A Goat, a Groundhog and a Grauer

When radio started in the early 1920s, you had a guy who would introduce the various acts, fiddle with some dials, read news from the paper, and maybe even sing or play an instrument. As radio expanded, his duties would expand, too. He would go on location for remote broadcasts, such as dance bands, interviews or special events.

Over time, duties became specialised, especially at the network level. But announcer Ben Grauer carried on being a jack of all trades, even when network television grew.

Here’s a fine profile of his career, to date, published in newspapers starting November 5, 1950. It gives you an idea of the many, many things he did in broadcasting. I wish there were more about the goat story.

Ben Grauer's Radio Career Yields Both Thrills, Chills
BY SAUL PETT
Associated Press Staff Writer
NEW YORK, Nov. 5—Ben Grauer's radio and television career is now 20 years old. But there were times when he thought he would never make it.
Broadcasting from a diving suit 70 feet under the Atlantic, he was almost throttled by the guide rope. Covering Jimmy Walker's "beer parade" in 1933 from a blimp, he narrowly missed stepping through an open door. During the Lindbergh kidnapping, he slept on the police fingerprint files and caught pleurisy.
But the hazards of being a radio-television reporter, announcer, narrator and master of ceremonies are not all physical.
Interviewing Lucius Boomer, famed hotel keeper, Ben called him "Bloomer." This proved unsettling, At the end of the show, when he was supposed to say, "This is Ben Grauer speaking," he said, Is this Ben Grauer speaking?
Horseplay in Studios
He survived 16 years of announcing for Walter Winchell. This is not to say that Ben didn't enjoy them but he does recall some harrowing moments. After an intense broadcast, he says, Winchell frequently relaxes by making faces at the announcer during the commercial. Once, Ben recalls, he was sprinkled with water. The early days of radio contained more horseplay in the studios. And Ben survived that, too.
Winding up a newscast, he was just getting to the stock market reports when a wit in a tiny studio began tickling him. Being on the air, he was powerless to resist. He was tickled and disrobed without missing a single market quotation.
Being a victim, he was destined to become a practical joker himself. Years ago, when Phil Spitalny headed the NBC stand-by orchestra, Ben suddenly rushed to a mike and announced that due to atmospheric conditions a show from Chicago could not be continued and that the audience would now hear some music. Grauer signalled Spitalny. Spitalny raised his baton and the orchestra played nothing but sour rotes. It was several hours before Spitalny learned all the mikes were dead.
Goat Beauty Contest
All this and more, Grauer managed to survive.
Today, at 42, this short, brown-eyed, ubiquitous bundle of energy and words is one of the busiest and best paid reporters and announcers in the business. He says he likes the work because "I think it's interesting and fairly varied." This is flagrant understatement.
In one week, you might hear or see Ben Grauer covering the United Nations, interviewing a puppet, introducing Eleanor Roosevelt or Arturo Toscanini, describing a golf match from a ladder on top of a bouncing jeep, narrating a solemn documentary or leading a game of charades.
He has broadcast from 11 different countries. He flew with the Berlin airlift. He was in Israel when Count Bernadotte was assassinated. He once flew all the way to Brazil for five minutes of an eclipse.
He has broadcast every presidential convention since 1940 and every major UN meeting since 1945. He has been master of ceremonies at a goat beauty contest.
Played in Silent Movies
He has interviewed groundhogs, and for a "Seeing Eye week" broadcast was blindfolded while walking through Manhattan streets led by a dog. In 1948, he was on TV for 16 consecutive hours reporting the election results. In 1934 he put the first survivor of the Morro Castle disaster on the air. The survivor had swum seven miles to shore. Grauer interviewed him in a telephone booth with the line hooked into the network.
Grauer was born in Staten Island and as a child played several roles in silent movies. He majored in English at City college and hoped for a literary career. That proved futile so in the fall of 1930 he went to NBC for a dramatic audition. Two hours later he came out with an announcer's job.
That began a bustling career which saw him connected with more than 40 regular major shows in 20 years.
He has announced for such diverse personalities as Henry Morgan, Eleanor Roosevelt, Toscanini, Babe Ruth, Bob Ripley, Joe Cook, Kay Kyser, Vaughn Monroe, Perry Como, Garry Moore, Floyd Gibbons, and Winchell.
"People often ask me," Grauer says," who talked faster, Gibbons or Winchell? I think Winchell did, and does, at least in the first minute.
His most satisfying experience, Grauer says, has been his coverage of the UN on video. It represents a cause about which he believes more and more people should be informed.
He's especially proud of a letter of praise he received from Warren Austin.
His biggest single thrill, he says, came in covering New York's reception for Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower in 1945.
"When the general landed at LaGuardia and the motorcade formed," he recalls, "we in the NBC mobile unit were second in line right behind Ike. Then a cop got his signals crossed and shoved us back to the end of procession.
"Going into Central park, we were still last. NBC called and said I would be on the air at 11:02, about eight minutes away. I complained I couldn't because I had nothing to describe but backs of cops. They said I would be on the air anyway. I was scared stiff, so we gambled. While the procession moved south through the park, we raced west, went down the other side of the park, through red lights and whistling cops, cut back across the lower end of the park."
Leads Parade
At about 11:01 Grauer's truck met the motorcade coming out of the park. At 11:02, he was on the air at the head of the procession, saying, "Here we are, ladies and gentlemen, as New York says hello to Ike Eisenhower. Now let's lead the parade down Fifth avenue."
He did, too.
Grauer is a bachelor, who is "still shopping around." His hobbies are producing plays off Broadway, collecting rare books and information about Mexican archeology.
That brings us to his most embarrassing moment. It was during a shortwave broadcast beamed to South America. He was being interviewed in Spanish about his many trips to Mexico.
After a few shaky answers, he began an apology for his lack of Spanish fluency.
"Estoy tmbarazado," he said and immediately was crowded off the air by the chatter of his excited interviewer.
Ben had intended to say, "I am embarrassed." Instead, he said, "I am pregnant."

Ben Gross of the New York Daily News marked Grauer’s career with some bullet points in the November 17, 1950 edition.

Grauer's 20 Years . . . Ben Grauer of NBC, at the age of 42, has just celebrated his 20th year on the air. Go over to NBC and ask "Just what does this guy do?" and they won't be able to give you a clear-cut answer. For the truth is, he has no classification at the network. He's a famous news and special events reporter and commentator—and yet he does not belong to the news department. He's also a sportscaster, but the sports department can't claim him. He's also a narrator of dramatic shows and documentaries, an emce and moderator of forums, both on radio and TV. Running over his two decades before the mikes and the cameras, Ben sums up some highlights of his career in this way:
Favorite Broadcast—"My reporting of General Eisenhower's triumphant return from Europe in 943. I covered his receptions in Washington, New York and Abilene, Kansas."
Most Taxing Job—"Giving the Truman-Dewey election returns in 1948 over NBC-TV. Worked 16 straight hours, from 8 P. M. Election Night to 12 Noon the following day."
Most Uncomfortable Broadcast—"Putting on the air a 16 piece orchestra from an airplane in flight, in 1933. We were so cramped for space that the tuba player sat in the men's room."
Favorite Fan Letter—"Dear Mr. Grauer: You talk too much. Mrs. A. C. Reisted, Depue, Ill. P.S. Don't bother to answer this letter. Just shut up!"

These days, unless you’re an old-time radio fan, you think of Grauer in Times Square counting down to the New Year. But, as you can see, he did more than that. He died at age 68 in 1977 but packed in a lot of broadcasts during his career.