 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 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 interests, the glamour, the tragedy, the comedy, and information that are behind the mic. Now presenting a man whose name since the beginning of broadcasting has been a byword in radio, Graham McNamee. Thank you, Gil Martin, and good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the radio audience. First, my best to Ben Grower for doing such a grand job in carrying on the program while I've been out in California these past two weeks, and football and so forth. That was fun, too. This afternoon, Behind the Mic presents the strange interview of a prospective guest for Behind the Mic. The sound effect of the week, an interesting demonstration of how necessary a studio engineer is to a good broadcast, a salute to a program you loved with Sigmund Spaeff, the tune detective, a well-known radio editor to answer letters from listeners, and finally, a unique true story of what happened when a radio program portrayed a rescue at sea. Ladies and gentlemen, this is a genuine bit of what goes on behind the mic. It seems that our scriptwriter, Mort Lewis, tried to get an interview for this broadcast from a whimsical chap named Henry Morgan, who has a comedy program called Here's Morgan. Mort took down almost verbatim what happened at this weird interview, and we present it here in condensed form, as it actually happened, with Henry Morgan here in person. This will conclusively prove why scriptwriters die young or go crazy. Mort, will you tell us what happened? Well, Graeme, I first I want to say I've written many gag routines like this, but this is the first time it's really happened to me. I had an appointment to meet one Mr. Morgan for lunch in a restaurant in the basement of the RKO building where I'd tried to get an experience of his for Behind the Mic. He has an announces job as well as his own program, and he told me he had to get back to his studio at 2.15. So we decided to meet at 1.15. At 1.35 he showed up and the restaurant was jammed. Looks pretty crowded, we can't get seated now, but while we're waiting I want you to give me a Behind the Mic story and I'll take it down, Henry. Well, Mort, I don't know what you think is funny, but we had a program in Philadelphia one time, you might be interested in. It was called The Old Jokebook. I beg your pardon, but would you care to sit down at this table? Were these two other gentlemen? No, thanks. You see, that's why I don't eat at the automatic. I want to sit by myself. Oh, about that story. Well, I had this program in Philadelphia, Mort, called The Old Jokebook, and we used to dramatize old jokes. Hey, wait a minute. Look, we can sit down there at the table with the two gals. But you don't know them either. Well, if we sit down with them, we will. Come on. I beg your pardon. May we sit down here? Now, Henry, about that story. Oh, yeah. Well, this program in Philly was called The Old Jokebook, see, which explains itself really. And we used to do dramatizations of old jokes. Well, one day... If you gentlemen would care to sit by yourselves, there's a table over there that's clear now. Yes, we would. Come on, Morgan, let's start. Okay. Now, uh, suppose you tell me that Philadelphia story. Yeah. Well, it was called The Old Jokebook, and we dramatized old jokes, see. One day, there was a blizzard, and a couple of the actors didn't show up. Would you give me your artist, please, gentlemen? Um, I'll take this turkey with stuffing and green peas. Look, waitress, is this right? Canadian bacon and eggs, 95 cents? Yes, that's because it's imported. A little man swims across the St. Lawrence River with Canadian bacon on his back, and it's imported. 95 cents? That's really imported. Yeah. Well, I'd like some domestic home-fried potatoes with that and some string beans. Now, Morgan, about that story, you say the actors didn't show up one day, and what happened? Oh, this'll kill you. Well, they didn't show up, and I was there practically alone in a technically a quandary, I guess you'd call it. Sorry, there's no string beans. How about some green peas instead? I don't like green peas. Well, they're good for you. I'll bring you some green peas, huh? Green peas. The program was called the old, all right, green peas. I got that stuff about the program being the old joke. Yeah, well, you see, the actors didn't show up. Hello, Morgan. Hello, Art, how are you? Glad to see you. Hey, you're on the same time as Lowell Thomas, aren't you? Yeah, how do you like my show? Well, I heard you three times. Now I listen to Lowell Thomas. Well, when I get home, my mother tells me what Lowell Thomas said. Tomorrow night, I'm going to listen to Lowell Thomas. Yeah, look, you've got to get back to