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WO l

MS I A FOOL TO FOLLOW HIM?

The confession of a co-ed in love
with a famous dance band leader

LAND OF THE

by Walter Wine

I0W TO CATCH A HUSBAND

by Beatrice Fairfa

MYALL-AMERICAN
RADIO TEAM

by Jimmie Fidle

DOROTHY LAMOUR

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is a quick-drying facial mask preparation
you will really like. It helps to make the
skin feel cleaner and more refreshed.

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Romance beckons when your skin has the smooth soft-
ness men admire ! Awaken Romance by revealing the
hidden beauty of your skin with Mercolized Wax Cream.

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skin in tiny, invisible particles, revealing the clearer, softer,
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Once the spell is broken
tears won't bring him back!

No girl need risk losing romance — when MUM so surely guards charm!

HOW COULD IT HAPPEN? How could
he write those heart-breaking
words? After all his tender promises to
love her always— how could he hurt her
like this? There was no warning, except
the coolness she had barely noticed—
and too easily dismissed.

But how significant it should have
been for any girl in love! For when a
man grows less attentive— distant— cool
...there is a reason. So often the girl
who loses out has grown careless— has
foolishly neglected to use Mum!

Even fastidious girls make this mis-
take. They think a bath alone is enough
when underarms always need Mum.
They fail to realize that the freshness of
a bath soon fades. A bath removes only
past perspiration— never odor to come.
That's why it's so important never to neg-
lect Mum! Mum keeps you fresh all day.
More women use Mum than any other

deodorant. It's so pleasant ... so easy to
use ... so sure to' guard your charm!

MUM SAVES TIME! A pat under this arm
—under that— and you're through. Takes
only 30 seconds!

MUM SAVES CLOTHES ! Mum is harmless to
any kind of fabric— use it even after you're
dressed. And even after underarm shaving
Mum is soothing to your skin!

MUM SAVES CHARM I Without stopping
perspiration, Mum stops every trace of
odor. Get Mum at any druggist's today.
With Mum, you're sure underarm odor
won't break the spell of your charm. Mum
keeps you always fresh!

SANITARY NAPKINS NEED MUM, TOO
Don't risk embarrassing odors! Thousands of
women always use Mum for sanitary napkins.
They know that it's gentle and safe!

SMART GIRLS MAKE A DAILY HABIT OF MUM

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Hat by Sally Victor

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MAY. 1939

VOL. 12 NO. 1

*»'

a«

i ■ ■

v<*»

ev '.ov^.;^

&oS**L«A«<*'

'*>>

ERNEST V. HEYN /??//? A! 0/2 FRED R. SAMMIS

Executive Editor Editor

BELLE LANDESMAN, ASSISTANT EDITOR

Land of the Free Walter Winchell 10

Read radio's most impassioned broadcasts

Foolish Fancy, Maybe 12

The confession of a co-ed in love with a danceband leader

How to Catch a Husband Beatrice Fairfax 15

Down-to-earth advice by a specialist in love

Jimmie Fidler's Afl-American Radio Team. .As Told to Walter Ramsey 16
Hollywood's dynamic reporter selects his own Hall of Fame

I Will Live Charles Gilchrest 19

How Barbara Luddy kept a frightening secret

Out of the Fog Norton Russell 20

A First Nighter drama in gay story form

This Happened to Me Artie Shaw 28

The almost incredible life story of swing's new idol

If Women Ruled Carole Lombard 3 1

Take a back seat, men — and like it!

Mysteries of the Mind 32

Can these true stories ever be explained?
The Case of the Hollywood Scandal Erie Stanley Gardner 34

Little Miss Bell follows the path of danger

This Is the Life! Howard Sharpe 38

Everything comes Tyrone Power's way
You Can't Take Life Away from Alec Templeton. . . Annemarie Ewing 58

Not even blindness can spoil his zest for living

What Do You Want to Say? 3

What's New from Coast to Coast 4

Hollywood Radio Whispers 6

Radio's Photo-Mirror

Bob Hope 23

Charlie McCarthy's Gay Naughties Party 24

Do Men Hate Women's Hats? 26

Don Ameche 37

Facing the Music 40

Inside Radio — The New Radio Mirror Almanac 43

Put the Bee on Your Spelling 55

What Do You Want to Know? 60

We Canadian Listeners 67

Give Your Face a Spring Cleaning 90

A Meal in One Dish 92

COVER— Dorothy Lamour by Robert Reid

(Courtesy of Paramount Pictures)

BADIO MIBBOR, published monthly by Macfadden Publications, Inc.. Washington and South Avenues,
Dunellen, New Jersey. General Offices: 205 East 42nd Street. New York, N. Y. Editorial and advertising
offices: Chanin Building. 122 East 42nd Street, New York. Bernarr Macfadden. President: Wesley F.
Pape, Secretary; Irene T. Kennedy, Treasurer; Walter Hanlon. Advertising Director. Chicago office: 333
North Michigan Avenue. C. H. Shattuck. Mgr. San Francisco office: 1658 Buss Building. Lee Andrews, Mgr.
Entered as second-class matter September 14, 1933. at the Post Office at Dunellen. New Jersey, under the Act
of March 3, 1879. Price in United States. Canada and Newfoundland $1.00 a year. 10c a copy. In TJ. S.
Territories, Possessions, Cuba. Mexico, Haiti, Dominican Bepublic, Spain and Possessions, and Central and
South American countries, excepting British Honduras. British, Dutch and French Guiana. $1.50 a year;
all other countries $2.50 a year. While Manuscripts. Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's
risk, every effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompanied by sufficient 1st class postage,
and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to be sure to retain copies of their contribu-
tions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters for the "What Do You Want to
Say?" department will not be returned, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter
contributed. All submissions become the property of the magazine. (Member of Macfadden Women's Group.)
Copyright, 1939, by the Macfadden Publications, Inc. The contents of this magazine may not be reprinted,
either wholly or in part, without permission.
Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Company. Dunellen, N. J.

XUkxxt do t|ott vrtmt ta scaj?

FIRST PRIZE

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE?

At long last, a "different airshow!"

At last a program of short, snappy
commercials.

At last a program that says "away
with noisy, blase studio audiences!"

At last a natural, well-balanced
show, yet not with a hodge-podge of
clashing entertainment: this quarter-
hour for comedy, this for drama, this
for pathos — the last five minutes were
as delightfully simple in nature and
style as the first.

At last a program of wit and humor
that uses gags as a sprinkling of spice,
and not as the whole sickening meal.

I mean The Circle, of course.

I still don't believe it. I'm going to
listen next Sunday night and make
sure.

Harry W. Jones,
Collingswood, N. J.

SECOND PRIZE

RADIO DOES ITS GOOD DEED
We are a nation of sometimes lax
extremes. For a long while the
gangster, racketeer and petty criminal
— without interference — swayed the
follow -the -leader emotions of our

THIS IS YOUR PAGE!

YOUR LETTERS OF OPINION WIN

PRIZES

First Prize $10.00

Second Prize $ 5.00

Five Prizes of $ 1.00

Address your letter to the Editor,
RADIO MIRROR, 122 East 42nd
Street, New York, N. Y., and mail it
not later than April 26, 1939. All
submissions become the property of
the magazine.

youngsters from movie screen, and
magazine page.

Then came the reckoning. Crime
gained an appalling headway. The
nicest boys in the neighborhood were
forming gangs; turning, despite their

parents' efforts, into swaggering little
hoodlums. Suddenly America took
stock of herself, and began tearing
down in a frenzy of self-reproach the
mockery of manhood she had allowed
thoughtless men erect.

The movies turned-about-face, but
though they have done a fine job in
rectifying a grave mistake, it is really
the radio we must thank for such
splendid character formers as —
Wanted by the Law, and Gang
Busters.

Taken from life these worth-while
programs give credit where credit is
due. To the man with the badge. The
protector of lives, homes and prop-
erty. More than all the preaching in
the world have these programs taught
eager little copy-cats that — Crime
Does Not Pay.

Mrs. E. F. Laurln,

Astoria, Oregon

THIRD PRIZE

THEY'RE TWO-TIMING US
Why must program directors cast
the same person in several leading
roles? I'm referring to the program
called, Road of Life, in which the
young man who plays Dr. Brent also
(Continued on page 71)

She was on the jury-

.... not to decide a man's inno-
cence or guilt, but to judge a new,
different kind of tooth paste — to de-
cide whether or not it was an im-
provement over older types, and if
it offered more for her money in
cleanliness, luster, freshness, and
mouth stimulation.

On the same jury sat other
women, hundreds of them — grand-
mothers, mothers, widows, single
women, young girls . . . rich, poor,
in between ... in tiny hamlets, grow-
ing villages, vast cities. A critical
jury, as all women are in judging
articles that affect their beauty and
their pocketbooks.

And what was their verdict on the
new Listerine Tooth Paste with its
amazing Luster-Foam detergent? See
how they voted:

Over a leading brand, the new
formula Listerine Tooth Paste
supercharged with Luster-Foam
was a two to one favorite. Against
the next two leading brands, it
was a decided favorite. And over
the fourth leading brand, it had
a slight but definite edge.

Their comments show why this

new dentifrice won such high favor:
"Like that dainty 'bubble bath' that
Luster-Foam gives," said many.
"Simply amazed, the way Luster-
Foam cleans and brings out luster,"
exclaimed others. "Delighted with
the wonderful feeling of freshness
and mouth invigoration that lasted
long after the tooth brushing was
over," still others added.

See for yourself how the new
formula Listerine Tooth Paste with
Luster-Foam detergent gets teeth
super-clean. Any drug counter has
it, in two economical sizes: Regular,
25ff; and big, double-size, contain-
ing more than Va, of a pound of den-
tifrice, 40^. Lambert Pharmacal
Co., St. Louts, Mo.

P. S. If you prefer powder,
Listerine Tooth Powder also con-
tains Luster-Foam.

MORE THAN

'/4 POUND OF TOOTHPASTE

IN THE DOUBLE SIZE TUBE ^Q«?

REGULAR SIZE TUBE

25'

AID YOUR GUMS

WHILE YOU CLEAN

YOUR TEETH

DOUBLE-ACTION

TOOTHPASTE

AIDS GUMS AND

BRIGHTENS TEETH

TWTASSAGING your gums twice
A every day — when you brush
your teeth — is very important if
you want brilliant teeth and a spar-
kling smile.

Forhan's does both jobs. It cleans
your teeth safely and effectively —
and, in addition, Forhan's and
massage aid your gums.

Massaging gums with Forhan's
helps keep them firm and healthy —
and healthier gums mean bright-
er teeth!

Cooperate with Your Dentist

What your dentist can do for
soft, tender, bleeding gums is
worth many times his fee. But
even his expert care can fail — if you
neglect your job at home. To help
your dentist keep your gums firm
and healthy — your teeth bright
— brush teeth and massage gums
twice every day
with Forhan's
Toothpaste.

TRIAL OFFER — For

generous trial tube,
send 10fi to Dept. 534,
Forhan's, New Bruns-
wick, N. J.

rO«*

*■*>

^AiwifioHt

Above, Bing proudly pose;
with his dad, Harry L.
Crosby, Sr. Right, one
of Fred Waring's weekly
luncheons at the Automat,
with Ben Bernie as guest.

TYRONE POWER'S sudden depar-
ture from his Sunday-evening
dramatic program was the dyna-
mite cap that set off a whole flock of
rumors about movie stars going off
the air for good. Most of them were
just rumors. The Maxwell House-
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Good News of
1939 will depart on June 29, but it
would probably have done that for
the summer anyway. Ronald Colman,
after, being on every one of The Circle
programs, suddenly was missing, but
he left because he wasn't happy per-
sonally, not because of any pressure
from his movie bosses (he's a free-
lance player, and doesn't have any).
Darryl Zanuck, head of Twentieth
Century-Fox, which has Don Ameche
under contract (and Tyrone Power
too), hinted that he might try to get
Don to stop being master of cere-
monies en the Chase and Sanborn pro-
gram, but mature reflection will prob-
ably convince him that it would be
an unwise move. It ought to, anyway.
The Good News program probably
won't return to the air under its old
joint sponsorship with M-G-M, but
the Maxwell House people, if they
want to, can have practically the same
program without M-G-M's assistance.
Meredith Willson's orchestra is under
contract to them, so is Fannie Brice,
and they could probably have Frank
Morgan and a weekly guest star.
There was some talk of hiring Dick
Powell to be Good News' master of
ceremonies, but that's died down now
that he's busy on Al Jolson's former
show. The possibility of reviving the
old Show Boat also cropped up, but

I wouldn't pay too much attention to
it, if I were you.

* * *

Donald Dickson, the baritone on the
Chase and Sanborn program, recently
bought the first car he ever owned.
He drove it down Hollywood Boule-
vard and within the space of one
block went through a red traffic light,
parked in a no-parking space, and
drove over a pedestrian safety zone.
In the next block he was arrested —
for driving at the rate of twenty miles
an hour and obstructing traffic. Crime
Doesn't Pay!

* * *

Helen Menken, star of the CBS Sec-
ond Husband serial, was the guest of
honor at a banquet given by Phi Beta,
national musical and dramatic fra-
ternity. Other members of the fra-
ternity are Helen Hayes, Maude
Adams, Ethel Barrymore, Rosa Pon-
selle, Mary Pickford and Gertrude
Lawrence — to name a few of them.
Every six months or so the fraternity
gives a banquet in honor of one of its

members.

* * *

There is one question Jim Mc-
Williams, questioner of the Ask-It-
Basket Wednesday nights, can't an-
swer. On broadcast nights he refuses
to leave the theater during the in-
terval between the first program at
7:30 and the rebroadcast for the West
at 10:30. He's firmly convinced that
to do so would bring him bad luck.
Why does he think so? That's the one
question to which he doesn't know
the answer.

(%ij&zi>6(>zi& f

Bing Crosby added fire-fighting to
his other accomplishments one Thurs-
day afternoon when coals from his
pipe started a fire in the waste-basket
in his dressing room. The coals
smouldered for a while without any-
one noticing them, then flared up in
what was almost an explosion when
they hit some discarded movie film
Bing had tossed into the basket. Bing
and the two musicians who were in
the room were so scared they in-
stinctively ran out, but Bing recovered
himself, went back into the smoke-
filled room, grabbed a fire-extin-
guisher and made short work of the

flames.

» * *

That same Mr. Crosby was recently
named one of America's ten best-
hatted men. He's the only person on
his show who could possibly be given
such a distinction — Ken Carpenter,
John Scott Trotter, and Paul Taylor
never wear hats, and Bob Burns
doesn't even own one. Bing hardly
ever takes his off.

Lew Lehr, Ben Bernie's and Fox
Movietone's comedian, has said that
"Monkeys is de cwaziest pipple!" so
many times that zoo keepers all over

the country wire him whenever they
have taught their monkeys new tricks.
But Lew doesn't own a single monkey.

* * *

Cliff Carpenter, of the CBS County
Seat serial, says that there are five
things he's never had enough of: sym-
phonic music, prunes, tapioca, Myrna
Loy, and radio work.

* * *

DALLAS— Violette Slaton started
out to be a professional dietician, and
ended up playing the role of "Sun-
shine" in WFAA's Pepper Cadets pro-
gram. She's been Sunshine now for
more than a year and a half.

Violette was born in Jacksonville,
Texas, twenty years ago, in the midst
of a violent snow storm (it wasn't
snowing snow that day, it was snow-
ing Violettes). She was named Vio-
lette Catherine because her mother
wanted all members of the family to
have the same initials as their father
—V. C. S.

She has quite a collegiate back-
ground, having been a student at Lon
Morris Junior College, Jacksonville;
University of Texas, Austin; and
Texas State College for Women at
Denton. It was after her summer at
Denton that she gave up dietetics for

Violette Slaton, "Sunshine" of
the Pepper Cadets over WFAA.

dramatics and came to Dallas to en-
roll in the Little Theater dramatic
school. After six months at the dra-
matic school, she got a job in the
cast of the "Cavalcade of Texas," part
of the Texas Centennial Exposition
of 1936.

She had to give up the Cavalcade
role when she successfully auditioned
for the part of Sunshine, but she
didn't mind — she thought the radio
job was more permanent, and she was
right. Thousands of Southwestern
youngsters wouldn't give up their be-
loved Sunshine now.

(Continued on page 84)

6/ m&zc affieacwa than a fresh

and Lovely Skin!"

soys this lovely Philadelphia bride

1 can't say enough in praise of Camay. Its gentle
cleansing seems to freshen my complexion . . . and no charm-
is mare appealing than a fresh and lovely skin.
Philadelphia, Pa. (Signed) RUTH ANN WALLEN

January 10, 1939 (Mrs. Charles S. Wallen)

SUCH magic words— "You're
the only one I love!"
What makes a man say them?
Hundreds of lovely, happy
brides will tell you that a
fresh, smooth complexion is a
most important charm. And
brides should know!

So many beautiful brides
advise Camay! They tell you,
"No other soap seems to have
quite the same rich, fragrant
lather!" Camay cleanses thor-
oughly, yet its creamy lather
is wonderfully mild.

Today, thousands of girls
use Camay for complexions
and for a refreshing bath of
beauty. Camay's gentle cleans-
ing helps you to all-over love-
liness—to exquisite daintiness.
You'll like this inexpensive
care. Get three cakes today!

Q^.O

"<W

... c

THE SOAP OF BEAUTIFUL WOMEN

Dick Powell romps with his son be-
fore starting on the Lifebuoy show.

HOLLYWOOD

RADIO WHISPERS

By GEORGE FISHER

EDGAR BERGEN, still a decided
bachelor, is getting a big chuckle
out of rumors that he will marry
Andrea Leeds within a year. The fact
is that the girl Bergen is currently
rushing is not Andrea Leeds, who
happens to be in New York, but Kay
St. Germain who happens to be on
the scene and is seeing a lot of Charlie
McCarthy's stooge.

Whether or not Gracie Allen and
George Burns, the radio comedians,
will continue their movie careers, is
being left squarely up to the movie-
goers. Grade's contract with Para-
mount expires when she finishes "The
Gracie Allen Murder Case." If the
public receives her picture with open
arms, then Paramount will make a
series of Burns and Allen films. If
not, then Grade's contract will be
terminated, for Burns has already
left the studio contract list!

Listen to Fisher's broadcasts
every Saturday night on Mutual.

Last Sunday I lunched with Doro-
thy Lamour at the Brown Derby.
Among other things, Dorothy told me
that she is almost tempted to sue
movie columnist Hedda Hopper . . .
and all because Dorothy claims Hedda
made some remark about her ... an
item which most people upon reading
would laugh off. JJut it hurt Dorothy
to think that anyone would print
something of this kind without first
calling her up and asking if the story
were true. I suggested that Dorothy
forget about suing the columnist, only
because it would turn other reporters
against her. There's a curious twist
to the situation in that Dorothy's
agent, Wyn Rocamora, is also Hedda
Hopper's agent!

Now it can be told! Visitors on the
Bob Hope program preview don't
know it, but they are watching a
radio show being written right before

their very eyes! Hope, a master of
the ad-lib, never reads directly from
the script ... he adds and cuts as the
wisecracks occur to him. Meanwhile,
the preview show is recorded and the
next day, it is played back to a steno
from whose notes the final NBC script
is drafted.

SHORT SHOTS FROM A LONG
SHOT TOWN!

Claudette Colbert and Jack Benny
chumming arm in arm in the secret
artists' corridor, but with Mary Liv-
ingstone on Jack's other arm.

Jack Smart, the 310 pound NBC
comedian, shaking down Vine Street
as he wins rhumba contest at the
LaConga.

For several months Robert Young,
(Continued on page 8)

Here's why the Listerine Treatment works: Dandruff is
a germ disease . . . Listerine Antiseptic kills the germ

Do conflicting claims of dandruff remedies
bewilder you? Then you will be glad to know
there is one logical, scientifically sound treat-
ment, proved again and again in laboratory
and clinic . . . Listen ne Antiseptic and massage.

Recently, in the most intensive research of
its kind ever undertaken, Scientists proved
that dandruff is a germ disease. And, in test
after test, Listerine Antiseptic, famous for
more than 25 years as a germicidal mouth
wash and gargle, mastered dandruff by kill-
ing the queer, bottle-shaped dandruff germ
— Pityrosporum ovale.

At one famous skin clinic patients were
instructed to use the Listerine Antiseptic
treatment once a day. Within two weeks, on
the average, a substantial number had ob-

tained marked relief! At another clinic, pa-
tients were told to use this same Listerine
Antiseptic tteatment twice a day. By the end
of a month 76% showed either complete
disappearance of, or marked improvement
in, the symptoms.

Try the delightful, stimulating Listerine
Antiseptic treatment today. See for yourself
how wonderfully soothing it is . . . how
quickly it rids hair and scalp of ugly scales
. . . how much cleaner and healthier both
scalp and hair appear.

And remember, even after you have rid
yourself of dandruff, it is wise to massage
your scalp occasionally with Listerine Anti-
septic to guard against reinfection. Lambert
Pharmacal Company, St. Louis, Missouri.

THE TREATMENT

MEN: Douse Listerine Antiseptic on the
scalp at least once a day. WOMEN: Part
the hair at various places, and apply Lister-
ine Antiseptic right along the part with a
medicine dropper, to avoid wetting the
hair excessively.

Always follow with vigorous and
persistent massage. But don't ex-
pect overnight results, because
germ conditions cannot be cleared
up that fast.

Genuine Listerine Antiseptic is
guaranteed not to bleach the hair
or affect texture.

LISTERINE

the PROVED treatment for dandruff

voc&*i^«

Hollywood Radio Whispers

(Continued from page 6)

<S?

NO BELTS
NO PINS
NO PADS
NO ODOR

— new outlook on
the whole hygienic problem of women is pro-
vided by the invention of Tampax, the patented
internal absorbent. This principle has long been
used by doctors, but the physician who per-
fected Tampax has ingeniously made it avail-
able for all classes of women.

Tampax is so comfortable you forget you
are wearing it. As it involves no belts, pins or
pads, there is of course no bulk to show, even
with sheer formal evening gown or modern
swim suit. Tampax is made of pure, genuine
surgical cotton; contains no paper. Tampax is
extremely efficient in its protection; no odor
can form. Each individual Tampax is hygieni-
cally sealed in patented applicator— quite un-
like any other product. No disposal problems.

Buy Tampax at drug stores and notion coun-
ters. Two sizes: Tampax and Junior Tampax.
Month's supply 35^. Introductory package,
204- As much as 25% saved by purchasing
large economy package of 40.

"A month's supply will go
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Accepted for advertising by the
Journal of the American Medical
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TAMPAX INCORPORATED, mwg-59

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. Send introductory package with full directions. En-
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□ TAMPAX □ JUNIOR TAMPAX

Name

Address

City : State

the emcee of the Good News broad-
casts, did all his office work in con-
nection with the Bel-Air stable he
operates with Allan Jones in Allan's
trailer. Producers of the programs,
unable to reach Bob when they
wanted him in a hurry, begged,
cajoled and threatened Young to move
into an office with a foundation in-
stead of rubber tires. Finally Bob
gave in, and gave the producers a
telephone number for his office. The
next time they called him, the pleas-
ant voice of his secretary answered:
"This is Mr. Young's trailer!" Bob
had the telephone installed in the
trailer rather than give up his por-
table place of business.

The American Legion has honored
comedian Bob Hope by inviting him
to emcee its annual radio show, which
this year celebrates the twenty-first
anniversary of the founding of the
Legion. Jack Benny was honorary
emcee on last year's show!

Parkyakarkus has discovered that
there's truth in the old axiom about
every cloud having its silver lining.
Last week, when he gave his own
number out on the air as Hedy La-
marr's, he was forced to switch his
phone because of the number of calls
that came in. Compensation came to
him this week in the form of a note
and a little toy telephone from the
gorgeous Hedy.

Wanta' be a radio comedian, asks
Jack Haley? If you do, copy the
screwy dialect of Arty Auerbach,
heard on Jack's show, which means,
according to Haley, "Taking a course
in double-talk, filling your mouth
with marbles, and making believe
you're addressing a six-months-old
child!"

* * •

When proud papa Andy Devine
walked onto the set of "Spirit of Cul-
ver" the other day, he was not only
greeted with loud cheers . . . but
General Gignilliat, the headman at
the famous Military School, who is
acting as technical advisor on the
picture, immediately offered the
gravel-voiced comedian an enroll-
ment blank for the school, which
Andy signed then and there, thereby
agreeing to place young 24-hour-old
Denny Devine in the school when he
reaches the age of eleven.

That feud between W. C. Fields and
Charlie McCarthy is the real thing
... at least as far as Fields is con-
cerned. The red-nosed comedian ac-
tually carries a chip on his shoulder
for the block of wood!

Andrew Jergens, Walter Winchell's
hand-lotion boss, told me last No-
vember that next to Winchell, Tyrone
Power was collecting the largest
salary ever paid a performer by his
company. Tyrone was receiving $4,000
a week for his radio appearances, and
giving half of that to 20th Century-
Fox for permitting him to go on the
air. And here's the kick to this story.
20th Century-Fox was paying Tyrone

$2,000 a week on his film contract —
the exact amount Power paid Fox for
allowing him to broadcast. So, ever
since Tyrone has been on the air, he
has cost the Fox studio nothing! Now
that Ty's off the air, his boss will
have to dig into his studio's bank-roll
to pay Tyrone.

* * *

Orchestra-leader Herbie Kaye ded-
icates at least one song on every one
of his air programs to "Dolly-Face,"
which is Herbie's pet name for his
wife, Dorothy Lamour. As Herbie and
Dorothy have turned song-writers
lately, I would suggest that "Dolly
Face" wouldn't be a bad title for a

song!

* * *

The feature of a recent Hollywood
party was a magician named Fraxon.
The assembled guests laughed when
the trickster pulled lighted cigarettes
out of Edward Arnold's eyes and
Alice Faye's ears, but they ROARED
when he produced a whole carton of
cigarettes from . . . Martha Raye's

mouth!

* * ♦

At 16 Jackie Cooper has apparently
grown up. For the past year he's been
driving about in the most dolled up,
swankiest car in town, but his father
made him a Christmas present of a
very dignified plain stock model, and
Jackie has sold the highly decorated
sport job to the family butler!

* * *

I was fascinated the other night,
watching Charlie Chaplin dance a
tango. The screen's greatest comedian
takes his dancing very seriously, and
particularly his tangoes. Charlie and
lovely Paulette Goddard danced what
was practically an exhibition at one
of the night-spots, for everyone else
left the floor to watch the famous
pair execute the different steps with
the assurance of experts. It was really
SOMETHING to see!

Jeanette MacDonald is proudly ex-
hibiting the most utilitarian piece of
jewelry she has ever owned. It is a
necklace from which a brooch is sus-
pended. The brooch can be used
separately as a clip. The necklace,
un jointed, makes three pieces which
can be put together again as a three-
strand bracelet. Thus the versatile
necklace can be used on any occasion
from sports to evening wear.

* * *

While on his New York trip Dick
Powell was invited to the very swank
and very formal opening of Bee
Lillie's latest Broadway hit. Dick ac-
cepted, and on the night of the pre-
miere, dressed his snazziest for the
occasion. That is, he was completely
attired in full dress, until he came to
his shoes — and discovered that his
wife had forgotten to pack his black
pumps or any other black shoes, for
that matter. Exasperated and com-
pletely baffled, Dick decided to brazen
the matter out and wear his brown
shoes with his dress suit. To make
matters worse, believe it or not,
Powell had to wear a tan hat . . . the
only hat he had taken with him!

* * *

The younger set in the film capital

is all a-twitter over the news that
Artie Shaw's sensational swingsters
may soon sound off in Hollywood's
Palomar nitery.

Some time ago I said that Bette
Davis and Ham Nelson would bury
the hatchet and go back together
again. Bette and Ham, who were
really very much in love, are appar-
ently still stubborn, but their friends
are trying to bring them back to-
gether. I am told Ham has not had a
date since leaving Bette, and for this
reason she has turned down all dates
with Hollywood men.

One of the principal supporting
roles in Bing Crosby's new picture,
"East Side of Heaven", is being played
by ten-month-old Sandy Henville, in-
fant son of Bing's milkman. When
the baby was first brought on the set,
he started crying, and nothing his
parents or anyone else could do would
stop him. Finally Crosby, in despera-
tion, started singing, and immediately
the tot stopped crying, and started to
coo and gurgle, perfectly content. But
as soon as the singing stopped, the
tears started, so Bing had to sing all
the time the baby was on stage, be-
tween takes and all. Later, Bing
brought a portable phonograph on the
set with him, well supplied with the
latest Crosby recordings. So now the
records keep the baby quiet between
takes, while Bing's own voice soothes
him while he is before the camera.
But it's a lucky thing the baby liked
those records, for imagine the expense
if after the picture is finished, that
poor milkman had to hire Bing Crosby

Meet Eddie Anderson, who portrays
Jack Benny's good man, "Rochester."

every time his baby started to cry!

BULLETIN! Mickey Mouse has
finally gone high-hat, but definitely!
Producer Walt Disney has signed
Leopold Stokowski, the world-famous
symphony orchestra leader, to direct
and supervise recording of all the

music for Disney's next full-length
cartoon feature. Although the re-
cording will start in April, the feature
will probably take at least two years
to complete!

* * *

Truman Bradley, Chicago radio an-
nouncer who was brought to Holly-
wood personally by Louis B. Mayer,
has asked for a release from his con-
tract. Bradley, whose last picture
was "Ice Follies," with Joan Craw-
ford, feels that he has been getting
the run-around.

According to Walter Winchell, Lew
Ayres' marriage with Ginger Rogers
may go to the divorce courts as Lew
wishes to marry radio actress, Mar-
garet McKay. But, for your informa-
tion, the chances of this are so slim,
you can bet a hundred to one that it
won't happen. In fact, his most recent
companion has been Sari Maritza . . .
and NOT Margaret McKay!

George Murphy, who is playing the
part of a radio commentator in a pic-
ture called "Risky Business", told me
that he was working harder than ever
in his whole life. Says George, "Being
master of ceremonies on a radio show,
dancing and acting are just duck soup
to me. But being a radio commenta-
tor? You can have it! It's just a little
too tough!

* * *

Hollywood is whispering that Joan
Crawford may re-marry former hus-
band Douglas Fairbanks, Junior. In
baseball, they would call that a triple
play . . . Fairbanks to Tone to Fair-
banks!

AFTER HOURS OUT OF DOORS"

says c=%Z&d Stefo/i ^^ffZ^du^fHOH,

POND'S VANISHING

CREAM GETS RID OF

LITTLE ROUGHNESSES

AT ONCE.
I LIKE IT BETTER THAN

EVER NOW IT HAS
•SKIN-VITAMIN* IN IT

FAMOUS POWDER BASE

NOW BRINGS EXTRA "SKIN -VITAMIN
TO YOUR SK/N*

Members of British aristocracy, like women everywhere,
have long praised Pond's Vanishing Cream. Now it
contains the "skm-vitamin," they're even more enthu-
siastic about this grand powder base. Skin that lacks
Vitamin A becomes rough and dry. But when this "skin-
vitamin" is restored, it helps make skin soft again. Use
before powder and overnight. Same jars, labels, prices.

5|C Statements concerning the effects of the "skin- vitamin" applied to the
skin are based upon medical literature and tests on the skin of animals
following an accepted laboratory method.

*7/te £adtf. Pabdcia *he*tck

daughter of the Earl of Ypres, is keen about sports,
home is in Surrey, where she spends much time playing

Her
tennis.

By Walter Ulinchell

HERE is Americanism at its best! Some-
thing more inspiring and more important
than the latest news is in every one
of Walter Winchell's Sunday-night Jergens
Journal broadcasts on NBC — a brief "editorial"
reminding Mr. and Mrs. America how su-
premely lucky they are not to be Mr. and Mrs.
Anywhere-else.

Because these lessons in democracy are
among the most thrilling things radio has to
offer in these chaotic days, and because they
should be read and re-read by every American,
Radio Mirror is grateful to Walter Winchell
for his permission to bring them to you, on
the printed page for the first time.

No more impassioned words
for America's slumbering

ideals have been spoken
into any microphone. This

magazine is proud to rec-

PATRIOTISM has been described in many ways
— but it is better denned by defining what it
is not! It does not mean marching in a parade,
or setting off rockets on the Fourth of July. It
does not mean beating a bass drum — and then
beating up your neighbor because he doesn't want
to join your parade. Patriotism does not mean
enjoying your freedom to go as you please — to
batter down your neighbor's door.

It is a magic word. For patriotism — some men
die. And for patriotism — some men (no less noble)
live. Patriotism is more than protecting your, home
and country. It is helping to build — and better it!
And it is the theory of Democracy that to produce
a great National design, each man must be his own
architect. Fate and the future will define the
meaning of patriotism in America. If we are left

alone — the measure will be how much we develop
ourselves. If we are attacked, the final measure

will be the price we put on our liberty.

* * *

I am thankful to learn from one of my betters
that Americans would rather die on their feet —

than live on their knees!

* * *

Personal liberty means personal responsibility.
Under a Dictator, the right to think is suspended
in all individuals, except the ruling gang. In a
Democracy, the government depends on the indi-
vidual to think — for the individual is a part of the
Government. The Dictators have brazenly an-
nounced plans to turn Europe into an armed camp.
Since they must know that the Democratic na-
tions can outbuild their (Continued on page 56)

Illustration By
JOSEPH TESAR

By Walter Ulindiell

No more impassioned words
for America's slumbering
ideals have been spoken
into any microphone. This
magazine is proud to rec-
ord them for posterity

HERE is Americanism at its best! Some-
thing more inspiring and more important
than the latest news is in every one
of Walter Winchell's Sunday-night Jergens
Journal broadcasts on NBC— a brief "editorial"
reminding Mr. and Mrs. America how su-
premely lucky they are not to be Mr. and Mrs.
Anywhere-else.

PATRIOTISM has been described in many ways
— but it is better denned by denning what it
is not! It does not mean marching in a parade,
or setting off rockets on the Fourth of July. It
does not mean beating a bass drum — and then
beating up your neighbor because he doesn't want
to join your parade. Patriotism does not mean
enjoying your freedom to go as you please — to
batter down your neighbor's door.

It is a magic word. For patriotism — some men
die. And for patriotism — some men (no less noble)
live. Patriotism is more than protecting your home
and country. It is helping to build — and better it!
And it is the theory of Democracy that to produce
a great National design, each man must be his own
architect. Fate and the future will define the
meaning of patriotism in America. If we are left

alone — the measure will be how much we develop
ourselves. If we are attacked, the final measure
will be the price we put on our liberty.

I am thankful to learn from one of my betters
that Americans would rather die on their feet —
than live on their knees!

* » »

IMifstratlon By
JOSEPH TESAR

UNTIL the hot summer night
Randy Blake's orchestra open-
ed at the huge Shalimar Ball-
room, I was just like any other girl
you'd find in a big co-educational
university. I had my classes, my
dates with different boys of my own
age, my own private little worries
over clothes and fingernail polish

and hair-combs, my favorite movie
and radio stars.

But when I first saw Randy Blake
something happened to me. I didn't
know it then, but that night was a
turning-point in my life.

It was summer, as I said, and I was
spending my vacation working in a
music store in Chicago. Not because
I wanted to, but simply because my
father and mother couldn't afford to
bring me all the way home to Cali-
fornia, where we lived. It really

would have been better, I suppose,
if I'd gone to a college near my home,
but Northwestern was the only one
with all the courses I wanted.

I had a good time, though, that
summer. I enjoyed my work in the
music store, because I like music and
know a good deal about it, and in the
evenings there was always some-
thing to do. Several of the boys I had
met on the' campus lived in Chicago,
and one of them was often on hand to
take me to the movies or out dancing.

Then Randy Blake opened a
month's engagement at the Shalimar,
and Bill Dodd and I went there the

I.*-**0**

*oV

.e« **

o ««mo»s

bo«°

le«*er

lH.rf<"",*°

St«dioS

first night. This was a special occa-
sion, and we were both breathless
with excitement when we entered
the vast hall and heard the first
strains of Randy's music. That was
all we had to hear, to know why
Randy was tops among swing band-
leaders. That music of his was so
gay, so full of life and youth, that
you felt like dancing until you
dropped. Only you wouldn't ever
drop — the music wouldn't let you.

AND Randy himself — well, I
*^ thought, looking at him for the
first time, he was just perfect. The
music seemed to be part of him — or
he was part of the music, I don't
know which. He was tall and broad-
shouldered, like an athlete, and he
wore his white tie and tails as if he'd
been born in them. But what I liked

best about him was the way his hand-
some face lit up when he looked out
over the floor and watched the danc-
ing couples. He just loved to make
music, that man, and you only had to
look at him to know it.

That night, after I got home and
went to bed, my dreams were full
of Randy Blake and the tantalizing
music he created. And the next morn-
ing as soon as I got a chance, I put
one of his records on a phonograph
in the store, and listened, seeing him
once more, standing in front of his
men, smiling out at the floor, or
picking up his trumpet and swinging
into one of those inspired impromptu
choruses of his.

That night I had a date with an-
other boy to go to the movies, but I
asked him to take me dancing in-
stead.

For a week or so, while I eagerly
snatched at every opportunity of go-
ing to the Shalimar, I refused to let
myself believe that there was any

other attraction than the music and
the dancing. But one night some-
thing happened that opened my eyes.

You go to the Shalimar, first of all,
to dance, but you also go to have a
good time. Everything is very infor-
mal there, and the bandleaders and
the management are always thinking
up a new stunt to entertain the
crowd. Randy's contribution to this
spirit of fun was to have a sort of
"Vox Pop" program every Tuesday
and Thursday night, while the band
was on the air over a coast-to-coast
network. He'd stop couples as they
danced past the bandstand, ask them
their names, and conduct a humorous
little interview with each one.

And one night he picked me to
talk to.

I was dancing with Bill Dodd,
when a uniformed page-boy tapped
Bill on the shoulder and motioned us
closer to the platform. I hardly real-
ized what was happening, when I
saw Randy smiling at me in the
friendliest possible way. He had a
microphone in his hand, and I heard
him speaking into it.

ftoo***01-

contes-

o 4ot«ott»

to\-

\eo*e'

and hair-combs, my favorite movie
and radio stars.

But when I first saw Randy Blake
something happened to me. I didn't
know it then, but that night was a
turning-point in my life.

would have been better, I suppose,
if I'd gone to a college near my home,
but Northwestern was the only one
with all the courses I wanted.

I had a good time, though, that
summer. I enjoyed my work in the
music store, because I like music and
know a good deal about it, and in the
evenings there was always some-
thing to do. Several of the boys I had
met on the campus lived in Chicago,
and one of them was often on hand to
take me to the movies or out dancing.

Then Randy Blake opened a
month's engagement at the Shalimar,
and Bill Dodd and I went there the

AND Randy himself — well, I
thought, looking at him for the
first time, he was just perfect. The
music seemed to be part of him — or
he was part of the music, I don't
know which. He was tall and broad-
shouldered, like an athlete, and he
wore his white tie and tails as if he'd
been born in them. But what I liked

That night I had a date with an-
other boy to go to the movies, but I
asked him to take me dancing in-
stead.

For a week or so, while I eagerly
snatched at every opportunity of go-
ing to the Shalimar, I refused to let
myself believe that there was any

M«fid'*

other attraction than the music and
the dancing. But one night some-
thing happened that opened my eyes.
You go to the Shalimar, first of all,
to dance, but you also go to have a
good time. Everything is very infor-
mal there, and the bandleaders and
the management are always thinking
up a new stunt to entertain the
crowd. Randy's contribution to this
spirit of fun was to have a sort of
"Vox Pop" program every Tuesday
and Thursday night, while the band
was on the air over a coast-to-coast
network. He'd stop couples as they
danced past the bandstand, ask them
their names, and conduct a humorous
little interview with each one.

And one night he picked me to
talk to.

"Here's a charming little lady with
big brown eyes, whose name is. . . ."
He paused inquiringly.

"Rita Sullivan," I managed to gasp.

"Rita — it goes with the eyes," he
commented approvingly. "Are you a
Chicago girl, Rita?"

He held the microphone closer to
me, and waited for my answer.

"No," I said, "I'm from California.
I'm going to school at Northwestern."

"Oh, a co-ed," he said. "No won-
der Northwestern is such a popular
place, if they have many like you
there. Now tell me, Rita, what's your
greatest ambition?"

I SIMPLY looked at him. At that
moment, I didn't even have an
ambition of any sort. I was too over-
whelmed at being there, talking to
him, knowing that my voice was go-
ing out into every corner of the
country. He saw my nervousness,
and smiled at me in an intimate,
friendly way, as if telling me not to
mind, nothing was going to happen
to me.

"I mean," he said, "what would
you like to do more than anything
else in the world?"

I had to say something. I looked
around me in a panic. My eyes
lighted on the men of the orchestra,
and I blurted out the first thing that
came into my mind.

"I'd like to be a singer with your
band," I said.

Randy led the laughter that sprang
up around me. He straightened up,
speaking into the microphone, "Well,
Rita, maybe some day you will be: —
who knows?" And my coast-to-coast
interview was over.

As we danced away, Bill said cu-
riously, "I didn't know you wanted
to be a danceband vocalist, Rita."

"I don't," I admitted. "At least — it
would be fun, of course, but I never
thought of it until that minute. I just
said the first thing that popped into
my head."

He laughed and said carelessly,
"Well, you probably could be, at that.
I'll never forget your scat-singing at
the Phi-Pi party last spring."

But I wasn't kidding myself about
my singing voice. I could carry a
tune, and I had a good sense of
rhythm so that at parties I could
"swing out", but I knew my voice
was husky and nothing to get excited
about. Anyway, I wasn't interested
in singing. Standing there, so close
to Randy, seeing him smile as he
looked into my eyes, listening to his
vibrant voice as he talked to me — I
had suddenly realized I was in love
with him.

I knew then why I came to the
dance hall every night I could; I
knew why I'd stopped thinking about
any of the boys who took me out, ex-

cept to wonder how I could get one
of them to take me to see Randy.

It was just that I loved Randy
Blake. And he didn't even' know I
existed. He'd forgotten about me,
surely, as soon as I danced out of
sight after the interview.

The all-too-brief month of Randy's
engagement drew to a close. Almost
before I realized it, he was in his last
week, then his last night. When I
entered the ballroom, that last night,
they'd already taken down the
framed posters at the entrance, and
the newspapers were announcing his
successor in big ads.

In another few hours he'd be gone.

■ "Tomorrow Randy
Blake would be gone
—and my life would
be empty and dull. A
fascinating yet ter-
rifying thought crept
into my mind. What
if I went with him?"

I already knew the band's plans — it
was traveling in a bus to Detroit for
a hotel engagement. And Chicago
would be empty and dead, for me, to-
morrow.

"What's the matter?" asked the
boy I was with. "You haven't said a
word for ages."

"Oh — just tired, I guess."

"Want to go home?"

"Oh, no!" I said with such vigor
that he stared at me. "I'm really
having a good time."

That wasn't strictly true. I wasn't.
I couldn't. I was too busy thinking
that this was the last time I'd ever
see Randy Blake — at least for an aw-
fully long time. Why hadn't I taken
advantage of the last month to get
to know him? There must have been
some way I could have met him . . .
But now it was too late.

It was two-thirty when I opened
the door of my little furnished room
and switched on the light. I dragged
the hat off my head and sat down on
the edge of the bed and looked
around me. If only, I thought, I

could be in the same city with him,
dance to his music, see him every
night. That was all I asked. Wasn't
it little enough?

I don't know how long I sat there,
thinking. Slowly an idea took form
in my mind — an idea that fascinated
me while it terrified me. I opened
my purse and counted the money in
it. It was Saturday and I'd just been
paid. I had a little over twenty dol-
lars— and about seventy-five in the
bank.

Suddenly I jumped to my feet,
dragged a bag from under the bed,
and packed it hurriedly. I couldn't
stop to think now — I mustn't con-
sider the consequences. I sat down
and wrote a note to the music store.
Then I hurried out of the house, lug-
ging the heavy bag the two blocks to
the elevated station.

The big bus depot was quiet under
its bright lights when I got there. A
few people sat drowsily on the hard
benches. I ran to the ticket window.

"When is the next bus to Detroit?"
I asked.

"None until five-thirty," the bored
clerk said.

I looked up at the big clock on the
wall. It was three-forty-five. I
bought a ticket, and then went to sit
on one of the benches. As the min-
utes ticked on, I tried to beat down
the mounting panic as I thought of
the foolhardiness of what I was do-
ing. Right then, I really wanted to
go home — but pride and intense
longing to see Randy again kept me
from it.

At last it was five-thirty, and I was
in the bus, peering out as it made its
way through the streets, dim and de-
serted in the early light. Then we
were in the open country, and finally
I slept.

The sleep was uneven and unre-
freshing, though, and when I ar-
rived in Detroit, the middle of that
afternoon, I was so tired I felt as if
I were walking in a dream. I applied
to the Travelers' Aid for help in find-
ing an inexpensive room, went there
extravagantly in a cab, and fell
straight into bed.

It was the next morning when I
woke up, and then the full realiza-
tion of what I had done burst upon
me. Lying in the hard single bed,
looking around at the strange furni-
ture, I told myself that I was crazy.
But, strangely, I wasn't downheart-
ed. Something nice would happen to
me. I could feel it.

I'm not going into detail about the
next few days. Randy Blake's or-
chestra was in Detroit, and had
started its engagement — but I might
as well have been in Chicago, for all
I saw of Randy. They were playing
in an expensive hotel dinner-and-
supper spot, (Continued on pagelS)

AS BROADCAST
ON

rN.c By BEATRICE FAIRFAX ""

an interview with Rudy Vallee
on the Royal Gelatin Hour)

^i^

HOW TO

CATCH A HUSBAND

Vallee: It takes all kinds of
people to make a country like this —
the well-known U. S. A. So now we
turn our attention to a thoroughly
American institution, the advice-to-
the-lovelorn column, as repre-
sented by the Dean of romantic ad-
visors, Miss Beatrice Fairfax. Until
just recently we shared a pretty
general notion that Beatrice Fairfax
was no more than a name, behind
which probably lurked a series of
cynical old ex-reporters with to-
bacco juice on their chins. Believe
me, ladies and gentlemen, this is a
mistake. Miss Fairfax is one of the
realest people I ever met — a gay,
hearty, charming person with a
background of wide experience in
newspaper work and a good-hu-
mored, fundamentally sensible ap-

proach to the problems she does her
honest best to solve for other people.
We think you'll share our liking
for Miss Beatrice Fairfax. . . . Miss
Fairfax, how long have you been
acting as a public consultant in
affairs of the heart?

Miss Fairfax: For thirty-eight
years, Mr. Vallee. And if you value
your attractive features, don't ask
me how old I was when I started.

Vallee: How did you happen to
start your column? Was it your
own idea?

Miss Fairfax: It certainly was.
I was working for the New York
Journal at the time. And it was
quite a time, let me tell you. Mr.
Hearst and Mr. Pulitzer were fight-
ing their historic circulation war.
The late Arthur Brisbane, my

editor, asked for circulation build-
ing features. My suggestion was the
advice column. It worked out
pretty well for the Journal — and for
me, too.

Vallee: I'm afraid curiosity is
getting the better of me, Miss Fair-
fax— but are you . . .?

Miss Fairfax: Married? Of
course I am. I've got two fine
grown-up sons in Washington — one
Republican, and one Democrat. I'm
the umpire.

Vallee: And a good one, I'm
sure.

Miss Fairfax: I think so. I'm
rather proud, Mr. Vallee, that over
a million people have sought my de-
cisions on problems that appear to
be vital to them. Not just romantic
young girls. (Continued on page 87)

Editor's Note: When we heard Jimmie
pick his favorite pictures and top acting
performances over the air a few weeks ago,
we suddenly got an idea: why not have him
stick his neck out again — and give us his favor-
ite radio stars? Frankly, he surprised us by ac-
cepting the deal by return mail^-but then, after
all his scorching "Open Letters," we should have
known he was used to ducking by now. Anyway,
with a few straight-from-the-shoulder comments
on programs in general — here's the way Jimmie
picks his All-American Radio Team!

EVEN if the season for picking "All- Americans" did
go out with the football game in the Rose Bowl,
show me the man who can resist making up a list
of favorite players (whether movie, radio or gridiron)
and I'll show you a stronger man than I am.
I love to call them as I see them — or, in this case,
maybe I should say call them as I hear them when I'm
home listening to the radio just as you do. And I do
mean you! Because I listen to radio shows just as I
look at movies — as a fan. I don't care how many Big
Names are in the cast or how much money has been

■ Reading counter-clockwise, Frances Langford,
Fred Allen, Jeanette MacDonald, Walter Winchell,
H. V. Kaltenborn, Charlie McCarthy, Edgar Ber-
gen, Gracie Allen, Don Ameche ana Bing Crosby.

****/.

m By special request of the editors —
Hollywood's dynamic reporter sticks
his neck out and names his own se-

lections

radio1

spent on a lavish production. If the net
result doesn't entertain me as Joe E. Public
I feel cheated. So let's remember that this
is no so-called "expert's" list — just a few
out-spoken opinions from a guy who listens.

