 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, 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 glamor, the tragedy, the comedy, and 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. Thank you, Gilmartin. Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the radio audience. Mike presents one of the most versatile character actors in radio. He is casting a show and he wants a man who can play a Scotchman in one part of the show and a pack of wolves in another. He probably hires our next guest. You might have heard him as the villain on the Dick Tracy program one night, and as a funny voice on the Fred Allen show another. As a matter of fact, he plays so many parts that I suggest you be mighty careful about swatting a moth in your closet. It just might be Charlie Cantor. Charlie, exactly what kind of dialects do you do? Well, Monsieur McNamee, I can do a French dialect like this if you prepare. I can also play the part of a blooming cockney from East End with pearl buttons. And if you don't like that, go and bless my ass, British Memphis, so I can stand here with my bare feet hanging out and talk like a chair. But I can talk a little like I've just been kissing the Blarney stone. Maybe you like a little Italian, by the way. Then I play the Scotchman. Like the Scotchman who went to the dentist and asked how much to pull my tooth. And the dentist says $2, and the Scotchman said, OK, here's a buck, just loosen it. Charlie, I suppose you speak English too. My friend, you're asking, so I'm telling you. You can take everything away, but don't take away my Yankee accent. You not only do dialects, but you also play those two popular little characters on the Fred Allen show. Oh, yeah. You mean the dopey man who talks something like this, yeah. And the little man who talks way up here like this, yeah. Yes, I do, Graham. Well, a couple of weeks ago, Charlie, we had a man on this program who impersonates animals. Yeah, what does he do? Impersonates animals, Charlie. Do you also impersonate animals? Well, yes, Graham, for comedy purposes. For instance, on one program, I was called upon to do a lovesick chicken, which sounded something like this. And once I was called upon to do a parrot, which sounded something like this. Another week, I was called upon to do a hen laying an egg, and it sounded something like this. I wonder how a program sounds when it lays an egg, Charlie. Well, I hope I never find out. Besides playing dialects and characters on shows, what other unusual things do radio directors call upon you to do? Well, lots of things, Graham. For instance, I'm generally called upon to do funny laughs. One show, I had to do the laugh of a man who was looking over the shoulder of another man who was reading the funnies in the subway, and as the paper doesn't belong to him, it was a sort of a repressed laugh like this. Then there's the timid laugh that I have to do at times like this. And then still another comedy show, I had to do a laugh like a man who was waiting outside of the delivery room in a hospital. His wife is expecting a baby. The nurse comes out and tells him it's a boy. Also a girl. Another boy. When I said he was versatile, I wasn't kidding. Charlie, just out of curiosity, did you have any theatrical experience before you got into radio? Well, Graham, I've been in radio for 11 years, but I did play in vaudeville for quite some time. When I was in school... High school? Well, I won't say it was college, but my brother was a vaudevillean, and he had a comedy act. During the summer, he used to fire a straight man, and I'd substitute for a straight man for eight weeks, and in that way make my school tuition expenses for the whole year. And do you know who the first straight man my brother fired to make room for me was? No, who? Archie Leach, who is now better known as Cary Grant. So Cary Grant was fired so you could take it? That's right, Graham. Well, is there any chance of RKO doing that to Cary now? No, I wouldn't let him, Graham. Gosh, I wouldn't let him railroad me into that. No. I'd hate to play those mushy love scenes opposite Loretta Young. Oh. Or Myrna Loy and Eddie Lamar. Oh. No, a thousand times, no. All right, keeper, I'll come quietly. Thank you, Charlie Cannon. Audities in radio. Presenting odd little true stories that help make radio sounds that help make radio sometimes amusing, sometimes exasperating, but always interesting to the people in it. Audity number one. A few years ago, newscaster Mark Hawley was master of ceremonies on a program for a shoe account emanating from Buffalo. The commercial announcement was done by two women, Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Johnson, who talked over the back fence about things pertaining to shoes. One day the time of the broadcast was changed. Through sheer forgetfulness, the two women who did the commercials were not notified. Hawley and his announcer didn't realize this until just before the show and nothing could be done. When they came to the commercial, there was only one thing to do and the announcer and Hawley did it. They slipped into falsetto and... Uh, how are you this morning, Mrs. Miller? Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Mrs. Johnson. Oh, yeah, how's the family? Oh, everybody's fine except little Willie. His corn's a bothering him, he's got arch trouble. Oh, he has? Yes. Well, you know, George Jr. had the very same trouble and we found the most wonderful shoes of this simply marvel. They went on and on. After the broadcast was over, Hawley, worried to death, got a phone call from the sponsor. Yes. Yes, well, I can explain. I want to know who those two women were. Well, they were just two women who we called in because, well, we were in an emergency. Well, they were... Oddity number two. Years ago in the early days of radio, when NBC was still at 711 Fifth Avenue, instead of its present palatial quarters at Radio City, radio was not quite the almost perfect technical thing it is today. For instance, in those days, there was no emergency lighting system. And if the lights in the studio went out, the studio was dark until the lights were fixed. For a few brief seconds, we take you back to those early days of radio when there was an unwritten rule that if the lights went out when an orchestra was playing, the orchestra would perform Dixie because that was the one number all the boys could play together without looking at their music. Well, one day, Frank Black was conducting his orchestra and the lights went out at the finish of a number. Instead of the next regularly scheduled selection, the orchestra went into... Studio lights were fixed and the orchestra resumed its regular program. Suddenly, the lights went out again. Exactly what happened. All I can say is, if that ever happened to our orchestra leader here, Ernie Watson, he'd drop dead. Audity number three. A few weeks ago, Samuel Kaufman, radio feature writer, hailed a taxi. Hey, Cap. Take me downtown to New York Sun. Know where it is? I know all the ways to get there. Oh, you do, eh? Well, take me the short way. Say, buddy, you got a radio back there. What do you say you turn it on? No, thanks. I don't want to hear the radio. Well, maybe you don't, but I do. Oh, I see. Well, where do you want me to turn it? You turn the dial, I'll tell you. Yeah, that's right, right there. Now turn on the juice. Just a moment and pop my curiosity. But who do you want to listen to? A guy I never miss, Uncle Don. And for those of you who don't know Uncle Don, Uncle Don conducts a well-known kitty program. Thank you, Sam Kaufman. You played the part of yourself to perfection. The upper reaches of New York's theatrical district, where actors are legion, Schubert is king, and Damon Ronion and Walter Winchell are court chroniclers. There is a restaurant which has become as much of a habit with some of your favorite radio stars as worrying about their cross-lead ratings. And for no particular reason, we thought you listeners might be interested in some of the food habits of your radio favorites and what they eat. So we have brought you the man who can best give you this information, please, New York's famous restaurant, Leo Linderman or Lindy himself. Lindy, suppose you start telling us about the food habits of the famous radio personalities who put on the feed bag in your restaurant. Who would you like to hear about, Graham? Oscar LeVon? Yes. What is Oscar LeVon's favorite food? Well, Graham, I think it must be coffee because when he comes into my restaurant, he will drink at least 10 cups. That's probably what keeps him so wide awake on information, please. Then do you know what he likes to do? He likes to steal cookies and macaroons out of the cake box. Naughty, naughty, Oscar. One more swiped cookie and Papa will take away your inside appealing a brek-brik-brikannika. Ha-ha-ha-ha! I can't say encyclopedia Britannica. Did you know that? Well, how about some other favorites? Say Eddie Cantor. Well, Eddie is crazy about well-done hamburgers. He generally starts his dinner with a little dry cherry, and then he's very fond of bologna and eggs. Well, when he comes into your restaurant, does he eat by himself? Oh, no. Eddie is crazy about company. He generally comes in with his wife, Ida, and a party of 10 or 12 people. How would you like to hear about Jack Benny? Yes, I would. Because if eating has anything to do with the salary Jack makes, I'm going to change my diet. Then you better start eating lots of fish. Jack's favorite seems to be sturgeon and Nova Scotia salmon sandwiches and for dessert, he has. Yes, I know that product he advertises. Boynton Island also like all kinds of fish. Well, how about a real gourmet, like Paul Whiteman? He's not a gourmet anymore. He used to love rich foods. You mean the days when he was known as two sleepy people? Yes, but that was before he went on his diet. Now when he does come in, which is very seldom, he eats things like boiled steak, a lamb chop, gluten bread, and for dessert, stewed food without sugar. So that's how Paul keeps his schoolgirl figure, eh? Yes, Walter Vinshel has a pretty heavy appetite for a tin man. Because of his work, he generally eats dinner about two o'clock in the morning. He always asks if there's anything left over from dinner, and he will have that. He likes all egg dishes and fish, and like Eddie Cantor, he's a baloney and egg feed. He's also very fond of conversation or marinated herring. Lindy, I think we have just about time for one more celebrity diet. What about J. Edgar Hoover? He makes radio speeches once in a while. Well, that's kind of stretching a point, but just out of curiosity, what is J. Edgar Hoover's favorite fodder? He likes all meat and lots of it. Uh-oh. Well, the next time I pass him, if I find myself without an arm, I'll know what happened. But thank you, Lindy. Thank you very much for the fodder fodder out. And how a cab driver became a successful radio and Broadway show writer. Recently, a new musical comedy hit came into Broadway due to the applause of the critics. The show was Hold On to Your Hats, and it starred Al Jolson. One of those responsible for the funny book of the show is a fellow named