your studio at 2.15. It's getting late. How about the story? Oh, yeah, the story. Well, one day the actors didn't show up. Or did I say that? You did. So I set up stairs for the guy who runs records. And I brought him to... Look out for the hot plate. It doesn't look so hot. How? Uh, you had a program in Philadelphia. Yeah, well, one day the actors didn't show up, please. What did you say? I didn't get that. One day the actors didn't... You didn't have your copy now or later? No. Later. The actors didn't show... Oh, look, Mort, it's 2.15. I've got to get back to the studio. I'll leave you a dollar and get the change from you later, OK? But how about the story for my program? Well, it isn't such a good story. I'll tell you what, Mort, instead of putting the story on the air, why don't you put the interview on just the way it happened? Nobody will believe it, but it's behind the mic, isn't it? See, that's my idea. See, yeah. OK, that's what we'll do. We'll put this interview on exactly as it happened. And that's what they did. And now you see what sometimes happens when we try to get a behind-the-mic story for our show. And thank you, Henry Morgan, and the best of luck to you and your program. Practically nobody outside of radio and, lamentably, few inside realize the important part that the studio engineer plays in making a broadcast sound right when you hear it through your loudspeaker. The engineer is the little man in the control room who has a lot of instruments and dials and gadgets in front of him and who is responsible for the broadcast being as technically near perfection as possible. We're going to show you just how important his job is and how bad broadcasts would sound if he didn't know his business. Here's the man who can tell you about it. The head of NBC's Eastern Engineering Division, George Milne. Hi, George. Hi, Ben. George, first in cooperation with our studio engineer, Fred Walworth. Let's show our listeners the part the studio engineer plays in making music sound right over the air. The story off and the quality of music depends on how the engineer controls the microphones in front of the orchestra. Well, suppose we give them an example of controlling the microphones, George. Well, let's say we have two microphones placed in front of the orchestra to pick up the music. One of these mics is near the strings and one near the brass and woodwinds. Now, the man in the control room, the studio engineer controls with his dials the volume of the strings, woodwinds, or brasses that go into these mics. Here's a demonstration of what we mean. Mr. Leader Ernie Watson has arranged a little selection. It's a violin melody of Swanee River with a background of humoresque played by the woodwinds and the brass. In this particular selection, the violins playing Swanee River should be heard, and the woodwinds and brasses playing humoresque as a harmony should be heard, too, but not too strongly. Let's suppose woodwinds, brasses, and violins are in perfect balance. It sounds like this. Well, suppose the engineer lets too much volume go into the microphone that's near the violins. Here's what it sounds like. All you hear is Swanee River played by the violins and practically none of humoresque played by the brass. Suppose he lets the microphone that's near the woodwinds and the brass open too widely and sound like this. In this case, you heard mostly humoresque played by the brass and practically none of the real melody of Swanee River played by the violins. The engineer has a tougher job, though, because he was speaking on two separate mics, the sound effects coming over another mic, and the orchestra is playing the theme for the same scene on still a fourth mic. Everything has to be in proper balance, and if they aren't, one element will overshadow. Will you give us an example of this, George? Well, a few weeks ago, on your salute to the you-know-crime clues on this program, you did a scene in a nightclub with a man talking to a woman. There were various nightclub sound effects in an orchestra in the background. Now here's the way the scene should sound. I just go to this safe deposit vault and use this key, kid. That's all there is to it. I won't do it, Charlie. I know what'll be in that package you want me to get. I know that counterfeit money ring that got you in trouble before. I came down here because you told me that you needed help. I do, too, what I mean. But if the mic near the sound effect is open too much and too much volume comes through it, the scene might sound like this. The deposit vault will use this key, kid. That's all there is to it. I won't do it, Charlie. I don't need a guest. Now I told you. I know that counterfeit money ring that got you in trouble. I came down here because you told me you needed