First, however, I want to get a few things-in-
general off my chest. Looking back over 1938,
I find I have but few peeves to register — and a
flock of bouquets to throw. But my chief objection
as a listener is that too many of the Big Shows,
are too much like some other Big Show. If I were
writing an "Open Letter" to radio producers spend-
ing gobs of money for sponsors, I'd be brief and to
the point: "Try to find a new pattern — something
different from the justly-famous Chase-and-Sanborn
Hour arrangement with its band, comedians, singer
and guest star!"

Also, I'm getting awfully weary of Guest Movie
Stars on the air. (I'm not talking about legitimate
radio stars who are also in the movies.) But it seems
to me that every time I turn the dial lately, Madeleine
Carroll is just bowing off some program — or being
announced as a guest star for a coming show.

But there are plenty of things I like about

■ The radio stars pictured on these pages are just
part of Jimmie's team. To learn why he selected
these and many others, and second choices and
substitutes, read this provocative article.

the radio — and the following, are
the people and things I like best
and why. Taking them by classifi-
cations, the first-mentioned shall be
considered as making my "First
Team" — with second choice follow-
ing. And because I like to laugh
with my radio entertainments, we'll
start with:

Comedians: Fred Allen and Jack
Benny rate one-two with me.
For my money, Fred Allen has the
freshest, most spontaneous fun on
the air. His "ad lib" humor is ter-
rific. He gets first-call in my start-
ing line-up because he's always
tops. Jack Benny, my second choice,
has great "timing" and is a past
master at writing "mistakes" into a
show. Maybe the main reason I'm
not putting him at the head of the
list is that he gives the other mem-
bers of the cast — Andy Devine,
Mary Livingstone, Rochester, Don
Wilson and Kenny Baker — a chance
to get laughs, too.

Comediennes: Gracie Allen and
Fanny Brice in the order named. I
start laughing even before Gracie
pulls her joke — because, to me, her
voice is almost as funny as any-
thing she could say. I've always
been sort of partial to nit-wits, any-
way. Fanny Brice is original. Her
"Baby Snooks" is a brand-new type
of humor brought to radio.

Stooges: George Burns and Han-
ley Stafford. My favorites, you see,
are the stooges who work with my
top-choice comediennes — and I've
often thought the reason I like
Gracie and Fanny so much is be-
cause of George and Hanley (who
plays the "father" to Snooks). Most
of us, I think, are apt to forget, in
laughing at Gracie and Fanny, that
without these two gentlemen who
build up and plant their gags so ex-
pertly— the girls might not be near-
ly so funny.

Dramatic Actor: Head-and-
shoulders above all the rest is Don
Ameche! Don can play every type
of dramatic role with equal ease
and equal brilliance. For an alter-
nate, I'll take Edward G. Robin-
son. He's one of the few real movie
stars with a radio "presence". His
voice is distinctive — and he was
smart enough to create a construc-
tive character for the air, instead of
taking the easy road and doing an
air-gangster.

Dramatic Actress: Claire
Trevor, to me, is top-call — for her
work in the "Big Town" playlets.
Like Eddie Robinson, Claire's voice
is distinctive and recognizable
whether she appears on stage,
screen or radio. Kathleen Wilson of
"One Man's Family" rates second
honors because she gets so much

romance into her voice.

Male Singer (Classical): John
Charles Thomas and Nelson Eddy.
Thomas first, because of the great
vocal warmth he manages to get in-
to his songs. Nelson Eddy has a
fine voice, technically — and I like to
listen to him second-best despite the
fact that he makes few concessions
to please. I always feel that I'm
getting Nelson's magnificent voice —
but that he's withholding his heart.

Male Singer (Popular) : Bing
Crosby! Is there anyone in the world
who can disagree? Well, I could
listen to Bing all night. He has a
unique way of putting a song over
that never fails to make any tune
sound better. Kenny Baker gives
Bing the closest run for honors,
though I think Kenny sometimes
confuses the listeners by switching
too quickly from insane comedy to
lilting love songs.

Female Singer: (Classical):
Jeanette MacDonald first — because
she is never ritzie or condescending
about her voice. By trying to please
all types of music lovers — singing
everything from opera to light mu-
sical comedy numbers — she ranks
tops as a singing entertainer. For
almost identical reasons, I must
place Gladys Swarthout second.
Never does she seem to be "singing
down" to the audience.

Female Singer (Popular) : Fran-
ces Langford, who has more sex ap-
peal in her voice than any other gal
on the air. But she isn't just another
gal-crooner — she really has a voice.

Dance Band Leader: Hold on to
your hats, fellas — here I go again!
Knowing that the country is "swing"
daffy, I still put John Scott Trotter
on top. Trotter, as you know, plays
the accompaniment for Crosby. Of
course, Benny Goodman is the
greatest master of swing in the
world — but unfortunately, I'm one
of those unenlightened few who are
waiting for things to slow down.

Master of Ceremonies: Bing
Crosby again! Try as I will to keep
from having one contestant playing
two "positions" — I can't find a more
ingratiating M. C. than Bing. In-
formality, something I like, is. the
keynote to his microphone person-
ality. Second, give me John Barry-
more! There is a man who seems
equally at home in every medium
— and of them all, I think he does
just about his best job on radio.

News Broadcaster: Right on top
is Walter Winchell. Lowell Thomas
for the second squad. Winchell has
fire, personality and an electric de-
livery that makes everything he
says important. Too, he has opinions
— and he doesn't hesitate to mention
them. Lowell Thomas is outstanding

for his analytical comments" on
world-wide affairs in the news.

Male Commentator: The great
Kaltenborn! There's the only radio
star who ever kept me up all hours
of the night — for fear I'd miss a
single word of his comment on the
threat of war in Europe recently. In
my opinion, Kaltenborn did more
than anyone ever did to make this
country radio-conscious. Boake
Carter is another firebrand — and he
gets second place.

Female Commentator: Dorothy
Thompson has the field to herself as
far as I'm concerned. She has one of
the few feminine talking voices that
I can really enjoy for fifteen, un-
interrupted minutes. She has a way
of making everything, from world
affairs to the trend of women's hats
as interesting to men as to women.

Sports Reporter: Ted Husing
still gets the five-bell call — when
he's calling my football games and
such. Second palm goes to Bill
Stern. Alert, careful and always in-
teresting— Bill- can make a game of
football a real, bang-up afternoon.

Announcer: Good old Bill Hay!
That guy can make soup and beans
sound so good that I'm tempted even
though I've just finished a chicken
dinner. Second, and it was close
to a toss-up, believe me, comes Don
Wilson. He's got a smile in his
voice that makes the "six-delicious
flavors" a thing of beauty.

Novelty Acts: Do I have to go
any further than Edgar Bergen and
his not-so-dumb-dummy, Charlie
McCarthy? A whole nation can't be
wrong. Second, give me Judy Can-
ova and her gang.

Male Movie Guest Star: All my
blue chips go to Herbert Mar-
shall for the sincerity and modula-
tion of his magnificent voice.

Female Movie Guest Star: Bette
Davis, unquestionably. Her great per-
formance on the Texaco hour — the
first dual role I'd ever heard on radio
— was the finest I've ever listened
to. What a marvelous team Bette
and Herb Marshall would make!

There you have it — the outstand-
ing radio team of 1938 as I tuned in
on them. If I've stepped on any-
one's toes — or left off any of your
favorites — I'm sorry. But I haven't
heard them all. Sometimes it's be-
cause of a golf date. Generally
though, it's because your favorite is
coming on the air just about the
time I'm sweating and fuming in the
last-minute rush of rehearsals be-
fore my own show. Just before I
tune up to say: "This is Jimmie
Fidler in Hollywood, California —
where people who dare to make
Lists may not get any Christmas
presents next year!"

THIS is a story about courage.
Not the kind that sends people
into Africa to shoot lions; not
even the kind that sends a soldier
over the top. No, this is a different
brand of bravery altogether, pos-
sessed by all too few people. For
Barbara Luddy's courage is the
sort that gave her the power to defy
an invisible but ever-present doom,
to face the world smiling and un-
troubled, against tremendous odds,
while in every waking moment she
was wondering when tragedy would
strike.

It was even part of that courage
to keep this story a secret until now.
Only one person, besides Barbara
herself, has known it until recently.
It had to be a secret. Telling it
would have meant surrender.

Watch Barbara Luddy as she
stands at the microphone, any Fri-
day evening, broadcasting the lead-
ing lady's role in the First Nighter
series. She will seem to you a su-
premely happy person. She has
youth, a warm kind of beauty, suc-
cess and fame in her exciting and
glamorous profession. She is sup-
ple and erect, her skin blooms with
health, her laughter is vibrant and
strong. Surely, a person that any-
one might envy.

But on March 1, 1932 — a date that
she will never forget — a specialist
told her that she would be a hope-
less cripple in seven years.

Today, on warm spring mornings,
you'll see her riding horse-back in
the Park; earlier in the winter,
while it was still cold, she was
learning ice-skating.

In a wheel-chair indeed! The
(Continued on page 76)

■ Barbara Luddy, as she is toddy —
the star of Campana's First Nighter
series, heard on CBS every Friday
evening; and, in the inset, at the
age of four, soon before she had to
become the sole support of her family.

A Radio Mirror double feature! See next
page for one of Barbara Luddy's First
Nighter broadcasts in gay fiction form.

■ A secret that had to

be kept, a danger that
was ever-present — not

even these challenges

to her indomitable cour-

age could keep Barbara
Luddy from happiness!

jJEm
■ 1

■ "Steve — don't, please!" cried Jane,
clutching desperately at his arm.

t ■•

fekJ

4ky

Cupid is often down but never out, though he had to
use a battered old tug boat to win his battle with
Jane and Steve — they were that stubborn about love!

Illustration by C. C. Beall

a NY girl would have hated it. It's
/\ bad enough to find yourself
/ \ co-owner of a tug boat with
a man you hardly know, but to be
forced to share its cramped quarters
with him, when you hate and de-
spise him into the bargain — that is
an unbearable situation, and some-
thing is bound to explode.

The episode of the elevator got
things off to a bad start. Jane felt
it was not her fault, since the car
was so crowded, that she was stand-
ing on a strange man's toes. He cer-
tainly wasn't justified in using the
incident to strike up an acquain-
tance.

She snubbed him roundly, and got
off at the eighth floor. So did he,
remarking happily, "Fancy both of
us getting off here. There's fate for
you!" •

Jane's voice was an icicle.
"Haven't you mistaken me for some-
one you know? I've never seen you
before in my life!"

"No," he agreed, "I haven't lived
until now either."

Jane wheeled and started off
down the corridor, with him at her
heels like an amiable and idiotic

puppy. And when she paused at
the door to James Curtis' office, he
jumped to open it for her, and fol-
lowed her in.

"I tell you," Jane fumed, "if you
don't stop following me I'll call the
police!"

The door to the inner office
opened, and a white-haired gentle-
man smiled at them benevolently.
"Ah," he said, "I'm glad you've both
arrived on time. Come in."

Inside, he said, "Miss Masters,
this is Steve Colman. Steve, Jane
Masters."

Jane acknowledged the introduc-
tion with no lessening of animosity.
It took her no time at all, aided by
his behavior in the elevator, to de-
cide what sort of a man this Steve
Colman was. Handsome, and so
well aware of it that he expected
girls to come running when he
whistled. Well, here was one that
wouldn't. Probably hadn't done a
stroke of work in his life — not hon-
est work, anyhow. Certainly not a
man to be trusted. And she didn't
like red hair.

With insufferable nonchalance,
the Colman person said, "I think

you'd better explain to Miss Mas-
ters who I am. She seems to be
afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of anyone!" Jane
snapped.

"I've a bit of explaining to do to
both of you," the lawyer said, set-
tling himself behind his big desk.
"You, Miss Masters, are the late
Peter Masters' great-niece. And
Steve—"

"He was my step-grandfather,
wasn't he? Dad married old Peter's
daughter after my own mother
died."

"That's right. Now, as you know,
at one time Peter Masters practi-
cally controlled the shipping here on
San Francisco Bay. He had a fleet
of sixty tug boats, and he got all
the business. But times change —
Peter got old, his business slipped
away, and when he died last fall he
was almost broke. Not quite, but
almost. There's still a — some prop-
erty to be distributed between his
only heirs — you, Jane, and Steve."

"Why — I hardly knew him," Jane
said.

"Nevertheless, he named you in
his will. The property left jointly to

Fictionized by Norton Russell from the First Nighter script, starring
Barbara Luddy and Les Tremayne, and sponsored by Campana's Italian Balm

_ "Steve— don't, please!" cried Jane,
clutching desperately at his arm,

Cupid is often down but never out, though he had to
use a battered old tug boat to win his battle with
Jane and Steve — they were that stubborn about love!

Illustration by C. C. B«jll

a NY girl would have hated it. It's
J\ bad enough to find yourself
I \ co-owner of a tug boat with
a man you hardly know, but to be
forced to share its cramped quarters
with him, when you hate and de-
spise him into the bargain — that is
an unbearable situation, and some-
thing is bound to explode.

She snubbed him roundly, and got
off at the eighth floor. So did he,
remarking happily, "Fancy both of
us getting off here. There's fate for
you!"

Jane's voice was an icicle.
"Haven't you mistaken me for some-
one you know? I've never seen you
before in my life!"

"No," he agreed, "I haven't lived
until now either."

Jane wheeled and started off
down the corridor, with him at her
heels like an amiable and idiotic

puppy. And when she paused at
the door to James Curtis' office, he
jumped to open it for her, and fol-
lowed her in.

"I tell you," Jane fumed, "if you
don't stop following me I'll call the
police!"

The door to the inner office
opened, and a white-haired gentle-
man smiled at them benevolently.
"Ah," he said, "I'm glad you've both
arrived on time. Come in."

Inside, he said, "Miss Masters,
this is Steve Colman. Steve, Jane
Masters."

With insufferable nonchalance,
the Colman person said, "I think

you'd better explain to Miss Mas-
ters who I am. She seems to be
afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of anyone!" Jane
snapped.

"I've a bit of explaining to do to
both of you," the lawyer said, set-
tling himself behind his big desk
"You, Miss Masters, are the late
Peter Masters' great-niece. And
Steve—"

"He was my step-grandfather,
wasn't he? Dad married old Peter's
daughter after my own mother
died."

"That's right. Now, as you know,
at one time Peter Masters practi-
cally controlled the shipping here on
San Francisco Bay. He had a fleet
of sixty tug boats, and he got all
the business. But times change-
Peter got old, his business slipped
away, and when he died last fall he
was almost broke. Not quite, but
almost. There's still a — some prop-
erty to be distributed between his
only heirs — you, Jane, and Steve."

"Why — I hardly knew him," Jane
said.

"Nevertheless, he named you in
his will. The property left jointly to

Fictionized by Norton Russell from the First Nighter script, starring
Barbara Luddy and Les Tremayne, and sponsored by Campana's Italian Balm

you and Steve is the old tug boat,
Rascal."

Jane took one look at Steve.
"We'll have to sell it, of course," she
said.

"I'm afraid not," Curtis said. "One
of the provisions of the will is that_
you keep it in your possession for
five years. And you're to retain
Mac, the engineer, and Wee Sing,
the cook."

"That's impossible!" Jane argued.
"I have a job, but it barely keeps
me alive. I can't take on two more
people and a tug boat."

"Nobody's asking you to," Steve
Colman said gently. "I'll take the
tug out and make it earn its keep."

She swept him with a look of un-
disguised scorn.

I HAVE a Master's license," he

said. "Running a tug is man's
work. You keep your position and
I'll—"

"I wouldn't trust you in a mill-
pond with that boat."

"Now, Jane — be sensible — "

"And don't call me Jane. I'm quit-
ting my job and moving onto my
half of the boat tonight! Goodbye,
Mr. Curtis, and thank you."

"You'll find the Rascal tied up at
the foot of Capistrano Street!" Mr.
Curtis called after her.

Jane had seldom worked as fast
as she did in the next hour, with
the result that she accomplished her
purpose of getting to the Rascal
ahead of Steve Colman. When she
heard him- coming up the narrow
gangplank she had already intro-
duced herself to Mac and Wee Sing
and taken possession of the captain's
cabin.

She looked up defiantly as Steve
opened the door of the cabin. "I
understood it was customary to
knock before you entered a wo-
man's room, Mr. Colman."

"What are you doing in here?" he
snapped.

"I'm living here."

"Now listen, Jane," he burst out,
"you've no right to this cabin. I need
it. I'll be up and down all night,
running the tug, and — "

"Oh! You're going to run the
tug?"

Over his shoulder she saw Mac's
wrinkled face with its grizzled wal-
rus mustache. " 'Nother little cabin
just abaft this, Mr. Colman," he put
in.

"Oh, all right!" Sullenly, Steve
gave her the first round on points.
"See here, Mac, how do we make
this tug pay?"

"Yes, Mac," Jane added. "How
do we start? We've got to hurry —
that is, unless Mr. Colman has a
large bank account?"

"I'm broke," Steve said curtly.

"Well—" Mac began, "there's two
things you can do. The big ships is
all tied up by the big tug companies.
You can either go lie outside the
Golden Gate and fight for lumber
schooners and little fruit boats, or
you can go up the Sacramento River
and haul grain barges."

"Fine. We'll go up the Sacra-
mento," Jane said promptly.

"Nonsense!" Steve barked. "We'll
go outside the Gate."

"Up the Sacramento!"

"Out to sea!"

"Unless you two captains got the
price of fuel oil," Mac said dryly,
"we ain't goin' no place. Me'n the
cook been livin' on rice for ten days
and the bunker tanks is plum dry!"

Two days later the Rascal was
still tied up at the foot of Capis-
trano, and one of the more efficient
kinds of San Francisco fogs had
blown in from the Golden Gate.
Coming out of her cabin in the
morning Jane had to admit that per-
haps it was just as well the fuel
tanks were dry. It would have been
terrible to be out in that fog.

Mac, a glum figure in shiny oil-
skins, loomed up through the fog.

"What time did Mr. Colman go
out this morning?" she asked.

" 'Bout five o'clock."

"So early? Why?"

"Rice's gettin' low," Mac said
simply.

Somewhere, close by, a fog horn
mooed loudly, and Jane jumped as
a black mass appeared out of noth-
ingness.

A voice shouted, "Stand by to
take a line!"

"Why, it's the skipper!" Mac ex-
claimed. "That's a fuel barge he's
on — that means he's got us a job."
At once the old man was all action,
neatly catching the line thrown from
the fuel barge, tying it, putting the
fuel hoses into the tanks.

Jane was almost ready to like
Steve, but at that moment he
jumped from the barge to the tug
boat's deck, and she noticed that
once more he had become disgust-
ingly sure of himself.

"So you've got a job?" she said.
"Doing what?"

"What difference does it make?"
he said airily. "It's good pay — fuel
for the engine and food for us."

"We'll take it, of course," she
conceded, "but after this I wish
you'd talk things over with me be-
fore you accept jobs. I'm . . ."

"I know. You're half owner. If
there was anything else in the world
for me to do you'd be whole owner,
but right now I'm stuck here."

"You feel that way, do you?" she
asked dangerously.

He flung out his hands. "Jane,
let's have this out. What in blazes

is wrong with me?"

"Frankly I don't trust you. Any-
one who will act the way you did
the first time we met deserves to
be carefully watched."

"Ye gods," he groaned, "haven't
you any sense of humor?"

"I don't think your attitude that
day was very funny. I was a total
stranger to you, you know."

"All right. All right. It's only
natural that a man with a good eye
for beauty would speak out of turn
to a girl as pretty as you are. But
if that's the way you feel — "

He turned away. "As soon as the
tanks are full, we'll pick up our tow
and get going," he flung out.

"Where are we going?"

"Well — he hesitated in embarrass-
ment. "About half way up the Sac-
ramento River."

Jane flung back her head and
laughed out loud. "So we are going
up the river?"

"Just this once," he said stub-
bornly. "Just to get some money.
After that we'll go out to sea."

"Maybe. How much are we get-
ting for this job?"

"Six hundred."

"Six hundred dollars! Isn't that
an awful lot of money?"

"It is."

"But why?"

"Listen," he said. "Do you want
this job or not?"

"Of course — but — "

"Then get into your old clothes,"
he broke in quickly. "You may have
the captain's cabin on this tug, but
that doesn't mean you aren't going
to do your share of work."

T HE fog didn't lift. If anything, it

was worse by the time they'd
picked up their tow and nosed out
into the bay. It also developed that
Steve had strong suspicions about
the accuracy of the compass. "Should
have had it fixed," he muttered.

Jane, standing beside him in the
pilot house, said, "Maybe it's right,
though."

"Don't be silly. If that compass
was right, we'd be headed for the
Golden Gate — and I know we aren't.
Listen!"

In the intervals between the
blasts of their fog horn she heard,
far overhead, the rush of speeding
motor cars.

"Maybe we're going up Market
Street," she suggested.

"Don't try to be funny. Those cars
are on Carquinez Bridge."

"Did it ever occur to you," Jane
suggested, "that the compass might
be right and the cars are on the new
Golden Gate Bridge?"

But he only laughed. "Say, I've
sailed this Bay ever since I was
a kid. (Continued on page 93)

PHCffCM

HBots Ho Pi

■ Just a friendly grin from that droll comedian of Tuesday night's Pepsodent program.
Bob s back with his old screen partner, Martha Roye, in Paramount's "Never Say Die."

,*»**';«»♦*»****•

l&£2

■ The gaslight era bloomed again when Edgar Bergen and
Charlie McCarthy, celebrating the completion of their
new Universal picture, "You Can't Cheat an Honest Man,"
threw a "Gay Nineties" party. Left, Edgar and Charlie
as a minstrel team; above — yes, it is. — Tyrone Power.

Photos by Fink

RADIUS
PHOTO-
MIRROR

i ' : >

mance

Above, Edgar with Kay St. Germaine (there's a new ro-
here) ; right, with Betty Grable. Across the
bottom of these pages are Betty, Princess Baba, Martha
Raye, Dorothy Lamour, Shirley Ross, in the "back-
dress — then Betty, Baba, Martha and Dotty again.

less

I !

• Slffl

< ,;;\v\\M\\\

, , ■ .,»»»»»»»**

,; •'•.«»»«\»««

DO MEN

rHEN you proudly go home, after frantic shop-
ping, with your new Easter bonnet, and Hubby
takes one look and yells, "Wasn't there any
mirror in that store?" is he serious or is he just joking?

In an effort to solve this hat question, once and for
all, we asked several of radio's loveliest and most style-
conscious girls to pose in the latest models, and showed
the results to Morton Downey, Phil Baker, Lanny Ross
and Robert Benchley — all gentlemen of impeccable
taste, rare judgment and real bravery.

Said Morton Downey: "They're kind of silly, but on
the whole I think the hats this year are a lot prettier
than they've been for a long time. There's more to
them. Now they sit on half the head, instead of just
covering the right eyebrow!"

■ Reading down — Nan Wynn, in a pink cellophane sailor;
Martha Stephenson, Hal Kemp's bride, in a wine-colored
milan with pink taffeta; Joan Edwards' "Arabian Nights"
hat features a cellophane ruching; Nan's wearing the
new baby bumper with black taffeta bow; Joan's perky
sailor is a quilted cobalt-blue cellophane with a big bow.

PHIL BAKER took one look at that straw sailor on the
opposite page and announced that he'd discovered a
new use for pineapple tops. Lanny Ross was
cautious: "The only things I dislike are the enormous
brims, and hanging yards of silk from the back. But
the flowers and veils make women look romantic."
Robert Benchley came out flatly: "I always say a
hat is a hat. But why can't they just call it that in-
stead of some food or a bird. And imagine calling a
hat a pillbox! The other day I heard a woman talking
like this: '. . . so Mary asked for a wimple, but the
wimple didn't look good, so she put on a rough-rider.
After an hour she finally walked out with a Mother
Goose.' " So now you know what men think of
women's hats. Or do you?

■ Reading below, and up — Mrs. Hal Kemp's black felt
is faced with white eyelet embroidery; a muffin hat
for Nan, with pink and blue birds and dotted veil. Mrs.
Kemp wears another off-the-face hat with peaked crown,
sombre o effect; and Nan in a 1939 version of the new
fedora. It's red and the huge veil ties under the chin.

CBS stars Joan Edwards
and Nan IVynn in hats by
Emilie Dalheim, New York
— photos by Walter Seigal.

s* ' .

"Oft*

%sfe

I *■

'4f RASP'S

p h &m-

//us Happened fa /fie

Once he washed dishes; and
even slept on a park bench.

■ The almost incredible life story of swing's
newest idol — Artie Shaw, who got to the top by

walking with trouble every step of the way

BY ARTIE SHAW

As told to Jerry Mason

'VER since I was a kid down on
New York's lower East Side
I've heard about luck. "All you
need is one lucky break and nothing
can stop you." That line of talk is
almost proverbial. It's also a lot
of bunk. As far as I've been able
to discover, luck and the right
breaks don't mean much.

I was lucky to be born with the
ability to carry a tune. I was lucky
to be born with a healthy body. I'm
lucky to be where I am today —
but I'm not there because some mys-
terious Fate decided to smile sweet-
ly on me. Everything I've gotten —
I've gotten the hard way.

For twenty odd years it's been
work and sweat and heart-break.
Every inch of the way has been
tough. Some of it has been a lot
of fun. If I had it to do all over
again, I'd repeat most of it. A lot,
though, I'd pray to skip.

Much, too, has been said and writ-
ten about love and marriage as one
of the world's greatest assets on the

way up. That I can neither prove
nor disprove. I've been in love. I
married twice — two of the finest
women I have ever known. But
marriage was not for me. I don't
know whether it helped or hindered.
I know it can provide great happi-
ness and great unhappiness. For
me, it did both.

Right now, I am pretty well
satisfied. Show-business is a fairly
familiar subject to me. No matter
how familiar it is, I get a kick out
of seeing "Artie Shaw and his Or-
chestra" spelled out on a theater
marquee. There's also a great deal
of pride in knowing that you and
your organization are able to earn
more than a quarter of a million
dollars within a year. That's a lot
of money. But it's important to me
not for what it can buy — but for
what it stands. It means I have ar-
rived. I and my ideas about music
have been accepted. That's impor-
tant. And I am perfectly honest
when I say it's not the money that

Illustrations by
Robert Reiger

Listen to Artie Shaw
and his band on the
Old Gold program,
Sunday nights over
Columbia's Network.

mouiHfiita

Artie, aged six months — just one
of New York's million or so kids.

In Buster Brown suit and hair-
cut— a true American at three.

People in the danceband business
learn to nap whenever they can.

counts. It doesn't take much ex-
perience to learn that you can wear
only one suit at a time, eat only
one meal when you're hungry, drive
only one car. The years behind
taught me that. This May those
years will number 29.

THEY began on Manhattan's 7th
Street between Avenue C and the
East River. That's the section which
belongs to the Dead End Kids. I
suppose I was one of them. If
you've ever seen a movie of a New
York tenement house, you've seen
the kind of place I lived in. Two
or two and a half rooms in a wooden
firetrap. Dirt and discomfort on
all sides. Unhappiness the dictator
whom only the children could
escape. In the summer, we'd go
down to the oily, ship-soiled East
River to cool off. That was the Ri-
viera of the tenements.

My earliest recollection of my
father was of an unnourishing
photographer. He never settled
down very much. After a while he
gave up pictures to work with my
mother, a good dress designer. They
opened a shop together which made
a little money. First result, of
course, was to move up to a better
neighborhood. They picked out St.
Mark's Place — the same block, in-
cidentally, from which Al Smith
came — and I began to go to gram-
mar school.

I was seven and a half when they
decided to move to New Haven,
Connecticut. I'll never forget the
night we arrived there. It was late
when we got off the train and the
three of us checked in to the Royal
Hotel. I couldn't wait until morn-
ing. Ignorant little New Yorker
that I was, I thought sure I'd wake
up to look out on farm lands and
cows and chickens. I rushed to the
window at 6:30 — and saw a scene
that wasn't much different from
what I'd been looking at all my
life.

But I was grateful for that change
of location. For years I had been
cursed with a Buster Brown hair-
cut. One of those straight bobs
that come down just below the ear-
lobes. I'd been afraid to beg my
mother to cut it off while we were
still in New York. I knew the kid-
ding afterward would be worse than
it had been before. That New
Haven barber shop was a wonderful
place.

My mother and dad opened up
another clothing place. For a time
they did very well. Then we began
to have less and less money. We
moved to worse and worse places.
Finally — I was already in high
school — I realized that I came from
a very poor family. But to a boy

of 13, finances weren't as important
as playing hookey.

Boards of education can lecture
all they like about the evils of play-
ing hookey. But one such expedi-
tion was probably the most earth-
shaking event that ever happened
to me. I used to spend those free
mornings and afternoons at the
Palace Theater, the domicile of
vaudeville in New Haven. One
week a band came through and I
watched them work. During an un-
important spot, a saxophonist stood
up and played a short solo. For the
first time, I became aware of the
saxophone as a music-making in-
strument.

I rushed home — completely for-
getting the consequences of playing
hookey — and asked my father to
buy me a saxophone. He laughed
at me. I can't blame him when I
think back on it now. Then, though,
it was the most important thing in
my life. I began to think of ways
to make money. The first thing I
tried was selling newspapers. After
a couple of weeks of that, I calcu-
lated I was making only one-third
of a cent for each paper sold. That
was the hard way. I had to find
a system for making money quicker.
Summer vacation started and I
managed to land a job in a grocery
store at $5 a week. At the end of
eight weeks I had $40 — enough to
buy a cheap horn.

I was supposed to get five free
lessons for the purchase price. I
took two of them — and quit. The
teacher didn't know much more
about the instrument than I did. He
started me off all wrong. For ex-
ample, he taught me the G scale in-
stead of the C as the basic scale.
Right up to the present, I have to
transpose mentally whenever I play.
It's like thinking in French and
talking in English.

I really learned by practise. - The
whole idea fascinated me — I had
heard the musician in the theater
play the sax so beautifully and
when I tried to do the same thing
all I got was a lot of squealing
noises. It was a problem that had
to be licked. I did it by practising
eight hours every day. Eight hours
of it, broken only by a quickly
gulped meal — and back at it. The
noise drove my father crazy but the
idea of learning how to play had a
terrific pull on me. He would ask
me to stop and I'd refuse — the only
defiance I ever showed him.

My work reached a climax when
I entered a local amateur contest. I
remember that night, too. I played
a tune called "Charlie My Boy." I
can't even hum it now — but it won
me $5. That prize shocked me — up
(Continued on page 68)

oMty

Step aside, men — let
Carole Lombard tell
you how much better a
job they'd make of it!

WHAT would happen if wom-
en ran the world? I'll tell
you what would happen. If
women ran this world it would be
a better world, if you really want
to know. It wouldn't be such a sorry
mess of a world. It wouldn't be the
kind of world that bombs kids in
the streets and taxes their parents
to pay for the bombs. It wouldn't
be a world where people starve with
a surplus of stuff to eat all around
'em. It'd be a cleaner place, a saner
place, and a finer place.

Because why? Because women
are realists. They wouldn't permit
slums and filth and disease and pov-
erty, because those things cost
everybody money. Do you know
what causes war and poverty? All
right, all right, I'll tell you. Male
stupidity, Male sentiment and Male
greed.

Women are greedy too, but they
know how to get what they want.
They don't let stupid sentimental
considerations get in their way.
They wouldn't start a war to get
new trade, or raw materials, or a
swelled head, when they know darn
well they'll wind up headless and
bankrupt.

It all comes down to this. Men
are children, women are realists.
Take it or leave it, gents, take it
or leave it.

us speech was. ti
broadcast, on Carole s
Sunday nighf program,
sponsored by Kellogg.

Radio takes another step for-
ward in seeking to unravel the
secrets of such psychic phe-
nomena as ghosts, premoni-
tions, mental telepathy and
dreams — all of them "Mysteries
of the mind" and broadcast
weekly over WOR of the Mu-
tual Broadcasting System. Ac-
tual case histories are first
dramatized and then discussed
by psychic investigator Hugh
Lynn Cayce, and two repre-
sentatives from the field of
medicine and psychology, Dr.
Henry S. W. Hardwicke and
Dr. Lucien Warner. The cases
have been gathered and verified
by Mr. Cayce, who has been
studying phenomena for the
past seven years. Dr. Hardwicke
is conductor of the Psychic
Forum and a research officer of

the Society of Psychic Research.
Dr. Warner has carried on spe-
cial research at Duke Univer-
sity and is the author of "Applied
Psychology." The following
article has been prepared, by
special permission of WOR,
from outstanding case histories
already broadcast.

SINCE the beginning of time man
has sought to gain more and
more knowledge about this
world into which he has been born
. . . and more and more knowledge
concerning the mystery of his own
self; his mind or soul. Today, men
of science are delving into the mys-
teries of the mind, trying to reveal
its hidden powers — to explain their
meaning.

Into the lives of almost everyone
have come experiences of the mind

— strange and unexplainable in
terms of our every-day life — a vivid
dream that came true, a hunch that
something was about to happen, an
impression that a friend or loved
one miles away was in trouble.

On November 11, 1938, there ap-
peared in newspapers from coast to
coast the remarkable story of six-
year-old, golden-haired Helen Lane
of Miami, Florida. This amazing
story has been verified and authen-
ticated.

The quiet of the Lane living room
was suddenly disrupted on Novem-
ber 10 by the frightened cries of
little Helen — cries of "Mother;
Mother!" which became more ter-
rifying as they increased in volume.

The parents rushed to the child's
bedroom on the second floor.

"Yes, Helen dear," comforted her
mother, as she saw that her little

■ Into the life of everyone has come some strange, inexplicable event—
a dream that came true, a premonition, a voice from nowhere. Here
are more of these weird happenings, with A . perhaps ... an explanation

Illustration by Chase Cassidy

girl was still alive and untouched.
"What is it?"

"Oh, Mother, I've just been run
over by a truck," the little girl
sobbed pitifully. "I'm dying!"

Mrs. Lane crushed the child to
her breast and whispered reassur-
ingly:

"Why, Helen, you're all right.
You've been dreaming."

The child shook her head. "No,
Mother, I tried to get out of the way
but I couldn't. That colored man
who was driving — he picked me
up." The child gasped, then cried
again, "Oh, I'm dying, I know I
am!"

Mrs. Lane turned helplessly to-
ward her husband. His face was
ashen white.

"Helen," she tried to comfort her
daughter. "You're still not awake.
There's no truck and there's no

colored man. You're right here at
home, safe in bed."

The child cried softly, pulled the
blankets closer to her chilled skin,
and spoke softly: "But Mother, it
was so real. I'm so frightened. It
might be going to happen. It didn't
seem like a dream at all. That truck
was killing me!"

The parents turned out the light
and stayed with their child until
the dawn broke. Neither said a
word.

At breakfast Helen spoke of her
horrible "dream" again. The crisp
morning air had freshened the
mother. She regained her confi-
dence, and buoyed up the child's
spirits.

But less than an hour later, Mrs.
Lane's household duties were sud-
denly interrupted by the screech of
brakes, followed instantly by a

■ Dayton jerked open the
window. "There's a fire
below us!" he shouted.

scream. A child's scream. Through
the open kitchen window came the
sound of voices.

"Get the license number!" some-
one yelled excitedly. "Hold the
driver!"

Mrs. Lane rushed into the street.
At the sidewalk she met a neighbor.
The woman was hysterical.

"Oh, Mrs. Lane," she cried, "it's
your daughter Helen. I'm afraid
she's—"

Her words were cut off by the
other woman. "Yes, I know. I
know." Mrs. Lane said calmly. "You
don't have to tell me. My baby has
been killed."

Two days later a grief- stricken
mother and father appeared before
the coroner's jury. They had a
strange request to make. Mr. Lane
spoke slowly, sorrowfully:

"Your Honor, my wife and I have
come here to ask mercy for that
negro driver who ran over our little
girl. He must not be blamed for
what has happened. You see — we
don't understand ourselves, but
Helen had a dream the night before
the accident that she was run over
by a truck and killed. A truck
driven by a colored man!"

"But that's incredible," said the
foreman of (Continued on page 64)

CASE OF

Author of

"The Case of the Velvet Claws"

"The Case of the Howling Dog," etc.

The Story Thus Far:

IWAS plunged into mystery on the
very first day of my new job as
secretary to William C. Foley, the
well-known Hollywood lawyer. I'd
received the job when Mildred Par-
ker, Mr. Foley's former secretary,
was injured by a hit-and-run driver.
Mr. Foley, who always judged
people by their voices, hired me be-
cause he liked mine.

Early in the afternoon of my first
day, a man who said he was a private
detective investigating Miss Parker's
accident, forced his way into Mr.
Foley's office. After Mr. Foley had
gotten rid of him, his next visitor
was a Frank C. Padgham, and I was
called in while Mr. Foley dictated a
long and involved agreement be-
tween Padgham, who seemed to be a
talent agent, and two men named
Carter Wright and Woodley Page.
Mr. Foley instructed me to type the
agreement and deliver it to a certain
address that night — and under no
circumstances to let anyone else
see it.

On my way to the address that
night I was almost run down by a
speeding car — and it didn't look like
an accident either. In a panic, I ar-
rived at the house, which seemed to
be completely deserted. No one an-
swered my ring, so I walked in.

■ I'll never forget the way
he jumped back. The man was
absolutely terror-stricken.

Then, coming from upstairs, I
heard a thumping noise. I in-
vestigated, and found Bruce
Eaton, my favorite movie and
radio star, bound and gagged in
a closet. I set him free, and he went
downstairs to get a drink for both
of us. Too late, I realized he had
run away, not knowing I had recog-
nized him. I started down the hall
after him, picking up a safety-
deposit key he had dropped. Then,
through an open door I saw a man
slumped over a desk in such a
strange attitude that I knew he was

dead. And at that moment every
light in the house went out!

PART II

I HAD no idea that any place could
be so utterly and completely
dark. It seemed as though some-
one had pushed a thick strip of
black blotting paper into the cor-

A key, a corpse, and a rudely disap-

■

pearing star are the baffling clues
to the mystery of that dark house of

'J4

i^.'r-

murder! Follow impulsive Miss Bell
and her boss, the man with the micro-
phone mind, into new paths of danger

3K£

ridor, and the paper had just sucked
up every bit of light in the place.

And within fifty feet of me was
the body of a dead man.

Not the faintest ray of light
seeped in from the street. The rich
heavy hangings were as efficient in
preventing light from getting in as
they had been in preventing any
from showing on the outside.

Illustrations by
Mario Cooper

I'd been frightened enough when
I first came running up to the house,
seeking refuge from the dangers of
the outer night. Now I realized all
too keenly the proverb about "Out
of the frying pan into the fire." I'd
been anxious enough to get into the
house, but now I was twice as anx-
ious to get out. Whatever dangers
the street held would at least be met
in the open air, not in this place
with its dank aura of death clinging
to it.

I groped for the stairs, and then,
afraid that I'd miss them, dropped

on my hands and knees, swinging
my left hand out in long, explor-
ing circles as I crawled in the gen-
eral direction of the stairs, my right
hand dragging the brief case along
the carpet behind me. I found the
staircase and started down, walking
on tip toe, trying to avoid creaking
boards.

I was halfway down the stairs
when a bell shattered the silence.

I stopped, motionless, listening.
Was it a telephone, or ... It rang
again, and this time I knew it for
what it was, the doorbell. Someone
was at the front door.

I suppose, logically, at that mo-
ment I should have become com-
pletely panic stricken. As a matter
of fact, the ringing of the doorbell
had exactly the opposite effect. I
steadied down to fast, cool thinking.
It was, I realized, quite possible that
Bruce Eaton had decided to return.
It was also possible he had notified
others of what they would find in
the house, bringing assistance to me
in that way, yet keeping out of it
himself.

Or . . . Suddenly I laughed. A
feeling of vast relief surged through
me. Of course! It was Mr. Foley
and Frank Padgham coming to keep
their appointment.

I put my hand on the bannister
and ran down the stairs as rapidly
as I could. The doorbell rang once
more while I was still fumbling
around in the corridor. I propped
my brief case against the wall near
the door, so I'd have both hands free
for groping. Then I found the door-
knob, and flung open the door.

It was as dark as a pocket inside
the house, and in contrast to that
darkness the street seemed well
lighted. I could see the flashy form
of Frank Padgham silhouetted in

the doorway. Apparently, he
couldn't see enough of me to recog-
nize me. All that he could see was
an oblong of blackness, with the
vague, indistinct lines of a figure
standing within reaching distance of
him.

I'll never forget the way he
jumped back. There was far more
than the startled reaction which
takes place when one encounters the
unexpected. The man was obso-
lutely terror-stricken.

"Where's Mr. Foley, Mr. Padg-
ham?" I asked.

HE took two deep breaths before
he was able to answer me. Then
he said, "Oh, it's you, Miss . . .
Miss . . ."

"Miss Bell," I supplemented.

"Oh yes, Miss Bell," he said. ". . .
You . . . ah . . . startled me. How
did it . . . ah . . . happen that you
answered the doorbell?"

For a moment I was irritated at
him. There was something ponder-
ous and patronizing in his manner,
now that he had recovered from his
fright. So I said, "Suppose you an-
swer my question, and then I'll an-
swer yours."

"Oh yes, Mr. Foley . . . why, yes.
Mr. Foley was ... or ... ah .. .
detained. A matter of the greatest
importance. That's why we were
a little late keeping the appoint-
ment."

"These lights won't go on," I told

him. "There's a switch out, or a
fuse blown, or something."

"Indeed," he said solicitously, and
moved forward. "I'll have to in-
vestigate. You'd better stay close,
Miss Bell. I wouldn't want to lose
you in the . . . er . . . ah . . . dark-
ness."

I could hear one of his hands
scraping along the wall as he
searched for the light switch, but
the other hand rested on my shoul-
der, then dropped down so that his
arm was around my waist. I twisted
out from what was about to develop
into an embrace and said "Hadn't
you better take both hands, Mr.
Padgham? I'll stay right behind
you."

He found the light switch, then,
and clicked it fruitlessly,

"I'm afraid," I told him, "there's
something radically wrong here."

"You mean about the lights?"

"I mean something in the house,"
I said. "There's a dead man up-
stairs."

For what might have been four
or five seconds, there was complete
silence. He didn't move. I doubt
if he even breathed. I was sorry
that I couldn't see the expression of
his face. Was he surprised? Or
was he perhaps acting a part?
Somehow I had the idea that the
man was playing me as a cat plays
a mouse.

"Oh Good Lord!" he exclaimed,
and then after a moment added,

■ I crawled on my hands and knees in the direction of
the stairs, dragging the brief-case along the carpet.

"Where is this ... er ... ah,
corpse?"

"Upstairs," I said, "in a room
which opens off behind the stair-
case."

"And what were you doing up
there?" he asked, sharply.

"I heard something," I said, "a
funny sound, and I climbed the
stairs to see what it was and
found . . ."

I stopped abruptly. Should I tell
him what I'd found, or should I tell
that only to Mr. Foley — or, on the
other hand, should I ever tell any-
one? Bruce Eaton certainly didn't
want anyone to know he'd been in
the house, and it didn't take a great
deal of imagination for me to un-
derstand why. Bruce Eaton was
box office in a big way. Not only
was he my particular heart throb,
but I had some forty million femi-
nine rivals.

"Go ahead," he said, interrupting
my thoughts. "You found what?"

"Found this dead man," I finished
inanely.

"How did you know that he is
dead?"

"By looking at him."

"Did you go into the room to
see?"

"No."

"You didn't touch him?"

"No."

"You didn't . . . er . . . ah . . .
pick up anything?"

"Pick up anything?" I said, for-
getting for the moment about that
peculiar key. "Why, why should I
pick up anything? What are you
talking about, Mr. Padgham?"

"Just a matter of precaution," he
said quickly. "You understand the
police are very strict about anyone
touching things in a room where a
man's been murdered."

"Murdered!" I exclaimed.

"Why yes," he said. "Didn't you
say he was murdered?"

And I think that was the first
time I realized the man actually had
been murdered.

"No," I told him, "I thought he'd
had a stroke or something while he
was sitting there. . . . Great heavens,
you don't suppose . . ."

"Suppose what?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"Look here, Miss Bell," he told
me, dropping his friendly manner
for the moment and with his voice
holding an ominous note, "If you're
holding anything back, it's going to
be . . . well, serious."

"I'm not holding anything back,"
I told him — "that is, anything that
I feel I should tell you."

This time there was no mistaking
his tone. He'd lost all of that pon-
derous, synthetic dignity, and his
(Continued on page 72)

~C>ON -AMiQHt

■ Comin' a+cha js that delightful master of ceremonies' of the Chase and Sanborn Hour.
Don's next screen appearance is with Claudette Colbert in Paramount's "Midnight."

PHOW*

Three short years, and in them everything has
come his way — heights of fame few have ever ex-
plored, the adulation of millions, and a love
of the sort won only by the romantic in heart

■ Ty's romance with Sonja Henie held no danger of a really
serious love affair. It was just a friendship— and both knew it.

By
HOWARD SH ARPE

CHICAGO was hot, and in-
expressibly full of people.
It was August of 1934, Cen-
tury of Progress year, and Tyrone
Power stopped there on his way
to New York; he felt he might
as well see the Fair.

He stayed until January. Friends
from the earlier days were at the
train when he came in and greeted
him with gladsome cries, so that
the weary trek from hotel to hotel
(all filled to capacity) was not
necessary for him.

It was the Power luck. They
had an apartment which they
shared, these friends, and since
it was already uncomfortably
crowded another occupant could
hardly add inconvenience. Par-
ticularly if he were Tyrone
Power, congenial, young, given to
laughter.

The Chicago period was a trans-
ition, a time-out for adjustment.
Behind the boy lay his absolute
youth, a head-long collection of
years in which his ambition and
his self-assurance had, hand in
hand, brought him anti-climax.

He'd set off bravely enough,
when he was seventeen, to be an
actor. Perhaps, if Tyrone Power
II, his father, had lived, he would
have had better luck. He didn't
know. All he knew was that Hol-
lywood hadn't wanted him. A
year — almost — in the Santa Bar-
bara Little Theater had been good:
it had given him security, for a
-time, and much-needed experience.

- 20th Century-Fox

■ His romance with Janet Gaynor, right, was a realization of a
dream. And then along came Annabella who won his heart with-
out trying. Above, Annabella and Ty basking in the golden sun.

It had given him something else,
too. Somewhere, behind him, was
first love — Nicky, the girl at the
Santa Barbara theater. But ithat
was all over now. He mustn't look
back. The future would need all
his attention — if indeed there was
any left over from the present.

Professionally he was given re-
assurance when one of the friends
got him a job with the fair, an-
nouncing him to concession man-
agers as an experienced actor from
the Coast. For a month or two
he pantomimed before unloaded
cameras while patrons, having paid
their good money to see a "Glimpse
of Hollywood," watched with un-
blinking eyes his every movement.

When this occupation had palled,
both on the visitors and on Tyrone,
he auditioned at a radio station and
got a job reading the funny papers
to Chicago's listening young each
Sunday afternoon. There were oc-
casional bit parts to do on network
shows. One of them was in Don

Ameche's First Nighter program.

During the summer, then, and
through the long autumn, young
Mr. Power worked hard, amused
himself grimly during the evenings
in company with his cheerful room-
mates, and tried to put the memory
of unprofitable years out of his
mind.

When he had done that, finally,
he could go to the radio people,
resign, and catch the first train for
New York.

"But of course you will stay with
us!" Michael Strange, a family
friend of long standing said to him
at dinner his first night in Man-
hattan; and Harrison Tweed, her
husband, nodded assent. So that
was settled.

Tyrone had very little money, just
enough to keep him for a time.
Amazingly, he was not worried.
People whose luck is attuned to
their eventual success know when a
change for the better is imminent.
They (Continued on page 61)

Above, Bob Crosby, leader of Dixieland 's Bob-
cats— the band that made good because they
stuck to an ideal. Left, attractive Edythe
Wright discovered that the coveted solo-
spot in Tommy Dorsey's band was hers alone.

ONE of the most popular or-
chestra leaders of the boom
days, Bert Lown, is back
again with a brand new orchestra.
Remember his old haunting theme,
"Bye-Bye Blues?" Bert is using it
again. When Bert was the toast of
the town ten years ago some of his
musicians were Tommy Dorsey,
Jimmy Dorsey, Red Nichols, Adrian
Rollini, Mike Riley and Ed Farley. . .

Larry Clinton is off the Tommy
Riggs show . . . Percy Faith, the
Canadian conductor, still refuses
those tempting offers from American
broadcasters . . . Jan Garber moves
into the Hotel New Yorker for his
first Manhattan engagement in May,
just in time to see Guy Lombardo
leave the Roosevelt. Bookers
wouldn't dare have both bands in
one town at the same time.

Benny Goodman clicked at the

Waldorf-Astoria so heavily that he
returns to the swank Manhattan
hostelry in October . . . Benny de-
cided that his brother Irving was
the best man to fill Harry James'
shoes in the band . . . Edythe Wright
has returned to the Tommy Dorsey
fold. Tommy couldn't find a logical
successor . . . Benny Berigan is not
disbanding his organization to join
Benny Goodman. The trumpeter
still wants to lead his own band . . .
A de-lovely sits near the Sammy
Kaye bandstand in New York's
Hotel Commodore almost nightly.
Some say it's Mrs. Kaye -, . . Band-
leader Kaye is one of radio's most
eligible bachelors if he hasn't al-
ready taken the important plunge
... Is there a blessed event due at
the Bob Crosbys? . . . Buddy Rogers
replaces Freddy Martin at the Los
Angeles Cocoanut Grove in April.