Eddie Davis, who for the last few years has been very successful as a radio writer. But before Eddie Davis got into radio, oh, but here he is, and we'll let Eddie tell it himself. Eddie Davis. Eddie, before we go into the start of your career, will you please tell the audience some of the radio comedians for whom you've written? Well, for six years, I was one of Eddie Cantor's writers. He gave me my start in radio, and I also written for Al Jolson, Edwin, Jack Haley, Joe Pinner, Milton Byrne, and many others. What did you do before you started writing for radio? Graham, I used to drive a cab, and believe it or not, that cab actually helped me to get my voice radio job. How was that, Eddie? Well, it was about eight years ago. You see, between eight and nine in the evenings, I used to park my cab in front of the New Amsterdam together. In those days, Eddie Cantor was doing his broadcast there. I used to listen to the Canada program, and write down the jokes I thought he should have used on the show. Then, right after the show, I'd go upstairs and see Eddie and tell him those jokes. Most of them were pretty punk. He wouldn't use them, but I kept right on trying. After giving them the jokes, I'd wait downstairs and drive him home. One night, I parked my cab in front of the New Amsterdam theater, listened to Eddie Cantor's broadcast, and I hurried upstairs to the studio when I... Wait a minute, buddy. The only people who can get through this car are the actors on the show. Listen, you're new around here, aren't you? Well, yeah. Then you don't know me. I'm Mr. Canada's chauffeur. I just want to tell him where his car is parked. Oh, okay. Go ahead. Hello, Mr. Cantor. So, I said to the guy, how do you like that guy with... Oh, hello, Davies. Say, look, you mind telling me just one thing? How were you able to pass the man at the door to get in here? Just plain scenario, Mr. Cantor. But nevertheless, I got a joke I wanted you to do tonight. You could open up the program by saying, Jimmy, what do you think this morning? I open up my closet and find a little mort crying. And Jimmy says, wait a minute. Whoever heard of a mort crying, and you could say, well, didn't you ever hear of a mort ball? Well, maybe I could use something like that. Look, I got another one you could have used. You could use it next week. You open the program, you say, Jimmy, what does NBC stand for? And Wallachan says, national broadcasting company. And you say, how do you like that? And all the time I thought of it, nothing but Cantor. Well, that's not bad. Look, look, just on the chance, I might be able to use it, Eddie. Here's a little something for yourself. Can you imagine? I still look like the Cantor. Me, Eddie Davis, a cab driver. I'm something close to Cantor. I gotta go before I faint. Say, look, look, where are you going? I gotta call my wife. Helen, do you hear that? Tell the baby, Evelyn. I still look like the Cantor. How do you like that? Wait a second, wait a second. Maybe you can sell some more jokes to Cantor. I'm doing a routine on daylight saving time next week. I want some jokes on watches. You think you could write a couple? A couple? I'll write a hundred. I'll write a million. I'll write... Say, give me a nick. I wanna call my wife. I still look like... Oh, I'm so excited. I know what I'm saying, really. Wait, wait, you haven't written them yet. Gonna be waiting for me downstairs Am I? You're gonna be driven like you never was driven before. All right, Eddie, take me home. Okay, Mr. Cantor. Say, I've been thinking about those gags. You know, you told me to write for next week. You know, the ones about the watches. Look, Eddie, I'm a nervous man. I've got a wife and five children. Just as a favor to Cantor, please don't turn around when you talk. All right, all right. Well, look, about those watch gags. Suppose you were to come on a stage with a watch hanging out on the back of your pocket. And one thing was to say, Eddie, what have you got that watch hanging out in the back pocket for? You say, I can't help but I'm behind times, Jimmy. You like that? Hey, look out for that truck! All right, why don't you look where you're going, you big baloney? I'll flatten you. Yeah. You and her worlds. I've got Cantor in my cab. I'll have him take a poke at it. Go ahead, Cantor, show him how you fight. Go ahead. This is Davis. Listen, I'm a comedian, not a prize fighter. That's the trouble with the cab business these days. These truck drivers think they own the street. Say, I got another watch gag. You could bring out a watch and show it to Wellington and say, you call it, you call it your wool-web watch because it's always five to ten. You like that? Just scrape this friend a little bit and he puts up a big yell. How do you like it? Listen, Davis, as a personal favor to my wife, my five children, and my sponsor, will you please keep your eyes on the road? I'll keep my eyes on the road. Say, how about this one? Show Wellington another watch and he says, Eddie, there's something missing on that watch. And you say, yes, I know. Things are so bad, I laid off one of the hands. Well, kid, there's one thing about you. You always keep on punching. I thought of another one. Listen to this one. Hey, look out! Say, Davis, as a matter of self-protection, next week, I want you to work for me at a salary as a writer. I'd rather hire you than be killed by you. Thank you, Eddie Davis. Thank you. That was a strange beginning of a fine career. Letters 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. Tonight's questions will be answered by Al Newman, radio editor of the