help. I do, too, what I mean. And if the orchestra mic is left open too much, the scene would sound like this. So you see, he's got to work those dials in the control room properly. You know, the broadcast won't be very good. In other words, a good engineer has to do or dial for NBC. Thank you, George Milley and our engineer, Fred Walworth, for giving us the most interesting behind-the-mic demonstration. The keys in radio, presenting our little true behind-the-mic stories that help make radio sometimes amusing, sometimes exasperating, but always interesting to the people in it. This week's oddity, one which has just been brought to our attention. A few weeks ago, we had Dave Elman as a guest on Behind the Mic. He dramatized the difficulty he had to get a dog, a talking dog, to talk on his Hobby Lobby program. Well, near the finish of the dramatization, Dave had the dog in the studio and was trying to get him to talk without success. Just then, at the psychological moment, the announcer of a Texas station receiving this program broke in ahead of time with station identification. Here's the way it sounded down in Texas. First, Dave, in our dramatization in New York, was trying to get the dog to talk. He was saying, come on, Prince, come on, talk. Prince, Prince doesn't seem to want to talk, folks. I'll try again. Come on, Prince, talk. Talk like a good dog. Say something. This is KGKO, Radio Service of the Dallas Morning News. Every time he sees you now, the station engineer waves a dog biscuit at that announcer. The Mic salutes a program you loved. We in radio believe that radio has a tradition of which it can well be proud. A tradition of good programs that linger fondly in our memory. And so each week, we bring you a star, a part of a program you used to hear. A program you loved. So this afternoon, we salute Dr. Sigmund Space Program, the Tune Detective, which was devoted principally to showing how well-known melodies were derived. The Tune Detective was on the air from 1931 to 1933, and was so popular that it received regularly more than 2,000 letters per week from its listeners. And now, Dr. Space, the Tune Detective. Thank you, Graham. The idea of the Tune Detective program was not to decompose anything, but rather to arrive at certain patterns of melody that are common to all music. Everybody can at least recognize a tune, even if you're as limited as General Grant, who said he knew only two tunes. One was Yankee Doodle, the other was not. Well, at least he had a starting point, and his starting point was a tune. Music runs in patterns, just the same as carpets, lampshades, curtains, and wallpaper. And anybody at all can recognize these patterns by the simple process of listening. For instance, here's a four-tone pattern that we were hearing just the other night. The Westminster Chime, played by Big Bend in London. If you play those four tones in their original order from the bottom up, you get a very old tune. Most people think of that as how dry I am, but actually it's a very respectable tune. It was originally a hymn, Oh Happy Day. Note for note the same as how dry I am. And there's some other hymns that start with exactly the same four tones in the same order. Here's a very beautiful one. Lead kindly light. And here's another one called Alsace. That was originally written by Beethoven in his second symphony. And there was a song without words by Mendelssohn. And the old French plays here d'Amour. And perhaps the most amusing example of this four-note pattern is at the start of the famous Mary Widow Waltz. Frans Lehar took those four tones, put them into Waltz time. There's the pattern of the Mary Widow Waltz. One of the commonest of all melody patterns has only three tones and comes right out of the bugle calls of the world. The bugle really has only three different tones, and those are the natural tones that come out of any tube. The bugle plays revelry, for instance, using just three tones. When he gets to the top tone, he's merely repeating the tone and octave below. It's the same tone. And those three tones can be played in any position on the keyboard. They're always the same three tones. Now you can play it when you play them in this way. You get the start of the Blue Danube Waltz. And the same notes from the top down start you on Dixie. And if you play them down and then up again, you get the start of the Star-Spangled Banner. And sounding them together gives you the perfect major chord. That chord is the start and finish of harmony. The perfect major chord is the end of the piece. Everybody recognizes it. The interlocutor in a minstrel show says, gentlemen, be seated. That's what they sit down on. It's a logical conclusion. And that chord pattern coming right out of the bugle appears in most of