THE FREE SOULS OF SWING

IF you have never pinned your
hopes on an ideal, don't read this
story.

Because the meteoric rise of the
country's newest dance band sensa-
tion was built on a grim determina-
tion to foster a new swing trend.

Today the whole country is swing-
ing to Bob Crosby and his dynamic
orchestra. These men had an ideal
and stuck to it, despite discouraging
setbacks. Unlike any other band
you have ever heard, they are now
safely ensconced in Chicago's re-
nowned Blackhawk Cafe. They are
on the air several times weekly over
Mutual. Rumor-laden radio row
has heard more news, via the mys-
terious grapevine route, that the
band is being groomed for its first
(Continued on page 88)

LET UP LIGHT UP A CAMEL

...a grand way to rest the nerves
says famous American designer

I find Camels are So Soothing

"■ Elizabeth Hawes— tiny, young, energetic
•"■ — heads her own couturier salon in the
social East Sixties of New York. An intense
worker, she designs, sketches; confers with
drapers, fitters, models .. . plans the Openings
at which her new gowns and wraps are
shown for the first time. Above, she selects
fabrics— her first step in a new design.

€% She cuts into muslin. A few snips
~ with the shears, and another Ail-
American design is on its way. "Designing
new styles is fun," she says, "but hard
on the nerves sometimes. So when I feel
myself getting tense or irritable, that's
the moment I say to myself: 'Elizabeth
Hawes, have a Camel!'"

•3 Sketching the design. "A de-
" signing job is hard work,"
she says. "I'd feel like a wreck at
the end of the day — and probably
look like one! — if I didn't ease
up now and then and enjoy a
Camel. It's a grand way to rest
the nerves!"

/M "CYPRESS"— the finished design. Cypress-greeu faille,
superbly cut, with gleaming coq feathers falling out
of a show -your -shoulders neckline. Miss Hawes' clothes
are internationally known — styled to be wearable for years.
Miss Hawes, wearing her workmanlike blouse of blue silk,
looks pleased and at ease as she smokes another Camel.
"'Let up— light up a Camel' makes sense to me," she says.
"Camels are positively soothing to the nerves."

Smoke 6 packs
of Camels and
find out why
they are the
LARGEST-
SELLING
CIGARETTE
IN AMERICA

Camels are a matchless blend of finer,
MORE EXPENSIVE TOBACCOS
— Turkish and Domestic

RELAXED. The wire fox terrier is noted for its brisk, playful spirit. Apparently,
always on the go... actually, frequently at ease. When he tires, he instinctively
rests. His nervous system is so highly strung! Ours is too. Our instincts like-
wise warn us: Nerves need rest. But will-power and determination may prod
you to struggle on... till you become tense and irritable. You want to
be pleasant... you want to enjoy smooth nerves. Why not pause frequently?
Ease the strain. Let up and light up a Camel. Camels are mild, rich -tasting.
And smokers find that Camel's costlier tobaccos are soothing to the nerves.

P S T I C K

The New Radio Mirror Almanac

BY THE STUDIO SNOOPER

■ A handy guide to listening that you'll

» •> - . — .

want to keep right beside your loudspeaker
— complete network program directory,
day-by-day reminders of listening high-
lights, plus the fascinating behind-the-scenes
stories of seven big network broadcasts!

PROGRAMS FROM MARCH 24 TO APRIL 25

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Eastern Standard Time

NBC-Blue: Peerless Trio
NBC-Red: Organ Recital

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NBC-Blue: Tone Pictures
NBC-Red: Four Showmen

NBC-Red: Animal News

CBS: From the Organ Loft
NBC-Blue: White Rabbit Line
NBC-Red: Turn Back the Clock

NBC-Red: Tom Terriss

CBS: Wings Over Jordan
NBC-Red: Melody Moments

CBS: Church of the Air
NBC-Blue: Russian Melodies
NBC-Red: Radio Pulpit

NBC-Red: Music and Youth

NBC: News

NBC- Blue: Alice Reinsert, contralto

NBC-Blue Neighbor Nell
NBC-Red: Chimney House

CBS: MAJOR BOWES FAMILY
NBC-Blue: Southernaires

NBC-Blue RADIO CITY MUSIC

HALL
NBC-Red: Music for Moderns

CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle
NBC-Red: University of Chicago
Round Table

CBS: Church of the Air
NBC-Blue: GREAT PLAYS
NBC-Red: Ireene Wicker

CBS. MBS, NBC: Salute to Nations

CBS: Americans All

NBC-Blue: THE MAGIC KEY OF

RCA
NBC-Red: Sunday Dinner at Aunt

Fanny's

CBS: Words Without Music
NBC-Red: Fables in Verse

CBS: N. Y. PHILHARMONIC
NBC-Blue: Armco Band
NBC-Red: Sunday Drivers

NBC-Blue: Festival of Music

NBC-Red: Bob Becker

NBC-Blue: National Vespers

NBC-Red: Hendrick W. Van Loon

NBC-Red: The World is Yours

CBS: St. Louis Blues
NBC-Blue: Met. Opera Auditions
NBC-Red: Uncle Ezra

MBS: The Shadow
CBS: BEN BERNIE
NBC-Red: The Spelling Bee

NBC-Blue: Dog Heroes

CBS: SILVER THEATER

NBC-Blue: New Friends of Music
NBC-Red: Catholic Hour

CBS: Gateway to Hollywood
MBS: Show of The Week
NBC-Red: A Tale of Today

CBS: People's Platform
NBC-Blue: World's Fair Program
NBC-Red: JACK BENNY

CBS: Screen Guild
NBC-Blue: Seth Parker
NBC-Red: Fitch Bandwagon

CBS: THIS IS NEW YORK
NBC-Blue: Out of the West
NBC-Red: DON AMECHE EDGAR
BERGEN

CBS: FORD SYMPHONY
NBC-Blue: HOLLYWOOD PLAY-
HOUSE
NBC-Red: Manhattan Merry-Go-
Round

NBC-Blue: WALTER WINCHELL
NBC-Red: American Album of Fa-
miliar Music

NBC-Blue: Irene Rich

CBS: Robert Benchley
NBC-Red: The Circle
MBS: Good Will Hour

CBS: H. V. Kaltenborn
NBC-Blue: Cheerio

8:00 10:00 11:00 CBS: Dance orchestra
8:00 10:00 11:00 NBC: Dance orchestra

SUNDAYS HIGHLIGHTS

Tune-In Bulletin for March

MARCH 26: Twelve noon, Dr. Courboin
in an all-Bach program, MBS. . . .
Three p.m., Albert Spalding and Gaspar
Cassado, violinist and cellist, guests on
the CBS Philharmonic. . . . Nine tonight,
Bidu Sayao, guest on the Ford Symphony
Hour, CBS.

April 2: Two p.m., a special Magic
Key program in honor of Army Day, NBC-
Blue. . . . Three o'clock, Jose Iturbi plays
Beethoven's Third Piano Concerto on the
CBS-New York Philharmonic program. . . .
Nine tonight, Lawrence Tibbett is the Ford
Hour's guest star.

April 9: Easter Sunday. . . . Special
services and programs from all networks.
. . . Sunrise service on CBS at 7:00 a.m. . . .
The Rossini Mass on the Philharmonic con-
cert, CBS at 3:00. . . . Nine tonight,
Gladys Swarthout is the Ford Hour's guest.

April 16: Three p.m., Kirsten Flagstad
sings on the CBS Philharmonic concert. . . .
Nine tonight, Jose Iturbi is guest star on
the Ford Hour.

April 23: Three p.m., Adolph Busch,
violinist, plays a Beethoven Concerto with
the Philharmonic, CBS. . . . Nine tonight,
Ford Hour's guest is Ezio Pima.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Melody and
Madness, on CBS at 10:00, E.S.T. The
Melody is Artie Shaw's swing band and
his clarinet, singers Dick Todd and Helen
Forrest. The Madness is Robert Benchley,
alone and unaided.

You're listening to Melody and Madness
as it comes from CBS' Radio Theater No. I,
located in the midst of Broadway's con-
gested theater district. Here is probably
a good place to explain that CBS has four
of these theaters, once devoted to stage
drama, now leased by CBS and converted
with control booths and sounding boards
into radio studios. Nos. I and 2 are fairly

26, April 2, 9, 16 and 23:

small and intimate; No. 4 is large, and
No. 3 is huge. The network had to rent
these outside playhouses because the
studios in its own building — which was
never built for radio in the first place —
long ago proved to be too small.

Although he is a leading American
humorist, Benchley doesn't write his
own radio material. The whole show is
written by professional scripters Al Lewis
and Hank Garson, and partly rewritten on
the last day of rehearsal by Bob and Mar-
tin Gosch, producer of Melody and Mad-
ness (in radio, a "producer" is about the
same as a director in the movies.) Bob
doesn't even rehearse much — comes in
Sunday morning to go over his script, goes
out to lunch, drops back around four-thirty
and stays until six, then goes on about his
own affairs until broadcast time. He says
too many rehearsals make him go stale.

The script writers try to model their
gags after the Benchley manner, without
using anything he ever wrote. This makes
things tough sometimes. Bob went over a
skit they'd written called "How to Hire a
Maid," shook his head, and said it sounded
familiar but he didn't know why. Just be-
fore the broadcast he remembered — its
ending was the same one he'd used in a
skit called "How to Fire a Maid."

Bandleader Artie Shaw deserves only a
little space here because there's a long
story about him on page 28. His band has
reached such sudden success in the East
it just possibly may not accompany the
show to Hollywood in April.

Producer Martin Gosch is a tiny, dark
man with a toothbrush mustache who
stands in the middle of the stage during
broadcasts, with a pair of earphones
clamped to his head. No matter how
often he's heard them in rehearsals, a few
of Benchley's lines always panic him.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

DONALD DICKSON — featured baritone on tonight's
Chase and Sanborn Hour, NBC-Red at 8:00 — born in
Clairton, Pa. — knew he wanted to be a singer when he
was five — family was poor and they traveled all over
the country — when Don was twenty he was working in
a steel mill in Cleveland eleven hours a day, sleeping
three, studying singing the rest of the time — Artur Rod-
zinski helped him get a Juilliard School scholarship — he
sang on the Sealtest Saturday Night Party and through
it got a contract with the Metropolitan — he's married,
with a six-year-old son.

Eastern Standard Time

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"as
WS

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NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

NBC-Blue: Norsemen Quartet
NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade
NBC-Red: Radio Rubes

CBS: Richard Maxwell
NBC: News

NBC-Blue: BREAKFAST CLUB
NBC-Red: Happy Jack

CBS: Manhattan Mother
NBC-Rea The Family Man

MONDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

CBS: Girl Interne

CBS: Bachelor's Children
NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
MBS: School of the Air
NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
NBC-Red: Central City

CBS: Myrt and Marge
NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

CBS: Hilltop House
NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
NBC-Red: David Harum

CBS: Scattergood Baines

NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

CBS. Aunt Jenny's Stories
NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out ot

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life

CBS: Mary Margaret McBride
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy jame.
NBC-Red: The O'Neills

CBS Romance cf Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

CBS: The Goldbergs

CBS: Life Can be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
NBC-Red: Let's Talk it Over

CBS; Road of Life
NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge
NBC-Red: Words and Music
CBS: This Day is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gilmans

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBU-Keti. Arnold Grimm's Daughter

CBS: School of the Air
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

MBS: Ed Fitzgerald

NBC-Red: Hymns of all Churches

CBS: Curtis Institute of Music
NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

CBS: Let's Pretend

NBC-Red: Your Family and Mine

NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong

CBS: The Mighty Show
NBC-Bed: Little Orphan Annie

CBS: News

CBS: Howie Wing

CBS: Bob Trout

CBS: Sophie Tucker
NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

CBS: County S at

NBC-Blue: Orphans of Divorce
NBC-Red: Amos 'n' Andy

CBS: Lum and Abner

CBS: EDDIE CANTOR
MBS: The Lone Ranger

CBS: Cavalcade of America
NBC-Blue: Carson Robison
NBC-Red: AL PEARCE

CBS: Howard and Shelton
NBC-Blue: Those We Love
NBC-Red: Voice of Firestone

CBS: LUX THEATER
NBC-Red: Hour of Charm

NBC-Red: Eddy Duchin

00 CBS: Guy Lombardo

00 NBr.Bl.ie: True or False

00 NBC-Red: The Contented Hour

301 CBS: Columbia Workshop

Al Pearce: a "low-pressure guy" — Arline Harris: 240 words a minute.

Tune-In Bulletin for March

ARCH 27: Ten p.m., Eastern time, a
dramatized story of baseball, NBC-

Blue

April 3: Seven p.m., start listening to
Orphans of Divorce, starring Margaret
Anglin, NBC-Blue, every Monday.

April 10: Eight-thirty p.m. — for comedy,
tune in Tom Howard and George Shelton,
CBS.

April 17: NBC has a baseball roundup —
listen to it and be posted on all the teams.

April 24: Ten a.m., The Nation's School
of the Air, on WLW and Mutual, has its
final broadcast of the season.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Al Pearce and
His Gang, on NBC's Red network from
8:00 to 8:30, E.S.T., with a rebroadcast
reaching the West at 7:30, P.S.T.

This Grape-Nuts sponsored show is prob-
ably the closest thing to an old-time
vaudeville bill you'll find on the air —
minus the acrobats and trained seals.
Everything about it is informal and easy-
going, both on the air and off. Al Pearce
just won't tolerate high-pressure, refers to
himself as a "low-pressure guy".

Some time in the week before the broad-
cast, he calls the cast together and they
calmly map out the coming program and
look over the script prepared by writer
Monroe Upton (Monroe used to be "Lord
Bilgewater" on the show, but nowadays
stays mostly behind the scenes). He does
all the writing except Arlene Harris'
monologue, which she frequently improvises
from her own notes as she goes along, and
the Eb and Zeb sketches, written by Jack
Hasty.

On broadcast day they all meet again
and run through the script once. If there
are changes to be made, Al doesn't bother
having the whole thing rehearsed again,
but just tells the individual performers

27, April 3. 10. 17 and 24:

where they can improve and leaves the
rest to their good judgment, which seldom
fails him.

The Grape Nuts program, while it's in
New York, is broadcast from the roof of
the New Amsterdam Theater on 42nd
Street, long a haven of musical comedies,
revues and other spectacular stage pro-
ductions. Before the doors of this vener-
able old Manhattan landmark horses and
carriages have stopped to emit passen-
gers bent on seeing the glamorous Anna
Held. W. C. Fields and Eddie Cantor
have starred on its stage. Now it's a
combination movie house and radio the-
ater, the latter being on the top floor.

A newcomer to the Pearce show is Vince
Barnett, known as Hollywood's champion
"ribber", or practical jokester. You've
seen him in innumerable pictures — you'll
remember him because he practically al-
ways steals the show out from under the
star's nose.

Once somebody timed Arlene Harris'
rapid-fire word delivery, and discovered
that she talks 240 words a minute. Per-
sonally, she hates people who talk a lot
and say nothing — but her ability to do
that very thing has made her the hit of
the show. Although it's no secret, some
people in the studio audiences are always
surprised to find out that Tizzy Lish, who
gives those insane cooking lessons, is really
a man. "She" is, though — Bill Comstock,
just past forty, blue eyed, gray haired.

One reason everybody in the Pearce
Gang likes his work is that the show gives
him plenty of free travel, and a chance to
live on both edges of the continent. The
Gang leaves for Hollywood early in April.
Al's contract gives him permission to
broadcast either from New York or Holly-
wood, and he avails himself of the option
freely.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

CLAIRE NIESEN — no relation to the exotic Gertrude —
plays Laura in Her Honor, Nancy James, which you hear
on CBS today and every day except Saturday and
Sunday at 12:15, E.S.T. — did such a good job acting a
"bit" in this serial program that the authors decided to
write in a special part for her — something that almost
never happens in radio, so don't get your hopes up —
Claire was born in Phoenix, Ariz., but came to New
York when she was a small child — has studied at the
Feagin School of Dramatics and has appeared on several
other CBS programs — is only eighteen years old.

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Eastern Standard Time

NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

NBC-Red: Radio Rubes

NBC: News

NBC-Blue: Breakfast Club

CBS: Manhattan Mother

CBS: Girl Interne
NBC-Red: Happy Jack

CBS: Bachelor's Children
NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
MBS: School of the Air
NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
NBC-Red: Central City

CBS: Myrt and Marge
NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Blue: Smilin' Ed McConnell

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

CBS: Mary Lee Taylor
NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
NBC-Red: David Harum

CBS: Scattergood Baines
NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life

CBS: Kate Smith Speaks
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

CBS: The Goldbergs

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

CBS: This Day Is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gilmans

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

CBS: School of the Air
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

NBC-Red: Hymns of all Churches

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

CBS: Story of the Song
NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

CBS: Highways to Health
NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

CBS: Highways to Health
NBC -Red: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

CBS: Music for Fun

NBC-Red: Your Family anil Mine

NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong

CBS: The Mighty Show
NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

CBS: News

CBS: Howie Wing

CBS: Foundations of Democracy
NBC-Red: Angler and Hume.

NBC-Blue: Lowell 1 homas

CBS: County Seat
NBC-Blue: Easy Aces

NBC-Red: Amos 'n' Andy

CBS: Jimmie Fidler
NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen
NBC-Red: Vocal Varieties

CBS: HELEN MENKEN

NBC-Red: Emily Pos:

CBS: EDWARD G. ROBINSON
NBC-Blue: The Inside Story
NBC-Red: Johnny Presents

CBS: Dick Powell

NBC-Blue: INFORMATION PLEASE

NBC-Red: For Men Only

CBS: We, The People
NBC-Blue: Mary and Bob
NBC-Red: Battle of the Sexes

CBS: Benny Goodman

NBC-Blue: Doc Rockwell'sBrainTrust

NBC-Red: FIBBER McGEt

CBS: Dr. Christian
NBC-Blue: Cal Tinney
NBC-Red: BOB HOPE
NBC-Red: Uncle Ezra

TUESDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

■ Clifton Fadiman gives his "experts" last-minute instructions.
Tune-In Bulletin for March 28. April 4, 11. 18 and 25:

MARCH 28: Eight-thirty p.m., Dick Pow-
ell is star singer and master of cere-
monies on his second program — he took it
over from Al Jolson last week. CBS.

April 4: Last night to hear Gray Gor-
don's Orchestra from the Edison Green
Room, NBC.

April II: Nine-thirty p.m. — for a satire
on radio's forum and discussion programs,
tune in Doc Rockwell's Brain Trust, NBC-
Blue.

April 18: Two p.m. — the opening game
of the 1939 baseball season, between the
New York Yankees and the Boston Red
Sox, CBS — weather permitting.

April 25: First preview broadcast from
the New York World's Fair, on Mutual.
. . . Jan Garber opens tonight at the
Hotel New Yorker — listen on CBS and
MBS.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Information
Please, on NBC's Blue network at 8:30,
was born in the brain of one Dan Golen-
paul, a professional idea man who never
had a better one. He was listening one
night to a quiz program, and got so bored
at hearing smug questioners make mon-
keys out of ordinary folks that he thought
up a program on which ordinary folks
would quiz the experts. It was as simple
as that, and Information Please, with
Clifton Fadiman, literary critic of the New
Yorker magazine, asking the questions, and
sponsored now bv Canada Dry, was the
result.

The experts are Franklin P. Adams, John
Kieran, Oscar Levant as regulars, plus a
glamorous guest star each week. Adams,
columnist of the New York Post, is the
Shakespearean authority; he seldom misses
on anything connected with the Bard.
John Kieran, sports editor of the New York
Times, is the all-around authority, and

generally raises his hand, which indicates
that he knows the answer, more than any-
one else. Levant, a well-known concert
pianist, is the clown of the gang. He lolls
all over the long table opposite Fadiman,
and sometimes doesn't seem at all inter-
ested in what's going on. When he raises
his hand, it's wearily.

Information Please is always broadcast
from one of NBC's smallest and most inti-
mate studios. A tiny part of the huge
RCA Building, it holds only two hundred
people, and getting a pair of tickets to
the show is about as easy as crashing a
White House dinner. Ten minutes be-
fore the program goes on the air, the
experts are "warmed up" by Fadiman,
who shoots a flock of terrible questions at
them. The answers are invariably funnier
than the ones you hear on the air, but not
so censor-proof.

Fadiman, a small be-spectacled man,
with a pixie face and a tongue as sharp
as Lucifer's sword, is an authority on many
subjects himself, and often knows the
answers without looking at the card in
his hand. The experts think his is a soft
job, just asking questions, but in order to
seem as bright as the other boys he has
to be on his toes and try to top their gags.

The query most often submitted by lis-
teners is "What are the seven wonders of
the world?" It's never been used — too
easy. Many self-styled humorists send in
questions like "What is the best state for
fresh pork? — New Ham Sure." Such ques-
tions go into the nearest waste-basket.

The experts like being on the show, but
are annoyed by the fact that they've sud-
denly become celebrities. Kieran has
hired two bodyguards to stave off people
who phone in to his office or come in
personally to ask him for answers to ques-
tions they've been arguing about.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

ELEANOR PHELPS — who plays the crusading Dr. Susan
Chandler in the CBS serial, Life and Love of Or. Susan,
on the air at 2:15 today in the East, 1:15 in the Midwest,
3:15 in the Rockies, and 2:15 on the coast — Eleanor's
father was the French consul in Baltimore, where she
was born — she went to Vassar, and when George Arliss
played a theatrical engagement in Poughkeepsie, asked
him how she'd go about being an actress — he discouraged
her, but a few years later she was playing Jessica in
his production of "The Merchant of Venice" — this is her
first big radio role, but she's been in Broadway plays.

(For Wednesday's Highlights, please turn page)

RADIO MIRROR

Turn Ifour BEST Face Toward

^£2?

—THE WAY SOCIETY FAVORITES DO!

April in PariS— An American countess stops to
buy a fragrant bouquet. Thinking of sparkling
complexions, the Countess de la Falaise
says: "Pond's is my choice. I use it to help
keep my skin soft and smooth — glowing!"

Spring in the Garden is fun for

Miss Sally Anne Chapman,
Philadelphia deb. Skin care is no
problem to her. "It's so simple
to cleanse and freshen my skin
— with Pond's."

Bevy Of Bridesmaids— Marjorie Fairchild's
attendants are carefree! Jean Stark (ex-
treme left) is quick to grasp the new smart
skin care. "The 'skin-vitamin' is necessary
to skin health. It's thrilling to have it in
Pond's."

Spring HOUSe Party at the University of Virginia. Miss Lucy Armistead Flippin, charm-
ing southern belle, takes "time out" between dances to capture the magic of the night!
"Pond's is traditionally famous. It was a natural choice for me. I use it to soften my
skin so make-up looks glamorous!"

DogWOOd Means Spring— "It's loveliest in Philadelphia," says Mrs. A. J.
Drexel, III. And when skin is lacking in Vitamin A, the "skin-vitamin,"
it gets rough and dry. "That's why this vitamin in Pond's Cold Cream
is such good news to me," she says.

H)sj?S

Vitamin A, the "skin-vitamin," is
necessary to skin health. Skin that
lacks this vitamin becomes rough
and dry. But when "skin-vitamin"
is restored, it helps make skin soft
again. Scientists found that this
vitamin, applied to the skin, healed
wounds and burns quicker. Now this
"skin-vitamin" is in every jar of
Pond's Cold Cream! Use Pond's
night and morning and before make-
up. Same jars, labels, prices.

-$f Statements concerning the effects of the "skin-vitamin" applied to the skin are based upon medical literature and tests
on the skin of animals following an accepted laboratory method.

Eastern Standard Time

z
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NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio
NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn
NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade
NBC-Red: Radio Rubes

CBS: Richard Maxwell

NBC: Press Radio News

M'.i '.m,„. Breakfast Club
NBC-Red: Happy Jack

CBS: Manhattan Mother

NBC-Red. ine Family Man

CBS: Girl Interne

CBS: Bachelor's Children
NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
MBS: School of the Air
NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
NBC-Red: Central City

CBS: Myrt and Marge
NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

CBS: Hilltop House
NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
NBC-Red: David Harum

CBS: Scattergood Baines
NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family
NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown
CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life

CBS: Mary Margaret McBride
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

CBS: The Goldbergs

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
NBC-Red: Let's Talk It Over

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

NBC-Red: Words and Music

CBS: This Day Is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gi„lmans

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Blue: Your Health
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

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2:30 NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

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MBS: Ed Fitzgerald
NBC- Red: Betty Crocker
CBS: Indianapolis Symphony
NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins
NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family
NBC-Blue:Ted Malone
NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

CBS: Of Men and Books
NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife
MBS: Time Out for Dancing
NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade
NBC-Red: Girl Alone
NBC-Red Dick Tracy

CBS: So You Want to Be _j

NBC-Red. Your Family and Mine
NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong
The Mighty Show

WEDNESDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

5:45 CBS. -

5:45 NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

6:00 NBC-Red: Our American Schools

6:15 CBS: Howie Wing

6:30 CBS. Bob Trout

6:30 NBC-Blue: Gulden Serenaders

6:30 NBC-Red: Rose Marie

6:45 CBS: Sophie Tucker

6:45 NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

7:00 CBS: County Seat
7:00 NBC-Blue: Easy Aces
7:00 NBC-Red: Amos 'n' Andy

7:15 CBS: Lum and Abner
7:15 NBC-Blue: Mr. Keen
7:30 CBS Ask-it-Basket
7:30 MBS: The Lone Ranger

8:00 CBS: GANG BUSTERS

8:00 NBC-Red ONE MAN'S FAMILY

8:30 CBS: CHESTERFIELD PROGRAM
8:30 NBC-Blue: Hobby Lobby
8:30 NBC-Red: Tommy Dorsey
9:00 CBS: TEXACO STAR THEATER
9:00 NBC-Red: TOWN HALL TONIGHT
NBC-Blue Wings for the Martins

10:00 CBS: 99 Men and a Girl

10:00 NBC-Red. KAY KYSER'S COLLEGE

10:30 CBS: Edgar A. Guest

Gang Busters' sound-effects: this is a convict on a rock-pile.

Tune-In Bulletin for March

MARCH 29: Hal Kemp's band opens at
the Empire Room of the Waldorf
Hotel — you'll, hear him on CBS and MBS.

April 5: Blue Barron's orchestra opens
at the Green Room of the Edison Hotel —
late at night broadcasts on NBC.

April 12: The feud between Ned Sparks
and Horatio the parrot continues — the
Texaco Star Theater at 9:00, CBS.

April 19: For track fans: the Boston
Marathon race, on NBC.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Gang Busters,
on CBS at 8:00, E.S.T., with a rebroadcast
that reaches the West at 9:00, P.S.T.—
the program that's supposed to strike
terror into the hearts of criminals every-
where. Whether it does or not, it ought
to — the famous Gang Buster clues, broad-
cast near the end of each program, have
so far led to the apprehension of 110
criminals since the show has been on the
air.

Gang Busters originated in the fertile
brain of Phillips H. Lord, who used to
have a lot of fun running the program,
but who now spends more time on an-
other brain child, We, the People. He
still owns Gang Busters, but hires Harry
Frazee, once of Broadway, to direct it.

Most of CBS Studio 3, in the CBS
building at 485 Madison Avenue, where
the broadcast originates, is cluttered and
crowded with sound-effects devices — crazy
looking gadgets, too complicated to de-
scribe, but able to create the illusion of
snow being shoveled, rain pouring down,
bodies being dragged over the ground,
and so on. Shots fired on the program
are actually fired, with blank cartridges.
Ray Kramer is the sound-effects man in
charge.

Gang Busters has no audience. On the
air, the illusion is created that it origi-

29. April 5, 12 and 19:

nates in a police office. It doesn't, but
it could — New York Police Commissioner
Valentine has given Lord permission to
broadcast from his private office any
time Lord likes.

The program has a list of actors that
includes New York's best "accent" men —
actors who can assume a variety of dif-
ferent accents. One week Ed McDonald
played the part of a killer, the police
officer tracking down the killer, and at
last the judge sentencing the criminal.
Any one listening in would have sworn
the three parts were taken by three
different actors. Women are a rare sight
in Gang Busters casts, and when a fem-
inine character appears the other actors
always assume a superior air, because the
poor girl shudders at the gun fire and
finally resorts to cotton wool in her ears
except when she's at the mike.

Colonel Norman Schwartzkopf, former
head of the New Jersey State Police, in-
troduces the program every week and
presents, in dramatic form, the true story
of some crime. He's a gray-haired, ath-
letic-looking chap, who looks very much
the criminal tracker-downer, and gets a
huge kick out of the program. Frazee has
taught him to read lines effectively since
his debut a couple of years ago.

In many cities police chiefs insist that
ail members of the force listen to Gang
Busters every week. But it's the average
citizen who usually picks up a Gang Bust-
ers clue and sends police on a trail that
leads to eventual capture of the criminal.
In cases like this, Gang Busters always
gives credit to the police and stays in the
background, for the reason that the law
is so helpful in digging up cases for Gang
Busters to do on the air, and the program
wants to stay friends and not hog all the
credit.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

JEANNETTE CHINLEY— the luckiest actress in the world,
according to Jeannette herself — plays Libby, the mysteri-
ous impostor, in The Goldbergs, CBS at 1:00 this after-
noon, E.S.T., and got the job in competition with fifty
other actresses — won her first radio job because she
could out-scream other aspirants — acquired her first
Broadway stage part by a chance meeting in an elevator
with producer Max Gordon — but the best luck of all, she
says, was her decision to desert the career of a concert
pianist for the drama — she's titian haired and in her
early twenties.

(For Thursday's Highlights, please turn page)

RADIO MIRROR

"You can't go out like that!" she gasped

I'll never forget Jean's face when she saw that old leather
pocketbook! She couldn't have looked more startled if I'd
appeared in hip boots. "Sally!" — she gasped — "You can't
go out like that ! That valise looks dreadful with your new
silver dress! Where's your brocade evening bag?"

"Listen," I snapped: "I know this looks
awful. But I don't happen to be a magi-
cian! I can't cram powder, lipstick, keys
— and a sanitary napkin — into that little
brocade bag. It just wasn't made for a
crisis like this!"

Jean just laughed. "But you're not going
for the week-end, dopey! I'll give you a
Modess pad — and you'll feel safe enough
without an extra one. Wait — let me
show you something that should calm
your fear of embarrassing accidents . . ."

And she certainly did! She took the "Better yet," she added,"you'll have about

moisture-resistant backing out of a
Modess pad . . . and poured water on
it! Not a drop went through! I saw
that I could rely on Modess for greater
safety.

the most comfortable evening you've
ever known! Look at this soft, fluffy
Modess filler ! See the difference between
'fluff-type' Modess, and those 'layer-
type' pads you've been buying!"

So— I Carried my swank little brocade bag, completely reas-
sured . . . Jean was awake when I got back and she declares
I raved more about Modess than I did about the party!
And why not! It's a great day in a woman's life when she
discovers a sanitary napkin that's both softer and safer , , ,
yet costs as little as Modess does!

Get in the habit of saying"Modess"!

(IF YOU PREFER A NARROWER, SLIGHTLY SMALLER PAD ASK FOR JUNIOR MODESS)

Eastern Standard Time

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NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

Blue: Radio City Four
Glenn

NBC

NBC-Red: Gene and

NBC-Red: Radio Rubes
NBC: Press Radio News

THURSDAY'S HIGHLIGHTS

NBC
NBC-

CBS:
NBC-

Blue: Breakfast Club
Red: Happy Jack

Manhattan Mother
Red:The Family Man

CBS: Girl Interne

CBS:
NBC

Bachelor's Children
Red: Edward MacHugh

10:00
10:00

CBS: Pretty Kitty Kelly
MBS: School of the Air
NBC-Blue: Story of the Month
NBC-Red: Central City

CBS: Myrt and Marge
NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

CBS: Hilltop House

NBC-Blue: Smilin' Ed McConnell

NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

CBS: Mary Lee Taylor
NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
NBC-Red: David Harum

CBS: Scattergood Baines
NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Red: Young Widder Brown

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out of

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life

CBS: Kate Smith Soeaks
NBC-Blue- Southerhaires
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills

CBS: Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

S: The Goldbergs

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

NBC-Red: Words and Music

CBS: This Day Is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gilmans

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
Nb^-Blue: bociai Science
Red Betty and Bob

Dr. Susan
N BC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

CBS: SCHOOL OF THE AIR
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

NBC-Red: Hymns of All Churches

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

CBS: Sonata Recital

NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

NBC-Blue: Sunbrite Smile Parade
NBC-Red Backstage Wife

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

NBC-Red: Dick Tracy

CBS: Let's Pretend
NBC-Blue: Fairy Stories
NBC-Red: Your Family and Mine

NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong

CBS: The Mighty Show
NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

CBS: News

CBS: Howie Wing

CBS: Bob Trout

NBC-Blue: Lowell Thomas

CBS: County Seat
NBC-Blue: Easy Aces
NBC-Red: Amos n' Andy

NBC- Blue: Mr. Keen
NBC-Red: Vocal Varieties

CBS: Joe Penner

CBS: KATE SMITH HOUR
NBC-Blue: Parade of Progress
NBC-Red: RUDY VALLEE

CBS: MAJOR BOWES
NBC-Red: GOOD NEWS OF 1939

-Blue: AMERICA'S TOWN
MEETING

CBS: Walter O'Keefe

NBC-Red: KRAFT MUSIC HALL

NBC-Blue: NBC Minstrel Show

Ted Collins and Kate Smith relax at rehearsal with some coffee.

Tune-In Bulletin for March

AA ARCH 30: Skinnay Ennis1 Orchestra
•VI opens for another season at the Vic-
tor Hugo Cafe in Beverly Hills, Calif., MBS.

April 6: Army Day . . . the networks
have special shows scheduled. . . . Kay
Kyser and his band open the Pennsylvania
Hotel Roof, NBC. . . . Eddy Duchin's
orchestra starts an engagement at the
Palmer House, Chicago, CBS and MBS.

April 13: Ten-thirty to-night — a Na-
tional Safety Program, with Eddie Cantor,
CBS.

April 20: Another baseball game —
Yankees vs. Red Sox — CBS, weather per-
mitting.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Kate Smith
Hour, on CBS at 8:00, E.S.T., with a re-
broadcast reaching the West at 8:30,
P.S.T. — the climax of the longest day any
radio star puts in.

It's eight-thirty any Thursday morning,
and already things are starting in CBS
Radio Theater No. 2, smack in the middle
of Broadway's theater section. Kate Smith
herself is still absent, but the orchestra is
beginning a solid three hours of rehear-
sal. Jack Miller, Kate's band-leader, has
been busy all week, arranging music and
writing original scores when needed, and
now the men of the orchestra are getting
their first look at his work. A few hours
of rehearsal is all they need for a perfect
performance, for some of radio's top-
notchers are in this band — Charlie Mar-
golis, trumpet; Jack Jenney, trombone;
Johnny Williams, drums; Jack Zayde, vio-
lin, to mention just a few.

It's ten, and Kate arrives from her Park
Avenue apartment, going straight to her
private dressing room. Ted Collins is
here now too, and he and Kate go over
Kate's script for her noonday commen-
tating show for Diamond Salt. By noon

30, April 6, 13 and 20:

the orchestra has finished rehearsal and
left, and Kate steps out on the stage,
wearing a white bungalow apron over her
dress. With her are Ted Collins and her
guest, the stage or screen star who is
also to be on the program tonight. Kate
gives her fifteen-minute talk — then hustles
back to the dressing room for more con-
ferences, and for lunch, which she always
brings with her in a basket.

At one-thirty the orchestra drifts back,
Ted Straeter's choir arrives, and the af-
ternoon rehearsal goes on until after five.
Kate has already rehearsed her songs, on
Tuesday and on Saturday; now she fits
them to the orchestral accompaniment.
The Aldrich Family sketch, Abbott and
Costello's comedy skit, and the guest
star's dramatic spot are fitted into the
whole show, which is then timed.

Back in her dressing room, Kate takes a
shower, changes into an evening dress,
drinks a cup of tea or coffee. Ted Collins
goes to his dressing room, calls in a
barber for a shave and haircut, changes
from the gray slacks and blue polo-shirt
which are his invariable rehearsal costume
into white tie and tails.

After the first broadcast, from eight
1c nine, Kate and Ted and sometimes the
guest star have dinner sent in from a
nearby restaurant and sit around talking
or listening to other programs on Kate's
radio until eleven-thirty, time for the
West Coast show. It's usually one-thirty
or two before Kate leaves the theater.

Seventy-two people, counting the or-
chestra and the vocal chair, are needed to
get the Kate Smith Hour on the air every
Thursday for the sponsors, Calumet Baking
Powder and Swansdown Flour. Collins is
the only man in radio who's producer,
manager and announcer, all three, of a
program.

(For

SAY HELLO TO . . .

VIRGINIA JONES— called "Ginger" by her friends— who
plays Mildred in The Carters of Elm Street on NBC-Red
at noon, E.S.T. — two years ago was working as a ballet
dancer and dreaming of the time she'd be a dramatic
star — now achieves her ambition via radio — she's a blue-
eyed blonde — gets mike fright something fierce every
time she begins a broadcast — but says she can ride in
the back seat of an automobile going eighty miles an
hour without turning a hair — doesn't seem to make sense,
somehow, but there it is — was born twenty-three years
ago in Kinderhook, Illinois — and weighs 118 pounds.

Friday's Highlights, please turn page)

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00 10,
3010

Eastern Standard Time

00 NBC-Red: Milt Herth Trio

15 NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

CBS. Richard Maxwell
NBC: Press Radio News

NBC-Blue: Breakfast Club
NBC-Red: Happy Jack

CBS: Manhattan Mother
NBC-Red Family Man

CBS: Girl Interne
NBC- Blue Smile Parade

CBS Bachelor's Children

CBS. Pretty Kitty Kelly
MRS: School of the Air
NBC-Blue: Smilin' Ed McConnell
NBC-Red: Central City

CBS: Myrt and Marge
NBC-Blue: Jane Arden
NBC-Red: John's Other Wife

CBS: Hilltop House
NBC-Red: Just Plain Bill

CBS: Stepmother

NBC-Blue: Houseboat Hannah

NBC-Red: Woman in White

NBC-Blue: Mary Marlin
NBC-Red: David Harum

CBS. Scattergood Baines
NBC-Blue: Vic and Sade
NBC-Red: Lorenzo Jones

CBS: Big Sister

NBC-Blue: Pepper Young's Family

NBC- Red: Young Widder Brown

CBS: Aunt Jenny's Stories
NBC-Blue: Getting the Most Out oi

Life
NBC-Red: Road of Life

CBS: Mary Margaret McBricie
NBC-Red: Carters of Elm Street

CBS: Her Honor, Nancy James
NBC-Red: The O'Neills

FRIDAY S

d i \ : :-,< ^

CBS Romance of Helen Trent
NBC-Blue: Farm and Home Hour
NBC-Red: Time for Thought

CBS: Our Gal Sunday

CBS The Goldbergs

CBS: Life Can Be Beautiful
NBC-Blue: Goodyear Farm News
NBC-Red: Let's Talk It Over

CBS: Road of Life

NBC-Blue: Peables Takes Charge

NBC-Red: Words and Music

CBS: This Day Is Ours
NBC-Red: Those Happy Gil mans

CBS: Doc Barclay's Daughters
NBC-Blue: MUSIC APPRECIATION
NBC-Red: Betty and Bob

CBS: Dr. Susan

NBC-Red: Arnold Grimm's Daughter

CBS: School of the Air
NBC-Red: Valiant Lady

MBS: Ed Fitzgerald
NBC-Red: Betty Crocker

NBC-Red: Mary Marlin

NBC-Red: Ma Perkins

CBS: Keyboard Concert
NBC-Red: Pepper Young's Family

NBC-Blue: Ted Malone
NBC-Red: The Guiding Light

NBC-Blue: Club Matinee
NBC-Red: Backstage Wife

NBC-Red: Stella Dallas

NBC-Red: Vic and Sade

NBC-Red: Girl Alone

NBC- Red: Dick Tracy

CBS: Men Behind the Stars
NBC-Red: Your Family and Mine

CBS: March of Games
NBC-Red: Jack Armstrong

CBS. The Mighty Show
NBC-Red: Little Orphan Annie

CBS: News

CBS: Howie Wing

CBS. Bob Trout

NBC-Blue: Gulden Serenades

NBC-Red: Invitation to Romance

CBS Sophie Tucker
NBC-Blue Lowell Thomas

CBS: County Seat
NBC-Blue: Bert Lytell
NBC-Red: Amos 'n' Andy

CBS. Lum and Abner
NBC-Red Jimmie Fidlcr

CBS. Jack Haley

MBS The Lone Ranger

CBS. FIRST NIGHTER
MBS: What's My Name
NBC-Blue: Warden Lawes
NBC-Red: Cities Service Concert

CBS: BURNS AND ALLEN
NBC-Blue: NSC Jamboree

CBS: CAMPBELL PLAYHOUSE
NBC-Blue: Plantation Party
NBC-Red: Waltz Time

NBC-Blue: March o. Time

NBC-Red: Death Valley Days

CBS: Grand Central Station
NBC-Red: Lady Esther Serenade

Red' Uncle Ezra

Orson Welles holds a first rehearsal of a Friday-night script.
Tune-In Bulletin for March 24, 31, April 7, 14 and 21:

kA ARCH 24: Say goodby to two favorite
'"* serial programs today — Don Winslow
at 5:30 and Tom Mix at 5:45, both on
NBC-Blue— they'll be back next fall.

March 3 1 : A new show for your approval
— Bob Ripley starring on CBS at 10:30
P.M., starting tonight. . . . Henry Arm-
strong fights at Madison Square Garden
tonight— listen on NBC-Blue at 10:00,
E.S.T.

April 7: Those fascinating Liberty Mag-
azine short-short stories are dramatized on
NBC-Blue at 7:00 tonight— with Bert Ly-
tell in the starring roles.

April 14: Time to laugh — tune in Burns
and Allen at 8:30 on CBS.

April 21: The New York Giants open
their season in New York, playing Phila-
delphia.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: The Campbell
Playhouse, starring Orson Welles, on CBS
from 9:00 to 10:00 — one of radio's most
satisfactory dramatic programs.

Even if you're a New Yorker, or come to
New York on a visit, you'll never see a
Campbell Playhouse broadcast. It's one
of the few big-time programs that doesn't
go in for studio audiences, and it would
take something like a Supreme Court order
to get you into the studio. Young Mr.
Welles maintains that he's putting on a
show for radio listeners, not for people to
watch, and that an audience would spoil
the illusion. He's an experienced illusion-
maker (remember those Martians?) so he
must know what he's talking about.

The Campbell Playhouse goes on the
air from Columbia's Studio X, which your
Snooper is sure you've never heard about
before now. Studio X is the ballroom of
Liederkranz Hall, an old-fashioned red
brick building on 58th Street. Its ceiling
is decorated with fat pink cupids riding on

gilded clouds, and the whole thing is very
magnificent and not a bit modern — yet the
room has better acoustic properties than
many a scientifically constructed sound
studio. In one section of the vast room
CBS has built a small studio, complete
with windows and a roof of its own. The
actors work in it, while the orchestra and
some of the sound-effects are outside, in
the hall itself.

Orson Welles stands on a platform be-
side a window, inside the small studio,
where he can keep one eye on the or-
chestra, one on the actors, one on the
sound effects, one — Well, the idea is
that he sees everything that's going on,
and gives all the cues himself.

Three and sometimes four sound-effects
men are kept busy by the show. Crowd
noises are usually done outside the small
studio, normal sound-effects inside. Ac-
tors who are working in crowd noises and
also playing parts often have to run like
mad from the inner studio to the outer
one, and vice versa.

Regulars on the Campbell Playhouse
cast, heard every Friday, are Ray Collins,
star of CBS's County Seat serial; Alice
Frost, star of Big Sister; Myron McCor-
mick, who has been in fourteen Broadway
productions and has a leading part in
the new movie, "... one third of a
nation . . . "; Everett Sloane, who is
Sammy in The Goldbergs and Louis in
Big Sister; and Carl Frank, who is Bob
Deering in Her Honor, Nancy James.

Orson loves to work and has energy
enough for ten ordinary people. While he
was on tour with his own production of
"Five Kings", which he edited h-imself
from material in half-a-dozen of Shake-
speare's plays, he rushed back to New York
every Friday to direct and play in that
week's broadcast.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

CATHERINE McCUNE— who came all the way from
Honolulu to be one of Chicago's foremost radio actresses
— plays the role of Clara Potts on Columbia's serial,
Scattergood Baines, broadcast in the East at 11:15 this
morning and in the West at 2:00 this afternoon, Western
time — was almost a child prodigy, getting her high school
diploma at the age of 14 — was educated in California,
and was prominent for years in Pacific Coast radio pro-
ductions as well as in stage productions — toured with
Katharine Cornell and was with De Wolfe Hopper in
"The Mikado."

(For Saturday's Highlights, please turn page)

RADIO MIRROR

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Radio Star,
now appearing
on the "Texaco

Star Theatre"

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a
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NBC-Blue: Cloutier's Orch
NBC-Red: MiltHerth Ti-io

NBC-Blue Dick Leibert
NBC-Red: Gene and Glenn

NBC-Red: Musical Tete-a-tete
NBC-Blue Jack and Loretta
NBC: Press Radio News

NBC-Blue Breakfast Club
NBC-Red: Happy Jack

CBS: Montana Slim

NBC-Red: Saturday Morning Club

CBS: News

NBC-Red: Edward MacHugh

CBS: Hill Billy Champions
NBC-Blue Smilin' Ed McConnell
NBC-Red: The Wise Man

NBC-Blue: Amanda Snow
NBC-Red: No School Today

CBS: Four Corners Theater
NBC-Blue: Swing Serenade
NBC-Red: Florence Hale

NBC-Blue: The Child Grows Up
NBC-Red: KSTP Presents

CBS: Symphony Concert
NBC-Blue: Music Internationale
NBC-Red: Betty Moore

NBC-Blue: Our Barn

NBC-Red: Eastman School of Music

CBS: KATE SMITH SPEAKS
NBC-Blue: Education Forum
NBC-Red: Cloutier Orch.

NBC-Blue: Farm Bureau
NBC-Red: Call to Youth

NBC-Red: Matinee in Rhythm
NBC-Red: Calling Stamp Collectors

5:30
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9:00
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^Kisi^i^::BPi;aia^rc:

CBS: Moods for Moderns
NBC-Blue: Kinney .Orch.
NBC-Red: Campus Notes

NBC-Blue: Frank Dailey Orch.
NBC-Blue: Kavelin Orch.
NBC-Blue: Al Roth
NBC-Blue: Club Matinee

NBC-Blue: Erskin Hawkins Orch.
NBC-Red: Cosmopolitan Rhythm

NBC-Red: Youth Meets Government
NBC-Blue: Southwestern Stars

CBS: News

NBC-Red: Kaltenmeyer Kinder-
garten

6:30
6:30

7:00
7:00
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8:00
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CBS: Dance Orchestra
NBC-Blue: El Chico Revue

CBS: Saturday Swing Session
NBC-Blue: Renfrew of the Mounted

CBS: Americans At Work
NBC-Blue: Message of Israel
NBC-Red: Avalon Time

CBS: Joe E. Brown

NBC-Blue: Uncle Jim's Question Bee

NBC-Red: Lives of Great Men

CBS: JOHNNY PRESENTS
NBC-Red: TOMMY RIGGS
CBS: Professor Quiz
NBC-Blue: Brent House

CBS: Phil Baker

9:00
9:00

9:30
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NBC-Blue: National Barn Dance
NBC-Red: Vox Pop

CBS: Saturday Night Serenade
NBC-Red: Hall of Fun

CB& YOUR HIT PARADE
NBC-Blue: NBC-SYMPHONY

NBC-Red: Dance Music

■ Complete with Hawaiian background: Phil Baker and "Bottle."

Tune-In Bulletin for March

K^ARCH 25: Mutual has an hour-long
'"■ short-wave broadcast from London,
put on by the British Broadcasting Com-
pany— three to four this afternoon, E.S.T.

Guest stars on Walter Gross' Swing
Club, CBS, at 6:30, are Kay Thompson and
Jack Jenney.

April I : Those waggish networks are
celebrating April Fool's Day today.

April 8: Emil Coleman opens tonight on
the Waldorf's Starlight Roof— with a CBS
wire. . . . Joe Zuti opens at the Nicollet
Hotel, Minneapolis — another CBS wire.

April 15: Must-listen for baseball fans
— Play Ball, Mutual's yearly tour of the big
baseball centers, featuring interviews with
the big-league managers and players.
Seven-thirty to eight tonight.

April 22: Hedda Hopper, of the movies,
stars tonight in Brent House, a weekly
serial on NBC-Blue at 8:30.

