer with another commercial program. I wonder if you've guessed who our singer is. Well, she's Genevieve Rowe. And I think her career illustrates how much sheer nerve, persistence, and ability it takes to sometimes hit the heights in radio. And now Genevieve, you've sung snatches of songs for us. I wonder if you'd sing something in its entirety? I'd like to sing a favorite of mine. The Last Rose of Summer. Back in the fabulous 20s from Ohio. Thank you, Genevieve Rowe. That was beautiful. The actors and actresses who appear on programs. The second floor of the RCA building, home of the national broadcasting company, is almost a kind of a club. It is on this floor that the NBC directors and members of the casting department have their offices. It is in front of the second floor information desk that almost any time of the day you can find large crowds of radio talent congregated waiting to see directors gossiping and discussing business. Let's wander through this second floor and we'll give you a cross-section of what might be overheard. Mr. Graham, did you hear Georgia make a tourney program last night? No, I didn't hear it, Frank. Well, he did one of the worst jobs I ever heard. He projected too much, fluffed two lines, and really I never heard a worst portrayal in my life. Why, hello, Bill. Oh, hello, George. Say great job you did on Mr. District Attorney last night. I was just telling Graham that you did one of the best jobs. Mr. Whitney, can I speak to you a moment? Sorry, but I'm on my way to rehearsal now. What are you casting for your new program? Auditioning tomorrow. Call me and I'll be glad to see you. Thanks, Mr. Whitney. Well, I say, Charles, old boy, this is already embarrassing, you know, but I left in a hurry this morning to come up here to see Billy Hillparchan. He intends to give me a big build-up on the network and I left my wallet at home. I wondered if you could let me have a 10, you know, just till tomorrow. I played in stock with her years ago and look where she is now. And my dear, she can't act at all. Listen, Joe, there's a part on the Wittina Playhouse that'd be perfect for you. You'd be terrific in it. Why don't you go after it? I'd be a great support of a refined gangster. Thanks a lot for the tip, Billy. Who do I see? Herb Wolf does the casting. I told him about you. Hey, Donald, I've got a part in my script for a cuckoo clock. Can you do it? Certainly. Listen. Well, I can do a different kind of a cuckoo too. Maybe you would prefer this one. No, no, I like the first one better. Oh, this one? Yeah, that's the one. Say, if you can work in a sea lion sometime, I'd appreciate it. You're a nice sea lion. The heart of the second floor is the desk behind which presides a member of the NBC guest relations staff. He phones the directors for the actors, takes messages, gives information and passes the time of day with everyone. Let's wander over there. Second floor desk, lighten speaking. All right, I'll see if he's here. Mr. Johnson, call for Mr. Johnson. I'm Johnson. Are you here to make an appointment for an audition? No, but we'll see you now. Any messages for me? Well, messages are in that folder. I think Radio Registry called you. Are there any tickets left here for Arnold's album? Well, let me see, Mr. Nussbaum, Nussbaum. Ah, here they are, Mr. Nussbaum. No, no, album, please. Oh, I'm sorry. Yes, here they are. Can you tell me how to get tickets for a Tuscany broadcast? Mr., there's only one way to get that. Tear off the top of an NBC announcer and send it in. And there you have a pretty good cross-section of what goes on on NBC's second floor. Behind the Mic salutes a program you loved. We in radio believe that radio has a tradition of which it may well be proud, a tradition of good programs that linger fondly in our memory. And so each week, we bring you a star or a part of a program you used to hear, a program you loved. This afternoon, we salute one of Radio's most famous old programs, The Everettie Hour, which was on the air from July 1923 to December 1930. And we bring you what was undoubtedly an outstanding feature of that program, a feature that was so good, it was repeated five times. This was the true story of the experiences of one Red Christiansen at the time of the Everettie Hour, a taxi driver, but a man who had been a sailor and who had been cast away on the barren Gallipagus Island. Originally, this was an hour program, but, or behind the mic, we have condensed it to 11 or 12 minutes, giving you some of the highlights of the story. A salute to the Everettie Hour. And here's Red Christiansen. He's here to tell you his story himself. Red, come in. The story begins when I signed up on a bark Alexander in November 1906, leaving Newcastle, New South Wales. Australia. She was loaded with a cargo of coal bound eastward across the Pacific to Panama. She carried a captain, mate, second mate, cook and 16 of us men. The captain had made the same trip before in 70 days. Louis the cook had rations for twice as long. After being out a few weeks, I came up one morning with my turn for watch. We weren't moving, no wind, sails empty. To make a long story short, we had drifted out of the ship's lanes and no one came up to help us fight our way back. We began to realize we were an adult. We drifted this way for over five months and we had food for a voyage of only 140 days. On April the 10th, the captain ordered us all out. Men, we're still drifting. I don't know more than you do when a speller wind will get us out of this. It's over five months now since we sailed from Newcastle. Maybe you've noticed rations slightly, lately. Well, we got to make them still lighter. We're on less than half rations from now on so as we can stay with the ship. That's all. Oh, we're sick of the bridge. And so another month dragged by. Then May 8th came, six months since we had sailed. It was all called after again. The captain looked sick and old. He wasn't a young man, but he was white and shaky this day. Boys, I got you all here now. I want to put the case to you. You got just two pails of water and mildly little food. I don't see no signs of the weather changing. Don't look like the wind is ever going to blow. Off here