magazine Newsweek. Mr. Phillip N. Lewis of Salt Lake City writes in to ask, how does a sponsor tell whether his program is popular or not? Well, Mr. Lewis, there are certain organizations that specialize in finding out the comparative popularity of programs. This is mostly done by taking a cross-section of various areas in the country and finding out by telephone what programs people are listening to at the moment and what programs they've listened to during the day. The sponsor can sometimes tell about the popularity of his program by the increase of the sale of his product since the program went on the air. Ms. Bula Allison of New York City asks this, what is meant by the expression soap opera? Soap opera, or soap sagas it's sometimes called, is slang for a daytime radio serial. They're so called because so many of these serials are sponsored by large soap concerns. Mr. William White of Saranac Lake, New York, writes in to ask, I have often heard the word stooge used as pertaining to a radio character. Will you please tell me exactly what a stooge is and how did the word originate? Well, to take the last part of Mr. White's question first, there have been a great many explanations of the origin of stooge, but one of the most logical seems to be this. In the days when Votaville was really Votaville and when an actor needed someone to say a few lines in his act, he'd sometimes hire an amateur to teach him and teach him how to deliver the lines and maybe even how to sing a song. Such a person was called a student. Either through mispronunciation or carelessness, the word became stoogeant and was eventually shortened to stooge. Through the course of years, the term stooge became applied to a professional actor who played a subsidiary part in a Votaville act. On the air, the term stooge is generally applied to a minor comedy character. Some famous stooges of radio have been Parque Carcass, Schlepperman of the Jack Benny program, Beatle of the Phil Baker program, and Tizzy Lisch on the Al Pierce show. Thank you, Al Newman. Thank you for answering those questions. The radio broadcast helped save the life of a great football star. This past July, Ken Strong, former All-American football player and star of the New York football giants, one of the greatest backs the game has ever produced was deathly ill. He was, but we'll let Ken tell it himself. Come on. He'll tell you about it. Ken Strong. Ken, exactly what was the matter with you? Well, Graham, I had a bad case of stomach ulcers, and they had burst. I was operated on at the Flushing Hospital at one o'clock in the morning. The next night, I took a turn for the worse. I felt terrible. Not only physically ill, but mentally down. Not long before, my boy had had a ruptured appendix, and that and my own illness weighed upon me. There were two people I kept asking for. My two closest friends, Stan Lomax, a sports writer and commentator, and Tim Merer, the owner of the giants. About three o'clock in the morning, the doctor phoned Stan, and he said, Hello, Mr. Lomax? Well, Ken is terribly sick. Now, what worries me most, though, is his mental condition. It just doesn't seem as if he cares to get well. And he's got to if he's going to pull through. He needs something to shock him to fight and live. Isn't there something you can do? I think you can. Stan was a real friend, Graham. The next evening, when he went on the air for his regular sports broadcast, this is what he said. Strong is seriously ill at the Flushing Hospital. You've cheered him on the football field. Here's your chance to encourage him in something far more important. His fight for life. Write him and let him know that you're all pulling for him to win this biggest fight of all. By Cassie of Staten Island, will you tell Ken Strong he's just got to get better. Say, what'll I do with these wires, Miss? They're all for Ken Strong. I'll have them brought up to his room. Look at all these letters, Mr. Strong. Thousands of them from people who want you to get better. Well, Graham, when I found how people were pulling for me, I felt if I didn't get better, I'd be letting them and my family, my friends, and everybody down. And I knew this was one touchdown I had to make. You not only made it, Ken, but you knocked the Grim Reaper for a goal. And you're still with the New York Giants, of course. Yes, I am, Graham. And if any of those people that wrote or phoned the hospital are listening, I'd like to personally thank them from the bottom of my heart. Well, thank you. And the very best of luck to you, Ken Strong, and also to your New York Giants. 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 inside story of football broadcasts, as told by Bill Stern and Swede Larson, coach of the Navy. What happened when Azulu made his appearance on the radio broadcast? How radio brought help in the life and death crisis down in the Pacific Ocean? And more of the human interest, the glamour, the comedy, and the drama that are found behind the mic. This is Graham McNamee speaking. Good afternoon all. Questions about the inside of radio that you wish answered on the air, be sure and write a letter to us. Address it to Graham McNamee behind the mic, National Broadcasting Company, New York City. Now all the questions and as many as possible will be answered by mail. And the three or four questions we feel to be of the most general interest will be answered on this program. Behind the Mic is written by Mort Lewis. Original music is composed and conducted by Ernie Watson. This is the National Broadcasting Company, RCA Building Radio City, New York.