ON THE AIR TONIGHT: Honolulu
Bound, with Phil Baker (and his accordion),
Bottle, his "valet", The Man in the Box,
Johnny Pineapple, the Andrews Sisters,
and Eddie DeLange's orchestra with Elisse
Cooper — on CBS at 9:00, E.S.T. Its home
is CBS Radio Theater No. 4, the medium-
sized one, a handsome red, gold and ivory
auditorium. The stage backdrop for the
program is a painted strip of Waikiki
Beach, with Diamond Head in the far
distance — which is unusual in radio shows.
Usually they use drapes or acoustically
treated white panels. The Hawaiian at-
mosphere is part of what they call in radio
"sponsor identification." Hawaii, you
know, is where pineapples grow. Honolulu
Bound's sponsor is the Hawaiian Pineapple
Co. Get it?

Johnny Pineapple, who reads comedy
lines and sings an occasional song on the
program, is more sponsor identification.

25, April 1, 8, 15 and 22:

He's a native Hawaiian, named David
Kaonohi, who studied at the Oregon State
Agricultural College but soon dropped
that to form a Hawaiian orchestra, which
he still leads between broadcasts.

Because Phil Baker is one of radio's
most dignified and reserved comedians,
Ben Larson, the producer of the program,
calls him "Mr. Baker" and he returns the
compliment with a "Mr. Larson." Phil
takes his radio work seriously — paces the
stage nervously between sessions at the
mike.

McNaughton lives in Great Neck with
his bride of almost a year, the former
Marion Turpie, champ golfer. Harry's a
crack golfer himself, and since he's been
married his handicap has fallen from 12,
which is good, to 7, which is remarkable.

The Man in the Box, who is none other
than your old friend Beetle, the ghost, in
the flesh, actually sits in one of the
theater boxes, with a microphone of his
own over which he can heckle Baker. He's
Ward Wilson, who likes the present ar-
rangement better than when he was Beetle.

Both McNaughton and Eddie DeLange
have had costume-trouble on Honolulu
Bound. McNaughton's sick of the bright-
blue butler's costume he's worn for so
many years, and when Honolulu Bound
opened he thought he'd persuaded the
sponsor to let him wear striped trousers
and a morning coat. He hadn't, though —
after the first broadcast they came around
and asked him please, as a favor, to wear
the monkey-suit. DeLange wears radio's
strangest rehearsal costume — a sleeveless
sweatshirt, a red bandanna around his
neck, slacks, and a red corduroy "lumber-
jack" cap. The wish of his heart is to
wear the same getup during a broadcast,
but he isn't allowed to — has to wear a
palm beach suit, with a necktie.

SAY HELLO TO . . .

KAY LORRAINE— Ash-blonde singer on Your Hit Parade,
on CBS tonight at 10:00 — was chosen to be the Parade's
featured star after 207 other girls had auditioned for
the job — born in St. Louis, she studied piano seven years
and guitar three years in hopes of getting into a band
after she finished at exclusive Rosati-Kain school — got
into a band, but as a singer — had her own program,
Lyrics by Lorraine, on KMOX when the Lucky Strike
people heard of her — is married to Ray Sweeney, script
writer whom she met while she was at KMOX — sang in
hotels and night clubs before joining the KMOX staff.

RADIO MIRROR

PUT THE

BEE

ONYOURSPELLING

ARE you a champion speller? — or do
ytA you just wish you were ? In either
* * case, here's a list of words that
will give you some uneasy moments he-
fore you get the correct spelling.
They're supplied by Paul Wing, Master
of the NBC Spelling Bee, broadcast
every Sunday afternoon at 5:30 E.S.T.,
and sponsored by the makers of
Energine.

Only one of the three suggested
spellings is the right one. Mark the
words you think are correct, then turn
to page 64 for the answers.

1. Omnisciency — omniciency — omni-
tiency. Universal knowledge or learn-
ing.

2. Harelip — hairlip — heirlip. A con-
genially divided lip; commonly an
upper one.

3. Sparcity — sparceity — sparsity.
Scantiness; want of plenty.

4. Piccililli — piccalilli — picalilli. A
pickle of chopped vegetables and pun-
gent spices.

5. Sherbet — shurbet — sherbert. A
water ice.

6. Skeedaddle — skedaddle — skidaddle.
To scurry; to scamper.

7. Marriageable — marrageable — mar-
riagable. Of an age at which marriage
is allowable.

8. Aseverations — asseverations — as-
servations. Positive affirmations.

9. Decalcomania- — dechalcomania — di-
calcomania. Act or process of transfer-
ring pictures or designs by a special
method.

10. Percolators — perculators — perco-
laters. Coffee pots in which coffee is
made by the filter method.

11. Dentafrice — - dentrifice — denti-
frice. A preparation used in cleaning
teeth

12. Dutchee — duchy — dutchy. The
territory or dominions of a duke.

13. Languerous — languorous — langor-
ous. Listless; indolent.

14. Nihilism — niahilism — nihillism. A
destructive social doctrine.

15. Objergate — objugate — objurgate.
To chide; to reprove.

16. Quidnunk — quidnunc — quidnunck.
A gossip; a curious person.

17. Horral — houral — horal. Hourly;
of or pertaining to the hours.

18. Maxillary — maxilary — maxalarry.
Pertaining to the jaw bone (loosely).

19. Baccanalian — bacchanalian —
bachanalian. Characterized by reveling
and drunkenness.

20. Pretterist — pretorist — preterist.
One who lives in the past.

21. Gimmick — gimac — gimmic. A
piece of apparatus used in magic.

22. Mettatarsis — metatarsus — meta-
tarsis. The part of the foot which in
man forms the instep.

23. Marquise — marquees — marquises.
Canopies projecting over entrances, as
of theaters, for example.

24. Dossier — doscier — docier. A col-
lection of detailed information, usually
concerning a criminal or criminals.

25. Armadilloes — armadillos — arma-
diloes. Animals having bodies and heads
encased in armor of bony plates.

CI TOLD YOU THAT MARRIAGE
WOULD HIT THE ROCKS . . .

SUSAN: Mercy me, this telegram says our
newly weds are in trouble again! Mollie wants
to pack her bags and come here.

MATILDA: I told you that marriage would
hit the rocks if she didn't get wise to herself.
Come on — we haven't a minute to lose!

SUSAN : But I'm scared to death of these flying
machines. Why can't we send Mollie a tele-
gram instead?

MATILDA: Don't be a ninny! I've told her a
million times Jack wouldn't nag so much if
she'd only keep tattle-tale gray out of his shirts
and things. Now I'm going to show her how
to do it.

SUSAN : H-m-m-m! I'm not frightened a bit any
more. We ought to do more flying, Matilda.

MATILDA : The next flying we'll do is on our
feet— straight to Mollie's and then to her gro-
cer's. Once she stops using those weak-kneed
soaps that leave dirt behind — and changes to
Fels-Naptha Soap— she'll be rid of tattle-tale
gray in a jiffy!

MOLLIE: Hey, forget those dancers a minute
and look at Jack's shirt. It's just marvelous
how white my washes look since Fels-Naptha's
richer golden soap and gentle naftha went to

work for me. Not a trace of tattle-tale gray now !

JACK: That isn't all the good news, darling.
Did you tell these two cupids we're taking
another honeymoon cruise?

BANISH "TATTLE-TALE GRAY"

with FELS-NAPTHA SOAP!

COPR. 1939, FELS & CO.

TUNE IN! HOBBY LOBBY

every Wed. night. See local
paper for time and station.

RADIO MIRROR

FUSSY HUSBANDS
EAT LEFT-OVERS
AND LOVE THEM

prepared this savory way!

Have you some left-over meat, some cooked
vegetables? Make Crispy Meat Patties
(recipe below)— see how tempting and flavor-
ful! For Franco-American Spaghetti with its
wonderful cheese-and-tomato sauce (made with
eleven different ingredients)transforms left-overs
into luxury dishes. Serve Franco-American as
a main dish, too. It's highly nourishing, rich
in energy. No work to prepare, simply heat.
A can (3 to 4 portions) costs only ten cents.

CRISPY MEAT PATTIES

Vz cup bread crumbs
1 cup chopped, cooked
vegetables (carrots,
beets, peas)
1 teaspoon Worcester-
shire sauce
% teaspoon salt

1 cup ground left-
over meat

1 egg, slightly beaten
with 1Y2 tablespoons
cold water

1 can Franco-American
Spaghetti

Chop Franco-American Spaghetti fine and
mix with vegetables, Worcestershire, salt
and ground meat. Shape into cakes, dip in
bread crumbs, then in beaten egg and again
in crumbs. Chill 20 minutes in refrigerator.
Saute in hot fat (375°F.) 1 inch deep in a
heavy frying pan until brown on each side.
Drain on ahsorbent paper.

Franco-American

MADE BY THE MAKERS OF CAMPBELL'S SOUPS

SPAGHETTI

VTHE MAKERS OF CAMPBEI

&atSot FREE Tkripe. 7&oA

Campbell Soup Company, Dept. 45

Camden, New Jersey. Please send me your free recipe

book: "30 Tempting Spaghetti Meals."

Name (print)-

Address-

Land of the Free

(Continued from page 11)

City-

_State.

efforts (three guns to one) it is plain
that they believe they can bluff the
individuals in a Democracy out of
their freedom — or that the individuals
in a Democracy are afraid to fight
for it.

In each case — they are mistaken.
Firstly, the bluff of building arma-
ments finds the people of the Democ-
racies united, for no thinking man
would ask his brother to face a mad-
man, without guns. Secondly, men in
this Democracy cannot be bluffed out
of their freedom, because no real
American could live without it. And,
finally, it is the historic mistake of
Dictators, that they believe a nation,
united by arms, can triumph over a
nation united in spirit.

* * *

Anthony Eden will always be affec-
tionately remembered as the one For-
eign Secretary — who didn't take dic-
tation.

* * *

A century and a half ago, the found-
ers of America dreamed a great
dream. They dreamed of passing
down to their children the priceless
gifts of the New World, personal lib-
erty and religious freedom, through a
Constitution which would stand the
test of time. They brought to their
work their best wisdom, for they
knew that a man's ideals are his only
real legacy. They knew that a nation
cannot live if it cannot grow, and that
it cannot grow if its soul is in prison.
They saw that the freedom of the na-
tion rested on the freedom of its
smallest man. And further, they saw
that the new nation could exist only
if the people accepted it in their
hearts. And so they wisely decided
that the way to bring America to all
was to give it to each!

Then, they proclaimed to the world
that in this new country, no man
could be punished except for his own
fault, and that his soul was as free as
he chose to make it. They proclaimed
that before the law of this land, all
men were equal, regardless of race,
color or religious belief.

Deliberately, these men staked the
future of America on respect for the
Individual. Deliberately, they ruled
that no law could be made for one
man that did not apply to all men!
Deliberately, they placed the hope of
the nation in each man's soul. And
deliberately — they depended on the
response from the dignity of each
man's spirit. The long years have
vindicated the faith of our nation's
founders. Today, their work is Amer-
ica's indestructible foundation. To-
day, the Constitution is held sacred
by every American — because every
American is held sacred by his Con-
stitution! And they have proved, for-
ever, that the only way to build a
permanent nation is to put the cor-
nerstone in each man's heart.
* * *

Every American should look about
him and weigh what it means to be an
American. Lest we forget, we should
remind ourselves that the America of
today stands for 150 years of effort.
Lest we forget, we should remember
that the land and institutions we
enjoy today are the result of the com-
bined work of almost every race
and creed in the world — all resolved
to leave America better than they
found it.

For America has grown great be-
cause it protected the lowly. Ameri-
ica has grown mighty, because it was
humble in spirit. Our greatest heroes,
Washington and Lincoln, are exalted
— because they were human.

We should all be thankful that in
Civilization's darkest hour, our Coun-
try is the land that stands for Free-
dom, Tolerance, and the Dignity of
Man. That to the bewildered, op-
pressed and homeless, our country is
the living proof that men of all races
and creeds may live as neighbors.
And, out of our thankfulness, we too
should resolve to bequeath an Amer-
ica greater than when it was given to
us. So that our children's children,
one hundred and fifty years from now, .
will be thankful that we were thank-
ful!

* * *

The people who kick about our
Government should try living under
governments that kick the people!

AS you know, from reading your
front pages, Mankind is in a
death race. The jockeys are the Gov-
ernments of Europe. Under the whip
and the bayonet, they are forcing
their people to manufacture and
shoulder guns. And they are using
old feuds, under new colors, to spur
on their younger generation, so that
their younger generation will demand
dying, in the name of phoney glory.

In the final analysis, ladies and
gentlemen, that is their problem, not
ours. Europe's only hope is to fool
Americans with propaganda. We once
got into one of their brawls, and for
reasons not quite clear — although the
years have clarified the issue. The
only thing worth fighting for — is
America! As for their theories, the
Americans have a word for them —
"Bunk!" B, as in Baloney — U, as in
U-said-it— N, as in Nothing Doing —
and K, as in Horsefeathers. The
President is right! America must re-
arm— not because Americans like
force, but to stop others from forcing
Americans to like anything!

"Archie," chief heckler on CBS's
Sunday show, "This Is New York,"
is Ed Gardner, the show's producer

RADIO MIRROR

Over one thousand, nine hundred
and thirty-eight years ago, a Man was
born, whose simple teachings and
ideals are the measure of how much
Man has failed. For Mankind has
erected a complicated Civilization and
has invented all kinds of machinery
to make his physical life better. But
in doing so, Man has multiplied the
ills of his spirit. For, as a race, we
have tried nearly everything but the
simple lesson of the Great Teacher:
Do Unto Others as You Would Have
Others Do Unto You.

But He urged all to have faith and
hope. . . . And the only faith and
hope left — is that all men will finally
accept His charity in their hearts.

* * *

I sincerely believe that the teaching
of all religions is this: That if a man
has faith in his own belief, he will be-
lieve in another man's faith!

* * *

TONIGHT your newsboy is micro-
phoning from the beautiful and
tropical Southland, at Miami Beach,
Florida, where Broadway and many
New Yorkers flee in the wintertime.
And once more, ladies and gentlemen,
what Americans regard as common-
place, demonstrates the majesty of
this country. For a journey of the
same distance in Europe would in-
volve at least four passports and six
spy systems. But from the pines in
the North to the palms in the South,
we are a United People.

Every possible variation of nature,
from the snow-capped peaks to the
sun-kissed beaches, makes America
a natural miracle. And the man-
made miracle Is that our Constitution
makes it available to all. Our United
States have a thousand borders, with
refugees hurrying over none of them.
Our cities provide a thousand camps
— to receive vacationists, not the po-
litically persecuted. And no pass-
ports are needed — because the only
duties of our American police are to
assist the traveler on his way.

* * *

Be glad that we all have a Presi-
dent who puts the Dictators in their
place — instead of trying to take his
place with the Dictators.

* * *

Each man may worship, in America,
in his own way. Until the dark clouds
of Dictatorships came, this was re-
garded as a self-evident rule of Civil-
ization. Common-sense told us that
there could be no greater impudence
than for a government to dictate
what forms were acceptable to the
Almighty. All history teaches that it
fails in jurisdiction — as it fails in
practice.

For God, to all people, only begins
when all that man can bring has
failed. No cabinet can comfort a sick
child in the night. Nor did any group
of legislators ever heal a mother's
heart. And no Dictator can give re-
lief— from a guilty conscience!

And so let us rejoice that our Coun-
try recognizes the limitations of gov-
ernment, for our Constitution guar-
antees that no man will be harmed
because of his religious beliefs. But
let us thank God, and God alone, that
the soul he gave each of us is beyond
the power of all of us. And that the
Jaw within each man is stronger than
all governments without law. Heavy
guns can stop a fleet. Barbed wire
can stop an army. Gas bombs can
terrorize a city. But, Mr. and Mrs.
America — they cannot stop a people's
prayers!

"Suffering cats, Judy, did you hear the door slam? Daddy is fit to be tied. How
long's that baby next door been crying, anyway? Something's got to be done or
we'll all be in the doghouse!"

"Now, Joan, keep your shirt on. Listen— I'll tell you something . . ."

. . . that's a prickly heat cry if I ever heard one. And I told Mother to run over with
Our Johnson's Baby Powder and put some Where it Will Do the Most Good. A
silky, cooling Johnson's rubdown— that's the way to make him pipe down, I said.
So she's over there now . . ."

"look at Daddy— isn't he a scream? He can't make out why the noise has stopped."
. . ."Minute ago he wanted to smack that baby— now he's scared somebody really
has". . ."Don't look so worried, Daddy! It was just Johnson's Baby Powder!"

"Feel a pinch of our Johnson's— isn't it
slick? Such nice soft, soft talc— and no
orris-root either. Won't you get some?
It's such an inexpensive way to make
a baby happy!"

JOHNSON'S
BABY POWDER

Johnson & Johnson, New Brunswick, N. J.

RADIO MIRROR

7 SECOND

M YSTE RY

HERE'S HOW she does it. She
keeps a package of this famous
Beech-Nut peppermint gum in the
car. Great thing to relieve tension
in traffic, says she. ^

Beech -Nut

Visit the Beech-Nut Building at the New York
WorW^s Fair. If you drive, stop at Canajoharie,
N. Y. and see how Beech-Nut products an made.

You Can't Take Life Away from

ALEC TEMPLETON

Although blind from birth, Alec never found him-
self handicapped. He's enjoyed life to the full.

By ANNEMARIE EWING

LISTEN to Alec Templeton's cheerful
voice as he announces his own
1 piano contributions to one of the
numerous programs which frequently
have him as a guest star. Listen, for
instance, while he swaps banter with
Bing Crosby on the Kraft Music Hall.

Or watch him at rehearsal — a slen-
der, brown-haired young man who is
always the center of a group of laugh-
ing people.

Or on the beach at Seaside Park,
New Jersey, where he spends the
summers, discussing sports, politics,
radio, movies, sunburn cures, "swing"
music with his neighbors. You
couldn't miss it. Alec Templeton is
having a wonderful time out of life.

Yet there are many people who
might say, "What's he got to be so
happy about?" And at first you might
think they are right, because Alec
Templeton has been blind from birth.

"Life wouldn't be worth living!''
perhaps you'd say. "I'd rather be dead
than face life with such a handicap!"

That isn't the way Alec looks at it.

For blindness has never been a
handicap to him. He has never
thought of himself as handicapped,
which may be one of the reasons
why others do not think of him that
way. And one of the reasons why
life, to him, is so worth while.

He doesn't find anything remark-
able about this attitude of his. He
never indicates at all that he considers
himself unusual for having become a
radio headliner, an international per-
sonality, a great artist, a joy to his
family, a charming friend and good
companion in spite of being blind.

The story goes way back — nearly
twenty-five years — to the time when
Alec was four.

Naturally, he had already discov-
ered that there were things he could
not do because he couldn't see. But
he had also discovered, for one thing,
that he could make very pretty sounds
on his mother's piano in the parlor
and, for another, that he knew some
things better than other people for
the very reason that he couldn't see.

He knew the garden better than
his brother and his two sisters did.
He knew the smell of the ripening
berries which they never noticed. He
knew the exact rhythm of the hoofs
of Dolly, the pony. He was aware of
the quiet good night sounds of the
nursery as few children are. Nothing
was too slight for his eager ears to
note.

He put it all into a happy little song
one day — a song which he called
"Mother's Lullaby." It was his first-
expression of what he thought of a
world which might very well have
seemed to him a very hostile, unhappy
place. But didn't.

That little song made his whole
family realize that his blindness was
never going to be a handicap to Alec.
Rather a help and an asset.

It only remained for more people
to find this out.

One of the first to do so was the
conductor of the symphony orchestra
in his native Cardiff, Wales.

He needed a soloist for a local con-
cert. Rather apologetically, he said to
Alec's mother, "I'd love to have Alec.
But there's less than a week before
the concert. He'd never be able to
learn. . . ."

The sixteen-year-old boy didn't
even let him finish.

"I can do it. I don't have to use
notes. You bring me the phonograph

RADIO MIRROR

records and I'll play the concerto for
you tomorrow!"

He did, too. In one day he learned
the "Emperor" concerto of Beethoven
— a composition which takes more
than half an hour to play and one
to which most students devote a
year's study.

And he learned it just from listen-
ing to the phonograph records. The
conductor, amazed, could only say,
"Why he learns more quickly without
eyes than most people do with them!"

Blindness a handicap? Not to Alec
Templeton!

It was no handicap to him at
Worcester College, either, where he
made a brilliant record in languages,
learned to swim, and to look forward
to his "holidays" as much as any
other collegian.

Nor at the Royal College of Music
in London where he studied to give
his first piano concert in London's
famous Aeolian Hall.

DUT just playing other people's
•^ music wasn't enough for Alec Tem-
pleton. He wanted, above all, to ex-
press his own complete joy in living,
his understanding of everything that
went on around him. Just because he
couldn't see was no reason, in his
mind, why he should not be able to
grasp the personality of, say, some
French cabaret singer. Or the annoy-
ance of a man who was having trouble
with his "wireless."

He amused himself by doing his
own impressions of such people at
the piano — describing things about
them that were not always apparent
to those who could see.

Jack Hylton, the English orchestra
leader, heard him doing this one night
at a party at the Templetons' Ken-
sington home.

"I've never heard anybody do that
on the piano," was his immediate
reaction. "I'd like you to play with
my orchestra."

That was just the beginning. Soon
the name Alec Templeton was known
all over Europe.

In America, it was the same story.
Audiences at the Rainbow Room at
Rockefeller Center heard him, paused
a moment in delighted surprise, and
then clamored for more Templeton.

People still do that. They stand
around his piano in radio studios be-
tween rehearsals, clamoring for more
Templeton. They bag him to do his
imitation of Louis Armstrong's trum-
pet, of two pianos playing "Lost," of
Boake Carter singing "Goody Goody."

This last, by the way, is one of
Alec's favorite impersonations. Boake
Carter's voice fascinated him from
the first time he heard it on the air.

"He sounds like such an impressive,
important person," Alec says. "That's
why I love to imitate him doing a
silly tune like 'Goody Goody.' It
seems so unlike him. It's such fun!"

He doesn't miss any good thing
about living, nor has he ever been
deprived of any of his fun just because
he couldn't see. He goes his way, de-
lighted with life, his music, his family,
his friends, his "happy listening."

If you want a simple answer to the
secret of his triumph over what to
many of us would seem an unsur-
mountable handicap, ask him if he
wouldn't like to retire to a peaceful
life in his native Welsh hills.

"Oh, no! No!" he says quickly. "Not
at all. I want to live! I haven't done
half enough yet!"

You can't take life away from a
man like that!

RADIO MIRROR

) Perspiration Odor
0f/e*u/s
the other
person
DRI-DEW is the new cream deodorant,
tested and approved by the Am. Inst, oi
Laundering and the Nat. Assn. of Dyers
and Cleaners as being harmless to fabrics.
WILL NOT DRY UP IN JAR
SAFE — An absolutely pure, unadulterated cream.
NON-IRRITATING — Even right after shaving.
LONG-LASTING in preventing underarm odors.
INSTANTLY EFFECTIVE
NOT GREASY— CLEAN.
At drug, department
or ten-cent stores.

Dri-MtCtV (cream) 10c,29c

Ins tan (-If fir

(liquid) 10c, 25c, 50c

du^

STOPS PERSPIRATION

stops perspiration odor

CLEAR EYES

IN SECONDS!

Only TWO DROPS of this eye specialist's
formula WASHES, soothes, CLEARS dull,
tired eyes. Its special, EXCLUSIVE ingre-
dient instantly clears eyes red and in-
flamed from late hours, fatigue, etc.

Thousands prefer stainless, sanitary,
safe EYE-GENE, because it is so quickly
EFFECTIVE in making EYES FEEL GOOD. WASH
your eyes with EYE-GENE today. Sold
at drug, department, ten-cent stores.

BE SURE OF
YOUR "LOOKS"

USE

EYEGENE

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?

■ Genevieve Blue, better known to NBC audiences as "Buzz Me Miss
Blue" of the Amos 'n' Andy program, is played by Madaline Lee.

I DOUBT if there are any readers
who, at some time or other, have
not heard the "goings on" of Amos
'n' Andy, that famous black-face radio
team heard over NBC Monday
through Friday from 7:00 to 7:15.
And by the same token, I'm sure
you've heard Genevieve Blue (known
in private life as Madaline Lee) who
plays the part of the "secretary,"
so successfully, many listeners believe
she is really colored.

Madaline was born in Dallas, Texas,
on October 28, 1912, and spent most
of her life in the south. Eager for a
dramatic career since childhood, Miss
Lee studied at Columbia University
and the Theodore Irvine School for
the Theater in New York, at the Uni-
versity of Texas and Southern
Methodist University, after graduat-
ing from the Adamson High School in
Dallas.

Radio work intrigued Madaline and
for a year she took every available
job. She was a news commentator on
several Los Angeles stations and in-
terviewed many screen and stage
celebrities . . . began reading com-
mercials for Amos 'n' Andy, and her
southern personality attracted the
comedians when they began to create
the character of Genevieve Blue. For
two years Miss Lee worked to over-
come what she considered the handi-
cap of a Texas drawl. However, she
slipped right back into the dialect at
the request of Amos 'n' Andy and was
chosen for the part of Genevieve.

Miss Lee is five feet two inches,
weighs 110 pounds, and is active in
athletics. Tennis and golf are her
favorites. She is also an accomplished
pianist.

Hilda Burke, Oswego, N. Y. — Alice
Frost, who plays the leading role in
Big Sister, was born August 1, 1910,

in Minneapolis, Minn. She is married
to Robert C. Faulk, is blonde, five feet
seven inches tall, weighs 125 pounds
and has gray eyes.

Michael Williams, Darien, Conn. —
Jack Armstrong, in the program of
the same name, is played by Frank
Behrens, and he may be reached by
addressing a letter to him in care of
the National Broadcasting Company,
222 North Bank Drive, Chicago,
Illinois.

Willie, North Sydney, N.S.— I am list-
ing below the cast of The Guiding
Light, as you requested:

Gordon Ellis Raymond Johnson

Ned Holden Ed Prentiss

Ellen Henrietta Tedro

Mr. Kransky Murray Forbes

Rose Kransky Ruth Bailey

Jacob Kransky Seymour Young

Grandpa Ellis Phil Lord

Phyllis Gordon Sharon Grainger

Peter Manno Michael Romano

Ethel Foster Sundra Love

Celeste Cunningham . . Carolyn McKay

Miss D. Schofield, Wilkinsburg, Pa.
— Orson Welles was born in Kenosha,
Wise. At fifteen he was an orphan
and decided to go to Scotland, intend-
ing to study scene designing there.
On a stop-over in Ireland, found he
liked Erin so well he bought a donkey
and cart and went on a vagabond
tour . . . Sold the cart and donkey at
a county fair for the price of a meal,
fare to Dublin and a ticket to the
Gates Theater. Welles told the stage
manager that he was a star in New
York's Theater Guild, read a part that
night and was offered a leading role
in the following week's play. For
two years he starred with the Gates
Company in heavy roles such as
"Othello" and "King Lear", and rose
to the rank of director. Finally, he
played in the Abbey Theater — the first
(Continued oil page 66)

know it instinctively. And a small,
recognizable voice in the boy's heart
said now: "Get ready. Any minute
now. . . ."

It happened abruptly, and it was
doubly insured. On one afternoon he
paused before the building in which
Stanley Ghilkey, Katherine Cornell's
manager, kept his offices. There was
no particular reason for going in, but
Mr. Power went in anyway. Ghilkey
saw him at once.

IF you're not under contract just
now, I can spot you with Cornell,"
he said. "Have you seen her show?"

"I was going to ask you for some
passes," Tyrone said.

"These," said Ghilkey, handing over
two cardboard slips, "are for tonight.
Let me know your decision."

When Tyrone reached home half an
hour later he found Ghilkey's tele-
phoned message. "Come to see me
about a job before 3:30," it read. And
it was now a quarter of four.

When "Flowers of the Forest"
closed at last, in May, he had a con-
tract for summer stock, and another
that called for his services as an
understudy in Cornell's fall play; and
he went to visit his mother in Cali-
fornia for a time, anxious to show
these contracts to her, watch her face
when she congratulated him.

Then back east, to spend the sum-
mer at Falmouth. This was an idyllic
interlude given over to a certain
amount of hard work but primarily
to relaxing. He could savor things,
now that his luck had changed and

RADIO MIRROR

This Is the Life!

(Continued jrom -page 39)

the harsh nagging of his ambition
had found a certain release.

He played the lead in "Ceiling
Zero," "Private Lives," "On Stage."
And one evening he came into his
dressing room after the third act cur-
tain to find a young man there, wait-
ing. "I want to talk to you about
Hollywood," said this person.

Tyrone sat down, held out his pack-
age of cigarettes, and sat back to
listen. After a time he said, "Yes,
Hollywood's important to me. And I
appreciate your offer. But I know
that town now and I'm going to
refuse."

The talent scout's mouth fell open.
"What?"

"Yes. I'm not ready yet. And
they'd get me for buttons — a little
later they'll come to me with a real
contract. Then I'll be prepared for
anything."

And they did, and he was; but that
was later.

THAT was later, after he had spent
' the winter touring with Cornell's
show, after he had spent part of the
spring of 1936 rehearsing for the role
of De Pongeley in "St. Joan." The
two long seasons had their effect on
the boy; you do not travel about the
country in company with seasoned
stage troupers without maturing at
double speed.

This period in his memory, when
he thinks of it — which is seldom — is
a kind of hodge-podge made up of
sleeper jumps, of numberless stages
and the curtains that rose and fell on

those stages; of applause. . . .

He remembers the time his long
hair, grown of necessity because of
the role he played, came loose from
under his hat, one Christmas Eve
while he rode a trolley, and the re-
sultant chaos among the passengers
because the hair and his pale face and
heavy eyebrows made him look like
a Borgia.

LIE remembers such little, unim-
** portant things; the rest is a kind
of haze, a leading-up period. He was
not surprised, then, when it ended —
nor at the way it ended

He came into his rooms in Detroit,
that afternoon, laden with delicatessen
packages. A little tired, faced with a
long evening of rehearsal, he poured
himself a beer and flopped in a deep
chair to smoke a cigarette before
starting supper.

The phone screamed and he let it
ring, for a time. But it was persistent
and at last, wearily, he went over and
lifted the receiver.

"New York calling. . ." the operator
crooned.

It was his agent. "It's set for Fri-
day!" the agent yelled. " Your screen
test, I mean. And you'd better get
packed!"

Tyrone frowned. "Now I don't
know "

But the agent had hung up.

Supper forgotten, Tyrone wandered
restlessly about his rooms, chain-
smoking and generally working him-
self into a nervous frenzy. He
thought, so soon! I knew it would

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come, but this is so little warning. Can
I do it? Will I be any good?

He didn't know; and after awhile
his mind went into reverse and re-
fused to consider the problem with
any clarity. He gave it up and went
on to rehearsal.

On Friday, in New York, he made
the screen test. It was unbelievaory
bad.

"It's what I thought," Tyrone told
his agent when the news came. "I'm
simply not ready."

"Listen," the agent said sharply,
"you've been saying that for too long
now. You can go on saying it for
twenty years. Frankly, I think you're
scared."

Tyrone's face went white. "Can
you get them to give me another try?"

The agent had taught himself not
to show pleasure when any of his
schemes worked. His face was impas-
sive when he answered. "I've already
arranged it."

And that, in essence, was the begin-
ning; since with fury in his heart and
a cold sharp control governing his
actions, Tyrone Power made a second
test which brought Darryl Zanuck,
days later in a Holly wod projection
room, to his feet with enthusiasm.
And Zanuck sent a wire, and a con-
tract, and plane reservations to
Tyrone in New York; and younger Mr.
Power answered the first and signed
the second and used the third — and,
in this manner, a star was born.

THE Hollywood success story of
Tyrone Power is one you have read
and heard repeatedly, from its in-
ception. Because it is the perfect,
the unbelievable, the story book tale,
it can be truthfully told without a
hitch. Additionally, it has romance,

it has glamour. It would, because it
is Tyrone's story.

I met him first a day or two after
the premier of "Lloyds of London,"
the picture Mr. Zanuck made to in-
troduce his new property to the world.
Few people had asked to see Tyrone
before that, although he had a bit in
"Girls Dormitory" — but they were
waiting in line, now.

He had an eager courtesy. He
talked freely about himself and what
he liked and whom he liked. He still
does, if you know him well, adding at
the end however the standard "not for
publication" warning. After all, it is
three years later, and he is now one
of the five greatest stars in the world,
and he has learned several bitter
lessons.

But already, when I first spoke with
him, he had fitted on the role of star
like a Lastex suit. He already had a
Cord motor, and a smart new ward-
robe, and a stock of purely Hollywood
stories. He already had met Sonja
Henie. . . .

That romance — at least the papers
called it Romance — is for the record
but so far as its effect on Tyrone or
his life is concerned it is of small
enough account. It was magnificent
publicity, it taught him what to ex-
pect: but it was subordinate business
to his rise in the industry, to his great
ambition.

Almost everything was, and is.

He met her, or rather Sonja met
him, in the studio commissary when
she singled him out and gave him
tickets to her first exhibition in Los
Angeles. He went backstage, turned
on every ounce of his fabulous charm,
and took her home that night.

Their resultant friendship had its
great value at the time. There was

no danger, in the first place, of a
really serious love growing out of the
arrangement they had.

Tyrone is an emotional person, but
he controls his emotions; he was not
ready to fall wholeheartedly in love
then, and so he did not. Sonja just
isn't emotional.

By the time "Love is News" and two
or three other box-office hits had
made certain that Tyrone was going
to sustain- — indeed, to grow — as a star,
he was already trying to forget the
time he threw gravel at Sonja's win-
dow and enjoined her to climb down
a rose lattice in order not to disturb
her sleeping parents. He was trying
to forget many things. . . .

COR some months he saw much of
^several ladies, none with serious
intent, and worked hard at his assign-
ments. With his mother and a friend
whom he had hired as secretary and
general pal, Tyrone took a house in
Bel Air and dedicated himself to the
Zanuck schedule.

Meanwhile he had fallen a little in
love with Janet Gaynor. It was not a
new emotion, nor essentially a real
one; rather it was a necessary comple-
tion of an adolescent thought-trend
which started years ago when he was
twelve and saw Miss Gaynor in the
memorable "Seventh Heaven."

Something about his ego made him
see that young dream turn into re-
ality, just as he had made real his
other dreams of great fame and great
money and great success.

Still a bit awed by Janet — she had
acquired a legendary aura through
the years — he sent her anonymous
notes and roses until at last a mutual
friend relayed to her his invitation to
dinner. After the sporting and rather

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robust friendship with Sonja this new
liaison was pure romance, built on the
glamour of dim corner tables, of
orchids trembling on ermine, of soft
music and long quiet hours at her
house in the evenings.

It lasted until very recently. Then,
after a decent interval, Tyrone
Power's inexhaustible luck brought
him Annabella along with the new
box-office ratings (just after the com-
pletion of "Jesse James") which an-
nounced him as one of the Ten Best
Stars in the industry.

As if to make his triumph thor-
oughly complete, what appears to be
his final great love — although he
won't say so — and the absolute peak
of his career came to him simulta-
neously. Both happened in a spectacu-
lar way, as is the manner of things
when Tyrone achieves them.

You will not get him to answer if
you ask whether or not he knew
Annabella would join him in South
America after her publicized divorce
in Paris. Nor, any longer, can you
get him to make an answer to any
really intimate question. This is a
new person, this Tyrone Power whom
you will meet today.

THE basic things about him are
there still: his charm, his clear
intelligence, his boundless ambition,
his utterly modern attitude about life,
his 1939-model sense of humor. But
the fervent, too eager youth is gone;
here is a man whose name spells a
fortune in money, a fabulous fame — ■
whose romances with some of the
greatest beauties of our time have
made his personality synonymous with
the idea of romance. His time, his pri-
vate life, his personal freedom no
longer are his: they belong against
his will, to the public.

He knows these things about him-
self. The next story to be written
about Tyrone Power will be an ac-
count of his desperate attempts to
escape from them.

But they were the things he wanted.
And they are his, at twenty-four.

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Ignoring her mother's

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ALICE : Yes, but that was 25 years ago . . .

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ALICE: He prescribed a special food formula
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Mysteries of the Mind

(Continued from page 33)

the jury.

"It's true, though," continued the
father, his voice shaking. "In some
way our little girl knew she was
destined to die and, under the cir-
cumstances, we feel that the man who
ran over her should be released. You
see, he really couldn't help himself. It
was an act of Fate!"

Statistics and records show that
there have been thousands of cases
where people have dreamed, or have
sensed while awake, something that
was going to happen to them.

According to Dr. Warner, little
Helen Lane may have been frightened
by a previous narrow escape under
the same circumstances. This would
have left a strong impression and her
fear of being run over, once planted
in her consciousness, might have
brought on this vivid dream.

VET Dr. Hardwicke points out that
' many events that exist in space,
also exist in time, of which we have
ordinarily no knowledge.

Was Helen Lane traveling toward
that moment which would blot out
her young and incomplete life, posi-
tive of an inevitable and terrifying
conclusion?

About two years ago Ralph Dayton
was living with his wife at a mid-
town hotel in New York City. Their
work, their hopes, their loves, were no
different than yours and mine until
one unforgettable evening in March.

Ralph dropped into a nearby restau-
rant for a bite to eat before going
home. As the waiter served him,
Dayton suddenly jumped to his feet,
shook his clothes, and started to slap
himself vigorously.

"I'm on fire!" he cried. "Waiter,
help me. I'm on fire!"

The waiter stared incredulously.
There were no flames, no smoke, no
panic among the other diners. "I don't
see nothin', Mr. Dayton," he mumbled,
rubbing his eyes to make sure, "and
I don't smell nothin'. You feel all
right, Mr. Dayton? Shall I get you
some more water?"

Dayton's face turned red. He eyed
the waiter sheepishly, then he began
to pat his clothes again.

"Alfred," he said quietly, "I must
have dropped a cigarette. It's on me
some place, because I can smell burn-
ing cloth. The odor is very strong."

But his clothes were not on fire,
and at last he apologized, paid his
check, and left his half-eaten meal.
Out in the cold night air the smell
of fire, the fear of burning alive, still
haunted him.

Instinctively he pulled his coat col-
lar closer to him for protection and
muttered to himself: "This is a
strange business. I can't get over it."

If he expected any sympathy from
his wife he was sadly mistaken.
When he recounted the weird episode
to her later that evening, she laughed
and reminded him of his careless
habit of dropping hot cigarette ashes

on his clothes. When they went to
bed she was still joking about his
"marvelous smeller."

At three o'clock in the morning,
both Daytons suddenly awoke. They
looked at one another in alarm. This
time Ralph spoke defiantly:

"Well, Helen, I suppose you're
going to tell me I don't smell some-
thing this time."

"No," she answered nervously, "I
smell it too. It's burning cloth."

Dayton hopped out of bed and
jerked open the window.

"There's a fire on the floor below
us," he shouted. "I've got to wake
those people up or they'll be burned
alive!"

He began yelling loudly. His wife
joined him. After a few minutes a
man's head bobbed out of the window
below.

"Thank God you woke us," he said
gratefully. "Must have gone to sleep
without putting my cigarette out."

When quiet was restored, Ralph
spoke again to his wife: "How do you
account for that? I smelled this fire
last night at nine o'clock, long before
it ever started."

Helen shook her head blankly. "I
don't know, Ralph. It's completely
beyond me, but I won't make fun of
your smeller any more. It's mirac-
ulous."

A similar case occurred in Boston
early in the summer of 1938. William
Walter, an eleven-year-old boy, ran
home one day and told his mother
that the Baptist Church was on fire.
He insisted large crowds had gathered
around the burning edifice, and
described the frantic work of the fire-
men as they piled into the street from
a gleaming hook and ladder engine.

DUT the Baptist Church was not on
u fire. The big hook and ladder that
had thrilled the lad was resting idly
in the firehouse. Bostonians in the
vicinity went about their regular
duties.

Not four hours later William's
mother heard people running and
shouting. She peered out the window
and saw streams of smoke sweep
across the streets of suburban Boston.
A vivid red hook and ladder sped to
the scene.

This time there were no hallucina-
tions. The Baptist Church was on
fire!

Is there such a thing as a "psychic
smell"? Are there thousands of peo-
ple like Ralph Dayton and little
William Walter who have a premo-
nition of terrible things about to
happen?

Dr. Lucien Warner says it is quite
common to imagine that you smell
something with a definite odor. Sug-
gestion is a powerful factor. In the
case of Ralph Dayton, the terrified
man may have been subject to some
unconscious suggestion, such as read-
ing about a fire in the paper. Perhaps
some odor in the restaurant reminded

1. Omnisciency. 2. Harelip. 3.
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6. Skedaddle. 7. Marriageable. 8.
Asseverations. 9. Decalcomania. 10.
Percolators. 11. Dentifrice. 12.
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RADIO MIRROR

him of an odor associated with a past
experience.

Psychic experts disagree. They in-
sist many people have the ability to
pick up a mental impression of some
event which has not yet come to pass.
A person may have a sudden vision
while wide awake.

Perhaps the strangest "mystery of
the mind" concerned a young widowed
mother, destitute and starving, who
was forced to take her four-year-old
daughter to a Child Placement Bu-
reau. Sixteen years later a miracu-
lous string of dramatic incidents
brought the child back to her real
parent.

NO Hollywood scenario, this, but a
true life "case history" that tran-
scends all credibility. Yet scientists
explain that such things have come to
pass time and again.

When Mrs. Jennie Andrews took
her daughter to the bureau, the words
of the matron still rang in her ears
as she trudged wearily away from the
institution. "This will mean that you
will never see your daughter again.
Never . . . never . . . never . . . never."

She knew when she signed the
form that it meant signing away the
nearest and dearest thing she ever
possessed.

The little girl was placed with a
respectable family living in Newark,
N. J. Betty's last name was legally
changed to Everett.

The years passed. At first they
were torturingly slow for the lonely
mother. But when Mrs. Andrews had
a change of fortune, time began to
heal her aching heart. She found work
in a large department store.

Betty grew up with no knowledge
of her mother, though she knew she

had been an adopted child.

Then a strange thing occurred, in
October, 1938.

Mrs. Andrews awakened one morn-
ing with an almost overwhelming
feeling that she must try to get in
touch with her daughter. Something
told her Betty was in trouble. It kept
hammering mercilessly at her head
and then at her heart.

Work finished, the worried woman
rushed to the Child Placement Bu-
reau. The same woman was at the
huge mahogany desk, bare except
for a plaque on which was written
"Mrs. Todd."

"I'm Mrs. Jennie Andrews. Sixteen
years ago I brought you my daughter
Betty. Since then I've never been
in touch with you."

The matron nodded recognition.

"I've lived up to your regulations,"
the mother continued, "but now
there's something I've got to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Have you heard from my Betty
recently?" Mrs. Andrews asked
nervously.

"No," Mrs. Todd said, shaking her
head, "we check up for the first few
years, but if everything is satisfactory
we take it for granted that — " The
woman hesitated as she searched Mrs.
Andrews' eyes. "Why, Mrs. An-
drews, what is the matter?"

Betty's mother leaned heavily on
the huge desk. It was hard for her
to explain this strange feeling. Per-
haps the brisk looking matron would
laugh.

"All day long I've had the oddest
feeling. Things aren't right with
Betty. Please, Mrs. Todd, as a favor
to me, get in touch with the people
who adopted her. Find out how my
baby is."

Mrs. Todd didn't answer.

"I beg you to do it," pleaded the
mother. She started to cry. Hardened
though the matron was to crying,
hysterical mothers, there was some-
thing in this woman's tone that
touched her.

"You wait here," she commanded,
"and I'll try to reach Betty's people
by phone."

The woman walked into the adjoin-
ing room, thumbed through a worn
file of yellowed index cards, and put
through the call to Newark. The
voice of a young girl answered the
phone. The matron asked for Mrs.
Everett.

"She's not here," said the other
voice shakily, "she's in the hospital."

"Hospital?" repeated Mrs. Todd.
"Who is this I'm speaking to?"

"This is Betty Everett."

The older woman caught her
breath. "Betty dear, this is Mrs.
Todd, a friend of your mother's. What
happened?"

The young girl's voice broke into
sobs. "Oh, I'm so afraid," she cried.
"Daddy is in the hospital too. The
doctors say neither of them can live."

MRS. TODD had trouble getting the
details from the distraught girl.
The family were out driving. Betty
was in the back seat. Suddenly there
was a crash. Another car had run
into theirs in a head-on collision.

"Mrs. Andrews," the matron said
slowly when she returned to the
other room, "you were right about
Betty. Both her foster parents are
near death from an auto accident
which occurred last night!"

Both the Everetts died. As a result
Mrs. Andrews and her daughter were
reunited. They are living happily to-

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enamel — makes teeth sparkle. Al-
ways use Colgate Dental Cream —
regularly and frequently. No other
dentifrice is exactly like it."

RADIO MIRROR

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$3,000.00

For Short Short
True Romances

True Romances Magazine has set aside $3,000 for
the purchase of short short true romances submitted on
or before Friday, June 30, 1939. By "short short" true
romances is meant short true stories of dramatic
quality — stories dealing with the problems of American
life, stories of courtship and marriage sincerely told
with honesty and warmth, the kind of stories that
happen in the life of the average American family —
nothing fantastic, nothing melodramatic. nothing
cheap, but simple, beautiful stories of the dramas that
occur in the lives of American men and women. Stories
submitted under this offer must range from 2500 to
4500 words in length.

For such stories we are prepared to pay up to $250
each.

Undoubtedly you have in mind one or several hap-
penings in human lives that can be set down within
the wordage limits here given. If that is the case it
is doubtful if you will ever find a better chance to turn
them into money. This is not a contest but a straight
offer to purchase. You will not be writing in competi-
tion with anybody. Simply send in your story and if it
meets with our requirements a substantial check will

be mailed to you regardless of what anybody else may
submit.

Do not delay. There is nothing to prevent you selling
us several stories under this offer before it expires
on June 30. Send them in as soon as finished. We
pay for accepted stories as soon as they are passed
upon and approved for purchase.

If you do not have one already, write today for a
copy of our free booklet supplying "Facts You Should
Know Before Writing True Romances". In it you
will find important information regarding the simple
handling which lias proved most satisfactory in writ-
ing true stories. Address your envelope and any
manuscripts you may send later exactly as per the
address upon the coupon we have supplied for your
convenience in securing your copy of the booklet.

Do not submit under this offer any story that has
already been rejected by Macfadden Publications, Inc.

TRUE ROMANCES

P. O. Box 527. Grand Central Station

New York, N. Y.

| True Romances Short Short Editor RM 5R

P. O. Box 527. Grand Central Station. New York. N. Y.

Please send me free copy of your booklet "Facts You Should Know Before Writing True Romances"

Name

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gether today.

"It's such experiences as this one
that give me renewed faith in a pro-
tective creative force — call it what
you will," said Dr. Hardwicke, after
carefully studying this true experi-
ence. "It is easier to believe in a God
that answers human prayers. From a
scentific angle it would seem that this
is a mental energy discharge from the
young girl left alone by the accident.
It is picked up by the mother. Some
people would call this telepathy, but
that is still a world that hides our
ignorance of unknown powers of the
mind."

But Dr. Warner disagrees with this
analysis. He says that Mrs. Andrews
continued to think and worry about
her daughter. Every mention of or-
phans must have focused her atten-
tion on her own problem. Time never
blotted out the emptiness in Mrs.
Andrews' heart.

• What is behind all this? Is the
scientist right? The psychic? Or the
skeptical man of practical medicine?

Science today is seeking to discover
and to understand more and more of
the marvelous hidden powers con-
tained in the mind of Man, and to
explain the different types of psychic
phenomena.

But the answer to it all is still to be
written.

What Do You Want

toK

HOW:

(Continued from page 60)

foreign actor to be starred with the
internationally famous troupe. When
he returned to America, Thornton
Wilder, who knew his Dublin work,
suggested he see Katharine Cornell.
He was cast in both "Romeo and
Juliet" and "Candida." After Broad-
way appearances in "Panic" and nu-
merous other plays, he became es-
tablished as one of radio's foremost
actors.

Virginia Montagna, San Antonio, Texas
— I'm sorry, but we do not have a
service for furnishing photographs to
our readers.

FAN CLUB SECTION

Every effort is being made to in-
crease the membership of the Larry
Clinton Fan Club. If you are inter-
ested in becoming a member, write
to Tommy Gerarde, Pres., 138 Ward
Street, Orange, New Jersey, or Miss
Venni Boccio, Vice Pres., 65 Montauk
Avenue, Brooklyn, New York.

Attention: Enoch Light Fans — Write
to Rose Barry, Pres., 414 Cashua St.,
Darlington, S. C, or Joseph Wright,
47 Sheffield Avenue, Buffalo, New
York, for details.

The Fred Waring Fan Club boasts a
fine membership, but Ruth Stanford,
508-18th Street. Union City, N. J., is
ever on the lookout for new Waring
fans. Drop her a line if interested.

Edna Rogers is secretary of the
Eddy Duchin Fan Club and she may
be reached at 3730 North Eighth
Street, Philadelphia, Penna.