the national anthems of the world besides our own Star-Spangled Banner. The old Russian anthem had it right after the start. And that tune has also been used by a lot of colleges. And as a hymn, the French Marseillaise puts it higher up, which is still had the same three notes with the martial effect that comes from the bugle or the trumpet in the background. Today, we even hear those three tones on the automobile horns. Now, you might take a pattern of three tones right in a row, simply following the scale. One, two, three. Or from the top down, three, two, one. And I play them that way. You recognize your old friend, Three Blind Mice. But the same pattern was also used by the French philosopher Rousseau in a famous lullaby. You have the same three notes at the start of Swanee River. And General Grant's Yankee Doodle. And merrily we roll along. In fact, if you want to complete tune on those three notes, just whistle that old slogan over the fences out. Well, that's just a suggestion of the way the tune detective used to work out the patterns of music at the piano. After all, the final object of that program was to make people listen to music. And I find that anybody at all will listen so long as he has something to listen for. It's just as easy to follow a pattern of melody through a symphony as to find it in a popular song. It may take a little longer, maybe a little more worthwhile, but it's not any more difficult. So I hope to go on being a tune detective the rest of my life, showing you all the real relationship between serious and popular music. Thanks for your interest, past, present, and future. Thank you, Dr. Sigmund Spaeth, for reviving a portion of your fascinating radio program. And incidentally, ladies and gentlemen, you will be interested to know that there is a very good possibility of the tune detective returning to the air in a more elaborate form. Here's from listeners. Each week we invite the listeners of Behind the Mic to write us questions about radio. And the three or four we consider to be of most general interest we have answered on the air by the radio editor of some outstanding newspaper or magazine. This afternoon's questions will be answered by columnist Sid Weiss of Radio Daily. Miss Lillian Dick of Bridgeport, Connecticut says, on your revival of the Roxy's gang program on December 29, the man who impersonated Roxy did a remarkable imitation. Roxy passed away four or five years ago. How could he imitate him so well after all this time? Miss Dick, I am told that a few days before he went on the air, Ward Wilson, a man who imitated Roxy, listened to a record which NBC has of a program which Roxy did called Roxy Comes a Calling. This record was made in 1935. Furthermore, before becoming an actor, Ward Wilson was a studio engineer and often engineered Roxy's program, so he knew his mannerism. Mr. Carol La Trobe of New York City writes in to say, on the December 29 radio program of Behind the Mic, that's last week, you showed us how a radio script is rehearsed. The voice of the man who directed the rehearsal seemed to come almost from another world. Can you tell me how this effect was produced? Mr. La Trobe, the effect that you heard last week was one which is rarely heard on radio. The man who directed that rehearsal, Carlo DiAngelo, was sitting in the control room of the studio and he used one that's called a talk-back mic, a microphone which is used mostly for actual rehearsals so that the actors can hear the directors speaking from the soundproof control room. It did sound rather weird. A listener from Bay City, Michigan asks this question, is there some way in which radio stations or networks know how many radio sets are tuned in at any time by some device in the control room? No, but if some such device were originated, it would be heaven sent to sponsors who could then accurately tell how well their programs were received. At the present time, telephone surveys are used for the most part to determine the approximate amount of sets which are tuned in to any program. Thank you, Sid Weiss, for answering those questions. Thank you very much. This program has featured some amazing behind-the-mic stories, but in point of being unusual, I don't think that any story we have had surpasses the one you're about to hear. I can guarantee that it's a true story because I was on the same program. Here's the man who will tell you about it. Mr. Fred Turner. How are you, Fred? All right, Graham. Will you please tell our audience this almost incredible story? Well, Graham, as you know, I was one of the first people who did a series of descriptive stories on the air. I had a program called Trip and Adventures, which I did in 1924 and 25. These broadcasts were designed to take the radio audience on some kind