Two Remleys, Part One

Elliott Lewis was one of those multi-hyphenates of radio. He acted, produced, directed, wrote and even created—“On Stage” with he and his first wife Cathy was one of his shows.

Lewis was an excellent dramatic actor, appearing on “Suspense, “The Whistler” and “Escape.” But he’ll probably be associated with Phil Harris in his long-running role as Frank Remley, first on “The Fitch Bandwagon” and then on “The Phil Harris-Alice Faye Show.”

Remley was a real person. This story from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch of December 5, 1948 goes into an explanation and sums up Lewis’ career to that time. Lewis’ life on radio went past the Golden Age; he was involved with several drama anthology revivals in the 1970s which were well acted, critically acclaimed and financially not viable.

The Two Frankie Remleys of Radio
Real One Is Musician, Other Uses Name in Comedy Role—Both With Phil Harris
By Harry Niemeyer
A Special Correspondent of the Post-Dispatch
Hollywood, Dec. 4
FRANKENSTEIN and his monster had nothing on modern day radio, whose comedy characters repeatedly encompass, swallow and digest the often bewildered actors who create them.
Marian and Jim Jordan became Fibber McGee and Molly, the late Marlin Hurt was Beulah to his listeners, Harold Peary is known even to intimates as Gildersleeve or "Gildy," and now actor Elliott Lewis seems about to have the same thing happen to him with his role of Frankie Remley on the Phil Harris-Alice Faye show, heard each Sunday at 6:30 p. m. in St. Louis over station KSD.
But in his case, Lewis plays the little man who IS there, the real Frankie Remley, long-time friend of Jack Benny and Phil Harris and for more than a decade a member of the Harris band. Frankie actually plays guitar and, three seasons ago, attempted bits of dialogue himself when Harris wanted a foil for his comedy.
As an actor, though, Frankie continued to be a good paid-up member of the musicians' local, and Lewis, who was hanging around a final Sunday night rehearsal, was eased into Frankie's "voice" role. As he clicked in show after show, his part was increased. This year Harris signed Elliott exclusively for comedy roles, billed him next to himself and Alice Faye and "built" him so much in general that there is little doubt but that listeners will soon be calling Elliott "Frankie Remley" more often than they call him "Lewis."
Elliott, quite naturally, is happy about becoming radio's newest comedy star. His exclusive contract with Harris means that he no longer has to work a variety of air shows to earn his board and keep at the Brown Derby around the corner. Just last season, he was heard regularly with Burns and Allen, Ozzie and Harriet, Jack Benny and Parkyakarkas and, not too long before that, he was featured on the Ann Sothern "Maisie" series.
In fact, he and his wife, Cathy Lewis, worked on so many shows in 1946 and 1947 that they were known around Radio Row as "Mr. and Mrs. Radio" and were found to have a combined rating of 169.2 (or more people than there are in the United States) in the Hooper surveys of listeners.
This year, Cathy is convalescing from serious illness which took her off the air last summer, and Elliott is down to Remley and one other show—"The Case Book of Gregory Hood"—in which he plays the title role. On that show, Elliott is the direct opposite of the brash, hep Remley character. As Greg Hood, he's a suave, wealthy San Francisco importer who dabbles in private eye work on the side.
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"It would be hard to find two characters more opposed," Elliott says, "but from an actor's standpoint it's wonderful to have such a combination available. I'm not like the traditional vaudevillian who wants to play Shakespeare, but I do have most fun in my work when I can play a variety of roles. Then I feel that I am adding to my ability."
He's been adding ability since he came to California in the middle 1930s from New York where he was born in 1917. He spent his boyhood in nearby Mount Vernon, N.Y., and had ambitions for the legitimate stage until he found his best offer was to usher at a little theater venture.
Migrating to Hollywood, Elliott enrolled at Los Angeles City College in a radio course which finally led to an audition and his first job. He got five dollars to play an incidental character in "The Life of Simon Bolivar," over a local station—and to rattle a stack of metal chairs during an earthquake scene. The synthetic earth tremor was a good start. In six months he was doing so much radio work that he quit school.
Elliott was already established as a radio star when he met Cathy during a sponsor's trial for a network show being produced by Bill Robson. "We both had been given a big buildup about the other before we met," says Elliott.
"Bill had told me about a red-headed actress from MGM who had the same last name as mine. She was rooming with Bill's girl friend and he was dying to have us meet . . . you know the routine. "She arrived, I asked for a date that night, she turned me down but said, 'Maybe tomorrow night,' and the courtship was on. But she wouldn't say 'I do until April 30, 1943, when I was home on leave from a Florida Army hospital. I still think she was so sorry for me she couldn't help herself."
The Lewises then proceeded to become America's hardest working radio family, working virtually every dramatic show out of Hollywood, and, last season, co-starring on their own thriller, "The Clock." Their plans for a big season together in 1948-49 with another new co-starring series were curtailed when Cathy, ill most of the summer, was not able to return to the air, even for her role on "My Friend Irma," on which she co-starred with Marie Wilson.
From the real Frankie Remley's standpoint, there had been moments of distress in having his name become a household word and all because of somebody else's voice.
"I always explain very carefully that Elliott plays me on Phil's show," Frankie says, "but usually the fans have dropped their jaws and given me the fish-eye the minute I spoke. In fact, some of them even suspect that Elliott plays the guitar for me, too.
"I only lied once," Frankie adds, and that was when a gorgeous dish breezed up and began to gush about my terrific comedy on the air. After all, Lewis or no Lewis, a guy's got to draw the line somewhere.

We’ll have more on the real Frank Remley in a post this weekend.