The associate editor of the Jeanette
MacDonald International Fan Club,
Miss Geraldine Storfer, 4414 N.
Springfield, Chicago, Illinois, has
asked us to announce another club in
Miss MacDonald's honor and to say
that information will gladly be sent
on receipt of postage in coin (not
stamps) .

RADIO MIRROR

WE CANADIAN LISTENERS ho

■;•""•

RACE BROWN

APPOINTMENT WITH AGOSTINI
. . . half-hour musical melange
in the Guisseppe Agostini style,
out of the Canadian metropolis, Mon-
treal, Tuesday eves at 9.00 o'clock
EST, to the CBC national network
. . . solos by Charles Jordan, and a
modern ladies' chorus, composed of
Marcelle Manata, Marielle Lefebvre,
Simonne Quesnel, Eleanore Hamel,
Germaine Lefebvre, Pierrette Alerie,
Paulette Langis and Therese Lauren-
deau; this new CBC feature is
rapidly building in popularity . . .
I know it pleased my ears when
caught, and fan-mail indicates Agos-
tini has rung the bell again.

GUISSEPPE AGOSTINI ... no-
body ever uses that first name . . .
it's usually "Maestro," tinged with a
great deal of affection . . . he's that
kind of excitable, lovable Italian . . .
born in Pesaro, Italy . . . studied at
the Rossini Conservatory of Music
under the direction of Pietro Mas-
cagni, the composer of top-flight
opera ... at twenty-three, Agostini
came to Canada . . . first job here
was as oboe soloist in the "pit" at
Loew's Theater, Montreal ... it
wasn't long before he had success-
ively conducted in the pits of the
Capitol and Palace Theaters . . . came
the talkies, and Senor Agostini
turned to teaching . . . appointed

musical director at the Lasalle
Academy, Three Rivers, Quebec,
where he remained for some time . . .
but Radio was calling . . . gave the
one-time Canadian Radio Commis-
sion it's first big program out of
Montreal, "One Hour With You" . . .
since that time he has been a CBC
headliner ... on the side, he is in
constant demand as a band and sym-
phonic concert conductor ... he is
an amusing little man . . . his sayings
and doings while rehearsing are
famous around Montreal ... I re-
member he was conducting for one
of my plays, when the trombone dis-
pleased him ... he turned fiercely
on the unfortunate player . . . "You
sound like a bull 'Mooo!' . . ." he
spluttered (and how he splutters!).
"I want you should sound nice and
soft like a cow 'Moooo!'." ... he
makes all his own arrangements, but,
unlike a lot of conductor-arrangers,
he likes giving his musicians a cer-
tain freedom in introducing their
own individuality and original twists
to a composition ... in another day
and age, he would have been a fiery
little man sweepingly and explosively
conducting an opera company . . .
today, opera's loss is Radio's gain . . .
CHARLES JORDAN ... the bari-
tone soloist of "Appointment with
Agostini" ... he is a 1938 discovery

... a Montrealer in his early twen-
ties, he got his first break last year
on a sustainer, specializing in folk
songs, popular classics, and lieder . . .
guest appearances followed . . . sings
in English, French, German and
Italian . . . looks like a young edi-
tion of Lanny Ross would look . . .
studies music in his spare time . . .
doesn't smoke or drink . . . line forms
to the left, girls. . . .

"RUSTY" DAVIS ... he must have
been born with that nickname; no-
body seemed to know his first name
. . . producer of "Appointment With
Agostini" . . . well known in Mon-
treal's younger set, but don't throw
it up at him . . . studied law at
McGill University . . . will be re-
membered as lyricist and musical
director of McGill's "Red and White
Revue" for the years '25 and '26 . . .
the legal bug didn't bite, and Rusty
left McGill for musical study in New
York ... a worried family persuaded
him to return to law studies, but instead
Rusty organized his own band . . .
later he became musical director for
one of Montreal's large advertising
firms . . . was placed in charge of the
productions of their commercial pro-
grams . . . joined CBC staff as pro-
ducer a year ago, and is now into
music up to his ears. . . .

with Complexions that pass the

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This Happened to Me

(Continued from page 30)

till then I worked like the devil for
a whole week for the same amount
of money. I began to hunt up contests
in towns anywhere within a hundred
mile radius and enter them. Usually,
I was good enough to cart off one of
the prizes.

When I think back now, I wonder
a little. I was just turning 14 and
still in high school. Officially in high
school, that is. School had practically
stopped for me then. I could think
of nothing but the saxophone. I
ended up by forming a four-piece
band with some of the fellows in my
class. We had a trumpet, drums,
piano and a sax. We'd play once or
twice a week at school affairs or at
parties our mothers gave. I think
then I was the happiest I had ever
been. The noises we four boys made
sounded something like the sounds
from the spotlighted stage of the
Palace.

A FEW months had gone by since
my fourteenth birthday when the
Shaw family was reduced from three
to two. My father left home. My
mother and I still don't know where
he went. We don't know if he is liv-
ing or dead. We have never heard
from him, never seen him since.
Every attempt to find him failed.

Fourteen I was. School, a shattered
family life, poverty — I was either too
young, too foolish or perhaps too
completely absorbed in music to pay
them any attention. Our life didn't
change drastically but I began to dig
up ways of making money.

I had played in a few carnival
bands when Dave Hudkins, a drum-
mer from New Haven, noticed me.
He liked my work, took me in tow
and introduced me to Johnny Caval-
laro. Johnny, owner of the Cinderella
Ballroom, then had the best band in
New England. After two flop audi-
tions, I lost my nervousness and
Johnny hired me. He got me into the
musicians' union and I became a pro-
fessional reed man.

I worked for Cavallaro at night.
Get home late, go to bed, get up and
go to school. During that period, I
never cracked a book. I never knew
the right answers — I just showed up
at classes and sat there. Before I
bought the saxophone, I had been a
good student. But now my only
worry was how soon could I get out?
For a period of three straight months
my report cards showed five F's for
each of my five classes. That meant
automatic expulsion. The principal
called me in. For the first time, I
tried to explain to someone how I
felt about the saxophone. He couldn't
understand. That bewildered me. Yet
I was relieved when I could finally
tell my mother I was finished with
school. Mother didn't agree with me.
She protested my expulsion. I pro-
tested her protest. I lost — and was
reinstated for a month. The story at
the end of 30 days was the same —
5 F's. I left.

I was 15 then. I immediately joined
Cavallaro as a full member of his
band. And that summer we went up
to Bantam Lake, Connecticut, for the
season. It was there I learned one of
the important lessons any musician
learns sooner or later. I had my first
taste of liquor. The results were
slightly catastrophic:

It was a Sunday. We had most of
the day to ourselves and that night
the band had nothing to do but play
an accompaniment for the silent
movie which was shown in the rec-
reation hall. I joined the boys at the
beach. About 4 o'clock in the after-
noon, the trumpet player gave me a
bottle of beer. I remember I was
sitting in a rowboat when I drank it.
I was dressed from shoulder to knee
in a red bathing suit — and that's all.
I finished the bottle and began to feel
drowsy. That was my last memory
until I suddenly woke from a sound
sleep. I looked up. It was pitch black.
There wasn't a soul anywhere near
me. The boat had drifted out on the
lake and all I could hear were the
faint sounds of music blown across
the water.

First, I was a scared kid of 15.
Then, when I realized the music
meant the band was playing for the
movies, I was a scared musician.
That row back to shore must have
broken records. I ran up the path to
the hall, sneaked in the back door.
The place was dark, of course. I
found my way to the orchestra pit,
got my saxophone and started to
play.

I was just beginning to feel com-
fortable again when the hero sud-
denly grabbed the heroine in his
arms, Love's Sweet Dream was ful-
filled— and the movie ended. The
lights went up. Cavallaro looked at
me. I smiled. There were a few
snickers from the audience. His face
began to whiten. I stopped smiling —
I suddenly realized that I was sitting
there in my red bathing suit and
nothing else — not even a pair of
shoes. He picked up his banjo and
came after me. I ran — ran as if the
Devil himself were after me. I won
the race but among the other choice
words I heard Johnny toss after me
was one that sounded like "fired". I
didn't stop to find out if he meant it.

Losing the job didn't bother me.
For the past four nights a gang of
fellows who were forming a band had
been hanging around. They had been
after me to join up with them. After
the beer episode there wasn't much
else I could do. They were all from
Northfield — a town with one general
store and little else.

J WENT home, got my clothes and
■ carefully avoided seeing my mother.
There were ten of us. We all piled
into an old jaloppy and headed for
Northfield. One of the boys owned a
dilapidated shack. We lived there for
a month. Ten kids — living on nothing
but cider and raw corn we stole out
of farmers' fields. We spent every
minute of our time rehearsing. Occa-
s'onally we'd play for a dance in
Waterbury and make a little money.
But we saved that for a reserve fund.

A brother of one of the fellows had
once worked at the Joyland Casino in
Lexington, Kentucky. He thought we
could get a job there. I don't know
why we agreed, but we did. After
that month's rehearsal, we were ready
for the trip. The car was an old open
7-passenger Hudson. Ten boys with
their instruments and bags squeezed
in. We were off for Kentucky.

How we managed to live and buy
gas on that trip south is still an un-
solved mystery. We finally got there,

RADIO MIRROR

though, found the Joyland Casino and
talked the manager into giving us a
job.

Here was the ideal existence for
me: playing at night and a chance
to go to school during the day. We
all enrolled in a prep school near the
Casino. We found a boarding house
where we got a room and board for
$5 a week. For one, two, three days —
life was perfect. Then — we had
worked four days when Joyland
closed down for awhile.

MOST of the boys wired home for
money immediately. I couldn't
— I had run away. What's more, I
knew my mother couldn't spare it even
if I did. I stayed on at the boarding
house — my $5 entitled me to a few
more days. By the end of the week,
my nine colleagues had left town. I
was alone in Lexington with not a dime
remaining to weigh down an empty
pocket. I tried to get a job and failed
completely. Finally, I hocked my sax
and extra clothes. That brought
enough for another week at the
boarding house. I tried putting off
the landlady when that ran out. It
didn't work and I was kicked out.
For three days I didn't touch a
scrap of food. At night I slept in the
park. Before going to "bed," I washed
my shirt in the park pond. That was
important if I was to find a job I
could apply for. Here I was alone in
a strange city, slowly starving. I
should have been home, a sophomore
in high-school. That never occurred
to me, though. Even that one night
when the clouds burst wide open and
I couldn't sleep in the park — I sneaked
into a pool parlor and slept on one
of the green felt-covered tables. I

had made up my mind to be a musi-
cian. Any glamour that was attached
to the idea had been wiped out. All
that remained was an unshakeable
obsession to play music.

After three days of no food, I be-
came almost crazy with the desire to
eat once more. Anything — a dried
hunk of bread, a cold potato. There
were no visions of huge steaks, steam-
ing platters — just a mad longing to
fill that cold emptiness in my stomach.

When I could stand it no longer, I
went into a restaurant and followed
the procedure outlined in the best fic-
tion. I ordered a huge meal. And
when they came with the check and
heard I had no money, I brought the
story to its logical ending. I was sent
back to the kitchen to wash dishes.
That night I slept very comfortably
in the park and the next day I went
back to the restaurant. I made the
manager a proposition: "Feed me and
I'll wash your dishes." He accepted.

That arrangement went on for a
week or two — days in the restaurant,
nights in the park. I was just begin-
ning to tire of that convenient little
set-up when I learned that Joyland
was re-opening. I hiked out there one
night. I must have looked like a
broken-down young bum. There could
have been nothing attractive about
me. Yet, I walked up to the leader
and asked him for a job. Clyde
Mosely was his name — he looked a
little startled when I put that request.
Then he sort of grinned and said:

"Doing what?"

"Playing the saxophone. I'm good.
Honest! Just let me play one
number."

I know how he felt. Because I've
felt the way he must have when

someone has come up to me asking
for a job. He was probably a little
kinder than most of us now — he told
me to hang around until the end of
the evening and he'd listen to me. I
waited. One of the boys lent me a
saxophone. I played "Tiger Rag," I
remember — better than I had ever
played anything. Mosely hired me.
He gave me enough money to get
my sax and clothes out of hock and
next day, I left town with the band.

I WORKED with them long enough
■ to save train fare home. When I had
the money, I said good-bye and thanks
to Mosely and left for New Haven.

Word got around that I was back.
It reached Johnny Cavallaro, for
within a week he asked me if I'd like
to rejoin his band. It appears he
hadn't meant to fire me. He was just
kidding!

I went back to my chair with
Johnny and life was a peaceful thing
until he had an offer to bring the
band down to Florida for the winter.
Mother, naturally, didn't want me to
go. I insisted. She, ultimately, gave
in on the condition that Cavallaro
consent to be my guardian. Johnny
was a little hesitant about that and I
certainly didn't blame him. But he at
last consented to take the chance.

Just before we left New Haven, I
made what has turned out to be the
most important purchase of my
career. For $30, I bought a clarinet —
the first time I had ever handled one
of the slender, black instruments. I
boarded the ship with it. And for
the three days and nights we were on
the Florida boat, not one of my poor,
stricken shipmates had a moment's
peace. For me, it was a good trip —

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I learned the rudiments of clarinet
playing. After two more months in
Miami, I was playing a pretty good
clarinet.

IT seems that every time I meet a new
' musical obstacle, I get very stub-
born about it and attack it as a
gigantic problem that must be solved.
Apparently, that is a pretty good sys-
tem. I learned to play both my in-
struments that way. If I'm stubborn
enough, I can usually win. I learned
to read music that way. I never had
a real music lesson but by a trial and
error system, I learned to read musi-
cal notes. I first made band arrange-
ments the same way.

While we were still in Miami, I
met up with a band from Cleveland.
They were in town for a few days
and made a habit of coming over to
listen to us play. They asked me to
go back to Cleveland with them but
I turned the offer down: after all, I
was working with my guardian and
I did owe him something.

We returned to New Haven, and
while still working with Johnny I
occasionally did extra work with an
outfit called the Yale Collegians. It
wasn't a bad band. The Collegians
played for most of the affairs at Yale,
since the majority of the musicians
were students at the university.
Peter Arno, the cartoonist, once was
a regular member. But that was be-
fore my time. The fellow I remember
best was a blond, quiet saxophonist
who had the chair next to mine. His
name was Rudy Vallee.

Then, shortly after May, 1926, the
Paramount-Publix Theater in town
inaugurated a new policy — house
bands. The New Haven Publix was
the first theater in the Paramount
chain to try the experiment. Most of
the men selected for the orchestra
were from New York, but they asked
me to be first saxophonist. I jumped
at the chance. Johnny released me
immediately — glad to see me get the
opportunity.

I had worked in the pit once before
— up at Bantam Lake. This was a lot
different. It was a nice steady life
and I, at 16, was beginning to settle
down when the Publix tried another
policy — name bands. The house or-
chestra was out of a job. One night,
I was handed my two weeks' notice.
That same night, I received two
offers. One from the Cleveland outfit
I had met in Florida. The other from
what was in the year 1926 the biggest
band in the country — the California
Ramblers. The Ramblers were then
riding the crest of a wave. Its per-
sonnel was famous. Fred MacMurray
was playing saxophone for them.
The Dorsey brothers were two of the
employees. An offer to join them was
a great compliment. On the other
hand, I thought the boys from Cleve-
land were due to hit the top. I was
now faced with what I thought would
be the most important decision I'd
ever made. Which offer should I
take?

'Combed Lashes Are Lovelier"

Next month, more never-before-
revealed episodes in the life of
swing's new idol. Read about his
two marriages . . . about his asso-
ciation with Bix Beiderbecke . . .
about the time he quit music en-
tirely and retired to live on a farm
. . . about the strange life of a truly
unique young danceband genius — in
the June Radio Mirror, out April 26.

onru

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'Comb It Through Your Lashes'

The Secret LOVE STORY Behind
DANIELLE DARRIEUX'S Marriage

How she loves him — big sweet-tempered, master-
fulful Henri Decoin, husband, protector, adviser,
Prince Charming all in one.

She can thank Henry Koster for bringing him
into her life at the moment when the need was
greatest, when life looked darkest, when failure
loomed.

How charming Danielle Darrieux and Henri
Decoin met, loved, wooed and married is a thrill-
ing love story that will move you to the depths.
It begins in heartbreak and tragedy but its ending
is like a beautiful dream.

The complete, beautiful story appears in True
Love and Romances for May. You will love it.
Get your copy today at the nearest newsstand.

Livlf Rorncrcee

takes the lead in Back Stage Wife, as
Mary's husband, Larry.

After becoming interested in a pro-
gram to the point of feeling it is
mighty real, this illusion is roughly
torn to bits by hearing the same per-
son take a lead in another radio ser-
ial, which makes his first part re-
dundant and unnatural. None of us
are two or three people, and the only
reason we love a certain radio story
js because it has absorbed us with
realism and poignant charm.

Mrs. J. F. Victorin,

Cicero, 111.

FOURTH PRIZE

DOES THE SUN SHINE ALWAYS?

A recent article in a newspaper
stated that in the taking of a radio
poll, One Man's Family was the only
serial mentioned, and I wondered if
there was any connection between
that statement and the opinion ex-
pressed by some of my friends: "I do
not listen to radio serials so much, be-
cause they are so depressing.

Truly the characters in some of the
continued stories go from- one tragedy
to another and life seems to be one
long drawn out misery. Now, I am
not asking for a "Pollyannish" tale.
One Man's Family is not all sunshine,
but the narrative is shot through with
such clever humor and good cheer
that the very infrequent happenings
of a sad nature do not linger in the
mind of the listener.

When the world is in such a state
of upheaval and unrest in many sec-

RADIO MIRROR

What Do You Want to Say?

(Continued from page 3)

tions, would it not be a good idea to
have more wholesome radio serials,
not devoid of serious moments, but
with most of the deep tragedy ele-
ment eliminated?

Jane B. James,

St. Louis, Mo.

FIFTH PRIZE

RADIO'S CREATING AN IDEAL HOME-LIFE

Meet the radio in its new role —
youth-builder. It is responsible for
keeping the young folks at home,
while at the same time giving them a
decent place to enjoy dancing.

As more and more parents are
realizing the needs of the younger set,
more and more recreation rooms or
living rooms with "rollable" rugs are
coming into vogue.

As a result, the children are staying
away from the roadhouses in droves
— are avoiding the questionable sur-
roundings with its liquor and ciga-
rettes. They'd rather bring the gang
to the home, turn on the radio, and
dance to their hearts' content.

Here's to the radio. It has made
possible a new era of homelife for
American youth.

Wendell Knowles,

Salina, Kansas

SIXTH PRIZE

GOOD LUCK, BERT PARKS!

When Bert Parks received the job
of announcer on Eddie Cantor's pro-
gram, that fellow got a break he de-
served.

He not only has a good speaking
voice, but when he sang on the new
program, it was worth listening to.

Now, as the program moves from
New York to California, don't be sur-
prised if Announcer Parks gets an-
other break by appearing in the
movies.

Let's wish Bert Parks lots of good
luck, and let's thank Eddie Cantor for
coming along with an announcer
worthy of the chance to show what he
can do in the field of radio.

Marcella Kaplan,

St. Paul, Minn.

SEVENTH PRIZE

YOU GET TO KNOW FAMOUS PEOPLE

Three cheers and a bouquet of or-
chids to that grand program, Infor-
mation, Please!

It's my favorite program because
it has famous people as the innocent
victims of a barrage of questions. And
frequently you find that even persons
engaged in some important work,
have a sense of humor, just like any-
one else. I sometimes marvel at this
or that person's extensive knowledge
of opera, slang, history, geography,
etc. Of course, some of the questions
are simple- — but even the simplest are
sometimes the "catchiest."

Each week I look forward to the
next program, which will bring me
someone, whose novel I have read,
who is a well-known personage or of
whom I have read in the news.

Yvonne Shima,

Norwalk, Calif.

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RADIO MIRROR

The Case of the Hollywood Scandal

(Continued from page 36)

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voice was as cruel and crisp as the
lash of a whip. "It isn't for you to
decide what you're to tell me and
what not," he said. "Tell me every-
thing."

"Well," I said, thinking fast and
talking fast. "I came here with that
agreement in my brief case. I was
a little early, but I expected to find
you and Mr. Foley here, or at least
find someone at home."

"There was no one in?" he asked.

"No one answered the bell."

"How did you get in?"

"I walked in. The door was open."

"Are you accustomed to walking
into strange houses. . . ."

STOP it," I said. "Don't you try to
cross examine me. I'm working
for Mr. Foley; I'm accountable to him.
I came here at his request, not
yours."

The anger in my voice stopped him.
He was silent for a second or two,
then said, "I beg your pardon, Miss
Bell. I was only trying to protect
you."

"Protect me from what?"

"From the police."

"I don't want to be protected from
the police. The police are my
friends."

"The police," he said, "must never
know that you were here."

"That's what you think," I told him.

"I'm speaking on behalf of Mr.
Foley."

"I think Mr. Foley is quite capable
of doing his own speaking."

He hesitated as though thinking
out a new plan of attack. His voice
became solicitous — too solicitous — I
thought. "My dear Miss Bell," he said.
"I didn't realize what a terrifying
experience you've been through. Cer-
tainly to a young woman who is un-
accustomed to scenes of violence, this
is a great shock, a very great — er —
ah — emotional shock. I want you to go
out and wait in my car. I assure you
you'll be quite safe there. Nothing
will happen, and I'll go up and in-
vestigate. I think you're quite right.
If you are to receive any instructions,
they should come from Mr. Foley,
the man for whom you are working."

"But you can't investigate," I told
him. "The lights are off."

"I know the house," he said. "I'll
grope my way."

"Well, I'm not going with you," I
told him.

"I don't want you to. I want you to
go out and sit in the car. I'll see what
I can find." And he slipped quietly
down the dark corridor.

I started toward the automobile
which was parked at the curb, then
remembered my brief case. I ran
back, and retrieved it after some
fumbling around, returned to the
automobile, opened the door, climbed
in, and sat there, thinking what a
strange combination Frank G. Padg-
ham was. I would never have ex-
pected him to develop the moral
courage to go into that dark house
for the purpose of making an investi-
gation.

There was a drugstore at the cor-
ner. I could see the light shining
through the windows. It occurred to
me they'd have a telephone, and some-
thing which had been merely a vague
half-thought in the back of my mind
crystallized into sudden determina-
tion.

I looked up at the dark house. The
lights were still apparently off, judg-
ing by the diamond-shaped window
in the hallway. I knew from experi-
ence that the curtains and hangings
over the other windows were so heavy
that it would be impossible to tell
whether there were lights on in the
other rooms.

I OPENED the door and slipped out
I to the sidewalk. There seemed to be
no one in sight. I started walking
rapidly toward the drugstore. I had
been around in Hollywood long
enough and had read newspapers to
know what a precious thing a star's
reputation is, whether he is in radio
or movies — and Bruce Eaton was in
both. Let him get in what is known
as "a jam" and unfavorable publicity
can ruin him, and I knew the studios
were keenly alive to the situation.
I felt that it was only fair Bruce Eaton
should have an opportunity to defend
himself.

I entered the drugstore, gave one of
my best smiles to the clerk, and
walked across to the telephone booth.

I looked for Bruce Eaton in the di-
rectory.

He wasn't listed. It occurred to me
then that he wouldn't be. I called
Information and pleaded with her to

It's Kenny Baker, made up to play the part of Nanki-Poo, in Universale
production of "The Mikado." Yum-Yum's played by Jean Colin.

RADIO MIRROR

give me Bruce Eaton's unlisted num-
ber. I told her it was a matter of
life and death, something that was
very, very important to Mr. Eaton,
and my emotional storm was wasted
against a wall of official reserve. I
couldn't even get the smile out of her
voice.

And then I remembered reading an
article in a motion picture magazine
about Bruce Eaton, only a few days
ago. That article had mentioned the
name of the agency which represented
him. I couldn't recall the name off-
hand, but there was a magazine stand
in the drugstore.

I LEFT the telephone booth, bought
a copy of the magazine, and found
the name I wanted. That name was
listed in the telephone directory. I
called the number. I hardly expected
there'd be anyone at the office, but I
thought perhaps Information would
give me the number of . . . Someone
answered the telephone, a soothingly
competent masculine voice which
seemed to say, "All right, you've
got me now. There's nothing to worry
about. Tell me what it is."

I didn't want Mr. Padgham to know
I'd been telephoning. Time was short.
I didn't have any opportunity to ask
questions, and I certainly didn't want
anyone to ask me questions. "Listen,"
I said, "your agency represents Bruce
Eaton. I happen to have some infor-
mation of the greatest importance to
Mr. Eaton."

"Yes," the voice said. "We repre-
sent him. Can you tell me who this is
talking?"

"No," I said, "but I have a message
which must get to Mr. Eaton right
away."

This time the voice seemed to have

lost some of its cordiality. "What's
the message?" it asked.

"Please tell Mr. Eaton that the
young woman who removed his gag
recognized him, that her telephone
number is . . ." That was making it
sound too much like a mash proposi-
tion, so I added hastily, "Please tell
him that if he wants to get in touch
with the young woman who removed
his gag, he can call Miss Bell at the
law office of William C. Foley, and
Miss Bell will see that any messages
he desires to give are duly trans-
mitted."

"Can't you tell me something more
about what you're referring to?" the
voice asked. "Can't you be a little
more specific? After all, you know
there are lots of people who admire
Mr. Eaton both as an individual and as
an actor. Many of them try to get in
touch with him. We have literally
hundreds of messages which we sim-
ply can't transmit, because it wouldn't
do any good. Mr. Eaton couldn't even
begin to . . .

"Listen," I interrupted. "This is a
matter of life and death. You're
interested in Mr. Eaton — in any event,
you're interested in his earning ca-
pacity. If you don't do just as I say,
his earning capacity may take a nose
dive, and I haven't time to argue
about it."

I slammed up the telephone receiver
and walked from the telephone booth
conscious of the fact that the clerk
had mistaken my smile for an invita-
tion, and was smirking all over his
fat face.

After I'd left the drugstore, I
walked just as fast as I could make
my legs move.

Halfway to the house I received a
sudden shock. There was no auto-

mobile at the curb!

I kept on walking, hoping against
hope that my eyes had deceived me.
I wondered what Mr. Padgham would
think, wondered if, perhaps, he'd de-
cided I knew more about the affair
of the Spanish house than I'd dis-
closed to him.

An automobile swung around the
corner behind me, coming at high
speed. As the car swayed on its
springs and skidded slightly, the
brilliant illumination of the head-
lights swung far over to the left, held
me in their pitiless brilliance, then
went over to the right and back again
to the left. I heard the sound of tires
protesting against the too sudden ap-
plication of brakes.

After what I'd been through, my
nerves were ragged. I started to run.
Then I heard Mr. Foley's voice call-
ing. "What is it, Miss Bell?"

I turned back toward the car. I
don't think I was ever so glad to hear
a voice in my life.

"Has something happened?" he
asked.

"Yes," I told him.

"What?"

"Lots of things," I said.

HE glanced at the brief case under
my arm. "Do you still have the
agreement?"

"I held on to it through thick and
thin," I said, laughing nervously.

"Want to get in?" he asked.

Did I? I ran around the car and
climbed in beside him.

"Tell me about it," he urged.

"So I started in and told him the
whole thing from the beginning, from
the time the car had tried to run over
me until Mr. Padgham had sent me
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I held out on was Bruce Eaton and
that key. Somehow I didn't exactly
think it would be cricket to tell even
Mr. Foley — at any rate, not until
Bruce Eaton's agent had had an op-
portunity to tell him to communicate
with me.

"Then you don't know whether the
man in that room had been murdered
or had died a natural death?"

"No, only what Mr. Padgham said."

"You don't even know of your own
knowledge whether he was dead or
not?"

"Certainly not," I said. "I didn't
go in the room."

"But Padgham left you in the auto-
mobile and went up to that room."

"That's where he said he was
going."

"How long ago was that?"

"Perhaps ten minutes."

"And what were you doing in the
meantime?"

"I . . . I went down to the drug-
store," I said. "I was coming right
back."

"You shouldn't have done that," he
told me. "Padgham may have become
worried about you."

I DON'T think he'll ever waste much
' time worrying about anyone except
Padgham," I said.

"Tell me about his emotional reac-
tions when you told him about this
dead man."

"I think at first," I said, "when I
answered the door and it was all dark
inside, he was absolutely terror
stricken. He . . ."

"Yes, yes, I know," Foley interrupt-
ed impatiently. "That isn't what I
meant. I want to know how he re-
acted when you were telling him
about what you'd found in the house."

"Well," I said, "it was dark, of
course, and I couldn't see his facial
expression, but . . ."

"Never mind the facial expression.
You heard him talk. What about his
voice?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Foley," I said, "but
I couldn't tell a thing from his voice.
I havent your ability to read char-
acters and emotions from voices."

"What did he say when you told him
about a dead man in the room on the
second floor. What words did he
use?"

"He said 'Oh— Good Lord!'"

"Now you're certain about that?"

"Absolutely certain. I remember
particularly that's what he said."

"All right," Foley said. "Mimic the
way he said it just as well as you
can."

"But," I protested, "I couldn't mimic
Mr. Padgham."

"I dont mean that particularly.
What I mean is tell me how he said
it. Was the accent on the 'oh' or
on the 'Lord', or did he roll the r's
in 'Lord'? Did . . ."

"He rolled the r's in 'Lord', I said.
"I remember distinctly. He said 'Oh —
Good Lor-r-r-d!!' "

"And how about the 'Oh'? Was it
accented?"

"No, he soft-pedalled that and came
down heavy on the last word."

There were several seconds of
silence while my boss sat there think-
ing. At length, I gained the temerity
to ask, "Does that signify anything,
Mr. Foley?"

He said thoughtfully, "I think it
does," and then turning, smiled at me
and said, "But as yet, I don't know
just what."

"Do you want to go to the house?"
I asked.

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What Becomes of
the Girls Who

Run
Away?

Every day across the nation, young, sweet, attrac-
tive girls are disappearing from the protection of
their parents' homes. Some are abducted di-
rectly into slavery. Others, because of escapades
with boys, failure at school or other trouble, van-
ish almost as completely. Inexperienced, tragi-
cally unprepared to battle against the odds of a
world arrayed against them, they find its grim
realities too much to fight alone. What becomes
of them then?

Stella A. Miner, Director of the Girls' Service
League of America, has seen thousands of these
cases, and in May True Story Magazine she re-
veals the stories of some of the runaway girls she
knows. Their case histories will give you a new
understanding of the problems and the tragedies
of the girls who run away!

May True Story

^ * MAGAZINE ■

20th ANNIVERSARY
NUMBER

RADIO MIRROR

"No," he said, shortly. "It's too late
now." He swung his car in the middle
of the block, and turned back toward
the drugstore. "Did you," he asked,
"notice whether there was a public
telephone booth in the drugstore?"

I knitted my forehead into a frown
as though trying to recall, and said,
"Yes, there's a telephone booth there."

It was a species of white lie, but
I hoped it would be justified under
the circumstances. I knew that in or-
der to protect Bruce Eaton I was going
to have to tell plenty of white lies,
and I might just as well get in prac-
tice. ... I wondered if he'd call me.

LOOK here," Mr. Foley said, inter-
■ rupting my thoughts. "Let's get
one thing straight. Exactly when did
the lights go out?"

"Right after I'd discovered this dead
man there in the room."

Mr. Foley slid the car to a stop in
front of the drugstore, but made no
motion to open the door. "Now, tell
me once more," he said, "about your
conversation with Mr. Padgham."

Once more I related the conversa-
tion, and once more Mr. Foley sat
staring straight ahead, his forehead
furrowed in concentration.

After several seconds of silence, I
said, "Did you want to do something
about a telephone?"

He nodded, but still made no move
to open the car door or to get out.

"Is there," I asked, "anything wrong
with my conversation with Mr. Padg-
ham? Did I say anything to him that
I shouldn't have?"

"No," he said, "that isn't what both-
ers me."

"May I ask what it is?"

"Yes," he said. "Hasn't it impressed
you as being significant that Mr.

Padgham didn't ask you at any time
when the lights had gone out?"

"That's right," I exclaimed. "He
didn't."

"You can appreciate how significant
it is," Mr. Foley said. "The man drives
up to a house where he has an ap-
pointment. He naturally expects to
have someone answer his ring in a
conventional manner. He doesn't
know that the house is dark, but
thinks probably that curtains across
the diamond-shaped window in the
front door keep him from seeing any
illumination from within. All of a
sudden, the door swings open. A
tunnel of darkness looms ahead in
place of the lighted corridor the man
had expected to see. A woman tells
him about finding a dead man on the
upper floor.

"Now one of the first questions a
person would naturally ask is 'Well,
what's wrong with the lights? When
did they go off?' Now, you're certain
Mr. Padgham didn't ask you that
question or something like it?"

"Absolutely," I said.

"Go into that drugstore," Mr. Foley
said. "Tell the clerk that you're too
nervous to telephone. Ask him to
telephone police headquarters and re-
port a dead man at that address. Tell
him that you have reason to believe
the man may have been murdered.
Then turn around and walk out."

"What if he asks me questions?" I
wanted to know.

"Walk out," he said.

"Shouldn't I telephone the police
myself?"

"No, I don't want you to give them
your name. If you telephone them,
it will simply be an anonymous call,
and if you ever find yourself in a
position where you have to establish

the fact that you placed that call, you
can't do it. By going in the drugstore
and asking the clerk to place the call
you'll have an out if you need it."

"I see your point," I told him.
"Here goes."

I didn't tell him that I'd already
impressed my personality on the
clerk, because I didn't want to tell
him about that first telephone call I'd
made. I jumped to the curb, crossed
the sidewalk, and knew as soon as I
saw the clerk's face that he thought
he'd made a conquest, that I'd
trumped up some excuse to come back
and get acquainted.

I HAD one satisfaction about deliv-
' ering my message. It wiped the
smirk off that man's face, and while
he was standing there still dazed
from the impact of the news I'd given
him, I turned and went sailing out the
door to Mr. Foley's car.

"And now what?" I asked.

"Now," he said, "you can deliver
the agreement to me, and I'll deliver
you to your home, and you'll try your
level best to forget all about it."

I handed him the brief case. He
stopped the car, opened the brief
case, then looked up at me with ques-
tioning eyes.

The brief case was empty!

Only one day on the job, and al-
ready involved in a murder case!
Is Claire getting into deeper trouble
by withholding some of the infor-
mation in her possession from Mr.
Foley? Read the next instalment of
this swiftly-paced mystery story in
the June issue of Radio Mirror,
on sale April 26th.

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RADIO MIRROR

America's Millions

will go by

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I Will Live

(Continued jrom page 19)

Address

City

MF-5

doctor who prophesied that tragic
future for her was a wise man, but
there was one thing he didn't under-
stand: the sheer, indomitable courage
of the human heart.

It is almost unbelievable, this
story. . . .

Barbara Luddy was not out of
babyhood when infantile paralysis
first struck her. Not that the physi-
cian who diagnosed her case knew
what was wrong. He said she was
suffering from spinal meningitis.

Barbara doesn't remember her
father. He and Mrs. Luddy were di-
vorced when she was still in her crib.
The father she does remember was
Dr. Newton Sproule, whom her
mother married when Barbara was
six. Cultured, brilliant, charming, Dr.
Sproule had come from his native
Toronto to the prairies of Montana
to absorb the dry summer sun into
his tubercular lungs. Instead of re-
turning to Toronto he became a coun-
try doctor in the United States' rough
northwest — in Harlem, a tiny dot of
a settlement in the midst of the roll-
ing plains, not far from Helena.

T was Dr. Sproule, in the little hos-
pital he set up in Harlem, who first
correctly diagnosed Barbara's illness,
and started her on a series of exer-
cises and manipulations designed to
strengthen her weakened muscles.

They were happy, the three people
of that family. Dr. Sproule's lungs
were getting stronger. His practice
was good and his hospital was a suc-
cess. Babs' condition was improving.
Mrs. Sproule was forgetting the un-
happiness of her first marriage.

Then a typhoid epidemic struck
Harlem. The hospital, designed to
accommodate forty patients, was sud-
denly deluged by a hundred and fifty
desperately ill townspeople and farm-
ers. Five cots were jammed into
single rooms. Doctors — Sproule and
his assistants — and nurses were over-
worked, soon exhausted. Mrs. Sproule,
already suffering from a slight cough
that was too similar to her husband's,
joined the nurses in caring for the
patients.

At the height of the epidemic a
blizzard swept down out of the north.
Into the hospital struggled a half-
frozen, exhausted man. His wife was
giving birth to a baby on their farm
twenty miles out on the prairie. Would
Dr. Sproule . . . . ?

Of course Dr. Sproule would attend
her. He left the hospital alone, order-
ing the prospective father to remain
behind for treatment. One of his feet
had been badly frozen.

The father, however, disobeyed
orders — and saved Dr. Sproule's life.
Half way to his home he found the
doctor's car, stalled in the mounting
drifts. A few feet away was the doc-
tor himself, half buried in the snow,
sunk in the coma which precedes
death by freezing. He revived Sproule,
and together they reached the farm,
where Sproule brought the man's
baby into the world.

But the experience took lasting toll
of the doctor's health. By the time he
got back to the hospital he was des-
perately ill. And there he found that
his wife had also become a patient,
worn out by the strain of caring for
the hospital full of people.

Both husband and wife were bed-

ridden much of the time from then
on. Gradually they lost what money
they'd accumulated, and the hospital
passed into other hands.

Babs was six years old, and the
World War was in its last hysterical
months. She didn't understand the
War, any more than she understood
the tragedy that had come into her
mother's and step-father's lives, but it
was fun to stand on the back of a
truck and sing patriotic songs in
drives for savings stamps. And later,
a day or two after .the Armistice, it
was thrilling to be part of the patriotic
vaudeville bill at the American Thea-
ter in Butte.

Babs didn't know it then, but this
was her first professional engagement.
She sang "The Star Spangled Ban-
ner," and for the climax spread her
folded arms to display the American
flag draped behind her. It brought
down the house. Someone threw a
silver dollar on the stage. Other coins
followed. Soon Babs, still singing, was
running around the stage gathering
up coins from the footlight trough,
under the piano, in the wings.

Her success in this one professional
appearance led naturally to an offer
from the Pantages circuit, and she be-
came part of a traveling company
heading for the west coast. Under
Dr. Sproule's guidance, she added
dancing to her effortless lyric soprano
voice. They were highly original
dance steps, those sinuous Oriental
twists and twirls which she worked
out with the doctor. What audiences
didn't know was that each movement
had been planned by the canny doctor
to straighten her curved spine and
partially paralyzed right leg.

Dr. and Mrs. Sproule went along
on the tour, of course. Dr. Sproule
was anxious to get to Hollywood, hop-
ing to develop a medical practice
there, in a climate more healthy for
his weak lungs. But his condition
grew worse, and soon he was in the
Los Angeles county hospital — to re-
main there for the rest of his brief
life.

Babs sang and danced wherever she
could. Once she was in a burlesque
show, where the world-weary, cynical
show-girls guarded the child with al-
most motherly devotion. Her mother
and step-father were bitterly ashamed
that their little girl must work in such
an environment — but there was noth-
ing they could do. They had to have
the money.

A TIME was coming, though, when
Babs would see her career — her
first career — brought to an abrupt end.
She was singing in a San Diego theater
when, in the very middle of a song,
her voice failed her. She opened her
mouth, and not a sound came out. In
agony, she looked at the orchestra
leader, who was quick-witted enough
to signal his men for a crescendo
while Babs pretended to finish the
song.

Her singing voice was gone. That
was obvious when the curtain came
down. A little of her carefully guarded
money went to a doctor who said the
trouble was overwork and advised
complete rest for the vocal chords.

Luckily, Mrs. Sproule was again on
the road to health and for two years
Barbara went to school while her
mother worked. There were more

RADIO MIRROR

than ordinary living expenses to be
met, too . . . little luxuries now and
then to make the long days and nights
in the hospital more pleasant for Dr.
Sproule . . . and treatments for Babs.
Just one month before she was
fourteen Babs came into Dr. Sproule's
hospital room, her face streaked with
tears. With her were her mother and
the doctor who had been treating her.
Without any preliminaries, he an-
nounced that Babs must begin wear-
ing a back brace to compensate for
the weakened leg.

WEAKLY, but determinedly, Dr.
Sproule refused to permit it.

His thin hand, almost transparent
now, lay on both of Babs'. "Listen,
Babs," he said. "Most of your life so
far, you've had to take care of your-
self, and — we've got to face it — you
probably always will have to. You've
had no formal education. All you
know is the entertainment business —
but you do know that. And you can't
be an entertainer if you wear braces.
You mustn't — you must not — wear
them. You are not going to look like
a cripple!"

Exhausted by the intensity of his
emotion, he fell back upon the pil-
lows. But he'd won his fight. No
braces were ordered for Barbara, and
a few days later she applied for work
as an extra at the movies' Central
Casting Bureau.

Because she was not yet fourteen
she lied. She gave her age as sixteen.
If she had given her real age, a pros-
pective employer would have been
forced by law to hire a tutor for her —
something no film company would
bother to do for a mere extra.

The gods must have been in a cruel-
ly humorous mood when Central Cast-
ing called Barbara for the first time.
For she was to report at the Butter-
fly Comedy studios to test for a part —
as a bathing beauty!

It seemed foolhardy even to answer
the call, but she did. One of six hun-
dred bathing girls, she paraded before
the cool, critical eye of the camera.
She even persuaded the director, who
didn't know her from Eve, to give her
girl friend a test too.

Later she was called back. This
time the director asked her to face the
camera again. She did, breathlessly
afraid, but guarding that weakened
leg by letting it rest casually from a
bent knee, only the toe touching the
ground.

"Will you kick your right leg,
please?" the director asked politely.

This was the end. "I can but I'd
rather not," Barbara replied.

The director nodded, as if in con-
firmation. "Yes," he said, "that's what
your friend told me — the one you per-
suaded me to test. . . ."

But he gave her a contract anyway.
So cleverly had she passed the pre-
liminary tests that he hadn't noticed
anything unusual. If she fooled him,
he told her, she could fool audiences.
The traitorous girl-friend has yet to
make her appearance on any screen.

If only Babs' "father" could have
lived to know!

For six months, until Butterfly
Comedies went bankrupt, Babs was a
bathing beauty. After that, while her
mother worked in a doctor's office,
she added to the family income with
whatever work she could get, which
wasn't much until, after about a year

and a half, she landed a contract to
co-star in a series of comedies for
Fox Films.

That was Barbara's second career:
as a rising young screen ingenue. Per-
haps you'll laugh when you hear how
it ended. Perhaps, on the other hand,
you won't.

She began to gain weight. Six
pounds crept up on her. And Barbara
is only four feet ten inches tall, so
that six extra pounds made a lot of
difference, particularly before the
camera. Her employers ordered her
to lose weight. Nothing particularly
unusual about that — it's done every
day in Hollywood. But Barbara's doc-
tor, when he heard of it, said simply:

"You may lose your film contract if
you don't diet. But if you do diet,
you'll lose your life!"

GIVE up the hard-won position.
Start all over again from the be-
ginning. Try again. Make the rounds
of the few theatrical producers on the
west coast. Keep going. Keep going —

But Barbara Luddy wasn't entirely
unknown by this time, and it wasn't
too long before she was given the
ingenue lead opposite Leo Carrillo in
"Lombardi, Ltd.," in which she did
such a good job that when Carrillo
decided to take the play to Australia
he urged her to go along.

She refused.

Something had happened to Bar-
bara. She'd fallen in love, with a
handsome young British actor that we
might as well call Michael. They
were going to be married, and Bar-
bara had no desire to leave California
and Michael.

Then, just before the Australian

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RADIO MIRROR

tour was to start, Barbara capitulated.
She called Carrillo and told him she'd
go along. Why? The answer is some-
thing that Barbara has kept locked in
her heart until now.

Her doctor had told her that she
must never marry. Not only that, he
said, but the chances were she might
be a hopeless cripple in seven years.

That is the doom which Barbara has
carried everywhere with her for the
last seven years, never telling anyone
except her mother — who knew, al-
ready. Until he reads this article,
Michael has never been able to solve
the mystery of why Barbara suddenly
broke off their engagement and went
to Australia with Leo Carrillo's show.
She apologized for hurting him . . .
but she never told.

SHE kept silence throughout the
Australian tour, and then she re-
turned to the United States to find
that the depression had wiped out all
theatrical activity on the west coast.
She kept silence — and grimly, dog-
gedly set out to begin a fourth career,
as a radio actress.

Determination made that fourth
career a success, and determination —
nothing else — has banished the fear of
being a cripple.

The doctor who threatened dire
consequences if she didn't wear a back
brace was wrong. The doctor who
promised her the painful bed of the
hopeless paralytic before March of
this year was wrong.

Not only has she proved them
wrong, but she's gone on to horseback
riding and dancing. And now ice
skating. It was Bret Morrison, who
plays the role of the First Nighter,
who got her on a horse. Through his
close friendship with her, he discov-
ered her envy of those who could ride.
At last he found out, too, why she was
afraid to try. He scoured Chicago un-
til he found a side-saddle, and almost
forced her to try it. After a year of
riding, dancing, skating, Barbara
visited a famous specialist, who told
her she need never worry again.

Today some people laugh when they
see Barbara riding a horse with that
old-fashioned saddle. They put it
down, no doubt, to an actress' affecta-
tion. But Barbara laughs with them.
She can afford to — now. She can af-
ford to laugh at so many things be-
cause for the first time in years she
is safe.

Foolish Fancy, Maybe

(Continued from page 14)

where I couldn't afford to go; and I
knew no one in Detroit who would
take me there.

Something had to be done, and for
three days I racked my brain, trying
to think what it would be. Then I
remembered that night when Randy
interviewed me on the air. That was
it! I'd go to see him, try to persuade
him he needed a girl singer, and ask
if I couldn't have the job. He'd never
give it to me, but at least I'd have a
chance to talk to him, and then —
well, who knew what would happen?

I went to the hotel where he was
staying, and boldly asked for Randy
Blake on one of the house telephones.
A man's voice answered, and I asked
for Mr. Blake.

"Who's calling?" the man asked.

"Tell Mr. Blake it's Rita Sullivan—
we met in Chicago."

There was a pause at the other end

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BOX OFFICE
POISON

— A Year Later

Last year a red-bordered ad ap-
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amaze you, enlighten you. Do not
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nno vie

It It O It

RADIO MIRROR

of the line, and I waited, my heart
pounding. Would the trick work?
Or would Randy know that he hadn't
met any Rita Sullivan in Chicago?
Then the man came back to the phone.
"Will you come up?" he said. "Suite
412."

THERE were several men in suite
412, but I had eyes for only one —
Randy, standing tall and self-pos-
sessed in the middle of the room. He
looked at me blankly for a moment —
then his face cleared.

"Why, it's the little girl with the big
brown eyes!" he said. "What are you
doing in Detroit?"

I breathed a silent prayer of thanks-
giving for his friendliness. It hadn't
seemed possible to me that Randy
would be anything but friendly, but
I was awfully glad to be reassured.

"I — I think you ought to have a girl
singer with your band," I said.

His brows went up in mock amaze-
ment. "You do? And I'll bet you'd
like to be her."

"Yes," I said, "I would."

Randy looked at the other men in
the room. "Well," he said, shrugging
his shoulders. "Maybe she's right,
boys. Maybe I do need a girl singer.
Can't ever tell." He turned back to
me. "Ever do any professional work?"

"N-no," I admitted. "Just at pri-
vate parties."

"Um-hm," he said, regarding me
thoughtfully. Then he turned ab-
ruptly on his heel and went over to
a grand piano in the corner of the
room. "Come on. Let's see what you
can do."

I hadn't bargained on anything
quite as sudden as this. I'd expected
Randy either to turn me down com-

pletely or talk to me a while and
make an appointment for a regular
audition.

"Why — I — " I stammered. "Right
now?"

"Sure," he said crisply. "No time
like the present." He ran his fingers
over the keys. "What'll it be?"

"Oh — 'Melancholy Baby,' " I said.
It was an old song, but one I'd always
liked.

When I'd finished the song Randy
sat on a moment at the piano, strik-
ing thoughtful chords, before he
turned and said kindly, "I'm sorry,
Rita — Miss Sullivan, I mean. You'd
have to have more training before we
could use you. ... I really am
sorry."

"Well — thank you anyway," I said.

He took my arm and began walking
slowly toward the door. "Not at all.
It was nice of you to come up. Come
back in — oh, in a couple of years, and
then we'll see."

We were at the door now, he was
waiting politely for me to leave. I
couldn't face his courtesy and kind-
ness— so friendly and yet so imper-
sonal. I turned quickly and went
out.

1 walked slowly down the corridor
to the elevators, pressed a button,
waited for the car to stop for me.
So that ended that. I'd met him, and
I still didn't know him. He lived in
one world, I in another. And there
was no use in my trying to break into
his life. The words of the song I'd
just sung kept running through my
mind. "Foolish fancy, maybe." Mine
had been a foolish fancy, and no
maybe about it.

"Excuse me," a diffident voice said
beside me. I turned, to find a boy

who looked vaguely familiar standing
at my elbow. "Excuse me," he said
again, "but I'm Johnny Mack. I play
sax for Randy. I was back there in
his room, just now."