to the northwest, there's some islands. Galapagos, they call them. It's a long pull, 400, maybe 500 miles. I don't know nothing about them. Inhabited or not. I think we can make them in the boats. Who wants to stay by the ship and who wants to labor and try for the islands? Oh, let's get out of this. I know you're sticking it out there. They will pick up there, maybe. The boats are the boats. All right, men, the boats it is. There were two boats. The captain and one, the maid and the other. I was in the captain's boat. The third night out, we lost the maid's boat. The third day, the food gave out. The fourth day, the water was gone. We dipped our hands in the sea and sucked the water off our fingers. This kept up for 11 days and 11 nights. Around the dawn of the 12th day, the cook said something. Boys, boys, this supper's near over. What do you mean cooked near over? There's land ahead. That ain't land. That's clouds. You're seeing things, Louie. That's... No, it ain't. It ain't haze. It ain't clouds. It's land. It's land. When it got a little lighter, we seen it really was land. The minute we hit land, we scattered hunting for water. But there was no water, except the little water and pools on the rocks where the waves had been breaking. It was salty, but we drank off the top. When we went back to look for our boat on the beach, we saw that the tide had come up and smashed it to bits. Compass and everything was smashed and washed away. And there we was, with nothing to eat, no water, just the island. The island itself was just a big lump of jagged lava torn up by some volcanic years ago. There wasn't anything worth eating that should go on it, and no spring could break through it. Them lava rocks were just like sponges. Only the edges of the pores were sharp as if they were made out of glass. Shoes didn't last any longer time on that kind of ground. In a few hours, we were just the same as barefoot. The second day, the captain called us to the top of the bluff. The old man pointed, and we looked down, and we see a big turtle asleep in the sand, a big fella four or five feet long. That's mighty good eatin'. Here, Red, you and Jeff get down there and turn that turtle over on his back. Jesus! That baby's five feet long, and we's an inch. Look at him flip us. They're two feet long. What'll he do when we tackle him? Come on, turn him over, Red. He can't hurt you if you got him on his back. So we done it. The old man yells to cut the turtle's throat, and we did. When the blood spurted out, Fred Jeff was so thirsty that he got right down and drank it. And he says to us, say, that's sweet. After that, we all drank it, all of us. There was nothing else to think. Well, after we got the turtle on his back, we cut off his undershell and ate the raw meat. How much we lived on this fair, raw turtle meat and blood? Well, a little brackish water once in a while. After getting rested and something in our stomachs, we felt better. Then we started talking. Men, no ship will come near us where we are. You're right. What'll we do, Captain? Well, we'll work along the coast and find an anchorage where a ship might come. And that's what we started to do. One day we tackled a seal. We ripped off his skin and say it made the swellest shoes. Our feet was all cut and hurt, but never after that, we tried eating the seal meat, but it was all for tough and fishy. We could eat the tails at a big lizard's toe, and we did. But raw turtle was our best bet. We couldn't cook anything. Nobody had a watch to make a burning glass, so we never had a fire. Poor Fred Jeff got worse. We had to go slow for him. One day he lay down on a little beach. We all stood around him, Captain, and all. There wasn't nothing we could do. Jeff knew it. He looked up at us. Boys, I've done for. Fred, lay down. If you get out of this, Fred, promise you'll see my father. I will, Fred. I will. We didn't have nothing to dig with. We carried him back a piece and piled lava rocks over him so the birds wouldn't touch him. The captain said a prayer. Fred was my shipmate on four voyages. Night was the worst time. All day we were pretty busy, moving slowly on the rocks and getting seals and turtles. Kept our minds occupied. Night was the worst. One night we was all together, stretched out, and somebody said, For the love of Pete, start a song, somebody. Let's sing. Be it ever so. No, I tell you not that. Oh, fellas, please, I'm cracking. You don't have to tell me. My mind's cracking here. If you want to help me say what's left of it, don't sing that song. Any other all right, but, oh, sweet home here, in this place, don't sing it. Don't. Don't. We went through two months of this, creeping along the shore. Then one day we got to the top of a high rock that went straight down to the water. And the land made it so as that a pretty bay, as ever you saw. If any ship was to ever come to pick us up, this was a port where she might make for us. Here was a place for us to wait. If you'll pardon my saying so, we were all sort of inhabited, living the way we was. Louis the cook hadn't roughed this as much as some of us. He was old and he still had some clothes on. Two flannel shirts, in fact. He'd got heart and usual. So Louis thought he'd take off his top shirt. When he pulled it off, something fell on the ground. The captain saw it. What's that, Louis? I don't know. The captain picked up what fell and what he supposed it was. A match. Where did that come from, Louis? I don't know. The captain sort of inspected Louis. Well, sir, that cook had had a box of matches squashed flat in his underneath shirt pocket for two months and a half. I know he's living on raw turtleneck. Can you beat it? But from then on we had cooked turtleneck. One day we just finished eating when suddenly the old cook yelled out, Ship ahoy, ship ahoy! We all looked up. There, coming on to East Point, was a sail. Then I rushed to the beach. And we sailed for home that night. Yes, Red, I remember when you first met Dr. Beebe and told him your story. This is Graham McNamee saying, good afternoon all. Behind the Mic is written by Mort Lewis. Original music, composed and conducted by Ernie Watson. This is the National Broadcasting Company.