of trip which would enable them to experience an interesting and exciting adventure. One broadcast was designed to take our audience on a trip on a Coast Guard cutter and show what happened when the Coast Guard received a distress signal. This was to demonstrate the use of a new rescue device to get semen off a sinking vessel. You were the announcer on that particular show and were actually in charge of the studio. Yes, I remember that night very well, Fred. I was describing our trip on a Coast Guard cutter over the radio. How we had just gone through New York Harbor, passed Sandy Hook, and out into sea. The weather is quite rough. Hold on. The first officers just come from the radio room. Did you hear what he said to me? A distress signal has just been received and the captain is proceeding at full speed to render the ship aid. Already the Coast Guard men are moving swiftly to their posts with no wasted effort. Here's the captain. He tells me they've received more reports from the stricken ship. Messages, urging us to hurry. Other ships are battling through those mighty seas and their willingness to help. There's a cry from the lookout. The vessel in distress has been sited. Fred cut it. And now we're going to... No use, Fred. We're off the air. Oh, what's the matter? A real distress signal has just come in. All stations are off the air. Can you imagine that happening just now? Well, if that isn't a coincidence. Yes, I remember that, Fred. In a few minutes later, I was called to the telephone. When I came back was I excited. I think my hair was standing on end. Great. Gun, do you know what just happened, Fred? No. What, Graham? We've stopped all broadcasting along the North Atlantic Coast. We've done it. That was naval communications on the phone. And they want to know where we heard a distress signal. Someone heard our show and thought a vessel was actually in distress. Good grief. They'll blame it all on us, Fred. Gosh, what'll they do to us? Well, if this isn't the blameless. Well, I was really scared. I later found out what had happened was that some Syracuse listener had been tuned into our program and thought I was describing an actual attempted rescue of a ship at sea. He immediately called the Syracuse Post Standard to tell about the SOS. The Post Standard got in touch with the New York world to find out about it. And the world called Naval Communications and they stopped all broadcasting so that they could catch this supposed distress signal. You see, in those days, the ship ban was right next to the broadcast ban. And when a ship sent out a distress signal, all station broadcasting was stopped, so the signal could be heard. Well, that certainly was an amazing story, wasn't it, Fred? It was, Graham, but what follows was more amazing. At the same time we were on the air, a ship at sea, a trawler, had been in trouble. The captain had been seriously injured by a rolling cask and the boat sent out a distress signal trying to get medical advice. The ship's radio was very weak and under ordinary circumstances the signal would never have been heard. But at that very moment, because of our broadcast being mistaken for a real SOS, all programs were off the air. Therefore, the distress signal from the trawler was heard. That's mighty interesting, Fred. The Coast Guard station radioed to one of the big liners, which was near the trawler, asking them to transfer a doctor. However, because of the storm, the doctor could not be transferred but the liner radioed medical advice. The advice so helped the injured captain that when the trawler put into port three days later, he was still alive and eventually recovered. And so what looked like a tragedy to you and I turned out to be a blessing in the skies. And all because back in 1925, some listeners thought that a broadcast was the real thing. Well, you certainly beat Orson Welles to the punch. Thank you, Fred Turner. Thank you. This number now is the same reason that many programs play extra numbers at the end of their broadcast. This afternoon's program ran a little shorter than it had rehearsed, and we're using this number to fill in. Ladies and gentlemen, if you have enjoyed hearing the various artists on behind the mic, why not drop them a line and let them know about it? They will be glad to hear from you. Be sure and listen next week when Behind the Mic will bring you a condensed episode from a favorite old serial, Harbour Lights, with the original cast, an actual audition of an actress trying to get a job on an NBC program, and more of the glamour of the human interest, the comedy and the drama that are found behind the mic. This is Graham McRamey speaking. Good afternoon all. Music composed and conducted by Ernie Watson. This is the National Broadcasting Company.