"Oh — of course," I said, recognizing
him.

"Won't you come and have a bite to
eat with me?" he asked. "I — I'd like
to talk to you, if you don't mind."

I hadn't the least idea of what he
wanted, but I agreed at once. He was
a nice-looking young fellow — he
couldn't have been more than twenty-
two. He had a shy, bashful manner
that was very appealing, and his gray
eyes were gentle and respectful.

LIE led me into the coffee-room of
' ' the hotel, and found a quiet booth
for us.

"You know," he said after he'd
given the waitress our order, "I used
to see you in Chicago. You came to
the Shalimar a lot, didn't you?"

"Yes — almost every night, I guess."
He had, I noticed, just a trace of
Southern accent — not much, just
enough to lend his voice a soft, drawl-
ing quality.

"Um-hum." He nodded, and picked
up a fork and began earnestly tracing
elaborate patterns on the table-cloth.
"You'll probably think I'm butting in
where it isn't any of my business," he
went on, "but — well, how'd you hap-
pen to come to Detroit? If you wanted
to get a job singing with the band,
why didn't you ask Randy in
Chicago?"

"I didn't — I didn't think of it," I
said lamely.

"Oh. Well, I still don't see— There
are lots of other bands in Chicago.
Why didn't you try one of them?"

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That was a tough question to an-
swer. I hesitated, thinking. I looked
across the table at his intent, honest
face. I'd only known him a few min-
utes, but I felt instinctively he was
my friend. He might have been the
boy who sat next to me in a class at
college. And I did want, terribly, to
confide in someone.

"I don't really want to be a singer,"
I confessed. "I just want to be where
Randy Blake is."

He didn't seem surprised or
shocked. "It's like that, is it?"

"Yes," I said, "it's like that. You
won't tell him?"

"Of course not," he promised. "You
know, I think maybe I can help you.
Randy's been thinking for some time
he needed a girl singer — that's where
you're lucky. But he doesn't know
from nothing the kind of singer he
wants — that's where you're unlucky.
Now, I listened to you just now, and
your voice is terrible."

"It is not!" I flashed back at him.
It was all right for me to admit to
myself that my voice was terrible, but
I didn't intend to let other people say
so.

LJE just grinned at me. "Yes it is,
' ' and you know it. But it's also got
something. I don't know what— a
sort of a warm, throaty quality that
would sound swell over a mike. You
couldn't make yourself heard across
the room with those pipes of yours,
but amplified on a mike — well, then
they might be swell."

"Randy doesn't think so," I re-
minded him.

"I know it, but maybe I can fix it
so he will." And that was all he'd
say, except to urge me to stay around
Detroit for a week or so, and to prom-
ise that he'd come to see me the next
afternoon. He also asked if I had any
money, and I told him I had plenty
in the bank; after which he arranged
to cash a check for me at the hotel.
I hadn't even thought of the difficulty
of getting checks cashed in a strange
town.

For a week nothing happened. I
saw Johnny every afternoon, but he
would only smile mysteriously and
tell me not to worry. Nevertheless, I
did. I wanted terribly to see Randy,
and I knew, unless Johnny's mysteri-
ous plan bore fruit, I never would.
Many times, in the long dark nights, I
resolved to pack up the next morning
and go back to Chicago — but in the
mornings I felt better, and decided to
stay on one more day.

Then, one afternoon, Johnny an-
nounced that everything was set.

"Are you game to sing on the air,
over a little local station?" he asked.
"At noon tomorrow?"

"Of course — but how — "

He chuckled. "I had to do some tall
finagling, but here's the set-up. The
people at the station think you're
somebody Randy wants to try out, so
they're willing to give you a quarter-
hour of time. I gave 'em a phoney
name for you — Lucille Ames. And
Randy doesn't know anything about it
at all. At noon tomorrow I'll see that
his set is on and tuned to your station.
Then, if he likes you, he'll think he
discovered you himself. If he doesn't
— well, you haven't got what I think
you have."

I didn't sleep a wink that night, and
the next morning as I walked to the
station I felt as if I were on my way
to the electric chair. But once before
the microphone in the shabby little

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one-horse studio, my nervousness
miraculously fell away. After all, I
thought, if I failed, nobody except
Johnny and I would know. As a re-
sult, when I finished, the studio pian-
ist who had accompanied me looked
at me with genuine approval.

I hurried back to my rooming house
and waited. The hours dragged by,
and slowly I lost heart. Something
had gone wrong. Randy didn't like
me — or perhaps he hadn't listened at
all. Then, late in the afternoon, quick
steps sounded in the hall, and Johnny
knocked on my door.

"Randy wants to see you!" he
beamed. "I was right — you have got
something in that funny little voice
of yours. And if Randy will take a
joke — well, you're hired!"

MY emotions were very different
the second time I entered suite
412 at Randy's hotel, from what they'd
been the first time. I was twice as
scared, for one thing. But what really
worried me was Randy's reaction
when he learned the truth. If he was
angry and unkind, I didn't think I
could stand it.

"This is the girl you heard on the
air," was all Johnny said.

Randy's mouth fell open. For a
moment he looked absolutely stunned.
"You — " he said, and stopped. Then
he began to laugh, and I knew I had
won.

From that moment, I stepped into a
new world — the strange, topsy-turvy
world of danceland, where you work
at night and have daytime to yourself,
except for rehearsal periods.

Being in Randy's band was all I'd
ever thought it could be, and more.
Randy knew all about how Johnny

and I had tricked him into listening
to me on the air, but he never held
it against us.

For my first few days I only did one
or two songs an evening, but one
afternoon Randy spent about four
hours alone with me, playing the
piano while I went over and over half
a dozen songs. At last he gave a satis-
fied sigh and jumped up from the
piano stool.

"One more session like that and
you'll be a real asset to the gang," he
said. "Now let's go downstairs and
have something to eat."

As we went down in the elevator
and through the crowded lobby to the
luxurious hotel grill, I couldn't help
marvelling, thinking how wonderful
it was that in a few short days my
entire life had changed. It didn't
seem possible that I was with Randy
Blake, the man I loved, sitting oppo-
site him at a snowy-white table while
an obsequious waiter received his
order.

"How do you like the band busi-
ness now?" he asked.

"I love it!" I assured him with
such obvious enthusiasm that he
smiled.

"You're a funny little kid," he said.
"I can't quite make you out. How
about that college course at North-
western? School will be opening
again soon."

"Who wants to go to school when
she can be singing in Randy Blake's
band?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Not you, evi-
dently. But — -well, I wish you'd tell
me why you followed us to Detroit,
instead of asking for a job in
Chicago."

It was the same question, almost

that Johnny had asked me, and I still
didn't have a convincing answer to it
— except the truth. "I didn't -think
you'd hire me," I murmured.

"But, thinking I wouldn't hire you,
you came all the way from Chicago
to Detroit? I don't get it."

I couldn't answer. I raised my eyes
to his. For a long minute our glances
locked. I saw first unbelief, then
tenderness, steal into his face.

"You're very sweet," he said softly.

After that, I remember, we were
very gay. Randy told me story after
story about the band and about him-
self— things I was sure he would have
told no one else. And when we
parted, I was so happy I could scarce-
ly keep from dancing down the street
to my rooming house, where I was
still living.

WONDERFUL days followed. I
loved the band work, of course,
but even more I loved being with
Randy. Often, on afternoons when
there was no rehearsal, he'd hire a car
and we'd drive out into the country,
and those sunlit hours were the hap-
piest I'd ever spent.

We never spoke of love, but I said
to myself that could wait. Words
weren't needed, anyway. The occa-
sional touch of Randy's hand, his high
spirits when we were together — these
alone were enough to convince me of
his affection.

I saw a good deal of Johnny, too,
because of course there were times
when the business affairs of the band
tied Randy up and he couldn't get
away. But the hours I spent with
Johnny were subtly different from
those with Randy. Johnny and I
were like a couple of happy kids, ex-

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ploring the city together, going to
movies and arguing over the merits
of different dance bands. I might as
well have been another boy, for all
the difference sex made in our rela-
tionship.

I wrote to my parents, telling them
that I had decided not to return to
school. After the last week in August,
the band was going into another hotel
engagement in Minneapolis, and I was
looking forward eagerly to the ex-
citement of departure.

But about a week before we were
to leave Detroit I sensed that some-
thing was wrong. Randy seemed pre-
occupied and worried, and I never
saw him except at rehearsals or per-
formances. I racked my brain, trying
to think of some way in which I had
offended him, and finally I ran after
him as rehearsal was breaking up.

"Randy," I said, "what's the matter?
I never see you any more."

He patted my hand and smiled.
"Nothing's wrong, baby. I'm just
figuring on changing the style of the
band a little."

"Changing the style! But — "

SWING isn't going to last forever,
Rita," he said seriously. "I've been
thinking the pendulum's about due to
start back the other way — and I want
to get a little jump on the other bands,
so I'm going to modify the style.
That's the only reason I've been busy
lately — just figuring out what was the
best thing to do."

He hurried on, leaving me feeling
strangely worried. I couldn't believe
that he was doing the right thing, but
after all, he knew a great deal more
about the band business than I did.

Rumors of the coming changes be-
gan to circulate among the boys in
the band, too. The whole atmosphere
was changed. Instead of the happy,
easy-going, carefree spirit of a few
days before, there was a tension in
the air. During rest periods the boys
would gather in each other's dressing
rooms, whispering, wondering.

Even so, I was entirely unprepared
for what happened the day before we
were to leave Detroit. Johnny came
around, about eleven in the morning,
to my rooming house.

"Randy wants to see you," he said,
and I'd never seen him so serious.

I was all ready to go out for break-
fast, so I took his arm and we began
walking down the street. He wouldn't
answer any of my apprehensive ques-
tions.

Randy was all alone in his suite
when I entered. He drew up a chair
for me, and sat down himself.

"Rita — ■" he began, and paused, as
if uncertain how to go on.

"Yes, Randy."

"Baby, you've got a great future. In
the few weeks you've been with me
you've improved more than I ever
thought a girl singer could. I think
you're a real discovery. And so I hope
you won't be mad when I tell you
what I've done."

I rubbed the palms of my hands to-
gether nervously. They were sudden-
ly damp. "Yes, Randy?" I said again.

"I told you I was going to make
some changes in the band's style.
Well, it's all set. As soon as we get
to Minneapolis we're going to dig in
and start working on a lot of new
arrangements I've had fixed up. But
that isn't the important part, for you.
I've — I've got a job for you with Muff
Elkins' band in New York, if you
want it. I knew you were just the

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Joan Blondell

Reveals How You Can Have Your
Baby and Your Beauty Tool

She has had two babies and nobody can deny that
she still retains her beauty. In Physical Culture
for May she reveals how she did it. If you are one
of the thousands of women who fear that childbirth
ruins beauty, by all means read her article and be
disillusioned. You can have your baby and your
beauty too. Let Miss Blondell tell you how.

Do You Talk "Baby Talk"
to Your Baby?

If you do, you are doing him no favor. Just how
and why "baby talk" is very bad for baby is fully
explained in Physical Culture for May by Dr. Mary
Halton, famous baby specialist. Read her article
and we venture to say that "ba,by talk" is one
handicap under which he will have to live no longer.

Other Helpful Features in the
May Issue

How Medical Dictators Fought Public Health Pro-
gram by Brigadier General James A. Ryan . Rules
to End Your Worries . What's Wrong with the
Discontented Wife? • Sleep Keeps Them Wide
Awake • Charm For the Young Female Executive
. Fight for Physical Fitness . The Arrow Points
to Health, feminine exercise feature by Helen Mac-
fadden • Dr. McLean's Lusty Legacy . Physical
Culture Nutrition Department and many other
helpful features and departments.

Physical Culture

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RADIO MIRROR

girl Muff's been looking for, and he
wired me, taking you on my recom-
mendation, this morning."

I stared in amazement at the slip of
yellow paper he produced from his
pocket. "But I don't want to leave
you!" I burst out.

"I can't keep you, Rita," he said
simply. "I've hired Diana Blue to
sing with the band. You know who
she is, of course."

yES, I knew. A "name". A big name
in the danceband business. With
her as a featured artist, Randy Blake's
band would be a bigger draw.

He was trying to spare my feelings,
but in spite of himself his eyes shone
with excitement as he went on:
"Don't you see what a wonderful thing
it is to be able to get her? We'll
really go places now, with the band!
And you're going places too, Rita —
in a few months you'll have all New
York talking about you."

"Randy! I don't want to leave you!"
I cried.

"But don't you see," he explained
patiently, "I haven't got a place for
you in the band, any more. If it had
been anybody else but you I'd never
even have bothered to fix you up
with Muff Elkins." He paused, look-
ing at me intently. Then he added,
very quietly: "This is business."

Business! The word echoed through
my mind.

"I thought — I hoped there was
something more than — just business —
between us," I said at last.

"I'm sorry, Rita. I never wanted
you to feel that way. I'm awfully
fond of you — we've had lots of fun
together, but — "

His voice trailed away, but I could

finish the sentence myself. He was
trying to tell me that he didn't love
me, couldn't love me, couldn't love
anything but his band and his career.

I rose and tried to smile. "I under-
stand, Randy. It was good of you to
recommend me to Muff."

"He wants you right away, so I'll
wire him you're leaving tonight,"
Randy said, obviously relieved that I
wasn't going to cry.

"Tonight?"

"Sure, why not? There's a train at
midnight."

Packing, farewells, singing for the
last time. ... I went through them
all in numb misery. I was going to
New York, to a strange new future
— yet all I could think of was that
Randy didn't love me.

It was eleven-thirty. I'd said good-
bye to the boys in the band, and to
Randy, during the interval before the
supper show. Johnny, pressing my
hand, had promised to get away long
enough to see me off.

I went home, picked up my bags,
and took a taxi to the station. Sure
enough, there was Johnny, pacing up
and down the platform. I hadn't
realized what a comfort it would be
to have him wave good-bye.

With one of those bursts of effi-
ciency which people use to cover their
emotions at moments of parting, I at-
tended to tickets, bags, porters — and
then stopped, aware that nothing was
left to do except say goodbye. We
stood in the corridor of the Pullman
car, waiting for the train to pull out.

"Thank you so much, Johnny, for
all you've done," I said.

He shuffled his feet in embarrass-
ment. "It wasn't anything."

The conductor's long-drawn call

came: "Alll a-boooooard!"

"Goodbye, Johnny," I said, holding
out my hand.

"I — I — " he stammered.

The train began to glide slowly
along the rails. "Johnny! Hurry up!"
I cried.

"I — I'm going along!" he burst out.
"■Somebody's got to take care of you!"

"Don't be foolish! Your clothes—
your saxophone — they're all at the
hotel. And you can't let Randy down"

I CAN'T let you down," he said, set-
' ting his chin stubbornly. "And I
don't want to. I've been in love with
you ever since you walked into Randy's
room."

The train was running along fast
now. I gazed at Johnny. The light
in the corridor was dim and yellow-
ish, but it was strong enough to show
me what I'd never bothered to see
before — the love and devotion in his
clean-cut face, the assurance there
that here was my kind of a man, one
who really was a man and not a mere
machine for making music. Johnny
would never be a Randy Blake, but
only because he didn't want to be — -
he wanted to be a human being.

Gratitude for him — for the mere
fact that he was alive, beside me, lov-
ing me — filled my heart. It wasn't
love for him that I felt — not yet. I
knew that, but it didn't matter. There
was time for that, plenty of time.

"Oh Johnny," I said, laughing to
cover the lump in my throat, "and you
haven't even got a toothbrush!"

He grinned, and dug down into his
pocket. "Yes I have," he said. "I
thought I might get up nerve to come
along with you, so while I was wait-
ing in the station I bought one!"

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What's New From Coast to Coast

(Continued from page 5)

Gazing out at the New York sky-
line one night, the young daughter of
Richard Crooks saw the red neon
RCA sign on the building of that
name light up. "Oh, look!" she ex-
claimed, "they've lighted up Daddy's
initials." Crooks is Richard's second
name — his last is Alexander. And not
every singer has his monogram atop
a skyscraper.

* * *

Fred Waring is responsible for a
custom that's growing into a beloved
Broadway and Tin Pan Alley tradi-
tion. Song-pluggers and music pub-
lishers' representatives used to drop
in to see him at all times of the day,
and sometimes he couldn't see them
because he was busy. So he began
asking them to meet him for lunch at
a nearby Automat restaurant, and
now these Wednesday luncheons are
a weekly event. Sometimes Fred pays
for everything, sometimes the gang
selects the victim by voting on some
crazy thing like who has the loudest
necktie, or who needs a haircut most.
It's all grown to the proportions of a
luncheon club now, with a guest band-
leader invited every week, and only
one standing rule — the song-pluggers
can talk business to Fred, but never
to the guest maestro.

* * *

Kay Lorraine, the new singing star
of the CBS Your Hit Parade program,
is probably the only girl who ever
refused to come to New York for an
audition, and got the job anyway. She
was singing on KMOX in St. Louis
when the Lucky Strike people heard
about her and asked her to visit New
York so they could listen to her. Well-
meaning friends advised her not to
go unless she had some assurance that
she'd get the job, so she refused, but
she was recommended so highly that
they hired her nevertheless. The
beautiful Kay wears a Sigma Nu
fraternity pin which belongs to her
husband, Ray Sweeney. He used to
be a KMOX continuity writer and
Kay's romance with him started in
the KMOX studios. When she came
to New York he threw up his job and
came along, figuring that since radio
had brought them together in the first
place, it would be a shame to let radio

separate them. Anyway, he says, it
was cheaper to come along — saved the
expenses of long-distance phone calls
between New York and St. Louis.

* * *

BANGOR, Maine — Fifteen consecu-
tive, uninterrupted years on the air
is the proud record of Dr. Ashley A.
Smith, pastor of Bangor's First Uni-
versalis!; church and founder of sta-
tion WABI. Dr. Smith's weekly radio
church service was started in 1924,
and is one of the oldest, if not the
very oldest, on the air. WABI was
started by him for the purpose of
broadcasting services, and although
he relinquished its operation to others
several years ago, he continued his
Sunday morning broadcasts.

* * *

Do you know a man who hears
radio programs through his teeth? If
you do, please get in touch with the
Mutual Broadcasting System. They
want him.

The whole unlikely story of John
Morskowsky, who heard MBS pro-
grams without the aid of a receiving
set, started last May, when Morskow-
sky came to the network offices, com-
plaining because he was kept awake
at night by their programs. Nobody
heard them but John, but he heard
them all the time the network was
on the air. Mutual engineers analyzed
his plight and discovered that he was
actually getting radio reception
through his teeth. He was a knife
grinder by trade, and bits of car-
borundum from his whirling grind-
stone lodged in his teeth, converting
them into an old-fashioned crystal
radio set. When he lay down on his
bed at night, its frame and springs
made a very efficient antenna.

The engineers advised John to keep
his teeth clean, and heard no more
from him. Ever since then, though,
scientists and doctors have been writ-
ing in, wanting to know more about
him; and now the World's Fair would
like to put him on exhibit, hoping to
amaze visitors by amplifying the pro-
grams coming through his radio-set
teeth. Now Mutual would really like
to get him back, but they can't find
him. The last report heard from him
was that he'd sailed for his native

ADDRESS.

Together on the air and screen — Nan Grey and Bob Cummings in NBC's
"Those We Love," and in Universale "Three Smart Girls Grow Up."

Czechoslovakia — probably hoping they
broadcast there on a wave-length his
teeth couldn't pick up.

WASHINGTON— Phonograph rec-
ords and riddles have made a winning
combination in Arch McDonald's Grab
Bag program on WJSV. Arch, who
besides being one of WJSV's staff an-
nouncers, is one of the best sports
broadcasters in the country, simply
intersperses phonograph records with
riddles and commercial announce-
ments on the Grab Bag show. When
the first person with the correct an-
swer to a riddle telephones in, Arch
reaches into his "grab bag" and pulls
out a prize, which may be a dollar
bill, tickets to a local theater, ball
game or fight, or almost anything. It's
all great fun, and the listeners keep
the telephones busy.

At night, Arch is also heard on his
seven-o'clock sports program, and
during the baseball season of course
he'll be on the air with play-by-play
reports of the Washington Senators'
games.

Arch was born in Hot Springs,
Arkansas, and played football in high
school. Sports weren't uppermost in
his mind then, though, and in 1918
he went to Hollywood, where he was
an extra in silent films. In 1919 he be-
came a friend of Jack Dempsey's, and
spent several years around training
camps, getting acquainted with many
sports champions, before he began
announcing sports events over public
address systems.

He was in Chattanooga, Tennessee,
announcing baseball games, when sta-
tion WDOD hired him to broadcast

RADIO MIRROR

them on the air. He was with WDOD
until 1934, when he joined WJSV, and
has been there ever since.

Arch has been married for seven-
teen years, and has three children,
Martha, Patsy and Sandy. His hobbies
are amateur magic and acting. Last
summer on the opening night of his
appearance with a local amateur group
in "The Old Soak" he had an auto-
mobile accident and broke an ankle.
The accident held up the presentation
of the play for several weeks, but his
sports broadcast went on as usual
from his hospital room.

Remember Allie Lowe Miles of the
Husbands and Wives program a couple
of years ago? She's a dramatic actress
now, playing the villainess, Mrs.
Waite, in the new CBS serial, The
Life and Love of Dr. Susan.

Tommy Dorsey nosed Benny Good-
man out by a small margin in a swing
popularity poll conducted by station
WHAT in Philadelphia. The score
was Dorsey, 292,474 votes; Goodman,
274,442; and Artie Shaw, 99,402.

There's a story behind the appear-
ance of a recent guest star on Dr.
William L. Stidger's Getting the Most
Out of Life program on NBC. Years
ago, when Stidger was a pastor in a
mid-western city, he was awakened
one night by furious pounding on his
front door. He investigated, and found
a drunken policeman on his doorstep.
He invited the policeman inside,
sobered him up a little, and got his

story. He'd become involved in the
graft which was flourishing in the
police department at the time, and
now he was trying to drown his con-
science in liquor. Dr. Stidger talked
to him and advised him to quit the
police force entirely if he wanted to
regain his self-respect. The policeman
went away, and Stidger never heard
from him again until recently. The
policeman had heard Stidger on the
air and lost no time in looking him up
and thanking him. He's now an
evangelist and religious singer, and
agreed at once when Stidger asked
him to go on his radio show.

Thanks to Lanny Ross, you may
hear a swell and really unique pro-
gram some time soon. It all started
when Lanny celebrated his tenth an-
niversary on the air. He got to think-
ing that radio's "veterans" ought to
get together and form a club, but in-
stead of having an ordinary club-
house, they'd have their meetings on
the air. He invited a group of people
to luncheon — Ben Bernie, Graham
McNamee, Frank Munn, Phil Dewey,
B. A. Rolfe, David Ross and Mark
Warnow, all of them in radio ten
years or longer — outlined his plan to
them, and found everybody enthus-
iastic about it. Now the ball is rolling,
and the "Ten Years in Radio Club" —
that's the only name it has, so far, is
planning to have about four meetings
a year on a national network, at which
members will reminisce about the
good old days. And judging from some
of the stories told at that first lunch-
eon, listeners are in for some delight-
ful and amusing tales.

ujft&i'z

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shampoo, if your hair is dull, dead or lifeless looking and
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MY LUCKY BREAK

No matter how talented a person is,
his success depends on a "lucky
break." That's the theme of a program
which has already, after only a few
broadcasts, provided four people with
the lucky breaks they needed to start
them on the road to fame.

The program is called My Lucky
Break, and you can hear it every
Sunday afternoon from 6:00 to 6:30,
E.S.T., on the Mutual network. It's
produced in the studios of WLW, Cin-
cinnati, where many an original pro-
gram idea has been born; and its con-
ductor is Josef Cherniavsky.

My Lucky Break is divided into two
parts. The first part of the show is a
dramatization of the life of some suc-
cessful entertainer, emphasizing the
lucky chance that turned him from
failure to success. Then, as a highlight
of the broadcast, Cherniavsky con-
ducts the WLW orchestra as it plays
an unpublished song by an unknown
composer. To the writer of the song
goes a prize of $25, plus standard
royalties in case the song is chosen for
publication by some music house — but
best of all, the writer gets his "lucky
break."

Writers are sending Cherniavsky
songs which have been returned, un-
opened, by music publishers. The
WLW musical director looks carefully
at them all. "Now," says the maestro,
"music publishers are asking me for
songs they refused to look at before.
Many of the songs written by young
unknowns today need but the name of
a well-known composer to receive
publication and success." Playing of
the song over the WLW and Mutual
network gives that song the value of
a big name.

Cherniavsky is no less generous in
honoring well-known entertainers
than in providing "lucky breaks" for
unknowns. It doesn't matter to him
on what network an entertainer is
starred. All that matters to him is
that the person's climb to fame must
have some incident in it that demon-
strates the importance of a "lucky
break."

The dramatized "lucky break" in
the life of an established star, and the
actual big chance given to aspiring
song writers aren't the only ways the
program lives up to its title, either.
Josef Cherniavsky is himself a "lucky
break" for any show. One of Amer-
ica's most versatile musicians, he has
conducted famous symphonies and
theater orchestras, has composed
music for the movies and won renown
as a cello soloist.

Josef Cherniavsky rehearses his
WLW Symphony orchestra on the
popular "My Lucky Break" program.

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RADIO MIRROR

People ask my advice about troubles
and doubts and human bewilderment
of all kinds. And I have built up a
fund of experience, facts and re-
sources which, I hope has been of real
value to my clients.

Vallee: Most of your clients do,
however, seek advice on problems of
the heart.

Miss Fairfax: Most of them, yes.
Problems of the heart, Mr. Vallee,
seem to be fairly universal.

Vallee: Don't they, though! What
question, would you say, is most fre-
quently asked?

Miss Fairfax: That's easy. Ques-
tion Number One is: "How Can I Get
My Man to the Altar?"

Vallee: And your answer?

Miss Fairfax: Perhaps that ques-
tion can better be answered by point-
ing out what one should not do. First,
girls: Don't be a cat! Don't say nasty
and censorious things about other
girls. Especially if these girls have
strictly honorable intentions toward
the young man you are catting to.
Remember, nothing arouses chivalry,
a sense of protection, like saying
mean things about another girl. And
above all — don't pursue your man
openly. A hunted creature is a des-
perate creature. He will turn down
any avenue of escape.

Vallee: Good for him!

Miss Fairfax: Never mind. To con-
tinue, girls: Don't tell the boy friend
your troubles. Look sympathetic and
let him tell you his. He'll eat it up.
Don't invite him to an untidy house
or apartment. He'll see himself in

How to Catch a Husband

(Continued from page 15)

such surroundings. Don't give him
messy meals. Don't dance badly —
nothing is so mortifying as to be
loaded up with a girl on whom there
will be no cut-ins. Don't dress shab-
bily or in an eccentric manner that
will attract attention when you go out
with him. Men are more conserva-
tive than women. They hate to
attract unflattering attention. And
don't be stupid. At least know what
is going on in the world about you,
read the papers. The day of the
Dumb Dora is passing.

Vallee: Not on Broadway, Miss
Fairfax. However . . . let's suppose I
am a young girl of eighteen. . . .

Miss Fairfax: Difficult but pos-
sible. Go ahead.

Vallee: Well, I have observed all
the "don'ts" you suggest, but still . . .
doggone it! . . . my dream prince is
drifting. Should I propose?

Miss Fairfax: Certainly! Women
have been proposing ever since time
began. But it's a wise man who
recognizes the preambles to a pro-
posal. You are convinced she listens
to you in that flattering way because
you are interesting. That she applauds
your bridge, your golf, even your
neckties and the angle at which you
wear your hat — because you do these
things supremely well. There's no
mistaking the way she looks at you,
it's the real thing. And the way she
turns out trick dishes on the electric
gadgets — she's a swell little cook —
good housekeeper, and so on. These,
my dear sir, are some of the ways
nature has taught her to propose.

And get down on your knees and
thank your lucky stars for it — because,
Mr. Vallee there is nothing quite so
forlorn and lonesome as an unattached
old bachelor. Now is there?

Vallee: I . . . wonder. Suppose,
Miss Fairfax, that our predatory
female has pounced on her prey and
dragged him off to the altar, kicking
and screaming. What does she want
to know next?

Miss Fairfax: How to keep him,
of course.

Vallee: How is that done? What
would you say is the zero hour?

Miss Fairfax: Breakfast, of course.
Even to a water addict, there's a good
deal of a hangover about facing a new
day. Yesterday's brush with the boss
— the big order you didn't get, the
deal that hung fire. These loom
bigger and blacker, if there's a frowsy
kimono opposite, and traces of cold
cream on the lady-wife's face. Better
an attractive negligee, or house dress,
at breakfast to gladden the eyes of
your husband, girls, than a glamorous
party frock to incite another woman's
envy. Send him out with a good
breakfast.

Vallee: And there, Miss Fairfax, I
find myself in complete agreement
with you. May I ask your advice on a
certain matter?

Miss Fairfax: Mr. Vallee — with
your looks, with your position, with
your opportunities —

Vallee: Yes?

Miss Fairfax: You don't need my
advice. So long now — and remember
what I said about bachelors.

Jean Parker is blossoming out

as Hollywood's newest glamour girl.
Watch for her in the Hal Roach
production "Zenobia".

Copyright. 1939. by P. Lorlllard
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Facing the Music

(Continued from page 40)

important commercial series, sup-
planting one of the current big-name
bands.

Just recently Paul Whiteman named
four of the Crosby crew as members
of his "All American" swing band.
This coming of age for a band that
had a desperate struggle to attain
recognition was climaxed with a hand-
some Decca Record Album, contain-
ing the band's swing masterpieces,
and a triumphant fortnight at New
York's Paramount theater.

None of these amazing develop-
ments would have materialized if five
young musicians, their jaws set,
hadn't decided to try once more to
make America listen to their strange
music — the music they discovered on
New Orleans riverfronts. How they
offered Bob Crosby the chance to join
them one night in a smoke-filled New
York hotel room, is one of bandom's
strangest stories.

YOU fit with us like ham and eggs,"
said drummer Ray Bauduc joyfully.

The boys were lucky at that. If one
Bob Crosby of Spokane, Washington,
hadn't the courage to turn his broad
back to the taunts of wiseacres who
said he was trading on his famous
brother's reputation, those musical
musketeers would have returned, a
hang-dog lot, to Louisiana.

Bob Crosby always had music on
his mind. The youngest of a family
of seven children — five boys and two
girls — he never finished his musical
appreciation course at Gonzaga Uni-
versity, because he devoted too much
time to extra-curricular activities.
During class hours, Bob would haunt
a local Walkathon contest and sing
there "for free." As the footsore con-
testants dragged their way around
the arena, the Crosby croon could usu-
ally be heard above the jeers of
Walkathon customers.

Pretty soon Bob crashed a couple of
radio amateur programs, boosted his
stock in the Crosby household when
he managed to get a few professional
engagements and received for his
labors, what Bob calls a "quick five."
That's five dollars to you and you.

Imagine the kid's surprise when
Anson Weeks spotted him and gave
the young Crosby $100 a week as his
vocalist. That was big dough to Bing's
kid brother. He spent most of it eat-
ing roast leg of lamb, swimming in
gravy, at the swank Mark Hopkins
Hotel in San Francisco where the
Weeks orchestra played.

The Crosbys were always a clan-
nish crowd. They stick together like
the verse and chorus of a popular
song. Big Brother Bing and business-
minded Everett were secretly proud
of Bob's efforts but kidded him merci-
lessly.

When Bing told the eighteen-year-
old Bob that he would not allow him
to accept a London engagement be-
cause he thought the boy too young,
Bob squelched his disappointment
and lit out for Broadway. Bob always
took Bing's advice, has never re-
gretted it.

It was while Bob was singing with
the Dorsey Brothers' orchestra that
the change in his career happened.

Our five musicians in search of a
leader were tipped off that the up-
and-coming relative of Bing was their
man.

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RADIO MIRROR

The rendezvous for the meeting
was the Hotel Astor. Gil Rodin, a
slim, quietly-dressed man who looks
more like a lawyer than a saxophon-
ist, did the talking. Gil still does the
talking for the Crosby gang. All the
boys including leader Bob call Gil
"Pops." He's father confessor to the
whole gang of horn tooters and they
love him.

These men had left Ben Polack's
orchestra on the west coast. It seemed
like they were always leaving some-
body's band. To them every job was
Dead End. Something had to be done.
They figured the last resort was to or-
ganize their own band and play the
music they loved. The men called it
"Dixieland." Aware of their own
limitations as baton-wavers, the mu-
sicians knew of Bob's voice and con-
tagious personality. Gil told Bob he
was singing the free-and-easy Dixie-
land style and didn't know it!

AS Rodin spoke, the other men, Ray
> Bauduc, the "Noo Ohlins" drum-
mer with the wild eyes, saxophonist
Eddie Miller, he of the nonchalant
manner and southern accent, smilin'
Matty Matlock, inseparable side-kick
of Miller, and the outfit's arranger, and
guitarist Nappy Lamare, another
"Noo Ohlins" product, stayed sheep-
ishly in the background. They let
"Pops" do the talking.

Bob Crosby didn't need much of a
sales-talk. Who could resist such an
offer? This would be his own band,
playing the kind of music he didn't
know too much about but just
couldn't resist. Even the Bing would
approve.

With the blessings of one of the big
band management bureaus, "Bob

Crosby and his orchestra" went into
action. They broke in at Roseland on
Broadway, sweated and swore in a
hundred and one barns and ballrooms
in the cotton belt one-night stand
circuit.

Like all new innovations it took
time to attract attention. Didn't they
yell "gittahorse" at daring motorists?
Hadn't they poo-pooed Lindbergh?

The boys laughed at their critics.
The little Dixieland cult knew they
were playing real swing, without
frills. To the jibes of trading on
Bing's reputation, Bob turned deaf
ears. He was too overjoyed, leading
this happy-go-lucky gang, to pay any
attention to them.

No band ever attacked its work
with such vigor. I think I know the
reason. No one was top man. It be-
came a cooperative organization with
sage-like Gil Rodin installed as presi-
dent. The band grew to fourteen
pieces. However, only seven partici-
pate in the cooperative setup. Each
man gets a salary. Profits are salted
away. Once in a while, on the heels
of a lucrative engagement, Rodin
gives his partners handsome dividend
checks. This sounds like big business,
but to these sincere swingsters it
meant complete freedom.

Nine of the fourteen men are mar-
ried. Bob is married to socialite June
Kuhn. In Chicago most of the wives
spend daytime hours with their hus-
bands, have dinner between dance
sets at the Blackhawk. The married
folk rent apartments. The single fel-
lows shift for themselves, still up-
holding their "freedom" policy.

That the Crosby band is riding
straight to the top is no idle observa-
tion. The Dixieland style has finally

caught on. It is more relaxed jazz. It
has sincerity and purpose. The reason
you don't hear Dixieland style emu-
lated by other bands is obvious. To
play this style bandleaders must turn
the spotlight on the musicians in the
band. Much solo work is needed. And
there are too many maestros who sel-
fishly hog the spotlight.

The Bobcats know in their hearts
that recognition has finally come their
way. Only leader Bob wasn't sure.
He seemed to be waiting for one more
piece of evidence.

It came when the band opened at
the Paramount in January. Bob
scanned nervously through a stack
of telegrams until he found the one
from Big Brother Bing.

"And you know what?" he said
like a schoolboy just told he's been
promoted, "Bing was dead serious!"

Now the band was really on the
crest of a musical wave.

OFF THE RECORD

Some Like It Swing

They Say; I Go For That (vocalion
4548), Mildred Bailey — Slow-moving
tempos romantically warbled by the
Rockin' Chair lady who is now on her
own again.

Bye-Lo Bye Lullaby; Jaywalk (Blue-
bird B10104A), Freddy Martin— Fred-
dy waxes his beautiful theme and it's
about time. The Martin saxophone is
a joy to hear.

Sweet Little Headache; Joobalai
(Decca 2200A), Bing Crosby— Two
luscious hits from Bing's current pic-
ture, "Paris Honeymoon" that stand
out like Fibber McGee's fabrications.
(Continued on page 91)

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TUNE IN ON THE GOOD WILL HOUR, every
Sunday Evening. Paper gives time and station.

HAVE you been taking a close look
at your face these days and
noticing how dry it looks; how
those wrinkles around your eyes seem
to show up more; how unevenly the
powder goes on? And have you felt
that drawn feeling? Sure you have.
In fact, most of us have, who have not
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You must correct this condition, es-
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It's really not a difficult problem
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Make your complexion
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muscles of my face, especially after
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"But, first of all," Hildegarde said,
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abundance of the two extremes —
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If your skin feels drawn, it is dry, so
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"Never rub the skin," warns Hilde-

RADIO MIRROR

* • * •

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garde. "Hard rubbing over-stimulates
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Keep this treatment up for a full
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good look in the mirror, you'll notice
that that Easter bonnet you bought
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it did when you first brought it home.

That Final Touch

A WELL-GROOMED woman doesn't
want to strike one false note in her
make-up. And yet, how many of us
do? We often slip up on our eye-
brows. To have the rest of your face
perfect and the eyebrows shaggy and
irregular is like wearing a shabby
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habit of brushing your eyebrows as
often as possible, and do not have
them tweezed down to a thin line.
That is no longer good taste. Just
pluck the stray hairs to clean the
brows up so they look even and
arched. If your brows grow together
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don't pluck the brows narrower than
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The eyebrow pencil is important.
It gives a more definite shape to the
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RADIO MIRROR

(Continued from page 89)
A handsome package when combined
with Bing's other platter "I Have
Eyes" and "Funny Old Hills" (Decca
2201A), from the same picture.

Deep Purple; Romance Runs in the
Family (Brunswick 8301), Kay Kyser
— Sympathetic treatment of one of the
nicest 1939 ballads. Kyser gymnastics
decorate the reverse side.

Among Those Sailing; Mexicali
Rose (Victor 26136A), Sammy Kaye —
Typical exhibition of the fetching
swing and sway title. Is there anyone
left that hasn't heard it?

Some Like It Sweet

Cheatin' on Me; 'Taint What You

Do (Vocalion 4582), Jimmy Lunce-
ford — Sly swing by one of its indigo
interpreters.

A Study in Green; Please Come Out
of Your Dream (Victor 26137B), Larry
Clinton — Another composition from
the Dipsy Doodle man undergoes lav-
ish instrumentation. Less lively is the
reverse but Bea Wain is at the mike
for another Grade-A lesson in modern
vocalizing.

Hawaiian War Chant; Midnight on
the Trail (Victor 26126B), Tommy
Dorsey — It may mean Pa-hu-wa-hu-
wai to natives of Honolulu but to rug-
cutters it's another excuse to cut
capers to the trombone virtuoso and
his great band.

Jungle Drums; It Had to Be You

(Bluebird B1009A), Art Shaw— Sav-
age syncopation with a drum beat you
won't forget so easily. Shaw has toned
down considerably and even the most
extreme swingster is pleased.

Hold Tight; Billy Boy (Decca 2214A),

Andrew Sisters — The smartest har-
mony work since these same girls
disked "Sha-Sha." Easy on the ears
and smart accompaniment by Jimmy
Dorsey. My vote for the swing platter
of the month.

I Know That You Know; I Cried
For You (Victor 26139A), Benny
Goodman Trio and Quintet — Two old
ones revived by the king of swing with
the latter piece, written by Abe Ly-
man, developing into a best seller all
over again.

Down Home Rag; Where Has My
Little Dog Gone? (Decca 2262B), Will
Osborne — The slide trumpets have
their day on wax. Light and cheerful.

Ken Alden,
Facing the Music,
RADIO MIRROR,
122 East 42nd Street,
New York City.

I want to know more about
He is my rec-
ommendation for "The Band of
the Month."

NAME

ADDRESS

(Each month Ken Alden will
write a feature piece on "the band
of the month" telling all you want
to know about the favorite maes-
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RADIO MIRROR

It's easily prepared, appetizing, nourishing. What more could you ask?

FOR nourishing, appetizing, quickly
prepared meals you just can't beat
that perennial favorite, canned
spaghetti. As the extra dish when un-
expected guests necessitate "stretch-
ing" the dinner you have already
planned, it has no equal, for whether
you serve it — piping hot, of course —
as it comes from the can, rich with
subtly-flavored tomato sauce, or
en casserole topped with delicately
browned grated cheese it is simply
delicious. But what really rouses me
to the cheering point is the endless
variety of ways it may be served as
a main course, with the rest of the
meal built around it.

Two excellent spaghetti dinner
recipes I owe to Morton Downey, the
world-renowned tenor who is being
heard currently on NBC's Pall Mall
broadcast every week. The Downeys
(Mrs. Downey was Barbara Bennett,
sister of Hollywood's Constance and
Joan Bennett) are famous for the
hospitality of their Greenwich, Con-
necticut, home, so you may know that
their preference of any dish means it
is really tops — and that's just the
rating Morton gives to baked spa-
ghetti with oysters and spaghetti with
meat balls.

Baked Spaghetti with Oysters

1 can spaghetti
1 dozen raw oysters
V2 tsp, garlic salt

Dash cayenne pepper
3 tbls. grated Parmesan cheese

Drain the oysters and chop them
fine, and add, with the garlic salt and
cayenne pepper, to the spaghetti.
Transfer the mixture to a buttered
casserole, sprinkle with grated Par-
mesan cheese and bake in a medium
oven (350 degrees F.) for thirty min-
utes. Before serving, place a bouquet

By Mrs. Margaret Simpson

of parsley in the center, as shown in
the photograph.

Spaghetti with Meat Balls

1 can spaghetti

1 medium onion, minced

2 tbls. butter

1 lb. chopped beef

1 tbl. chili sauce Vt tsp. nutmeg

2 tsps. salt Pepper to taste

FOOD PROGRESS

The wise housewife is the one who cashes
in on the great number of eye and ear
impressions of modern living around
her . . . She is the one who knows that
every grocer is dedicating himself to
bringing to his clients the most up-to-
date food products and food information
obtainable today . . . For this reason
the news that the grocers of America
have banded together to stage a Parade
of Progress week is of supreme importance
to every housewife in the country . . .
During this week of April 6th to 12th visit
your local grocer . . . Talk with him, learn
about all the new developments that
make it possible for you to have the best
quality foods at all times at the most
economical prices . . . Make the Grocers'
Parade of Progress your own Parade of
Progress. . . .

Heat canned spaghetti. Cook onions
in butter until tender and golden-
brown (about three minutes). Mix
cooked onions, salt, pepper, nutmeg
and chili sauce with the chopped beef
and form into small balls. Place
heated spaghetti in buttered casserole,
arrange meat balls on the top and
bake in hot oven (400 degrees F.)
until meat is well browned.

Add Zest to Your Salads

THE more we learn about the im-
portance of milk as an essential food
not only as a beverage but as an in-
gredient in all sorts of recipes, the
more grateful we are for the pro-
ducers of evaporated and sweetened
condensed milk. But these valuable
milk products have long since passed
the stage when they were used princi-
pally as substitutes for fresh milk.
Their excellent flavor and their rich,
creamy consistency, as much as their
convenience, are responsible for their
popularity, and we find that skillful
cooks everywhere, whose reputations
depend upon the superior qualities of
the dishes they create, are originating
new recipes based on sweetened con-
densed and evaporated milk.

For instance, you may never have
thought of milk in connection with
salad but here is one salad dressing
that will give zest to any salad
course. Cream salad mustard dress-
ing is excellent with meat, fish or
cooked vegetable salads, or the tangy
greens such as escarolle, chicory or
dandelions.

Cream Salad Mustard Dressing

RADIO MIRROR

4 tbls. cream salad mustard
2 tbls. evaporated milk
2 tbls. sugar
2 tbls. vinegar % tsp. salt

Place ingredients all together in a
bowl and beat until light and fluffy.

RADIO MIRROR

Out of the Fog

(Continued from page 22)

I know where I am."

"I hope you know." That know-it-
all attitude again.

"Now please," he begged, "be nice.
For the last two hours you've been a
new woman."

Before she could answer another
fog horn sounded somewhere to port.
Quickly Steve rang Mac for dead
slow. The fog. horn blatted again,
nearer this time.

Suddenly Jane saw a huge shadow,
bearing down on them. "Steve!" she
screamed. "He's going to hit our
tow!"

"Ye gods!" Steve said between
clenched teeth, sawing frantically on
the cord that set the tug's horn blow-
ing. Beneath her feet Jane felt the
tug's motor cough and die. Myste-
riously, they were drifting.

Then two short blasts of the other
boat's whistle proved that it had seen
them. It veered off, slid past them, so
close Jane could almost touch it.

"Phew!" sighed Steve in relief.

"Steve — that looked like a ferry."

"Nonsense — it was a river boat.
Okay, ring for the engines again."

BUT the engine room didn't answer,
and a few seconds later Mac poked
his head in at the window. "Sorry,
skippers," he said, addressing both of
them. "Fuel nozzles are fouled. I'll
have to jerk 'em and clean 'em before
we can start again."

"Blazes!" Steve said. "Well, hurry
up. We can't afford to drift around
here with that tow behind us."

"Yes," Jane seconded him. "We
don't want to lose a six hundred dol-
lar job."

Mac goggled at them. "Six hun —
Say, what's in that tow? They don't
pay that kind of dough for haulin'
beans."

"You clean those fuel nozzles,"
Steve ordered him. "I'll worry about
the tow."

"Steve Colman!" Jane demanded.
"I thought there was something fishy
about that price. Just what are we
towing?"

"All right," he capitulated. "I'll tell
you — on that scow we've got two
thousand cases of forty per cent
dynamite!"

"Great Jehosaphat!" said Mac.

"Now," Steve added, "will you get
to work before we drift into some-
thing?"

But Mac didn't go directly below.
He stood there, his face intent. "Lis-
ten," he said. "I hear surf."

In the sudden silence, Jane could
hear the breakers, pounding and roll-
ing on the shore.

"We're goin' ashore!"

"Quick!" Jane cried. "Cut the tow
loose!"

"And let it drift around the bay all
by itself? No sir — Mac, let go the
anchor."

Mac lost no time in obeying, and
the rattle of the chain told them that,
at least, they would drift no farther.
But they had already drifted far
enough to be able to see the dim out-
lines of land — land like cliffs, a fort-
ress, a prison —

"Holy Smoke," Mac said, "that's
Alcatraz!"

So it had been the wrong bridge —
they had been headed for the Golden
Gate all the time. In spite of her fear,
Jane was forced to laugh at Steve's
befuddled expression.

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"But I thought — " he mumbled.

"Skipper," Mac warned, "you better
do more than think! When a boat
comes too close to Alcatraz, 'specially
in a thick fog like this, they don't
think. They shoot!"

Mac was right. They started shoot-
ing, just then A bullet whizzed past
the pilot house, as Mac ducked down.

Steve stood quietly plucking at his
under lip. "If the anchor wasn't
down," he murmured, "we'd drift
away from the island — the tide's run-
ning that way. But it is down, and
there s no power to lift it until Mac
get s those nozzles fixed. . . ."

Another bullet whined its bad-tem-
pered way overhead.

"He's not really shooting at us,"
Jane said hopefully. "He just wants
to scare us away."

"Maybe so — but a ricocheting bullet
might accidentally hit the tow, with
practically the same results," Steve
reminded her.

The next moment he had flung open
the door of the pilot house, and she
heard the clank of metal on metal,
followed by a splash.

WE'RE minus an anchor," he said.
"I knocked a pin out of a link. So
now we're drifting."

"But suppose somebody . . ."

"Runs into us? Exactly." He began
to whistle a cheerful little tune.

"Steve!" Jane cried angrily. "Will
you be serious?"

"Why? This may be my last hour
on earth. Let me enjoy it."

"Don't talk like that!"

All at once, he sobered. "Look,
Jane. If we get out of this mess —
which I doubt — but if we do, won't
you stay ashore? This work is too
tough for a woman."

"No!" she said sharply. "I'm not
staying ashore — and we're going to
haul grain up the river!"

"You're the most stubborn woman
I've ever — "

At that moment, without any warn-
ing, the tug jerked sharply. They
looked back. Another tug had slipped
between them and the scow they were
towing, neatly cutting the line. It
hung limply, now, over the stern —
and the scow was just disappearing
into the fog, adrift, a menace to every
craft in the bay.

Steve and Jane looked at each
other in horror. Then, with one
bound, Steve was on the deck, run-
ning to the stern, with Jane after him.

"Only one thing to do, he said as
he ran. "Go after that scow." He
threw one leg over the rail. "Hand
me that line," he snapped.

"Steve — don't — please," cried Jane,
clutching desperately at his arm.

"Why not?"

Jane gulped. This was hard to say.
"Because — well, for me!"

"I'd do practically anything in the
world for you, Jane, except this.
Toss the line in after me."

Then he was gone. Quickly Jane
caught up an end of the rope and
threw it to him, saw him grasp it
and start swimming, watched him
until her eyes ached. She turned
away — and saw the end of the rope
just disappearing over the rail.

"Steve!" she screamed. "Come
back! The rope's too short!"

But the fog muffled her words.

Two hours later Jane and Mac hung
over the rail, straining ears and eyes
into the thick mist.

"He couldn't swim this long," Mac
said gloomily. "He was nuts to try a
thing like that."

"It was the bravest thing I ever
saw a man do," Jane insisted, choking.

There was a dull thud against the
side of the tug. "What's that?" Jane
asked.

"Log, probably," Mac said.

But the next instant Steve's head
appeared above the rail.

Relief and joy held Jane's heart
still. The sight of that red head was
like a reprieve.

"Oh, Steve," was all she could say.

Steve climbed briskly to the deck,
made fast a line he held in his hand.
Then he turned to her ferociously.

"Now, Miss Innocence," he de-
manded, "just what are you going to
do next? I've been sitting on two
thousand cases of dynamite, trying to
outshout that blamed fog horn, pray-
ing someone wouldn't run into me!
Nice of you to keep that horn going
and drown out my voice!"

"But we thought it would help you
to locate us!"

"Yes, you did! It's a good thing
there was a skiff on that barge, or
your little scheme would have
worked!"

"Steve! What scheme?"

His voice was grim. "Attempted
murder, that's all. I suppose you
thought it was a good way to get rid
of me, giving me that short line!"

"You can't believe I did that on
purpose!"

"Why not? You had nothing to
lose. No witnesses — it was a perfect
set-up. And then you'd be full owner
of the boat."

"You — you inhuman monster!" she
gasped.

"Go ahead. Call me whatever you
like — anything you say will be orchids
compared to what you tried to do!

"I — I — " Jane began to cry.

"Don't worry," he said. "I won't
tell anybody."

"Oh — Steve darling — I — "

He said quickly, "Steve what?"

STEVE, darling. I've just spent two
of the most horrible hours of my
life — hoping, praying, that somehow
you were safe — I've lived a century,
believing that the one real thing in
my life had come and gone — "

"No kidding, Jane?" he asked.

"N-n-no kidding."

"All right," he said with a satisfied
chuckle. "You're forgiven."

"I'm — Then you didn't believe — "

"It was pretty crude," Steve ad-
mitted happily, "but I had to find
some way of breaking that ice crust
of yours."

"I'd — like — to — slap — you!"

"Go ahead," Steve advised. "I don't
mind — now that you've said you love
me."

"I never said anything of the sort!"

"Oh, didn't you? I must have mis-
understood. In that case I'll jump
back into the bay."

He was half over the rail before
she caught him. "Come back, you
idiot!" she said, half laughing, half
crying. "The Masters-Colman com-
pany needs both its owners."

"And that's another thing that's got
to be changed," Steve announced,
coming back to the deck. "I don't like
that name."

"No?" Jane asked suspiciously.

"It's too long. Starting tomorrow,
let's use just one name."

"What?"

"The Colman Company."

It was the first time Jane had ever
been kissed by a man who was drip-
ping wet with salt water.
The End.

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OUHIILIiIILII IS THERE A PRICE ON SUCCESS?

\%m

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D""1

JUNE, 1939

ERNEST Y. HEYN
Executive Editor

VOL. 12 NO. 2

/?7//?/?0/?

FRED R. SAMMIS
Editor

BELLE LANDESMAN. ASSISTANT EDITOR

Surrender 1 2

Is there a price on success? A girl singer confesses

25 Years With Eddie Ida Cantor 15

That's a long time for a wife to hold her tongue

At Last! Bergen's In Love! Marian Rhea 16

She's feminine, she's pretty — even Charlie approves

Pretty Kitty Kelly. .. Lucille Fletcher 18

Beginning — radio's fascinating love serial in story form

Should Roosevelt Seek a Third Term? 21

A daring radio debate

Why Make Those Marriage Mistakes? Martha Raye 22

Marital bliss isn't just good luck

"Dare I Marry?" John J. Anthony 30

Dedicated to every couple in love

Latin Lover on the Air Kirtley Baskette 32

Meet Monsieur Boyer with menace in both eyes

That's My Baby! Lynn Burr 34

The Easy Aces take the count — from an orphan

This Happened to Me Artie Shaw 37

Swingdom's newest idol tells his own story

The Case of the Hollywood Scandal -Erie Stanley Gardner 38

Murder takes time out for love in this gripping mystery

What Do You Want to Say? 3

What's New from Coast to Coast 4

Hollywood Radio Whispers 8

Radio's Photo-Mirror

This Is a Luau! 24

Television Ideals 26

I Took Dope. 28

Facing the Music . 40

Inside Radio — The New Radio Mirror Almanac 41

What Do You Want to Know? 54

We Canadian Listeners 61

"Is My Face Red!" 84

The Cup That Cheers 86

COVER— Martha Raye by Robert Reid

(Courtesy of Paramount Pictures)

RADIO MIRROR, published monthly by Macfadden Publications, Inc.. Washington and South Avenues,
Dunellen, New Jersey. General Offices: 205 East 42nd Street, New York, N. Y. Editorial and advertising
offices: Chanin Building, 122 East 42nd Street. New York. Bernarr Marfadden. President: Wesley F.
Pape. Secretary; Irene T. Kennedy, Treasurer; Walter Banlon. Advertising Director. Chicago office: 333
North Michigan Avenue. C. B. Shattuck, Mgr. Ran Francisco office: 1658 Russ Building. Lee Andrews, Mgr.
Entered as second-class matter September 14, 1933, at the Post Office at Dunellen. New Jersey, under the Act
of March 3, 1879. Price in United Slates, Canada and Newfoundland $1.00 a year. 10c a copy. In TJ. S.
Territories, Possessions, Cuba, Mexico, Baiti, Dominican Republic, Spain and Possessions, and Central and
South American countries, excepting British Bonduras, British, Dutch and French Guiana. $1.50 a year;
all other countries $2.50 a year. While Manuscripts, Photographs and Drawings are submitted at the owner's
risk, every effort will be made to return those found unavailable if accompanied by sufficient 1st class postage,
and explicit name and address. Contributors are especially advised to bo sure to retain copies of their contribu-
tions; otherwise they are taking unnecessary risk. Unaccepted letters for the "What Do You Want to Say?"
department will not be returned, and we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter con-
tributed. All submissions become the property of the magazine. (Member of Macfadden Women's Group.)
Copyright, 1939, by the Macfadden Publications, Inc. The contents of this magazine may not be reprinted,
either wholly or in part without permission.
Printed in the U. S. A. by Art Color Printing Company, Dunellen, N. J.

RADIO MIRROR

__■

WHAT DO YOU
WANT TO SAY?

FIRST PRIZE

RADIO— MARRIAGE PEACE-MAKER!

Did you know that a radio is one
of the best ways to end a quarrel be-
tween a husband and wife? You who
wish to "make up" but don't know
how to do it because you just won't
be first to say "forgive me," just go
to the radio and tune in some music.
Not jazz or swing (save that till later)
but a deep, throbbing, heart-reaching
melody. After a few seconds of this I
dare you to meet the eyes of your
loved one and stay mad!

Mrs. R. A. Barker,
Centralia, Mo.

SECOND PRIZE

WHO DARES THREATEN CHARLIE'S
AIR SUPREMACY?

A few months ago, in a poll to de-
termine the most popular program on
the air, the Chase and Sanborn pro-
gram was selected, undoubtedly due
to the able efforts of Charlie Mc-
Carthy, or rather Edgar Bergen! Since
then, innumerable critics, both for-
eign and American, have raised their
voices in denunciation over America's
choice, intimating that a people that
chose a dummy for its ideal in radio,
must have a "depraved" sense of
humor.

I, for one, applaud America's choice.
No one can deny the infinite joy the
clever little rascal brings to us poor
mortals. By his clever insinuations
and mocking attitude, he deflates our
ego by showing the futility and stu-
pidity of taking ourselves so seriously.
By his mock flirtations with the
Hollywood stars visiting his program,
he parodies our own flirtations, thus
showing us how ridiculous we must
sometimes look. The choice of Charlie
McCarthy is a glowing tribute to the
American sense of fair play, for here
(Continued on page 76)

THIS IS YOUR PAGE!

YOUR LETTERS OF OPINION WIN

PRIZES

First Prize $10.00

Second Prize $ 5.00

Five Prizes of $ K00

Address your letter to the Editor,
RADIO MIRROR, 122 East 42nd
Street, New York, N. Y., and mail it
not later than May 25, 1939. All
submissions became the property of
the magazine.

SHE OPENED
AN UNSIGNED LETTER!

tv:

/ *m

^SjJJJS^ae.

AN UNSIGNED LETTER! A cowardly
J\. thing, perhaps — but for Nancy —
what a blessing! For in no other way
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For Sanitary Napkins

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TAKES THE ODOR OUT OF PERSPIRATION

RADIO MIRBOB

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WHAT S NEW FROM COAST TO COAST

Wide World

■ The visit of Great Britain's royal couple, King George and
Queen Elizabeth, creates this season's most exciting radio event.

AS it has done so often in the past
few years, radio helps to make
^ history again this month, when
the King and Queen of England visit
Canada. May 15, according to plans
when Radio Mirror went to press,
will be the first time any reigning
British monarch has set foot on Cana-
dian soil, and microphones will be all
over the place to bring the event to
your ears.

Under the guidance of the Cana-
dian Broadcasting Corporation, all
the American networks will broad-
cast the ceremonies in the United
States, beginning on May 13, when
CBC commentators will be on board
H.M.C.S. Saguenay, meeting H.M.S.
Repulse, with Their Majesties on
board, as the latter enters Canadian
waters off the coast of Newfoundland.
You'll hear a description of the scene
as the two ships meet.

The next evening, May 14, the CBC
will broadcast from Rimouski, de-
scribing the Repulse as it comes up
the St. Lawrence River.

At about 10:30 E.S.T. on the morn-
ing of the 15th, the royal party will
arrive at Quebec, and the scene will
be broadcast. Their itinerary from
Quebec is, first, Montreal, then
Ottawa, the capital of Canada, from
May 17 to May 20, and then to
Toronto. You'll hear broadcasts from
each of these places, and every eve-
ning a CBC commentator, traveling
with the royal party, will broadcast

a summary of the day's activities.
Following a custom established in
England, gold microphones will be
used by the King and Queen when-
ever they go on the air during their
trip.

It was a hectic two weeks that
Edgar Bergen, Charlie McCarthy, Don
Ameche, Dorothy l.amour and the
other members of the Chase and San-
born cast spent in New York. Start-
ing with a riot at Grand Central
Station when they arrived, it pro-
gressed through a fake "kidnaping"
of Charlie, up to a grand climax at
the last broadcast, when Bergen
tripped as he walked toward the
microphone, and fell flat on his face,
to the glee of the studio audience.

The "kidnaping," which made front-
page news all over the country, was
a genuine surprise to Bergen, even if
it was just a joke engineered by a
New York newspaper man. Bergen
told me the next day that many Mc-
Carthy fans had written to him,
suggesting the great publicity value
of a kidnaping, and that he'd always
turned the idea down. "Now," he
said ruefully, "I suppose I owe royal-
ties to everybody that suggested it."
As a matter of fact, Bergen worries
sometimes for fear Charlie is being
over -publicized. He's afraid the pub-
lic might read too much about him,
see too many pictures of him, and
suddenly lose interest. That's prob-

By DAN

SENSENEY

RADIO MIRROR

ably taking a pessimistic view of
things.

As soon as the kidnaping story
broke, gossip columnists began say-
ing that the real Charlie hadn't been
brought to New York at all, but was
locked away in a Hollywood bank
vault. Well, maybe so, but I don't
believe it. The dummy Bergen had
on the high-chair beside him at re-
hearsals and broadcasts looked like
the real McCarthy to me.

It isn't very likely that the Chase
and Sanborn show will ever come to
New York again, all in a bunch. De-
mands for tickets to the two broad-
casts were so heavy that it took net-
work and advertising agency officials
a whole month to recover from their
headaches. Bergen might travel east
again this summer, though, for a,
vacation.

* * *

Chicago — Most radio announcers
live, eat, sleep and dream their jobs —
so maybe John Weigel is the most
unusual announcer in the business.
His big interest in life is not radio;
it's cheese.

John is heard on two Mutual net-
work shows, Pageant of Melody, Mon-
day nights at 10:30, E.S.T., and Con-
cert Review, at the same time Thurs-
days. He's been in radio since he was
fifteen years old, and announced his
way through Ohio State University,
Class of '35. But he's always loved
cheese, and when he came to Chicago
he found there the same dearth of
good cheeses that had troubled him
at home. For a few years, while he
was a member of the CBS Chicago
staff, he saved his money until he
could become a free-lance announcer
_ — and open a cheese store of his own.

Now you can find him, whenever
he isn't at the microphone, dressed
up in a white starched jacket, waiting
on customers in his shop just off busy
Michigan Avenue on Lake Street.
More than two hundred and fifty va-
rieties are on John's shelves, from
more than twenty countries — Argen-
tina, Albania, Hungary, Holland, Ire-
land, and all the Scandinavian na-
tions, to name a few. Pretty soon he
hopes to get some from the Orient and
Africa. Getting a new line of cheese,
says John, is much more complicated
than filling out an order to a whole-
saler— first he has to visit a country's
local consul, to get names and ad-
dresses, and then follow months of
patient negotiations before the cheese
lands in his store.

* * *

The cruelty of some sponsors! The
entire cast of Phil Baker's Honolulu
Sound program, Saturday nights on
CBS, may have to move to Hawaii
this summer for four broadcasts —
sponsor's orders.

* * *

Down in Kentucky and Tennessee
they're listening to Kiwanis Club pro-
grams these days. The famous ser-
vice organization tried the experiment
of putting on radio shows, and found
it so successful the policy will be kept
up for the rest of the year.

Station WJHL at Johnson City,
Tennessee, has a program every Sun-
lay from 5:15 to 5:30 in the after-
loon, featuring Kiwanis speakers
"rom neighboring cities. In Lexing-
ton, Kentucky, the weekly luncheon
leeting is broadcast every Tuesday
rom 1:00 to 1:30. And right now
they're planning on programs to be
broadcast over WHAS, Louisville, and
WSM, Nashville. The programs are

e, 1939

His many neglects
were due to her

ONE NEGLECT

He never remembers
anniversaries . . .

He never pays /J ?/,//?

her compliments . . .l^/'*tf'

He praises fjU^,?

other women . . . l/v*1"?'

He's often
'kept downtown

about

She was careless

ior ignorant)
f^inine Hy^ne

This one neglect may be
the real cause of many
divorces... Use "LYSOL" for
Feminine Hygiene.

Let "Lysol" help YOU to
avoid this ONE NEGLECT!

IF there is any doubt in your mind
about this important subject of
feminine hygiene, ask your doctor
about "Lysol". Let him tell you why,
for a full half-century, "Lysol" has
earned the confidence of so many doc-
tors, nurses, hospitals . . . and wives.
Probably no other product is so widely
used for this purpose. Three sizes of
"Lysol" are sold at all drug stores.

1889—1939
50th ANNIVERSARY

What Every Woman Should Know

SEND COUPON FOR "LYSOL" BOOKLET

Lehn & Fink Products Corp.

Dept. R.M. -906. Bloomfield, N. J„ U. S. A.

Send me free booklet "Lysol vs. Germs"
which tells the many uses of "Lysol".

Name

Addms_

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WHAT'S NEW (CONTINUED)

being promoted by the district or-
ganization of Kiwanis in these two
states, led by District Governor Roy
C. Nelson, himself a radio commen-
tator of repute.

* * *
A success story with a Three Mus-
keteers flavor is the tale of Helen
Jackson, Beverly Freeland and Judy
Freeland, all once of Bristow, Okla-
homa, all at present of Kay Thomp-
son's Rhythm Singers on the CBS
Tune-Up Time broadcast. Helen,
Beverly and Judy all came to New
York on a vacation trip three years
ago, yearning for a career in the big
city but smart enough to realize that
New York jobs don't grow on trees.
They made an agreement: If, in the
two weeks of their vacation they
could all three get jobs, they'd stay.
If only one of them, or two, found
work, they'd all go back to Bristow.
You can guess what happened, but
don't you start packing to come to
New York, thinking it will happen
to you too. They all three were hired
by the Hollywood Restaurant, as
singers, on the very first day of their
vacation, and they've been in New
York ever since, joining the Kay
Thompson singers two years ago.

The musicians union in Los Angeles
just paid Bob Burns a flattering com-
pliment. Union officials came around
and told him he'd have to join — be-
cause he plays the bazooka on the
Kraft Music Hall.

Because they threatened to strike,
radio actors, announcers and singers
this spring persuaded sponsors to
sign agreements guaranteeing a min-
imum rate of pay for their services.
But now, in some cases, their victory
is boomeranging. A few sponsors find
that their programs cost them more
than they used to, and are reducing
choruses to quartets, or, in some day-
time serials, are cancelling the repeat
broadcasts to the west coast. This
explains why some of you Western-
ers have suddenly been missing your
favorite serials.

The Barbara Weeks who plays
Nancy in Her Honor, Nancy James,
is not the Barbara Weeks you used to
see in the movies — although, says
Barbara-Weeks-in-radio, she might
as well be. Both Barbaras live in
New York, and both are actresses,
and the result is that Barbara-in-
radio frequently gets mail and tele-
phone calls intended for Barbara-in-
the-movies. The worst mixup, though,
occurred when Barbara-in-radio was
touring the country as a member of
a dramatic stock company. On that
tour she met all of Barbara-in-the-
movies' distant relatives, who came
backstage to visit her, convinced that
she was the dear second cousin they
hadn't seen for years.

After spending three years looking
for a sponsor, George Jessel now has
two. On Tuesdays he is master of
ceremonies on For Men Only, on the
NBC Red network, and on Wednes-
days he stars with Richard Himber's
orchestra and Mary Small on an ice-
cream-sponsored program heard on
some eastern stations of the Blue net-
work.

Cincinnati — Station WSAI has
started something that ought to be a
model for other radio stations all over
the country to shoot at. In coopera-
tion with the City of Cincinnati, it
has launched an extensive series of
programs promoting safe driving.
Under the direction of Dewey H.
Long, WSAI general manager, every
single member of the station's staff
has a particular job in the campaign.

Free time goes to the Police De-
partment for special broadcasts. Every
Monday night a program goes on the
air from the court where traffic vio-
lators must gather to receive instruc-
tion in proper driving, and every
week the station gives cash prizes
for the best safety slogan submitted.
All in all, a war is being waged
against that old devil Traffic Accident
that ought to produce results.

Ben Washer

■ On their trip to New York, Dorothy Lamour, Edgar Bergen and Don
Ameche attended a performance of 'The Boys From Syracuse." Here
they are visiting back stage. That's Jimmy Savo, kneeling, left.

RADIO MIRROR

PETER GRANT — COMMENTATOR

BROADCASTING the news is not
pleasant business. Not the way
Peter Grant tackles it.

Peter Grant, of WLW, Cincinnati,
is one of the nation's leading news-
casters. His Sunday Evening News-
paper of the Air is heard not only
in his own home town, but in eight
other cities as well, where it is eager-
ly awaited as the week's comprehen-
sive digest of what's going on in the
world. On the air only fifteen min-
utes, Peter nevertheless manages to
pack into each broadcast a total of
2600 words, which is about 400 more
than is ordinarily spoken in that time.

Born Melvin Meredith Maginn in
St. Louis, Peter was expected to be a
concert pianist. His father, a former
child prodigy on the piano and a pro-
fessional musician, thought young
Peter was inheriting his abilities be-
cause he liked to sit on the piano
when he was a baby. It wasn't the
piano's attraction, musically, that
caused this — Peter simply liked to
imagine the piano was a wagon and
he was driving it. When music les-
sons came along, there was trouble,
because Peter showed no aptitude for
them at all.

In high school Peter studied phar-
macy and chemistry, but in college
(St. Louis' Washington University)
he switched to law and dramatics.
During his five years on the campus
he was in almost every college stage
production, and this activity led him
to radio. On his graduation in 1930,
Station KMOX invited him to become
a member of its dramatic staff, and

■ Meet Peter Grant, WLW's speedy
newscaster — 175 words a minute!

he accepted, thinking the money he
would earn on the air would come in
handy while he was getting a law
practice started. He soon found radio
work so exciting, though, that in 1932
he^ went to WLW to become a news
broadcaster, and forgot about law.
The breath-taking speed with which

he rattles through his Sunday-night
program is a real test of physical
stamina. To make it more difficult,
the Newspaper is broadcast three
times in a mere ninety minutes. At
6:15 he is heard over KDKA, Pitts-
burgh. At 6:45 he broadcasts at
KYW, Philadelphia; WSYR, Syracuse;
WHAM, Rochester; WBAL, Balti-
more; WGAL, Lancaster; WDEL,
Wilmington; and WORK, York; and
at 7:30, over his home station, WLW.

He's meticulously cautious about
the temperature of the water he
drinks between broadcasts. Cold
water would shock the sensitive vocal
chords so much that his voice would
be impaired for days, so he drinks
only tepid water. While broadcasting,
he stands instead of sitting, in order
to allow deeper and better breathing.
He reads so fast he can't look at the
clock, and has to be signalled when
the time is almost up. He grips the
script with both hands, shakes his
head violently to emphasize a word,
and often stamps the toe of one foot
at the conclusion of a bulletin.

Peter cherishes one ambition — to
own a couple of horses and several
dogs, and to become, on a small scale,
a gentleman farmer. Planes frighten
him but he'll use 'em rather than
take the longer way. He's six feet
three inches tall, and wears size 13
shoes — a very husky guy, in fact.
Quick, serious, jovial, modest and
sincere, he reflects all these likeable
qualities in his broadcasting voice —
which is undoubtedly the big reason
for his immense popularity.

ART MODEL
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Drene reveals all the sparkling natural beauty
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Say goodbye to lemon, vinegar or other
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There are now 2 kinds of Drene. Use Regu-
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the new Special Drene for Dry Hair. Refuse
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JUNE, 1939

■ Return engagements of "It Happened
One Night" still go on. Listeners
clamored for one on Monday night's
Lux Radio Theater so Mr. de Mille
presented it with its original stars,
Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert.

TWO blessed events at the Bel-Air
Stables are being anticipated keen-
ly by Robert Young's two small
daughters, Carol Anne, aged five, and
Barbara, aged two. When the colts
arrive, they'll become the property of
the two girls.

* * * 1.

Fanny Brice has just received a fan
letter from a man who said that as a
young man, twenty-five years ago,
he'd seen her at the famous Palace
Theater playing the part of a grown

up. "Now I'm married and am the
father of seven sons and two daugh-
ters," he writes. "And you've reverted
to babyhood: Now you're Baby
Snooks!"

Gertrude Niesen is up to her old
romantic tricks again. Since return-
ing to the film town she's been dating
the Hollywood lads with a vengeance.
She's had a new escort for every night
of the week.

There are still some Hollywood
optimists who think that all is well
with the Alice Faye-Tony Martin
household. All I can say is, I hope
they are right, but I am afraid they
are due for an awful shock shortly.
* * *

Mary Livingstone took her daughter
Joan over to the studio to see Jack
Benny in action in "Man About
Town." Seeing daddy in trapeze attire,
Joan turned to her mother in disgust.
(Continued on page 10)

RADIO MIRROR

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Recent discovery that dandruff is germ disease, and that Listerine kills the

germ, results in new scien-

-J %k\ t ,?^^Kh^mm tific treatment . . . letters from

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daughter's hair as well, for a number of years now. I like its
stimulating effect on the scalp. It is the most 'effective treatment
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pleasant one."

Mrs. S. C. Sloan, West Palm Beach, Florida

"I am a retired barber.
I have barbered 27 years
and I have often used
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dandruff. I am writing
this letter to the manu-
facturers of Listerine be-
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say that Listerine Anti-
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am absolutely convinced
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G. S. Cum mings
Saltese, Montana

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endorsing a product but Listerine
Antiseptic has made such an im-
pression on me that I thought that
I would tell you about it. You
have been advertising Listerine
as a cure for dandruff so I thought
that I would try it. After the first
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stopped. I am nearly finished with
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Junb, 1939

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High Special Rates

for Writers

of True Stories

Following our regular policy we are discontinuing true story
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During the month of May we
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Under this offer the Editorial Staff
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IMPORTANT

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Hollywood Radio Whispers

By GEORGE FISHER

(Continued)

"He certainly looks awfully silly,", she
whispered, "but don't tell him I said

Sports announcer Clem McCarthy
isn't one to forget a request. Clem
proved this the other day when he
delivered a deputy badge to Shirley
Temple, making her a deputy of Jack-
son County, Kansas. It was just a
year ago that Shirley glimpsed the
badge and expressed a desire for one.

Comedian George Burns has been
the target of so much comment lately,
I feel a humorous story about him
would be a relief. As you know,
Burns and his wife, Gracie Allen,
have two adopted children. The kid-
dies have never visited the studios
where their parents were working,
so when Burns brought the tots to
see Gracie at work recently, direc-
tor Al Green asked why they had
finally decided to visit the set. One
of the kiddies replied, "Well, daddy
asked us if we would rather go to the
monkey farm or the studio. We
thought mother would be funnier!"

Recently Edgar Bergen and I had
an experience while getting ready to
fly to Catalina Island which showed
me how real a lot of people consider
Charlie McCarthy. When Bergen
mentioned to the girl at the ticket
office that Charlie would be one of
the passengers, she was delighted to
have him take the plane, but also
insisted that he buy a ticket for the
little brat, It took five minutes to
convince her that Charlie would
travel as Bergen's baggage and didn't
need a seat for himself.

Frank Morgan has been smitten by
the bowling bug. Each Thursday after
the Good News Show, he joins a very
distinguished foursome that tries to
split the ten pins. The other three
members are Robert Young, Bob
Burns and Bing Crosby. The bowling
alleys are right across the street from
Radio City, and as usual, Bing is the
expert. His average game is 190.

* * *

Ten years ago they fired Irene Rich
from pictures because they didn't
think she could ever learn to talk
well enough for the talkies. I would
like to see the faces of the talkie
moguls when they hear that Miss Rich
has appeared in over 260 radio plays
in a medium depending entirely on
voice. In addition to 260 plays on the
air, Irene has appeared in 181 silent
pictures and 4,982 vaudeville shows.

* * *

Hollywood is whispering that Burns
and Allen may soon be replaced by
Paul Whiteman's orchestra and revue.
Burns, commenting on the report,
declared "It's news to me!"

Pretty soft for those two hundred
jitterbugs who are working in the
Paramount picture, "Some Like It
Hot." Instead of paying their own
money to dance to Gene Krupa's
swing band, the kids are actually get-

RADIO MIRROR

ting paid for doing what they would
rather do than eat!

* * *

Recently I had the pleasure of
playing host to Lance Sieveking, head
of the British Broadcasting Company's
television department. While show-
ing him the sights of Hollywood, he
told me many interesting things about
television which you might like to
hear. "Television today," said Sieve-
king, "is at the same stage that radio
broadcasting was in during the days
of the crystal sets, and it only needs
some little improvement to make it as
practicable and as popular as today's
radio." However, television will never
replace radio, according to Sieveking,
because in order to watch telecasts,
you must sit in one place in a dark-
ened room; while you can hear a
radio program anywhere.

* * *

Joan Fontaine tells me she will not
marry radio and film actor Conrad
Nagel. Joan, who is Olivia de Havil-
land's sister, says, "I don't think two
people in this profession can be hap-
pily married." I suspect this is good
news for Broadway showgirl, Wilma
Francis, Nagel's one-time girl friend!

* * *

Here's a good deed you can chalk
up for Constance Bennett. While re-
hearsing for a recent Texaco show,
Connie learned of the sad plight of
an eight-year-old youngster, Buster
Phelps, who had been booked for a
part in the show. The youngster was
told that an AFRA card was required
before he could work. The necessary
initiation fee was too much for the

Irene Rich drops in to Holly-
wood's Brown Derby for a bite
after her Sunday broadcast.

youngster's pocketbook, but as he was
about to step out, Connie stepped in
and wrote a check for the required
amount and little Buster began his
radio career!

Gene Autry, the Number One Cow-
boy star, who is scheduled for his own
radio show soon, will make the
column headlines again when the re-
porters hear the following story.
Gene is the favorite film star of
England's Royal Family. I have just
learned that the two little English
Princesses, Princess Elizabeth and
Princess Margaret Rose, have given

Bob Taylor, Clark Gable, and Tyrone
Power the go-by as their favorites.
To them, Gene Autry is now the top
Hollywood star! Which is another
feather in the cap of the two-gun
man!

* * *

Since Dick Powell took over the Al
Jolson show, film producers have
shown renewed interest in him. In
addition to Dick's one-picture deal
with MGM, he is being sought by
Paramount for a series of musicals!

Plans for an unusual wedding were
revealed to me by Cecil DeMille, who
plans to perform the marriage cere-
mony himself for Evelyn Keyes, who
is under personal contract to DeMille.
Sometime this spring Miss Keyes will
board DeMille's yacht with her
groom-to-be, whose name she refuses
to divulge, and in mid-ocean, Skipper
DeMille will perform the wedding
rites. As a wedding present, DeMille
will sail the newly weds to Honolulu!
Complete details of the marriage
plans will be announced soon.

* * *

Your Hollywood Whisperer is happy
to have been chosen as the official
Hollywood host and guide to the win-
ners of Uncle Don's Mutual Network
Hollywood Child Talent Contest,
when they visit Hollywood this sum-
mer! (June) .

* * *

Hollywood is whispering that pret-
ty starlet Nan Grey is more or less
secretly married to Jackie Westrope,
the well-known lad who steers the
horses around the turns at Santa
Anita and other major race tracks.

! !,

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' I

■ Is there a price on success? The
true story of a girl singer who
almost took the wrong road to fame

IF you want my advice — but of
course you don't," Jerry said,
"you'd better stay home."

I stared at him, across the res-
taurant table, in amazement. It was
the first time in all our months of
friendship that I'd seen Jerry Gates
lose his temper. Mild, sandy-haired
Jerry, with his slow smile and his
off-hand way of talking — but now
the smile was gone and his words
were clipped and bitter.

It was all so totally unexpected.
For more than a year now, Jerry
and I had been on the same radio
program, he as the announcer, I as
the featured singer. True, it wasn't
much of a program — just fifteen
minutes on a small New York
station three times a week, with a
Broadway clothing store for a spon-
sor— but it was a living, and I'd
always hoped it would be a stepping
stone to bigger things. In all that
time Jerry had been my best friend,
assuring me when I grew blue and
discouraged that I was good, that I
really could sell a song, that some
day a big sponsor would hear me
and give me my chance on the net-
works. He'd been my bulwark
against loneliness, my father-con-
fessor, my most loyal fan.

And now, when it looked as if
the big chance he'd predicted was at
last on its way, instead of respond-
ing to my happiness and excitement
— he was urging me to throw it over!

"But— Jerry," I said. "I don't
understand. Why shouldn't I go?"

"Look here," he said. "You've
been around New York long enough
to know what kind of a fellow Brad
Staley is. You met him at a party
a couple of months ago, didn't you?

And he was pleasant, and talked to
you a long time. So what does that
prove? Don't kid yourself he
thought he'd discovered a new
Frances Langford. To a guy that
produces the Atlas Hour, girl singers
are a dime a dozen."

"I knew that," I explained pa-
tiently. "I didn't expect anything
at all to come of meeting him. But
last week, just after I heard that
Vola Mont was leaving the Atlas
Hour — the very same day I heard
it, in fact — he called me up and
asked me what time I was on the
air. He said he wanted to listen to
me. And that was the first time I'd
heard from him since, the party."

He shook his head — the same ges-
ture I'd seen him use at rehearsal
when he stumbled over a line in the
commercial announcement. "And
so he listened, and called you up to
his office, and asked about your
experience. And now he wants you
to come up to his lodge at Lake
What's-its-name — "

"Falling Leaf Lake."

ALL right — Falling Leaf Lake —
*\ for a week-end party. But
this is the point — have you signed
any contract yet?"

"Of course not! You know that.
But Mr. Staley told me today that
everything's practically set — "

"Practically! What he means is,
everything's set except the week-
end party. That's the little detail
still to be arranged."

I'm sure my mouth fell open.
Strangely, I wasn't angry. The
whole idea that had been brewing
in Jerry's brain seemed too fantas-
tic for that.

"Jerry," I told him, "you sound
exactly like an old-fashioned mama.
Don't you know that sort of thing
isn't done any more?"

A flush spread over his face. "All
right, go ahead and laugh. But you
ought to know Staley's reputation
by now. If you don't, you're the
only one in New York."

"Reputation!" I said scornfully.
"All I've heard is a lot of irrespon-
sible gossip. The whole idea is ab-
surd. Mr. Staley's a gentleman.
And besides — Ray Tucker and his
wife are coming up to the lodge too.
They ought to be good enough chap-
erons for anyone, oughtn't they?"

He shrugged and began to edge
out of the booth where we were sit-
ting. "All right, Nicky. I've had
my say. But I guess it's your busi-
ness."

Outside, we paused in the midst
of the hurrying before-theater
crowds in Times Square. "Want to
take in a movie?" Jerry asked, but
his voice sounded only as if he were
trying to be polite.

"No, I have to go home and do a
little packing," I said.

"Okay." His face was expression-
less.

"I've got to go, Jerry," I pleaded.
"Don't you see — this is my big
chance! It's what I've waited for,
prayed for, ever since I came to New
York. It may never come again.
And if I called Mr. Staley up now,
only a few hours after I promised to
go to the lodge, and tried to back
out — why, he'd think I was crazy."

"Sure, I see that," he answered
coldly. "Well, I only hope you're as
happy when you come back as you
think you're going to be."

RADIO MIRROR

That was his last word on the sub-
ject, but after he left me at the door
of the rooming house where I lived,
some of the edge had gone from my
anticipation over the chance of be-
ing featured on one of the biggest
network variety shows. I didn't be-
lieve a single one of the things he'd
hinted about Brad Staley and his
methods — I couldn't, even knowing
Staley as slightly as I did — but I
couldn't help feeling vaguely dis-
turbed over them just the same.

Then, at the memory of Brad's
charming smile and frank, friendly
manners, I threw off my forebod-
ings. Of course it was nonsense!
And it had been Brad's own sugges-
tion that Ray Tucker, star comedian
of the program, and Mrs. Tucker
were to be guests at the lodge as
well.

I realized, suddenly, that I wasn't
worried over what Jerry had said.
I was worried because he'd said it.
We'd been such good friends. He'd
always been at my side when I
needed sympathy. And now, when
for the first time things looked bet-
ter for me, he'd acted — yes, he'd
acted as if he were jealous. As if
he begrudged me my chance. I had
never expected that of Jerry.

BUT in the morning I felt better.
Jerry would get over it, I told
myself. Anyway, the important
thing was the warm feeling of con-
fidence I'd had at Brad Staley' s
words: "I don't mind telling you I
think you've got exactly the kind
of voice I've been looking for to
make my show perfect!" Even if
something happened and I didn't get
the contract, that speech of Brad's
alone would almost make the whole
thing worth while!

Almost on the dot of noon he
drew up in the crowded street out-
side, driving a cream-colored road-
ster that seemed to be the embodi-
ment of speed and luxury. I picked
up my overnight bag and met him
on the steps. Somehow, I didn't
want him to see the interior of the
place where I lived. His face bright-
ened as he saw me, and I mentally
gave thanks that I'd spent more
than I could afford for my new suit
of white sharkskin, with the bright
blue handkerchief tucked in its
breast pocket.

"You're the only cool-looking
thing I've seen this morning," he
said, smiling down at me. His eyes
were deep-set, and of a blue that
contrasted oddly with his jet-black
hair and the deep tan of his skin.

"Ray and Edna are coming along
in their own car," he said as he
stowed my bag in the rumble. "Ray
always refuses to get up before
noon, and it'll probably be three

o'clock before they're ready to start,
so I thought we might as well go on
without them."

Then began one of the most en-
chanting rides I'd ever had. The big,
high-powered car seemed to be a
part of Brad Staley, he handled it
so expertly, weaving in and out of
the congested Saturday traffic along
the West Side highway and over
George Washington Bridge. Once in
the country, it hummed with deep-
throated satisfaction and leaped
ahead, yet its movement was so
smooth and soothing that I was sur-
prised when I glanced at the
speedometer and saw how fast we
were going.

All the way to the lodge Brad — I
was calling him Brad to his face now,
and he was calling me Nicky — kept
up a running stream of talk: stories
about radio, the theater, people he

■ "I was terribly
aware of his near-
ness. It was one
of those moments
when, without a
word being spoken,
the air is full of
clamorous thoughts11

knew and I longed to know. I felt
as if we'd been friends for years.

We had lunch at a little roadside
restaurant, and arrived at the lake
about four in the afternoon. The
lodge was all I had dreamed it would
be — a low, rambling log house, set
on the high ground overlooking the
little lake and surrounded by tall,
whispering pines. A breeze ruffled
the surface of the water, and it
sparkled in the afternoon sun as if
it were set with diamonds.

A big woman with gray hair and
a broad Irish face opened the door
and ran down the shallow stone
stairs to take our bags. Brad intro-
duced her to me as Mrs. Geraghty,
the housekeeper.

"Well, here's Falling Leaf Lodge,"
Brad said with a sweeping gesture
of his arm. "It's all yours, Nicky."

He stood beside me, and for a mo-
ment we were silent. The only
sound was that of Mrs. Geraghty's
quick steps moving around upstairs.
Suddenly, I was terribly aware of
his nearness. I knew, somehow,
that his eyes were upon my face, not
upon the view; and some instinct
told me that unless I moved, said
something to break the spell, he
would touch me. It was one of those
moments when, without a word be-
ing spoken, the air is full of clam-
orous thoughts; which can't be mea-
sured by time nor explained in
words.

It was with a real effort that I
turned and spoke to him lightly.
"Let's go swimming! Can we?"

"Of course," he said, responding
at once to my tone. "Me,et you here
in ten minutes."

Upstairs, in the bright, sunny
bedroom, I wondered. Had that mo-
ment really been tense, electric — or
had I merely imagined it, made it
up out of a mind that was too full
of what Jerry had said? I was sure
of one thing — I hadn't been fright-
ened. I liked Brad too well to be
afraid of him. Yet there was some-
thing overpowering about his vital-
ity, his masculinity and self-assur-
ance. I felt that here was a man
who knew women and his power
over them. I didn't resent that
power, exactly, but I made up my
mind that no matter what happened
I'd fight against it.

But there was no need to fight
against it, during the next hour or
so, while we alternately swam in
the icy waters of the lake and lay
full-length on the strip of sandy
beach, letting the rays of the sun
soak into our bodies. After the noise
and confusion of the city, its smells
and dirt, this lonely part of the
mountains was like a paradise — a
beautiful, perfumed paradise.

"Run up and get dressed, and
then we'll have a cocktail, without
waiting for the Tuckers," he said
when, glowing from the sun and the
water, we returned to the house.
"Dinner's at eight, but I don't im-
agine they'll get here much before
seven-thirty."

It was nearly seven when I came
down the stairs, wearing my one
and only evening gown. Brad, mix-
ing drinks at a little table before
the fireplace, looked up and grinned
cheerfully.

Nothing in the world, I thought,
could be more pleasant than the
next half hour, while we sat before
the fire, talking, wrapped in the
peace of the soft mountain air. If
only, I found myself thinking, we
could have the whole evening alone
like this — if only the Tuckers
weren't (Continued on page 69)

RADIO MIRROR

ON JUNE NINTH Eddie and I
will be married twenty-five
years.

Yet, as I think back, it doesn't
seem that long. The present pan-
orama . . . our house in Beverly
Hills, its white-tiled pool, these
purple-gray Hollywood hills, my
sun-tanned Eddie, our five daugh-
ters and even a couple of sons-in-
law . . . they do a complete fade-out.

Instead, I see a dingy gymnasium
in a New York public school. A
basketball game is in progress. And
I ask about the eager skinny boy,
a regular human dynamo, who is
running in and out of the place, ap-
pearing everywhere at once, upset-
ting the players' routine, making us
laugh.

No one knows his name. They
can only tell me, "He is Annie
Cantor's cousin."

Somebody else calls him, "Ruby
Goldberg's fella." I don't like this.
For, right from the start, I have a
crush on him myself.

JUNE, 1939

What other wife ever
waited so long for the
chance to talk back!

BY IDA CANTOR

Eddie awakened my maternal in-
stincts. He was so very thin. He
wore other people's clothes, cast-
offs that were much too big and only
succeeded in making him appear
even more under-nourished than he
actually was.

His parents were dead. He lived
with his grandmother. I think it was
not having a home of his own that
gave him his tremendous love of
family life, an odd quality to find
in an actor.

And his is an all absorbing love.
Through the years, no matter where
acting has carried Eddie, he insisted
that we (the girls and I) join him,
whenever possible. Painstakingly,
we have built and furnished homes
and apartments all over America,
in Mount Vernon, in Great Neck, in
New York City and California, only
to give each one up, take a cheerful
loss and travel on to the next en-
gagement. As Eddie says, our chil-
dren may be duds in arithmetic, but
there's scant excuse for them not to
know geography!

During those basketball days
there were no managers offering
Eddie contracts. He was just a boy,
a little on the nervy side, wanting
badly to be an actor.

At that (Continued on page 73)

She's feminine, she has a sense of humor— -and what's
more, even Charlie likes Edgar's new girl friend!

By MARIAN RHEA

EVERYONE around Hollywood
knows that Edgar Bergen, one
of our most eligible bachelors,
has got a new girl. Now, we're
often inclined to jump at romantic
conclusions out here, but it looks
this time as though Cupid were get-
ting in some pretty good licks. . . .
Certainly I think so and it seems to
me I should know, because I spent
an hour in Edgar's office on the
Boulevard the other day and fifty-
seven minutes of that time (the
other three were devoted to the
weather; it was the day it snowed)
were taken up with discussion of
the young lady in question. . . .
Meaning Miss Kay St. Germain, the

attractive brunette singer on NBC's
Signal Carnival and recently guest
on the Eddie Cantor program.

Let's see. ... It has been about
two years and a half, now, since
Edgar and Charlie McCarthy moved
west. Confirmed bachelors they
were when they arrived and it
looked for a while as though they
would stay that way. They — or
Edgar alone when he managed to
elude the irrepressible Charlie —
"played the field." For a while it
was Shirley Ross, whose company
was also regularly shared by Ken
Murray, Edgar's pal of long stand-
ing. Then it was Andrea Leeds
whom Edgar "beaued" on this and

that occasion. Or Anita Louise or
Helen Wood or Florence Heller.
But it was never for long and never,
apparently, seriously. Quiet as he
is (at least until you know him)
Edgar Bergen likes a good time. He
likes to dance. He likes the night
spots. And he likes a gay, attractive
companion. But so often was it a
brand new lady who appeared on
his arm at this party and that party
and premiere, that even Hollywood,
always ready, as I say, to jump at
romantic conclusions, coulda't cook
up a real Bergen romance with any-
one. . . .

Until Kay St. Germain came
along. Now, it looks different.

"Sure," Charlie says, "put a
little romance in Bergen's
life and maybe he'll under-
stand the problems of others."

As for the significance of what he
said about his new "girl friend" —
well, see what you think about
that. . . .

I started him off by asking when
he had first met Miss St. Germain,
where, and all about it. He remem-
bered exactly. It was one day when
photographs were being taken of
NBC stars in connection with the
opening of the new broadcasting
studios in Hollywood. Edgar and
Charlie, Madaline Lee, the girl who
plays "Miss Blue" with "Amos 'n'
Andy," Helen Wood and some
others were gathered around. Edgar
had never seen her before but he
certainly noticed her then. "When
she spoke, there was something in
her voice that made me listen," he
told me. "I thought to myself, 'a
good radio voice.' She has dark
hair, lots of it, and on that day it
was combed simply in what I guess
you would call a 'page boy' bob.

"I talked with her and realized I
should like to see more of her. So,

JUNE, 1939

in order to get her phone number
without appearing conspicuous or
impolite, I asked for the numbers
of everyone in the group and later
invited them to the rhumba party I
was giving around Halloween time.
Kay, among the others, accepted. I
danced with her and I liked her
better than ever because she was
about the best dancer I had ever
danced with. Since then — " He
paused but I prompted him.

"Since then you've been seeing a
lot of her?"

"Yes," he said, "as much as I
have time for and she will let me."

"Tell me other things about her
that appeal to you," I demanded.

He grinned again. "Are you com-
fortable?" he inquired, irrelevantly,
I thought at first, but I was wrong
about that. "Have a cigarette?
Fine. Now. . . . What do I like about
her? Well, that will take time to
tell. That is why I wanted to make
sure you were comfortable." Yes,
he was half jesting, but just half.

Her name's Kay St. Germain,
she sings on NBC's Signal
Carnival — and she's a
Charlie McCarthy fan too.

Exaggerating, but not completely.

"In the first place," he said, "I
like her because she has a sense of
humor and is excellent company.
She is one of the few women I have
met who likes to tell a joke and can
tell it well. She even makes them
up and they're good."

To prove his point he told me a
couple — and they were! For ex-
ample. . . . There was the mother
hen who hatched a brood of a dozen
chickens or so and, since there had
been a duck egg in the nest, one
duck. Eyeing the strange looking,
broad-billed newcomer with com-
plete disfavor, she exclaimed, "Ye
Gods! A Ubangi!"

"Then," he went on, "she likes to
do the things that I enjoy. She
plays golf, a whacking good game,
and she can beat me at tennis —
although, tactful girl that she is,
she doesn't do it too often, for which
I am grateful. Her badminton is
good and so are her bridge and
ping-pong. Another thing, she
seems tickled to death to play them
when I want to, which makes me
feel comfortable.

"She likes to eat, too. When
she goes into a restaurant, she looks
the menu over and orders a sensible
meal, none of your trick foods, salad
dressings made out of non-fattening
oils, tomatoes and pineapples. A
good dinner is as much an event
with her as a good show.

"She is not overly critical. You
can take her to see a picture or to a
broadcast secure in the knowledge
that she won't have it torn to pieces
five minutes after it's over. She
has the same tolerance toward peo-
ple. Men know when women are
being cats and they don't like it for
no other reason than because jeal-
ousy makes them uncomfortable.

"She is restful. You don't have
to entertain her every minute. She
seems to fit in with a mood. If you
want to be hilarious, she keeps up
her end and then some. If you
don't, she can be quiet and serious
and you don't feel that she is mak-
ing a conscious effort to do it, either.
She reads good books and can dis-
cuss them intelligently. She knows
what is going on in the world and
can discuss that."

"Do you ever quarrel?" I inquired.

He smiled. "Well, not exactly,
except that she sometimes becomes
a little upset at a certain masculine
perverseness (Continued on page 59)

£3m

^S.

The Inspector brought out a letter.
"Here," he said. "Take a look at
that — and see if you can make it out."

■

Photograph by Pinchot,
specially posed by Clay-
ton Colly er, Arline ■
Blackburn and Howard
Smith, of the Pretty
Kitty Kelly air serial.

'Who am I? And where did I come

from?11 Would you dare fall in love
when you couldn't solve the dark
mystery of your forgotten past?

Part I

THE train to New York sped
onward through the night. But
Kitty did not sleep. Her eyes
wide in the cramped darkness of
the lower berth, she stared out at
the landscape rushing by. She felt
as though she were rushing toward
her own destiny.

Two days ago she had been Kitty
Kelly, dress model in Marks Fifth
Avenue, an orphan girl from Dub-
lin who had lost her memory a
year ago. But now — the mystery
of her real identity had risen to
haunt her again.

That telegram from Inspector
Grady — what did it mean? She
and Michael had read it that morn-
ing in the lobby of the New Hamp-
shire ski resort.

"Bring Kitty Kelly to New York
at once for questioning," it had
read. "Clues that may throw some
light on her identity have turned
up. Mrs. Megram has been mur-
dered. Grady."

Some light on her identity. Her

heart beneath the soft stuff of her
nightgown beat a mad tattoo of
hope. Tomorrow, at this same time,
she might know who she really
was. And the nightmare and con-
fusion of her life during the past
year would be over.

For a whole year, she had lived
in ignorance, like a person in a
dream. A year ago, she had awak-
ened as though from a heavy sleep,
and found herself in the stuffy
third-class cabin of a ship bound
for America. Her only companion
had been a grim-faced old woman in
cheap black clothes. Mrs. Megram.

She had awakened that morning,
as though from utter darkness.
Unquestioningly, in a kind of stu-
por, she had accepted the things
Mrs. Megram told her day after
day in that swaying, ill-lighted
cabin. That her name was Kitty
Kelly. That she was a poor Irish
girl from an orphanage on her way
to find work in America. That she
had been ill during the voyage.
Her mind had been a blank on
which Mrs. Megram's harsh tongue
had traced a dismal story of a
poverty-stricken past.

But not one word of it was true.

She had known that now for two
days. Even before the telegram
from Inspector Grady came, she
had known she was not Kitty

Kelly, a poor Irish orphan. She
had known it ever since that win-
try afternoon two days before at
the hotel, when she and Michael
had gone out to ski on the white
New Hampshire hills.

Neither of them had ever skied
before. And Michael, the dear, had
worried about her falling. "Give
me your hand, Kitty!" he had cried,
catching her as she stood unstead-
ily on the height of the snowy
slope. She had clung to him for a
moment, a little frightened. Then
something had happened to her —
and she had pushed forward, skied
down the steep mountain with sud-
den, effortless ease.

Even Michl, the ski instructor,
had cried out in delight at her skill.
He had rushed forward, as she
braked at the bottom in a perfect
Christiania, and seized her by the
hand.

"But, Miss Kelly — you must have
learned how to ski like that in
Switzerland!"

Switzerland! An Irish orphan
in Switzerland! She had laughed
and shaken her head. But the in-
credible ease she had felt on those
skis had haunted her with a sense
of strange unreality.

And that same night, there had
been the incident of Grant Thurs-
day.

Michael had gone out, and she
and Bunny Wilson had been stand-
ing alone in the lobby, when he
arrived. Grant Thursday. She had
heard about him from the gay
crowds at the ski shop. A wealthy,
handsome young bachelor. A
writer, explorer, man about Eu-

For the first time, in dramatic fiction form, you can read the complete
story of the CBS serial that has thrilled listeners from coast to coast

June, 1939

rope. And an expert on skis. In
spite of her love for Michael, she
had felt a little twinge of excite-
ment at the thought of meeting him.
But she had scarcely been pre-
pared for the look of shocked
amazement on his face, when he
came into the lobby that night, and
saw her standing there.

GOOD Lord!" He had given a
low whistle. "Is it possible?
Or am I seeing things?"

She had shaken her head.

"I — I'm sorry, but — we've never
met each other before."

"You haven't, perhaps. But I
have. Don't you remember — that
afternoon last January? At St.
Moritz? You were wearing a little
blue jacket with military frogs, a
knitted white Norwegian cap
peaked in back? You were getting
into a crowded funicular railroad
going up the mountain? And I — I
couldn't get into the car to meet
you? I lost you!"

In a torrent of excitement he had
poured out a wild story of falling
in love with her, following her all
over Europe, in an effort to find out
her name. And at last something
had stirred inside her stunned
brain. She knew him. Somewhere
she had seen his face before.

And now — Mrs. Megram had
been murdered. New clues had
been uncovered. At last, perhaps,
the mystery was coming to a head.
Tomorrow morning, she would be
climbing from the train, racing to
Inspector Grady's apartment in a
taxi, with Michael at her side, rac-
ing toward her destiny . . .

Perhaps she and Michael could
be married at last. For six months
now, she had known she loved him
dearer than life itself. He had
begged her to marry him. But she
had not dared. And now, he was
beginning to grow restless, bored
with their endless existence apart.
This last week-end, when they
should have been so happy to-
gether, he had wandered off several
times by himself, gone skiing with
that pretty rich Isabel Andrews.
Even tonight, he had gone out "for
a last minute smoke" with Isabel.
He had stayed away a long time.

She had been in bed, her cur-
tains drawn, when they finally re-
turned. But wide-awake, staring
into the darkness, she had heard his
whisper, husky and deep, as they
brushed past the closed curtains of
her berth.

"Shh, Isabel. Not so loud. We'll
wake Kitty."

And Isabel's drawled reply: —

"Not a chance. G'night, Michael
darling."

There had been a little giggle, as

the train lurched round a bend.
Mockingly that laughter still lin-
gered in her ears. Tomorrow, she
whispered prayerfully in the nar-
row berth. Tomorrow. . . .
* * *

At ten o'clock next morning, she
and Michael were riding up in the
iron-grilled elevator to the Inspec-
tor's apartment on Riverside Drive.
Inspector Grady was waiting for
them, outlined against a huge win-
dow that looked out on the Hudson
River.

"Well, Kitty Kelly, if you're not
a sight for sore eyes! Say, Michael
— if I were twenty years younger,
I'd run off with her myself."

But she was in no mood this
morning for idle banter.

"Inspector — please — what is it
about Mrs. Megram — and . . . and
me?"

His kindly blue eyes scrutinized
her with sympathetic understand-

PRETTY KITTY KELLY

Sponsored by Wonder Bread
and Hostess Cakes on CBS

CAST

Kitty Kelly. . ARLINE BLACKBURN

Michael Conway

CLAYTON COLLYER

Bunny Wilson HELEN CHOAT

Slim ART ELLS DICKSON

Inspector Grady HOWARD SMITH

Grant Thursday ..JOHN PICKARD

Dr. Orbo LOUIS HECTOR

Isabel Andrews LUCILLE WALL

Radio script by Frank Dahm

Fictionization by Lucille Fletcher

ing. He motioned her to a chair.

"I hope my wire to Michael here
hasn't gotten your hopes too high,"
he said. "There's nothing very
definite as yet. But we have found
a couple of queer things out about
this Mrs. Megram. She was mur-
dered, as you know, last Thursday
night. Shot three times through the
back of the head. In a room at the
Wolfert Hotel."

"The Wolfert!" Michael broke in.
"But — that's the most expensive
hotel in New York!"

"Exactly. That's one of the things
I want to talk to Kitty about. Her
friend, Mrs. Megram, was paying
$25 a day for her room. She's been
paying that price for the last six

months. Tell me, Kitty, did she
strike you a year ago as a woman
who was rich or poor?"

"She — she appeared to be very
poor, Inspector."

"Poor — eh?" The Inspector
snorted. "Well — what do you think
of this? Your friend, Mrs. Megram,
left a deposit in the Marine National
Bank of $10,000! She also had
money to play the stock market, and
to keep a gigolo. Now — can you
make out where she could have got-
ten hold of all that dough?"

Kitty shook her head. The whole
thing was too fantastic for belief.
Mrs. Megram wealthy! Why — she
had seemed like a poor old char-
woman, a broken-down derelict of
the slums a year ago. And now —

The Inspector went on.

"You don't know? Okay — we'll
go back to that later. Anyway, to
make a long story short, this is the
other thing that struck us. She was
shot last Thursday night, while she
was writing a letter to you."

"To me? Sure — and what could
Mrs. Megram be writing a letter to
me about?"

"That's just what we wanted to
find out." The Inspector fumbled in
his desk, and brought out a letter.
"Here," he said. "Take a look at
that — and see if you can make it
out."

Kitty took it from him with trem-
bling fingers. It was a piece of ex-
pensive pink stationery, covered
with writing in a deliberate, slanting
hand. A strange scent, overpower-
ing, the odor of some perfume, rose
from it. Her head swam, and for a
moment she could not read the
words. Then:

"Dear Kitty Kelly," she read. "I
am writing you care of the store,
where you are employed, because I
have been told you are in the city.
When you receive this letter, will
you please communicate with me at
once? I have something of great
importance to tell you concerning
yourself. Do not be afraid to see
me, as I no longer want to do any-
thing but help you regain the place
that is rightfully yours. I know that
when you hear what I have to tell
you, I can trust your generosity to
forgive me what I did, and to re-
ward me well for the news I bring
you. I want . . ."

The last "t" in "want" trailed off
in a long inky line down the paper.
At the bottom of the letter was a
smear of dried blood. Nothing more.

Nothing. Tears of disappointment
came into Kitty's eyes. She read the
letter again. Perhaps she had missed
a phrase, a word that might mean
something definite. But no. This
letter was nothing but an introduc-
tion, the (Continued on page 66)

RADIO MIRROR

SHOULD ROOSEVELT SEEK

■ Mrs. America: "But
I thought he'd just
come for a visit."

NO/

BY RAYMOND MOLEY

YES/

BY ROY VICTOR PEEL

I DON'T think the President should
have a third term. And this is why:

There are certain characteristics about a human be-
ing that can readily be understood and that are com-
mon to all. If you stab a human being he will bleed.
If you shut him up without air he will die. If you
touch him with a hot iron he will be burned. If you
strike him he will either shrink away or fight back.
If you give him too much power he will abuse it. This
is a danger inherent in human nature (now I'm not
talking about Franklin Roosevelt, I'm talking about
any man) and it is the best purpose of human govern-
ment to limit power in the interest of freedom, and,
so far as possible, to divorce it from personalities.

Even the most casual observation of human beings
in possession of power reveals that the thirst for power
is the original sin of rulers. It grows by what it feeds
on, dulling the perceptions, clouding the vision and
leading its victims away from that contact with reality
which is the very essence of democracy. There is an
impatience of restraint, an (Continued on page 53)

'BVIOUSLY, the Constitution places
no restriction on the number of terms that a President
may occupy the office. There is nothing anywhere in
the Constitution limiting this.

The third term is, therefore, clearly constitutional.

While the prejudice against the third term has been
sedulously cultivated by the politicians, by the dis-
contented and the ambitious, there is no ground at all
for believing that the principle is more than a custom,
which is foreign to our constitutional system, lacking
any authoritative support, and existing only because
its abolition has not been urged at a propitious time.

The practice of keeping leaders in power as long as
they are giving satisfactory service and inspired direc-
tion to affairs, is a cardinal principle in American busi-
ness and associational life. Imagine what a shock it
would be if the president of one of our larger corpora-
tions were removed from his office simply because he
had served eight years. Even more to the point is the
practice in our states and cities where able and efficient
governors and mayors are not (Continued on page 53)

Condensed from a debate by Professor Peel and Professor Moley, broadcast over station WEVD,
New York City, and arranged under the auspices of the Rand School of Social Science

JUNE, 1939

dPfi

Listen to Martha Raye
Tuesday nights on CBS,
sponsored by Lifebuoy.
Below, with her first
husband, Bud Westmore.

**^*M%3

yMMJ*

Paramount

■ Wedded happiness isn't just luck
that's the lesson one girl learned
from a disastrous first experience

A CAREER marriage can work.
David, who is very practical
about such things, would say
that I'm "sticking my neck out a
mile" making such a statement —
after all, we haven't had any anni-
versaries to celebrate so far, except

for monthly ones, and this is Holly-
wood, where anything can happen,
even to the best laid plans.

But just the same, I say that a
career marriage can work — if, all
other things being equal, a couple
enters it with their eyes open, de-

termined not to make the simple,
fatal mistakes that have wrecked so
many other promising partnerships.
Because David and I did all of our
worrying before we made that trip
to Ensenada. Everytime we'd bump
up against an "if" or a "maybe,"

RADIO MIRROR

we'd sit right down and work out
a way to get around it, and the re-
sult is a system which we think will
make our marriage work — no matter
how hard Hollywood tries to defeat
it — and probably would help any
marriage to sail along on an even
keel, whether it's in Hollywood, or
Muncie, Indiana.

My first marriage was unsuccess-
ful. In it I'd made enough mistakes
to wreck every happy home from
here to Calcutta. I'd let the public,
friends, work, outside interests,
everything, come between me and
my home. I suppose the public
hasn't forgotten that first, brief and
unhappy marriage of mine — and
you can be sure I haven't. But at
least it pointed out the pitfalls which
David and I must avoid, if we are
to have the happy life together that
both of us want so terribly.

I'm optimist enough to think that
I can learn how to do things the
right way from doing them the
wrong way. There should be les-
sons here for you, too, even if your
home isn't in Hollywood and you
aren't working for a living in radio
and the movies — because, funda-
mentally, the lessons I learned apply
to every marriage, everywhere.

Dave and I want to stay married
just as much as you do, for we both
believe that marriage is the best
way of life, even for two ambitious
careerists. We think we have found
the key.

Briefly, it's this: Work together
when you can. When the job at
hand is something you have to do
alone, then do it alone. Don't drag
the other fellow in, just to stand
around and wait for you. Guard
a free hour together, as though it
were your last hour on earth. And
don't let anybody intrude on it.

Just two simple rules. Just two
don'ts.

But ignore them, and before you
know it marriage rhymes with mess.

I think these rules will work not
only for the first year together, but
for the first ten, and the first twenty,
and forever.

David and I were thinking in

terms of a whole life together when

we exchanged wedding vows in that

little chapel at Ensenada. "Till death

(Continued on page 75)

>,1

1 '<d \

■' A

JUNE, 1939

Fink

Dave and I want to stay married, just as much as you
do, for we both believe that is the best way of life.

A LUAU!

TO PRONOUNCE IT)

|[he South Seas moved
4 to Hollywood when Jon
Hall and Frances Lang-
ford gave a real Luau
— in plain English,
just an evening of

■ Pineapples, melons, bananas —
and Walter Kane, Lynn Bari,
Vic Orsatti, Marjorie Weaver.

■ Guests were supposed to come
in hula skirts or beachcomber
togs — and Kenny Baker (right)
poured out the Hawaiian punch.

■ What does it take to

be a star of the new-
est thing on earth?
These two beauties
know the answer — it's
not what you think!

Do you yearn to star in radio-pictures
—but think you haven't the right kind
of face or coloring? Then cheer up,
for now television engineers say that a
girl can be blonde or brunette, piquant
or patrician — it doesn't matter as long
as she has that one glamorous at-
tribute: Personality! That's something
possessed in abundance by the 'Tele-
vision Girls" of the East and West
Coasts. Left, Patricia Murray, of New
York City, is NBC's nomination.

RADIO MIRROR

■ Across the continent, Mutual's Station KHJ in Los Angeles says
that Betty Jane Rhodes is also a perfect television type. Betty
is already a sound-radio star, singing on her own program every
Monday. Patricia has won success in movies, and stars in the
Macfadden picture, "I'll Tell the World," which will be shown
at the New York World's Fair this summer. Both girls are blonde,
but that's just a coincidence. Patricia's features are regular
and rather large; Betty's are smaller and more sharply modeled.
But both photograph like a million — and that's what's important.

TONE, 1939

NEW YORK CITY listeners this
spring heard Juanita Hansen
speak the startling words printed
on the opposite page.

Once a lovely star of the silent
movies, she began taking heroin
during an illness. In 1922 she
undertook a cure, which was com-
pleted in 1924. But in 1928 she
was severely scalded in a shower
bath, and formed the habit a sec-
ond time, so that once more she
went through the heart-breaking
task of curing herself. Now, her
movie career behind her, she is
planning a narcotics exhibit at the
New York World's Fair, where she
will lecture this summer.

RADIO MIRROR

■ Opposite, Juanita Hansen in
1918, at the height of her ca-
reer; above, with Jack Mulhall
in a scene from an early film.

■ Left, Miss Hansen as she is
today. Above, as the heroine
of an old-time serial called
"The Secret of the Submarine."

AS BROADCAST BY MISS HANSEN ON STATION WMCA

MY mission is to warn the youth
of America against narcotics
— I would save them from
paying the price I paid through
ignorance.

I believe ignorance is the root of
all evil. I cannot and I will not be-
lieve that the intelligent youth of
our nation today would deliberately
destroy their God-given good health
if they knew the destructive power
of all narcotic drugs.

From the first indulgence down
the path that leads to addiction, the
steps are so gradual that the victim
is unsuspectingly caught in the un-
dertow that grips and binds.

If you only knew the suffering
and mental anguish the unfortunate
victims of this menace endure you
would be horrified. I know where-
of I speak for on the altar of dope I
placed a career, health, wealth and
youth.

Much has been said about limit-
ing the source of supply of narcotic
drugs. I believe that is putting the
cart before the horse. Stop the de-
mand and there will be no need for
supply — this can only be accom-
plished through education.

I want you to tell your children if
they are ever tempted to try mari-
juana cigarettes, heroin, morphine,
cocaine or opium in any form, I
want them to think of me. I had
everything in the world to live for
— a beautiful future in motion pic-
tures and I lost it all through nar-
cotics. It took me two years to
regain my health, and every day,
week and month of that two years
was filled with physical pain and
such extreme nervousness I nearly
lost my reason.

For the past two years I have car-
ried a dream in my heart: that I
might have a Narcotic Museum at

the New York World's Fair — which
will be the first Educational Nar-
cotic Exhibition of its kind ever to
be shown. To that end — I have
toured United States, lecturing in
Schools, Teacher's Colleges, Univer-
sities, Federated Women's Clubs,
Civic groups and from the pulpits of
many churches

I want to take the Narcotic Prob-
lem out of the taboo category and
bring it right out into the open —
for our only weapon against this
narcotic menace is Education. If we
would save our children from this
narcotic evil then throw off the
cloak of ignorance. I would rather
have all the risks which come from
the free discussion of the narcotic
evil than the greater risks we run
by the Conspiracy of Silence. Open
the door of knowledge to all for
ignorance will destroy the beauty of
the world.

r i

1939

FORMER SCREEN STAR

BROADCASTS
A DARING CONFESSION

iple in love, but most of

all to those who are afraid

to marry without money

a course in happiness by

the director of radio's

Original Good Will Hour

SO*

John J. Anthony is the di-
rector and master of cere-
monies of the Original Good
Will Hour, sponsored by Iron-
ized Yeast and heard over the
Mutual Broadcasting System
every Sunday at 10:00 P. M.,
E. S. T. He is also director of
his own Marital Relations In-
stitute, and is well known as
an authority on marriage and
its problems.

THEY come to me by the hun-
dreds— young men and women
in love, wanting each other,
anxious to marry, yet prevented
from doing so by one thing:
money, or the lack of it. Confused
and uncertain, they know what
they want, but not how to get it.
They ask me for advice. They've
been told they should be "prac-
tical." They've been advised to
wait until they have some money
in the bank — until John gets a
raise — until Jane can quit her job
— until they can afford to buy their
own furniture. There is always,
in these cases — an "until."

In all but a very few instances
my advice is the same: "Don't
wait. Tomorrow may never come.
Get married now — and then tackle
the problems that are worrying
you."

For these youngsters, with their
doubts and fears, are the most ter-
rible indictment of our modern age
that it is possible to conceive. A
hundred years ago, we in America
had no automobiles, no radios, no
telephones, none of the many lux-
uries which today we think of as
necessities. The words "standard
of living" were unknown. For
shelter, many a happy couple had
nothing better than a log hut, with
the wind whistling through its
chinks. But when two young peo-
ple fell in love, they went ahead
and got married, and didn't worry
too much over jobs and finances.
Or if they did want to be "prac-
tical," there was enough security

in the world to enable them to
plan ahead and eventually find
happiness without waiting for too
many years.

But today, in far too many cases,
young men and women are being
forced to postpone their happiness.
They are being denied the right
to marry — the right to the greatest
happiness possible to a man and
woman. Thousands of young peo-
ple— and some, unfortunately, not
so young — who have prepared
themselves to take part in modern
life, now find suddenly that mod-
ern life doesn't want them and
won't grant them the security they
need to build a home and family.

To you who are caught in this
deadlock, I have only one answer:
Take your courage in your hands
and marry anyway. Don't wait,
and don't gamble with your future
happiness.

I am assuming, of course, that
you are really in love — that you
are aware of the " difference be-
tween love and infatuation, that
you have looked into your hearts
honestly, and found there, not
sexual desire alone, but all the
other things that go to make
up a marriage as well: loyalty,
community of interests, affection,
friendship, respect. This article
isn't meant for you otherwise.

But if you are in love, it's your
right to be married, and no one
can take it away from you.

Frank and Judy came to see me
recently. Both were graduates
of a large Eastern university. I
looked into their faces and saw two
examples of fine American youth.
They were intelligent, healthy,
ambitious — and, I thought, coura-
geous. They'd make good citizens
of any town in the country.

"We want to get married,"
Frank told me, "but neither of us
has a job — and the way things look
now, the chances aren't very
bright. For more than a year we've
both been living with our parents,
hoping something would turn up

RADIO MIRROR

so we could marry and have a
home of our own. Lately the worry
and strain have been getting us
both down — we've started losing
our tempers at each other, and we
never used to do that."

I looked at the two unhappy
faces. "And what did you want
me to tell you?" I asked sympa-
thetically.

Frank blushed and shifted in his
chair with embarrassment, but
he'd come to ask my advice and he
meant to go through with it.

"We made up our minds we
could do one of two things. We
could call the whole thing off, and
decide not to see each other any
more — or we could — well, we
could be happy together without
waiting to get married."

"You mustn't do either of those
things," I told him. "You -must
go right down to the court house,
get a license, and find a preacher
to marry you. But, once you're
married, go out and try to get jobs
— try exactly twice as hard as
you've already been trying."

To this young couple, battered
and bruised by lack of sympathy
from all sides, this simple sugges-
tion served as an inspiration. Un-
der its impact they found new hope
and faith in each other and in
themselves. They married, and it
was only a couple of weeks later
that they'd both found jobs —
small ones, to be sure, but never-
theless a means of earning their
living.

They're living now in a one-
room apartment. According to
some standards, they're only exist-
ing. Yet I've seldom seen two
happier kids. With their love to
sustain them, they can get along
on very little. They'll prosper later.
Meanwhile, they are not for-
saking their moments of happiness
because of economic insecurity.

Frank and Judy were just one
couple who proved the truth that
problems which seem insurmount-
able to (Continued on page 60)

Jims, 1939

■ "We want to get married, but neither of us has a job — and the chances
right now aren't very bright. Which shall we do — call the whole thing
off and not see each other any more— or take our courage in our hands?"

tion of radio's new

matinee idol when, you
tune in Charles Boyer

WHEN Charles Boyer made
his stage debut in Paris
some years ago, one dra-
matic critic raved — "He acts as if
he had a temperature of a hundred
and four!"

When he hypnotized Hollywood
on the screen a few years later, the
local victims cried — "He's more
magnetic than Valentino!"

After the preview of "Algiers"
last year, one ordinarily dignified
and sensible Hollywood glamour
girl wailed right out in public —
"His attraction is positively tor-
menting!" And just the other day
I heard a little Hollywood extra on
his set sigh wistfully —

"That guy Boyer has menace in
both eyes and ruin in every
whisper!"

They're saying much the same
superlative things about Charles
Boyer again today — only this time
the praise rings out along Radio
Row in Hollywood where the mes-
merizing personality of this elec-
tric Frenchman has already made
him a solid, sensational hit every
Sunday on Woodbury's Hollywood
Playhouse over NBC.

And once again the power of his
amazing personality is cast in the
light of a mystery. You can get
an argument any hour of the day
at the corner of Sunset and Vine
on this subject: What has Charles
Boyer got? How does he do it?

Well — people have been trying
to figure that out ever since
Charles was in diapers. His own
mother was baffled. When Charles
was little more than a pair of big
black eyes and barely able to talk,
she trotted him down to a church
school in the little town in France
where he was born.

"I don't expect you to teach my
son anything," she told the sister.
"He's too young for lessons. But
— I wish you'd see if you can make
him sit down and be still!"

A few weeks later Charles came
home and babbled out in perfect
order a long religious poem. His
folks were astounded and a little

RADIO MIRROR

By KIRTLEY BASKETTE

angry, too. They promptly scolded
the teacher for putting a mere in-
fant to such a prodigious task of
memory. The teacher was just as
astounded.

"He's never had a lesson," she
protested. "He's just been sitting
still!" But while he was learning to
sit still the terrific vitality of Baby
Charles had to be spent doing some-
thing. So he had silently mastered
all the lessons of the older kids!

You can't analyze that certain
something Boyer has — except that
it's something which is dynamite,
especially to the fair sex. You
might as well try to catalogue the
attraction of Clark Gable or the lure
of Hedy Lamarr. Boyer's got it —
and that's that. But as for how he's
brought it to the air — that's some-
thing different.

I didn't expect to find him in

studio A at NBC's great new Holly-
wood Radio City. Our date at
Thursday night rehearsal was one
thing — but the Academy Award
Banquet that same night was an-
other, and a very big other. It's
the biggest night in a film star's
year, as everyone knows, the night
when the highest honors of the
screen are bestowed, when coveted
gold "Oscar" statuettes are doled
out and all Hollywood pays honor
to the lucky winners.

Charles Boyer had been nomi-
nated for the 1938 male star per-
formance award. What's more,
with vast respect pervading Holly-
wood for his work in "Algiers," it
looked very much as if he'd get it.
He didn't, as you know now, but
that's not the point.

The point is that Woodbury re-
hearsals start at eight o'clock and

at eight-one Charles Boyer hurried
down the long corridor toward me,
his gray overcoat, worn in Napole-
onic cape fashion, flying in the
breeze, his cigarette trailing sparks.

"Am I late?" he asked anxiously.

"I didn't expect you at all," I said.
"I thought you'd be at the Academy
Dinner. You may get the award,
you know."

He shook his head. "I feel very
bad about not showing up there," he
said. "Since they were good enough
to nominate me, it seems rude not
to attend. But," he shrugged, "I
have work to do here. I couldn't
disappoint these people." And that
settled it. He rushed into the re-
hearsal studio.

Now that, I think, shows two im-
portant things about Charles Boyer.
First, work comes absolutely first
in his life (Continued on page 79)

■ Boyer and his charming wife,
Pat Paterson, who helps hirr
over his big stumbling block.

*m~

MEET THE EASY ACES FOR THE FIRST TIME IN STORY FORM. FIC-
TIONIZED BY LYNN BURR FROM THE RADIO PROGRAM SPONSORED BY
ANACIN. HEARD OVER NBC, TUESDAY. WEDNESDAY AND THURSDAY

WHERE have you been?" Mr. Ace demanded.
Jane Ace stood there in the doorway of the
bungalow, wearing a contented smile because
she was just too dumb to know when to be upset. Such
as this occasion, for instance. Mr. Ace was upset.
Marge, the family's closest spectator, was upset. And
both with righteous cause. For the hour was 8:30 p.m.,
neither had had their dinner, and Jane had been
missing all day.

Mr. Ace tried to be patient, though it was always a
painful process for him, for he knew that whatever
Jane had been up to, she had meant no harm. She
just had a big heart and little brains, and although this
produced many trying situations, you couldn't really
get mad at her. Or if you did, you couldn't stay mad,
anymore than you could stay mad at a little child
who was trying to bake you a cake, even though she
burned the whole back of the house off in the process.

Jane paused and looked surprised. "Why dear, I
thought you knew. I've been to the orphange."

"The Orphange?"

"Yes, to adapt a child. After all, we discussed it all
last week and I tried out different children, and
everything . . ."

Mr. Ace sat down heavily. It had been less than
a week ago when somehow, orphans had been men-
tioned, and Jane had as suddenly decided they should
"adapt" one. Ace and Marge had talked, but could get
no further than to make Jane undecided as to whether
it should be a boy or a girl. This had produced the
trying situation they'd endured for three long days.
For Jane thought up a way to decide the question;
she'd try out both sexes, by borrowing the neighbors'
children, a girl one day, a boy the next. The neighbors,
who knew a good thing when they saw it,
were happy to cooperate.

Three days of the worst children the
neighborhood could produce, with Jane
still undecided, had Ace feeling confident
the idea of "adapting" a child had played
itself out. But no. Now Jane had been
to the orphanage!

"Oh yes," Jane explained, "I've been
every day for the last three days. But
it's so hard to decide because they've got
more children than you can shake. I got
acquainted with most of them though."

"Oh, you did?"

"Yes, and some of them got to know
me. They'd say, 'She's in again!', and we'd all laugh.
Oh, I learned a lot about children from Mrs. Baker."

"She's the head of the orphanage, I take it?" Marge
asked.

"Uh huh. She's awfully sweet. The children all love
her. They have a nickname for her. They call her
Simon Legree."

What's nicer than adopting a lonely orphan, except when the
little waif is six feet tall and has to shave? The Easy Aces
discover the disconcerting answer in this rollicking story

Illustration by
Mary Horton

■ Ace never knew what hit him! He slumped to
the floor like a wet sack. "Say, you big lug,"
Marge demanded of Cokey, "Who are you hitting?"

"Isn't that awful?" Ace moaned, and then rose from
his chair. "Well, all this can wait. How about some
supper?"

"But it can't wait." Jane jumped up, and opening
the front door, went out on the porch. In a second she
reappeared. Behind her stood a huge, hulk
of a young man with a forlorn look on his
face. He towered above Jane like a giant,
and looked for all the world like the entire
Pittsburgh backfield.

"What's that?" Ace demanded.
"I want you all to meet Cokey," Jane
said.

"Cokey?" Ace muttered. "Jane, what's the
idea of coming home with strange men?"

"But he's not a man, dear. Not quite. He
won't be twenty-one for another month."
"All right, where does he fit in?"
"Don't you see dear, I adapted him."
"You what?"
"I adapted . . . Well, after all, those small children
I tried out last week were so much trouble, and this
afternoon the idea hit me in the face like a flash in
the pan. I decided that as long as we're going to adapt
a child, why not get one big enough to shovel coal
and tend the furnace."

"Jane, you didn't?" Marge exclaimed.
"Yes, wasn't that smart of me? We had an awful
time getting here though. We hitch hoke."
"Hitch hoke?"

"Yes, he showed me how. I didn't know before that
if you put your hand out like this with your thumb
like this they stop the car and let you in. I knew about
putting your hand out the window when you want to
turn, and . . ."

"Jane, will you stop this jabbering?"
Jane did, for a second, and Ace slid down in the
chair. "A twenty-year-old 'child', named COKEY!"
he muttered.

The following afternoon Cokey was still "in," by
virtue of Ace having been at work all day, and not
having figured out a way to talk Jane out of the idea
of keeping him. In the meantime, between shoveling
coal, and listening to "mother," Cokey was very busy.
"And another thing," Jane rattled on, "you have to
go out sometime and play. You've stayed inside all day
today, and there's a lot of children around here. What
do you like to play?"
"Pool."

"Well, tomorrow I'll . . ." Jane hesitated. "Pool? I
don't think they play that around here. Is that all you
can play?"

"I play first base."

"First base? That's a new one I guess. Oh, I forgot.
Isn't it time for you to tend the furnace again?"
"Yes. It's been fifteen minutes."

7Ad*

Mflkfy

MEET THE EASY ACES FOR THE FIRST TIME IN STORY FORM. FIC
TIONIZED BY LYNN BURR FROM THE RADIO PROGRAM SPONSORED BY
ANACIN. HEARD OVER NBC. TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY AND THURSDAY

WHERE have you been?" Mr. Ace demanded.
Jane Ace stood there in the doorway of the
bungalow, wearing a contented smile because
she was just too dumb to know when to be upset. Such
as this occasion, for instance. Mr. Ace was upset.
Marge, the family's closest spectator, was upset. And
both with righteous cause. For the hour was 8:30 P.M.,
neither had had their dinner, and Jane had been
missing all day.

Jane paused and looked surprised. "Why dear, I
thought you knew. I've been to the orphange."

"The Orphange?"

"Yes, to adapt a child. After all, we discussed it all
last week and I tried out different children, and
everything . . ."

"Oh yes," Jane explained, "I've been
every day for the last three days. But
it's so hard to decide because they've got
more children than you can shake. I got
acquainted with most of them though."

"Oh. you did?"

"Yes, and some of them got to know
me. They'd say, 'She's in again!', and we'd all laugh.
Oh, I learned a lot about children from Mrs. Baker "

"She's the head of the orphanage, I take it?" Marge
asked.

"Uh huh. She's awfully sweet. The children all love
her. They have a nickname for her. They call her
Simon Legree."

What's nicer than adapting a lonelv •».
Httle waif is six feet tai. and h \ ' ""^ *** '*'

«. .r hOS *° Shave? The Easy Aces

discover the disconcerting answer in «.• ...

* answer m this rollicking story

Marge demanded of Co\ey "Wh^ ^J^,
^°Key, Wno ore you hitting?"

hisSr*3™"1^ iCe m°aned' and then r°se fr<»«
supper?" ' thlS C3n Wait How about s°me

the wVan't W3it" Jane jUmped UP' and °PeninS
the front door, went out on the porch. In a second she

reappeared. Behind her stood a huge, hulk
M a young man with a forlorn look on his
face. He towered above Jane like a giant
and looked for all the world like the entire
Pittsburgh backfield.

"What's that?" Ace demanded.
"I want you all to meet Cokey," Jane
said.
"Cokey?" Ace muttered. "Jane, what's the
,«-_/' " idea of coming home with strange men?"

"Jane, will you stop this jabbering?"
Jane did, for a second, and Ace slid down in the
chair. "A twenty-year-old 'child', named COKEY!"
he muttered.

"Well, tomorrow I'll . , •" Jane hesitated. "Pool? I
don't think they play that around here. Is that all you
can play?"
"I play first base."

"First base? That's a new one I guess. Oh, I forgot.
Isn't it time for you to tend the furnace again?"
"Yes. It's been fifteen minutes."

Cokey strode slowly over to the
cellar door, and a few minutes after
he'd gone downstairs, Ace arrived
home.

"What is this, Jane?" he drawled
as soon as he got inside, "Do you
have to keep it this hot in here?"

"Is it hot, dear?"

"Is it hot? It's suffocating!"

"Well, Cokey's been tending the
furnace."

"Oh. . . . Well, you tell him to let
it cool off a little." Stomping out in
the back Ace opened a window.
After all, he didn't want to hurt
Jane's feelings, but this was too im-
possible to continue. All day long
he'd racked his brain for some means
of maneuvering Jane into changing
her mind, but without success. So
he'd finally decided to come out
bluntly, and put his foot down.
"Jane, this is the most ridiculous
situation we've ever been in. That
big lummox is going back to the
orphanage."

"What?"

"Now you heard me. I don't want
any trouble with the orphanage, and
I don't want any trouble with you."

"Oh dear," Jane began to wail,
"my own child, my own flesh and
bones . . ."

"... Your own flesh and bones?"

"Well," Jane mumbled, "it seems
like it now."

THE argument which ensued
dragged out into the evening,
Ace trying to use common sense,
battling against Jane's sudden
"mother" instinct to protect her
"young." Ace's idea was very
simple and sound. Cokey would be

released from the orphanage on his
twenty-first birthday anyway, which
was only a month away. Ace had
talked to Jane's brother Johnny,
who had married into a responsible
position in the local department
store, and between them they'd
gotten a job for Cokey, to start when
he became twenty-one. In the
meantime, Ace wanted to send
Cokey back to the orphanage, since
no binding papers had been signed.
It was slow going through all of
Jane's "My own flesh and bones,"
"It'll break his little heart," and
similar remarks, but finally Ace won
his point. Cokey was called up from
the cellar.

"Oh dear," Jane wept, "I don't
know how to say it."

"Well, don't start to weep."

"But I can't help it. I'm the
weeper sex."

"Oh," Ace moaned, and then
turned to Cokey. "Look, Cokey,
we've got a job for you when you're
twenty-one, but in the meantime
you'll have to go back to the or-
phanage."

Cokey's huge, dumb face fell, and
he looked as if his best friend had
just sold him down the river. After
a second his expression returned
once more to its usual nothingness,
and he spoke very calmly.

"Oh, no you don't."

"Yes, and we'll . . . Huh?" Ace
looked dumfounded.

"You're not gonna send me back.
I've seen what happens to those no-
body wants."

And on this point, Cokey re-
mained firm. Marge returned home
a few minutes later to find them all

They're Jane and Goodman Ace
in private life as well as in
their thrice-weekly NBC series.

arguing in the hallway, and she too,
joined in the discussions. Through
the better part of the evening they
pleaded and begged, but Cokey
seemed to know only four words,
which he kept repeating over and
over in answer to all attempts to get
rid of him. "Oh, no you don't."

It was the next morning when all
else had failed, that Ace finally lost
his temper. He turned to Marge
first. "You better go to work. You're
late now."

Marge only laughed. "No sir. I
wouldn't miss this for the world."

Ace grunted, and turned to Cokey.
"All right you, you're going out of
here." But as Ace stepped forward to
eject him bodily, Cokey's right hand
came up like a lazy sledgehammer.
Ace never knew what hit him! He
slumped to the floor like a wet sack.

"Say, you big lug," Marge de-
manded, "who are you hitting?"

"I didn't mean to. . . ."

"Oh dear," Jane fluttered, "he
struck his own father."

"But I . . ."

"Ace dear, wake up," Jane called.
"Oh, he looks so comfortable, it's a
shame to . . ."

"Here, this'll fix him." Marge,
coming from the dining room with a
glass of water, dashed it in Ace's
face. He groaned. "Ohhhh," and
slowly opened his eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Half past ten."

"I must have overslept."

At that moment the doorbell rang,
and who should appear on the
scene but Jane's garrulous brother
Johnny. He strode through the
doorway with, "Hello everybody,"
and then stopped. "Say, what hap-
pened to you, Ace?'

"He ..."

"And who's this?"

"That's it. That's what happened
to Ace."

"Oh yeah," Johnny remembered,
"this is Cokey. Ace told me about
him yesterday and we got him a job
with the old man down at the store.
But I thought he was going back to
the orphanage for a month."

"So did we," Marge agreed, "but
just try and budge him. He won't
move."

"He won't. . . . Well, that's simple.
Just call up the orphanage, they'll
send somebody to . . ."

"Oh, no you don't," Cokey inserted
calmly, but firmly.

"What?"

"Oh, no you don't."

"He means no," Marge explained.

"Now, see here, my good fellow,
you may be able to bluff these peo-
ple here, but you'll find me a differ-
ent story."

"Johnny, I wouldn't start any-
thing with . . ." (Cont'd on page 78)

RADIO MIRROR

A success story in swing time —
brought to you in his own words
by the jitterbugs' newest idol

V '* /^» -

■

S»;

BY ^

ARTIE SHAW

As told to Jerry Mason

Seldom have the editors of
Radio Mirror published a suc-
cess story as unusual as this.
Last month Artie Shaw told
you of his early life — of poverty
in one of New York's "Dead
End" slums — of how he quit
school when he was fifteen be-
cause all he wanted to do was
play a saxophone, and at once
became a full-fledged musician
in a dance band — and of how
he slept on park benches and
washed dishes for his meals
when he was barely old enough
to shave. Now, at twenty-nine,
he is a famous bandleader — and
this is how it happened:

Part II

I WAS faced with two offers — and
I couldn't make up my mind
which one to take. I was sixteen
years old, and although I'd been

june, 1939

earning my own living as a musi-
cian for considerably more than a
year, I still didn't have enough
maturity to make a decision that
was likely to affect the rest of my
life.

The California Ramblers wanted
me — a band that was then, in 1926,
riding the crest of the wave. On
the other hand, my second offer was
from a Cleveland band that I was
convinced was going places. Hav-
ing a pair of good jobs like these
handed to me on a silver platter was
flattering — but remembering the
lean days I'd already been through,
and suspecting that some just as
lean would come along in the fu-
ture, I couldn't help wishing that
the offers didn't have to come to-
gether.

After a whole day and night of
indecision, I finally decided to send
a wire of (Continued on page 62)

! ,1

€k&. 9taw0ey (Sivufc&t,

Author of

"The Case of the Velvet Claws"

"The Case of the Howling Dog," etc.

The story thus far:

WILLIAM C. FOLEY hired me as his secretary be-
cause he liked my voice. Later I discovered that
he judged people's character by their voices. On the
very first day of my new job things began to happen.
A man who said he was a private detective investi-
gating the hit-and-run injury of Mr. Foley's former
secretary forced his way into the office and demanded
to see my employer. After Mr. Foley had gotten rid
of him, another visitor came — Frank C. Padgham, who
seemed to be a talent agent. I was called into the office
while Mr. Foley dictated a long agreement between
Padgham and two men named Carter Wright and
Woodley Page. Mr. Foley instructed me to type the
agreement and deliver it to a Wilshire address that
night.

On my way to carry out his instructions I was almost
run down by a car — and it didn't look like an accident,
either. I was panic-stricken when I reached the house.
It seemed completely deserted. Then, coming from up-
stairs, I heard a thumping noise. Investigating, I found
Bruce Eaton, the radio and movie star, bound and
gagged in a closet. I set him free, and under pretense
of getting a drink, he slipped out of the house, leaving
me alone. As I started to follow him, I picked up a
safe-deposit key from the floor — and then, through
an open door at the end of the hall, I saw a dead man
slumped over a desk!

While I stood gaping, every light in the house went
out, and I hurried downstairs. At the front door
I met Mr. Padgham and told him what I'd seen. He

She got to her feet and pointed angrily at him.

went into the dark house, telling me to get in his car
and wait for him. Instead, I went to a nearby drug
store and called Bruce Eaton's agent, telling him to
give Eaton a message from the young woman who re-
moved his gag — to call me at the office the next day.
I returned to the house, to find Padgham and his car
both gone, but Mr. Foley was there. I told him every-
thing that had happened, except about Bruce Eaton
and the key, and he advised me to go into the drug
store and tell the clerk to notify the police of the mur-

RADIO MIRROR

Should a beautiful secretary

remain loyal to her boss or
believe blindly in the man
she loves? Miss Bell finds

'And I thought I could count on you for help!"

der. I did as he said, and returned to his car. All
evening I'd kept tight hold of the brief case with the
Padgham agreement in it. But now, when Mr. Foley
asked me for it — the brief case was empty!

Part III

ORNING BROUGHT the newspapers and gave
me the first really definite information I'd been
able to obtain about what actually happened.

june, 1939

Police, it seemed, having been notified by a drug
clerk that the body of a murdered man was in one of
the more expensive homes in an exclusive Wilshire dis-
trict, had sent a radio car to investigate.

The house turned out to be the property of Charles
Temmler, a wealthy, retired contractor. The police
found the' front door of the house unlocked. A main
light switch near the heater on the back porch had
been thrown, plunging the entire house into darkness.
Using flashlights, the police climbed the stairs to the
second floor, where they found a dead man seated at
a desk in what was evidently an upstairs study. From
letters in the man's pockets and cards in his cardcase,
the police tentatively identified the body as that of
one Carter Wright, a man who had been employed
by Mr. Temmler as chauffeur.

Death had been practically instantaneous, caused by
a bullet fired at close range from a .38 caliber auto-
matic.

In another upstairs bedroom, the police had found
evidence which led them to believe a man had been
tied and gagged. Two handkerchiefs, moist from
saliva, and which had evidently been used as gags,
had been found on the floor. A sheet had been jerked
from a bed, torn into strips, and tied in square,
business-like knots. Later on, apparently, this man
had been liberated by some person who had cut
through the strips of cloth with a sharp knife. There
was no clue whatever as to the identity of either of
these two persons. Police were testing everything on
the property for fingerprints.

I was particularly interested in seeing myself as
others saw me, for the clerk in the drug store had
given a description of the woman who had reported
the murder. This young woman was the subject of
intensive and widespread search. I read the descrip-
tion with interest.

Dark chestnut hair, rich (Continued on page 81)

0l£,*S%UA^(3K'U&&b

Author of
"The Cote of the Velvet Claws"
"The Coie of the Howling Dog." etc.

The story thus far:

On my way to carry out his instructions I was almost
run down by a car— and it didn't look like an accident,
either. I was panic-stricken when I reached the house.
It seemed completely deserted. Then, coming from up-
stairs, I heard a thumping noise. Investigating, I found
Bruce Eaton, the radio and movie star, bound and
gagged in a closet. I set him free, and under pretense
of getting a drink, he slipped out of the house, leaving
me alone. As I started to follow him, I picked up a
safe-deposit key from the floor— and then, through
an open door at the end of the hall, I saw a dead man
slumped over a desk!

While I stood gaping, every light in the house went
out, and I hurried downstairs. At the front door
I met Mr. Padgham and told him what I'd seen. He
38

Should a beautiful secretary
remain loyal to her boss or
believe blindly in the man
she loves? Miss Bell finds
Cupid isn't the least danger-
ous foe in this thrilling
serial of murder in filmland

Illustration by Mario Cooper

She got to her feet and pointed angrily at him.

went into the dark house, telling me to get in his car
and wait for him. Instead, I went to a nearby drug
store and called Bruce Eaton's agent, telling him to
give Eaton a message from the young woman who re-
moved his gag— to call me at the office the next day.
I returned to the house, to find Padgham and his car
both gone, but Mr. Foley was there. I told him every-
thing that had happened, except about Bruce Eaton
and the key, and he advised me to go into the drug
store and tell the clerk to notify the police of the mur-

RADIO MDWOB

And ' *hou9ht I could count on you for help!"

even' * dTid as he said' and returned t0 his car- AU
Padrt d kept tight hold of the brief case with the
asklrf agreement in it. But now, when Mr. Foley
" me for it— the brief case was empty!

Part III

°**NING BROUGHT the newspapers and gave

me the first really definite information I'd been

D'e to obtain about what actually happened.

*"*. 1939

Death had been practically instantaneous, caused by
a bullet fired at close range from a .38 caliber auto-
matic.

Dark chestnut hair, rich (Continued on page 81)

BENNY GOODMAN insists he is
not breaking up his band. The
star soloists who have left the
king of swing to form their own bands
were all recipients of Benny's good
wishes . . . Cab Calloway and warbler
June Richmond have parted company
. . . Kay Kyser hits the west coast this
summer . . . Charles Baum stays at
New York's St. Regis throughout the
summer . . . Red Nichols set to sup-
plant Teddy Wilson at the Famous
Door by May 1 . . . Eddy Duchin is
now giving his "magic fingers of ra-
dio" a workout in Chicago's Palmer
House with a MBS wire . . . They say
Hal Kemp and Tony Martin were none
too friendly offstage when the pair
shared top billing at New York's Par-
amount . . . Orrin Tucker takes his
"conversational music" to San Fran-
cisco by the time you read this . . .
Elmo Tanner, Ted Weems' whistling
soloist, and Eleanor Jones, a Birming-
ham school teacher, tied the knot . . .
As predicted here Tommy Dorsey
gets the New York Hotel Pennsylvania
roof berth this summer . . . Ben Ber-
nie shifts to the Hotel Astor roof on
July 3 for the World's Fair tourist
trade . . . Helen O'Connell, 19-year-
old singer, who got her first break

■ Andre Kostelanetz creates a new
instrument, a "bass drum fiddle."

with Larry Funk's band, is now work-
ing for Jimmy Dorsey. Helen replaced
Ella Mae Morse . . . Three bands rap-
idly rising in public favor are Charlie
Barnett, Gray Gordon and Jan Savitt.
Barnett has the looks and ability to

■ Hal Kemp sits one out with his wife,
Martha Stephenson; left, three impor-
tant members of his orchestra — Mickey
Bloom, Jack LeMaire and Saxie Dowell.

worry Shaw. Gordon scored at New
York's Hotel Edison and was elevated
from Bluebird to Victor platters. This
is the first time in history that the
record company transferred a band
from lower priced disks to higher
priced ones . . . Jan Savitt came up
from Philadelphia to Gotham and re-
vealed an interesting style. Jan used
to play fiddle for Toscanini . . . Artie
Shaw will be featured in a Warner
Brothers picture when he gets to the
coast with the Bob Benchley show.

THE NEW HAL KEMP

THE slender, soft-eyed collegian who
' sprouted like a string bean over the
heads of other North Carolina stu-
dents as he spoke hopefully of leading
a professional dance band, was a far
cry from the sophisticated showman
who now tops one of radio's favorite
orchestras.

But both descriptions fit Hal Kemp.
That is, the first one did fit before the
"Time to Shine" CBS maestro passed
through a multitude of experiences
that eventually stamped him as one
of America's great dance band figures.

The Mason & Dixon hayseed who
developed through the years into a
(Continued on page 56)

RADIO MIRROR

The New Radio Mirror Almanac

BY THE STUDIO SNOOPER

■ Presenting the listener's best friend — ■
a complete network program directory, day-
by-day reminders of highlights you don't
want to miss, thumbnail biographies of in-
teresting people, and the fascinating be-
hind the scenes stories of seven programs!

PROGRAMS FROM APRIL 26 TO MAY 25

a.
tt<u

8:00
8:00

8:30
8:30

9:00
9:00
9:00

10:00
10:00
10:00

10:30

10:45

11:00
11:00

11:30

12:00

12:15

12:30
12:30

2:00
2:00
2:00

3:00
3:00
7:30

3:30
3:30

4:00
4:00
4:00

5:00
6:30

7:00
5:30

6:00
6:00
6:00

6:30
6:30

7:00
7:00

9:05

9:15

9:15
9:30
9:30

10:00
10:00

10:30
10:30

11:00
11:00
11:00

12:00
12:00
12:00

12:30

12:45

1:00
1:00

1:30

2:00

2:15

2:30
2:30

3:30
3:30
3:30

4:00
4:00
4:00

5:00
5:00
5:00

5:30
5:30
5:30

6:00

6:00
6:00

7:00
7:00

7:00

7:30
7:30

8:00
8:00
8:00

8:30
8:30

9:00
9:00

Eastern Daylight Time

8:00 A.M.

NBC-Blue: Peerless Trio

NBC-Red: Organ Recital

8:30

NBC-Blue: Tone Pictures

NBC-Red: Four Showmen

8:45

NBC-Red: Animal News

9:00

CBS: From the Organ Loft

NBC-Blue: White Rabbit Line

NBC-Red: Turn Back the Clock

9:15

NBC-Red: Tom Teriss

9:30

8:30 CBS: Wings Over Jordan
8:30 NBC-Red: Melody Moments

10:00

9:00 CBS: Church of the Air
9:00 NBC-Blue: String Quartet
9:00 NBC-Red: Radio Pulpit

10:30

9:30 NBC-Blue: Russian Melodies
9:30 NBC-Red: Music and Youth

11:00
NBC: News

11:05
10:05 NBC-Blue: Alice Remsen

11:15
10:15 NBC-Blue: Neighbor Nell

NBC-Red: Chimney Hous:
10:15 11:30

10:30 CBS: MAJOR BOWES FAMILY
10:30 NBC-Blue: Southernaires

12: Noon
11:00 NBC-Blue: RADIO CITY MUSIC

HALL
11:00 NBC-Red: Music for Moderns

12:30 P.M.
11:30 CBS: Salt Lake City Tabernacle
11:30 NBC-Red: University of Chicago
Round Table